12580	----	Proofreaders BENEFICIARY FEATURES OF AMERICAN TRADE UNIONS BY JAMES B. KENNEDY, PH.D. Professor of Political Economy in Wells College * * * * * SERIES XXVI NOS. 11-12 JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY STUDIES IN HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL SCIENCE Under the Direction of the Departments of History, Political Economy, and Political Science * * * * * November-December, 1908 * * * * * TABLE OF CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I. Insurance Against Death and Disability CHAPTER II. Death Benefits CHAPTER III. Sick Benefits CHAPTER IV. Out-of-Work Benefits CHAPTER V. Superannuation Benefits CHAPTER VI. Administration PREFACE. This monograph had its origin in the investigations of American trade-union activities which have engaged the attention of the Economic Seminary of the Johns Hopkins University since October, 1902. It was begun and completed while the author was a graduate student at the University. The study is based on a survey of the beneficiary activities of national and international trade unions. While no attempt has been made to study in detail the various forms of mutual insurance maintained by local trade unions, frequent references are made thereto, inasmuch as the local activities have usually an important genetic connection with the national. The sources from which information has been secured are the trade-union publications in the Johns Hopkins University collection and important documents at the headquarters of different unions. These have been supplemented by personal interviews with prominent officials and labor leaders. The author wishes to acknowledge the assistance received, at every stage of the work, from Professor Jacob H. Hollander and Associate Professor George E. Barnett of the Department of Political Economy of the Johns Hopkins University. J.B.K. BENEFICIARY FEATURES OF AMERICAN TRADE UNIONS. INTRODUCTION. The American trade unions have developed beneficiary functions far more slowly than the trade unions of England and Germany. Only since about 1880 has there been any considerable increase in such activities. Prior to that time the national unions with few exceptions paid no benefits.[1] The local unions, here and there, developed beneficiary systems, but these were not continuous nor, in many cases, important. [Footnote 1: The term "benefit" is used in this monograph to include all forms of mutual insurance other than those directly connected with the enforcement of trade-union rules by collective bargaining. "Strike benefits" and "victimized benefits" are thus without the scope of the study.] The history of trade-union beneficiary activities in the United States may be roughly divided into three periods. In the first, extending from the beginning of the century to about 1830, the local associations laid great stress on their beneficiary functions. The societies of printers organized from 1794 to 1815 in the most important American cities were typical of the period. In all of them, as far as the extant records show, the beneficiary functions were regarded as equally important with the trade-regulating activities. American trade unionism owed its origin as much to the desire to associate for mutual insurance as to the desire to establish trade rules. The second period, from 1830 to 1880, was marked by the subordination of beneficiary to trade purposes. The maintenance of a minimum rate and other trade policies came to occupy the foremost place in the program of the local unions. In this period national unions were formed in many trades. The new national unions were not strong enough to establish beneficiary systems. Moreover, at many points the establishment of local benefits conflicted with the success of the national organizations. A local union was usually forced to impose certain restrictions upon claimants of benefits, either an initiation fee or a requisite term of membership, in order to protect its funds. Such limitations on the full participation of all members in the benefits of membership militated severely against the carrying out of the prime function of the national unions--the nationalization of membership. The leaders in the trade-union movement of this period were interested chiefly in strengthening the relations of the local unions. They saw, therefore, in the local benefits a hindrance to the accomplishment of their aims. By 1860 it had become a fairly well accepted doctrine that a trade union should not attempt to develop beneficiary functions. It was argued that since the expense of maintaining benefits made the dues of members higher, persons who might otherwise join the unions were prevented from doing so. The leaders of the Iron Molders for years opposed the introduction of beneficiary features on the ground that the development of such activities was likely to interfere with the trade functions of the organization. In 1866 President Sylvis for this reason vigorously opposed the introduction of a national sick benefit.[2] As late as 1895 the veteran president of the Iron Molders--Mr. Martin Fox--counselled the Union against developing an extensive beneficiary system.[3] The same views were entertained by the leaders of the other more important unions of the period. [Footnote 2: Iron Molders' Journal, Vol. I, p. 309.] [Footnote 3: Proceedings of the Twentieth Session, 1895, Report of the President.] Shortly after the close of the Civil War the rapid growth of mutual insurance companies attracted the attention of many trade unionists. The formation of insurance associations under the auspices of the national unions with a membership limited to the members of the unions was discussed in the most important organizations of the day. In many of them voluntary associations of one kind and another were inaugurated. The Granite Cutters, the Iron Molders and the Printers all experimented after this fashion. Only in the railway brotherhoods did these insurance systems develop into a permanent feature. The development of beneficiary functions by the leading national unions began about 1880. The benefits administered by these organizations do not interfere with the nationalization of membership. A new theory as to the relation between the beneficiary and the trade functions began about 1880 to gain wide acceptance. It was argued and with much force that the benefits were a direct aid in the accomplishment of trade purposes. While some leaders of the older school have seen in the rapid development of beneficiary functions a danger to the unions, the greater number who have come into positions of authority since 1880 have steadily advocated the establishment of benefits. The table on p. 12 gives the year in which the principal national unions were organized, together with the date and order of introduction of their national benefit systems. This change in the attitude of American trade unions toward beneficiary activities is illustrated by the fact that while in the older American trade unions, such as the Typographical Union, the Cigar Makers' Union and the Iron Molders' Union, many years elapsed between the founding of national organizations and the institution of national benefit systems, of the national unions organized since about 1880, some, as for example, the Granite Cutters' Union, the Brotherhood of Painters, the Metal Polishers' Union, and the Wood Workers' Union, incorporated provisions for the payment of benefits in their first constitutions, and many others adopted benefit systems within a few years after organization. ========================================================================== | |Date of | Date of |Order of | |National|Introduction|Introduction | Name of Organization. | Organi-|of Benefit |of Benefit | | zation.| System[4] | System -------------------------------------------------------------------------- | Typographical Union................ | 1850 | 1891 | 11 | Hatters' Association................ | 1853 | 1887 | 6 | Stone Cutters' Association.......... | 1853 | 1892 | 13 | Glass Bottle Blowers................ | 1857 | 1891 | 12 | Iron Molders' Union................. | 1859 | 1870 | 2 | Cigar Makers' Union................. | 1864 | 1867 | 1 | Typographia, Deutsch-Amerikanischen. | 1873 | 1884 | 5 | Iron, Steel and Tin Workers......... | 1876 | 1903 | 22 | Granite Cutters..................... | 1877 | 1877 | 3 | Carpenters and Joiners, Brotherhood. | 1881 | 1882 | 4 | Tailors' Union...................... | 1884 | 1890 | 8 | Painters' Brotherhood............... | 1887 | 1887 | 7 | Pattern Makers' League.............. | 1887 | 1898 | 16 | Barbers' Union...................... | 1887 | 1895 | 15 | Plumbers' Association............... | 1889 | 1903 | 23 | Machinists' Association............. | 1889 | 1893 | 14 | Metal Polishers' Union.............. | 1890 | 1890 | 9 | Wood Workers........................ | 1890 | 1890 | 10 | Garment Workers' Union.............. | 1891 | 1902 | 21 | Boot and Shoe Workers' Union........ | 1895 | 1898 | 18 | Tobacco Workers' Union.............. | 1895 | 1896 | 17 | Leather Workers on Horse Goods...... | 1896 | 1898 | 19 | Piano and Organ Workers............. | 1898 | 1898 | 20 | United Metal Workers................ | 1900 | 1900 | 24 ------------------------------------------------------------------ [Footnote 4: The dates given indicate the years in which the unions first succeeded in adopting national benefits of some kind, and not the dates on which successful systems were inaugurated. For example, the Cigar Makers' system of travelling loans adopted in 1867 and its "endowment plan" adopted in 1873 were unsuccessful and the present system was not adopted until 1880. (Cigar Makers' Journal and Program, twentieth session, pp. 57-63.)] It is maintained that the establishment of beneficiary features is a direct aid to a union in carrying through its trade policies. In the first place, successful systems of benefits, whether they attract members or not, undoubtedly retain them. Sharp and sudden declinations in membership during industrial disturbances are thus prevented. The effect of the panic of 1893-1897 was peculiarly instructive in this respect. Many labor unions suffered a considerable decline in members. The Typographical Union lost about ten per cent. of its membership, the Brotherhood of Carpenters about fifty per cent., while the Cigar Makers with a highly developed system of benefits lost only one and one half per cent. The trade unionists naturally regard it as peculiarly desirable that the members should not abandon the organization when the difficulty of maintaining wages and conditions is greatest. To hold in hard times what has been gained in good times is a vital point in trade-union policy. The trade unionists realize that the chief work of the unions is not so much in advancing wages in good times as in preventing recessions when employment is scarce. President Strasser of the Cigar Makers has pointed out that the Cigar Makers came through the depression of 1893-1897 with very slight reductions in wages. This result he attributed to the beneficiary system which held the membership in good standing.[5] [Footnote 5: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 26, September, 1901.] It is, of course, impossible to estimate with any degree of precision the effect of trade-union benefits in retaining members. Certain unions, such as the Cigar Makers and the Typographia, having compact organizations with highly developed systems of benefits lose almost none of their membership in periods of depression. The experience of the Cigar Makers is peculiarly instructive since we are here able to note the effect due to the introduction of a system of benefits. In 1869 the membership of the union was 5800. No benefits were paid except the strike benefit. In 1873 the membership had fallen to 3771, in 1874 to 2167, in 1875 to 1604, and in 1877 to 1016. A noticeable increase set in about 1879 and by 1883 the number of members was 13,214.[6] In the depression extending from 1893 to 1897 the membership of the Cigar Makers remained almost stationary. The following table shows the number of members for each year from 1890 to 1900: 1890..24,624 1984..27,828 1898..26,460 1891..24,221 1895..27,760 1899..28,994 1892..26,678 1896..27,318 1900..33,955 1893..26,788 1897..26,347 [Footnote 6: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 10, Aug., 1885; Vol. 19, May, 1894, p. 8. The records of initiations and suspensions for various periods in the history of the union also show the increase in the power to retain members. During 1877-1879, with only strike benefits in operation, 3000 members were initiated and 2750 were suspended; from September, 1879, to September, 1880, with strike and travelling benefits in force, 5453 were initiated and 1853, or 33.9 per cent., were suspended, while from September, 1880, to September, 1881, when a sick benefit was also being paid, 7402 were initiated, and 1867, or 25.2 per cent., were suspended. (Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 6, June, 1881, p. i; Vol. 7, October, 1881, p. 3.)] The Typographia, the only other American trade union which has developed its system of benefits as fully as the Cigar Makers, held its membership equally well during the depression of 1893-1897. The following table shows the membership of the Typographia from 1890 to 1900 by years: 1890 ...1233 1894 ...1204 1898 ...1100 1891 ...1322 1895 ...1092 1899 ...1071 1892 ...1382 1896 ...1115 1900 ...1044 1893 ...1380 1897 ...1083 The falling off in membership in 1894 and 1895 was due only to a very small extent to defections. The introduction of the linotype decreased the opportunity for employment in the trade, and the gradual shrinkage in the amount of German printing done in the United States due to the falling off in German immigration was accentuated by the depression. While the two unions having the most highly developed beneficiary systems thus show an ability to retain members during periods of depression, it would be absurd to assume that this result is solely the effect of the establishment of the benefits. The Cigar Makers' Union in 1892 would undoubtedly have held its membership better than it did in 1872 even if it had developed no benefits. It is interesting in this connection to note that while in the depression of 1873-1878 the membership of the Typographical Union fell from 9799 to 4260, a loss of forty per cent., and the number of local unions decreased from 105 to 60, in the great depression of 1893-1897 the membership fell from 31,379 in 1894 to 28,096 in 1897, a loss of only ten per cent. Part even of this small loss was due to the withdrawal of the pressmen and bookbinders from the organization. It thus appears that the Typographical Union with a death benefit of sixty-five dollars and a home for the aged held its membership almost as well as the Cigar Makers with their much more highly developed beneficiary system. The change in the power of the Typographical Union to retain its membership was obviously due not so much to the establishment of beneficiary features as to the greater support which it gave its members in collective bargaining. A comparison of the effect of the depression of 1893-1897 on the Typographical Union and on the Brotherhood of Carpenters makes the point still clearer. In 1893 when the depression set in the per capita expenditure of the Typographical Union for beneficiary features was $1.50, while that of the Carpenters was $1.40. The death benefit in the Carpenters' union was graded in such a way as to offer an additional incentive to retain membership. The two unions were, as far as the development of benefits is concerned, on about the same plane. As has been noted above, the Printers lost almost none of their members. The Carpenters lost from 1893 to 1895 over half of their membership. The following table shows the membership of the Carpenters by years from 1890 to 1900: 1890....53,769 1894....33,917 1898....31,508 1891....56,937 1895....25,152 1899\ 1892....51,313 1896....29,691 ...68,463 1893....54,121 1897....28,209 1900/ It is obvious that beneficiary features are only one of several factors in retaining membership. How far benefits attract members into the unions it is difficult to estimate. In the Cigar Makers' Union, the membership in 1880 was 4440, while in 1881 it was 14,604, an increase of 228 per cent. The increase in 1880 over 1879 had, however, been very large. How far the rapid increase in 1881 was due to the development of the beneficiary system and how far to the natural growth consequent upon a period of industrial activity can only be conjectured. In much the same way the rapid increase in the membership of the Iron Molders, from 20,920 on January 1, 1896, to 41,189 on January 1, 1900, was certainly not due primarily to the introduction of the sick benefit into that union.[7] The Boot and Shoe Workers introduced a system of sick benefits on January 1, 1900. At that time the union had a membership of 2910; at the close of the year the members numbered 10,618, and on January i, 1904, the number had increased to 69,290.[8] This phenomenal increase was not due chiefly to the desire of the boot and shoe workers to insure themselves against illness, but to the policy of the union in unionizing shoe plants by a liberal granting of the use of the label. [Footnote 7: Iron Molders' Journal, Vol. 33, p. 73; Vol. 36, p. 78.] [Footnote 8: Proceedings of the Fifth Convention, Detroit, 1902; Shoe Workers' Journal, Vol. 5, February, 1904, pp. 19, 25.] The causes of an increase in membership are usually so intertwined that nothing can be proved statistically as to the effect of the introduction of beneficiary systems. The executive officers of the unions with beneficiary features are, however, a unit in declaring that the desire to secure the advantage of the benefits does attract members.[9] [Footnote 9: Barbers' Journal, Vol. 10, p. 10; Shoe Workers' Journal, Vol. 2, April, 1901, p. 6.] A second effect of the introduction of benefits is the strengthening of the national treasury. The ordinary trade unionist is not disposed to be liberal in voting supplies to his national officials for trade purposes. A union without beneficiary functions usually has small reserve funds or none at all. The effect of the introduction of beneficiary features is, in the first place, to increase the funds which may in an emergency be used for strike benefits, and more important, perhaps, the members, accustomed to paying a considerable sum weekly or monthly for benefits, are less reluctant to vote assessments adequate for carrying on vigorously the trade policies of the union. Finally, certain trade-union benefits aid even more directly in accomplishing the trade purposes of the unions by tiding the members over illness or unemployment. An unemployed journeyman, or one impoverished by illness, unless supported by his union is tempted to work below the union rate. A starving man cannot higgle over the conditions of employment. The unions recognize that in time of strike they must support the strikers. The establishment of out-of-work benefits is urged on much the same ground. While these considerations have been effectual in leading the great mass of American trade unionists to believe in the advisability of developing beneficiary systems in connection with their unions, the real reason for the rapid growth of benefits lies, of course, in the desire of the members to participate in such beneficiary systems. The development of beneficiary systems has, therefore, not been guided chiefly or largely by the consideration as to what benefits would most aid the trade unions in enforcing their trade policies. The unions have chosen rather to develop those benefits for which there was the greatest need. Taking the Report of the American Federation of Labor as a convenient summary of the beneficiary activities of American trade unions, it appears that in 1907 of sixty-seven national unions paying benefits of all kinds, sixty-three paid death benefits, six paid benefits on the death of members' wives, twenty-four paid sick benefits, eight paid travelling benefits and six paid out-of-work benefits. The benefit which is most effective as an aid to the enforcement of collective bargaining is out-of-work relief. This it will be noted has been adopted by very few unions. On the contrary, the death or funeral benefit of small amount is far and away the predominant form of national trade-union benefit. Probably no other benefit offers as little support to the militant side of trade unionism. The reasons for the greater development of this benefit are, first, the great need among many trade unionists for benefits of this kind. Only within recent years has the funeral benefit been widely obtainable from ordinary insurance companies. Secondly, the administration of a small funeral benefit presents few difficulties as compared with the sick or out-of-work benefit. While the principle that trade-union benefits are an aid in collective bargaining has not led to the development in American trade unions of those varieties which might be supposed to have an advantage in this respect, the form of some of the benefits has been shaped in accordance with this theory. Thus, there is a tendency to grade the amount of the benefit according to the length of membership, the intention being to make it more serviceable in retaining members. In practically all the unions trade-union benefits originated with the local unions. With the introduction of national systems the unions have pursued different policies with regard to the degree of freedom allowed the local union in paying benefits. The national unions that pay benefits may thus be divided into three classes according to their relations with the local unions. In the first class are those unions that pay insurance against death and disability.[10] These unions reserve to the national union the exclusive right and authority to issue insurance but permit the local organizations to pay other benefits. In the second group are those unions that pay death, sick or out-of-work benefits from their national treasuries, but prohibit the local unions from paying similar benefits. The unions that have patterned after the Cigar Makers' Union belong to this group. The chief of these are the Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, the Iron Molders' Union, the Journeymen Plumbers' Association, and the Piano and Organ Workers' Union. Finally, the largest group of unions paying benefits permit the local unions also to pay similar benefits. The principal unions of this character are the Typographical Union, the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, the Brotherhood of Painters, and the Amalgamated Wood Workers' Union. In general, the more highly developed the beneficiary functions of the national unions become, the less freedom the local unions are given in carrying on such functions. The tendency is therefore to replace local with national benefits. The local unions still play, however, a large rôle in the payment of benefits. It is probable that the aggregate sum disbursed by local unions in the United States for such purposes does not fall far short of the amount expended by the national unions. [Footnote 10: Order of Railway Conductors, Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen, Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen, Order of Railroad Telegraphers, Switchmen's Union, Brotherhood of Maintenance-of-Way Employees, and National Association of Letter Carriers.] CHAPTER I. INSURANCE AGAINST DEATH AND DISABILITY. The distinction between systems of insurance on the one hand and systems of death benefits on the other is not so much one of quality as of quantity. Legally the distinction lies in the fact that in the case of insurance a signed contract known as a policy is given to the insured, while in the case of a benefit no policy is issued. This difference is not of economic importance. Ordinarily, however, where a trade union issues insurance policies to its members the amount paid is larger than in the case of a death benefit. The establishment of insurance systems has thus been confined to a few organizations. The membership of these unions receive relatively high wages and are regularly employed. The highly important rôle which insurance systems have played in the formation and working of these unions and the general similarity of their experiences make it desirable to treat insurance against death and disability separately from the more common death benefits. The unions which have been successful in establishing insurance systems are the seven principal unions of railway employees, viz., the Grand Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, the Order of Railway Conductors, the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen, the Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen, the Order of Railroad Telegraphers, the Switchmen's Union of North America, and the International Brotherhood of Maintenance-of-Way Employees and the National Association of Letter Carriers. The oldest of these organizations, the Engineers, was formed at Detroit, August 17, 1863, as the "Brotherhood of the Footboard," and was reorganized at Indianapolis, Indiana, August 17, 1864, under the present name. Under the original constitution, foremen and machinists as well as engineers were admitted; but since February 23, 1864, membership has been restricted to locomotive engineers.[11] The Brotherhood was prosperous from the outset, and at the twenty-first convention in 1884 Grand Chief Arthur reported 258 subordinate divisions with 16,000 members; at the sixth biennial session in May, 1904, Grand Chief Stone reported 652 divisions with 46,400 members. [Footnote 11: Locomotive Engineers' Journal, February, 1867.] The Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers is not only the oldest of the railway unions, but was the first to institute national beneficiary features. Three years after its organization, in September, 1866, the grand division levied an assessment to raise a fund for "widows and orphans and totally disabled members." The law was unsatisfactory, and few subordinate divisions paid the assessments prior to the Cincinnati convention of October, 1867. This convention ordered all assessments paid at once, and on December 2, 1867, $1212.40 was paid over to the chairman of the board of trustees. This was the nucleus of a fund which reached $10,787.63 on March 1, 1871. On account of charges of mismanagement and the slow growth of the fund repeated efforts were made to repeal the "fund" law, but without success. At the Nashville convention of 1870 a committee appointed to consider the disposition of the fund at the expiration of the five years recommended that the entire sum be paid back to the subordinate divisions. The grand chief opposed this use of the fund, since he regarded it as the Brotherhood's "strongest pillar."[12] [Footnote 12: _Ibid.,_ Vol. 5, p. 294.] Before the expiration of the five-year period, however, on December 3, 1867, the Brotherhood founded an insurance association.[13] On March 13, 1869, the secretary-treasurer reported: number of members admitted during 1868, 2426; amount of claims paid, $31,920; average amount of each claim, $1520.09; cost per member, $19. At Baltimore, on October 21,1869, by-laws were adopted providing for assessments of $1 per member for each death, and 50 cents for each case of total disability,[14] and at the annual convention of 1871 President Sherman reported that for the three and one half years of the life of the association there had been 86 deaths and 88 assessments, aggregating $196,358.50, an average of $3278. [Footnote 13: _Ibid.,_ Vol. 3, p. 232.] [Footnote 14: Locomotive Engineers' Journal, Vol. 4, p. 31.] The industrial depression of the seventies decreased the membership, but with the revival of trade an increase set in. Since January 1, 1890, insurance has been compulsory upon all members of the Brotherhood under fifty years of age. In January, 1890, the association numbered about 8000, and on January 1, 1897, it had increased to 18,000. During the twenty-five years of voluntary insurance $3,122,-669.61 was paid in death and disability benefits, and at the close of 1896 this total had been increased to $5,771,214.61.[15] Ten years later, December 31, 1906, the membership had grown to 49,328, with $97,799,500 insurance in force, and the total aggregate paid in death and disability claims had reached $10,323,181.60. [Footnote 15: _Ibid.,_ Vol. 25, p. 951; Vol. 31, p. 504.] The next organization of railway employees to be formed was the "Conductors' Brotherhood," at Mendota, Illinois, July 6, 1868. Being desirous of a more comprehensive organization, a few conductors issued, in November, 1868, a circular to the railway conductors of the United States and the British Provinces. As a result of this effort, the Grand Division of the Order of Railway Conductors was organized at Columbus, Ohio, on December 15, 1868.[16] For a period of twenty-two years the organization grew slowly against much opposition. From 1877 to 1890 the Order was exclusively beneficiary, and many of its members withdrew to organize the "Grand International Brotherhood of Railway Conductors of America." In 1890 the National Convention decided to make collective bargaining one of its functions, and the members of the International Brotherhood joined the Order of Railway Conductors in such numbers that a year later the Brotherhood disbanded. On January 1, 1890, there were 249 subordinate divisions and 13,720 members; on January 1, 1904, there were 446 divisions with 31,288 members. [Footnote 16: Proceedings, 1868-1885 (Cedar Rapids, 1888), p. 13.] The convention which founded the Grand Division of the Order of Railway Conductors also instituted a mutual insurance association. The association thus formed was a voluntary society. Members paid $1 upon each death or each case of disability and the amount thus collected constituted the "benefit" paid.[17] At the first annual session held in Chicago in June, 1869, efforts were made to create a permanent insurance fund, but without result; and at the second session held in Buffalo, New York, in October, 1869, after lengthy discussion, the benefit law, adopted in 1868, was unanimously repealed.[18] For a year the Order had no insurance feature; but at the third session in October, 1870, a definite plan was adopted.[19] [Footnote 17: Proceedings, 1868-1885 (Cedar Rapids, 1888), p. 19.] [Footnote 18: _Ibid.,_ p. 42.] [Footnote 19: _Ibid.,_ pp. 48-49.] From the adoption of this plan to the session at Buffalo, in 1881, the insurance department remained of small importance, and only nineteen claims were paid, aggregating $1672. At almost every annual session during this period the reports of the grand chief conductor and the grand secretary-treasurer showed that the department was losing ground. At the session of 1881, the secretary-treasurer reported the "very unsatisfactory condition of the department," and said: "A complete revision of its laws can no longer be postponed, if we keep it from going to pieces altogether."[20] In 1882 the insurance laws were amended, and an immediate improvement began in the condition of the department. In 1891 the insurance became compulsory. On April 1, 1891, there were 3950 members and the outstanding risks amounted to $9,875,000, while on April 1, 1893, there were 11,436 members, carrying insurance to the amount of $24,963,000. On January 1, 1891, only 27.21 per cent. of the Order carried insurance, as against 64.07 per cent. in May, 1895. During the financial and industrial depression of 1893-1896 the Order maintained its prosperity; and on December 31, 1906, the reports showed 34,142 members in the insurance department, with outstanding insurance aggregating $64,997,000 and a grand total of $9,563,567 benefits paid since organization. [Footnote 20: _Ibid.,_ pp. 395, 435.] The Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen was organized at Port Jervis, New York, on December 1, 1873, as a benevolent association. In 1885 it became a labor organization with a "protective policy."[21] During the first fifteen years of its history its growth was retarded by the great strike of 1877, by the opposition of the International Firemen's Union, by the difficulties with the Knights of Labor in 1885, and by the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy strike of 1888. These checks were only temporary, however, and by the close of 1893 the Firemen had 510 lodges with 28,681 members. During the next two years there was a heavy falling off to 484 lodges with 21,408 members. Since 1895 the growth has been rapid, and the present membership is about 55,000.[22] [Footnote 21: Locomotive Firemen's Magazine, Vol. 14, p. 998.] [Footnote 22: _Ibid.,_ Vol. 14, p. 998.] At its first annual convention in 1874 the Brotherhood established an insurance feature, which after the first four years was made compulsory. The Firemen suffered a temporary check by the strike on the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy, but were assisted by a loan of $25,839.60 from the Engineers, and regained sufficient strength to withstand the financial and industrial depression of 1893-1896. In 1897 Grand Master Sargent said, "The condition of the beneficiary department excels by far any previous period in the history of the Brotherhood--so far as prompt payment of claims and the dispatch of business of the department."[23] The present membership of the insurance department is practically the same as that of the Brotherhood, 58,849. The total outstanding insurance amounts to $75,559,000, and since its organization the department has paid $9,971,615 in death and disability claims. [Footnote 23: _Ibid.,_ Vol. 13, p. 247; Vol. 24, p. 195.] The Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen was founded at Oneonta, New York, September 23, 1883, under the name "Brotherhood of Railroad Brakemen," which it retained until January 1, 1890, when, "because many of its members had been promoted in the service, the more appropriate name of Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen was adopted." The membership consists of conductors, brakemen, train baggagemen, train flagmen, yard masters, yard foremen and switchmen. On August 31, 1893, the membership was 28,540, but on December 31, 1894, it had fallen to 22,359, and at the close of 1896 it had reached the low water-mark at 22,326. Since 1896 the increase has been rapid and on December 31, 1904, there were 721 lodges with 74,539 members.[24] [Footnote 24: Proceedings of the Seventh Biennial Convention, 1905 (Cleveland, n.d.), p. 121.] The Brotherhood of Railroad Brakemen provided in its first constitution for death and disability insurance. Up to the end of the fiscal year, August 31, 1893, the membership of the insurance department increased rapidly, but with the financial and industrial depression the membership decreased, so that in May, 1895, it showed a reduction from 28,000 to about 18,000. The membership of the beneficiary department at the close of the year 1904 was 71,146, or 95.43 per cent of the membership of the Brotherhood, and the total amount of insurance paid from date of organization to January 1, 1906, amounted to $11,725,059.83.[25] [Footnote 25: Trainmen's Journal, Vol. 23, p. 100.] The Order of Railroad Telegraphers was instituted at Cedar Rapids, Iowa, June 9, 1886. To it is admitted "any white person of good moral character, eighteen years of age and employed on a railroad as a telegrapher, line repairer, leverman, or interlocker, including all employees connected with operation of signal towers and interlocking plants."[26] By April 30, 1893, the membership numbered 17,780. A rapid decrease reduced its strength to 10,114 on April 30, 1894, to 6684 on December 30, 1894, and finally to 4976 on December 31, 1895. On August 1, 1904, the membership had increased to 37,700.[27] [Footnote 26: Constitution, 1903 (St. Louis, n.d.), pp. 5, 7.] [Footnote 27: The Railroad Telegrapher, Vol. 21, p. 292.] Although the Order paid benefits almost from its organization, it was without an effective system of insurance until January 1, 1898, when the present system was established. The first constitution, 1886, provided that local divisions should exercise every honorable means to assist a member in need, and at the session in 1887 a voluntary insurance association was established under the name of "Mutual Life Insurance Association of North America." The insurance failed entirely to attract any considerable part of the membership, and up to July, 1890, the total amount paid was only $2430.05.[28] In 1896 the Grand Division appointed a committee to devise a plan for a system of insurance. The plan reported was submitted to referendum vote in December, 1897, and became operative on January 1, 1898.[29] From March 1, 1898, to June 15, 1899, applicants were received without an entrance fee, and during this period the success of the department was practically assured. The insurance is compulsory on all members. At present there are about 38,000 members carrying insurance, the mortuary fund has a balance of $120,000, and the total amount of insurance paid aggregates $142,000. [Footnote 28: Vol. 6, p. 310.] [Footnote 29: Vol. 14, p. 880.] A local organization of switchmen was effected at Chicago on August 18, 1877, but a national union was not formed until February 22, 1886, when the Switchmen's Mutual Aid Association was inaugurated. At the first annual session in September, 1886, the grand master declared that the purposes of the organization were "to wage war against discrimination made by arbitrary employers; to organize for benevolent purposes; to amicably adjust labor disputes by arbitration; and for mutual aid to its members."[30] The Association was forced by the defalcations of its treasurer to disband, and a new organization, the Switchmen's Union, was formed. Since this reorganization in 1897 rapid growth has been made under the management of conservative officers. On January 1, 1903, the Switchmen's Union had a membership of 14,000. [Footnote 30: Switchmen's Journal, Vol. 2, p. 247.] The first constitution provided for death and disability insurance. At the second session in September, 1887, the grand master reported $15,000 paid for death and disability claims during the year.[31] Until the disbanding of the Association in 1894 the insurance department was successful. In 1901 the Union without a dissenting vote adopted a compulsory system of insurance. During 1902 $6,151,200 of insurance was issued, during 1903, $2,906,600; while at the close of 1902 $4,779,600 of insurance was in force, and at the close of 1903 $6,679,200. The total amount paid in death and disability claims since reorganization has aggregated $207,335.75. [Footnote 31: Switchmen's Journal, Vol. 1, p. 244.] The present International Brotherhood of Maintenance-of-Way Employees has suffered many vicissitudes in its development. It was organized in the summer of 1887 as the Order of Railway Trackmen, and admitted into membership foremen in the maintenance-of-way department, road masters and bridge and building masters.[32] In October, 1891, this organization, with a membership of 600, united with the Brotherhood of Railway Section Foremen, an organization with 400 members. The new union took the name of Brotherhood of Railway Trackmen of North America. Prior to 1898 the Brotherhood was almost exclusively a fraternal insurance society, but in that year collective bargaining was added to its functions. In 1903 the organization became the Brotherhood of Maintenance-of-Way Employees. It admits to membership "persons employed in the track, bridge and building, water and fuel department, and signal and interlocking service." During the last five years the membership of the Order has shown considerable increase. In 1903 over 15,000 members were added, making a total of over 40,000 on January 1, 1904. [Footnote 32: Advance Advocate, Vol. 7, p. 106.] Originally the insurance was compulsory. At the convention of October, 1893, it became optional and remained so until October, 1894, when it again became compulsory. Owing to opposition from members carrying old-line insurance and from the uncertainty in the number of assessments levied each year, the St. Louis convention of 1896 reverted to a system of optional insurance. Previous to the adoption of this plan the Order had paid death, total disability and partial disability claims to the amount of about $75,000. From January 1, 1897, to September 30, 1904, $74,909.66 was paid to beneficiaries, making a total paid since organization of about $150,000. The National Association of Letter Carriers of the United States of America was organized at Milwaukee, Wisconsin, in 1889. In 1891 the Association was incorporated under the laws of the State of New Jersey, and on February 26, 1892, was reincorporated under the laws of the State of Tennessee. The aim of this organization is "to unite fraternally all the letter carriers in the United States so as (_a_) to secure their rights as Government employees and to promote the welfare of every member, and (_b_) to found the United States Letter Carriers' Mutual Benefit Association."[33] The first annual session appointed a committee to draw up a plan for an insurance system. The report was published in January, 1891, and was considered by the National Association at its second annual session in August, 1891,[34] and the Mutual Benefit Association was instituted.[35] The insurance has always been voluntary and consequently the membership of the Benefit Association has been only a small part of that of the National Association. On July 1, 1905, there were 5318 members carrying insurance to the amount of $13,866,000, while there were 19,000 members of the National Association. [Footnote 33: Constitution, 1904 (Washington, 1904), p. 3.] [Footnote 34: The Postal Record, Vol. 4, pp. 8, 118, 119.] [Footnote 35: _Ibid._, Vol. 5, p. 528.] All the railway organizations described above make a distinction between death and disability insurance, and sick and accident insurance. The local unions have been prohibited either specifically or by implication from maintaining any association or society for paying death and disability benefits. This rule was first established by the Conductors. During the early years of the Conductors' national organization, 1868-1880, many subordinate divisions maintained mutual benefit associations for the payment of death and disability insurance. The growth of the national benefit department was thus retarded, and at the tenth annual session in October, 1877, subordinate divisions were prohibited from maintaining "mutual benefit societies."[36] The national organizations, on the other hand, do not furnish accident insurance, but leave this function to the local bodies. In the formation of this policy, also, the Conductors took the initiative by providing in their first national constitution in December, 1868, that the order should never become a weekly benefit association.[37] The Engineers had a similar provision as early as September, 1869; but national regulations governing the payment of weekly benefits were nevertheless formulated. The other unions have followed this policy, and their constitutions provide that the weekly benefits shall be levied, collected, and distributed according to national rules. [Footnote 36: Proceedings of the Order of Railway Conductors of America, 1868-1885 (Cedar Rapids, 1888), p. 207.] [Footnote 37: _Ibid_., p. 21.] The most striking characteristic of the insurance features of these organizations has been the combination of disability and death insurance. The fact that railway employees are specially exposed to the risks of disabling accidents has been the chief influence in this direction. The large number of claims paid for disability in the Conductors', the Firemen's, and the Trainmen's beneficiary departments during recent years shows the high importance of disability insurance to the men engaged in the more hazardous occupations. The disability claims paid among the Firemen for the eleven years from 1894 to 1904 were 24.5 per cent. of the total number of claims paid, or about one third of the number of death claims paid. Among the Conductors the disability claims, paid during the same period, amounted to one seventh of the death claims paid. The disability claims paid by the Trainmen during twenty years, 1884-1904, were 32.5 per cent. of all claims paid. The proportion of disability to death claims has decreased in each of these organizations in recent years. The disability claims paid by the Conductors in 1894 were 15.6 per cent. of the total number, and at the close of 1904, 11.8 per cent.; while among the Firemen the percentages for the biennial terms 1894-1896 and 1902-1904 were 32.9 per cent. and 21.4 per cent., respectively. The claim statistics of the Trainmen show the same tendency although there are great variations from year to year. In 1890, 1895 and 1897 the percentage of disability claims rose to 40, 41 and 40, respectively, while in 1888, 1900 and 1903 the percentage fell to 28, 29 and 27, respectively. DEATH AND DISABILITY CLAIMS. ===================================================================== | | Claims Paid. | Per Cent. of| Disability Name of | Term. |------------------| Disability| Claims per Organization| | Death.|Disability| Claims. | 1000 of | | | | | Total | | | | | Membership. ------------|----------|-------|----------|-------------|------------ Conductors |1893-1894 | 265 | 49 | 15.6 | 3.8 |1895-1896 | 274 | 46 | 14.3 | 3.1 |1897-1898 | 363 | 63 | 14.8 | 3.6 |1899-1900 | 440 | 55 | 11.1 | 2.6 |1901-1902 | 523 | 81 | 13.4 | 3.2 |1903-1904 | 688 | 92 | 11.8 | 3 | | | | | | | | | | Firemen |1894-1896 | 295 | 145 | 32.9 | 6 |1896-1898 | 349 | 118 | 25.3 | 4.3 |1898-1900 | 488 | 174 | 26.3 | 4.7 |1900-1002 | 655 | 186 | 22.1 | 3.9 |1902-1904 | 857 | 234 | 21.4 | 4.3 | | | | | | | | | | Trainmen[38]| 1886 | 75 | 37 | 33 | 4.6 | 1887 | 77 | 42 | 35 | 4.8 | 1888 | 145 | 59 | 28 | 5.2 | 1889 | 152 | 69 | 31 | 5.1 | 1890 | 175 | 116 | 40 | 8.6 | 1891 | 264 | 123 | 32 | 6.6 | 1892 | 270 | 145 | 34 | 6.1 | 1893 | 372 | 201 | 35 | 7.1 | 1894 | 304 | 138 | 31 | 6.1 | 1895 | 212 | 147 | 41 | 7.8 | 1896 | 254 | 159 | 38 | 7.2 | 1897 | 240 | 160 | 40 | 6.3 | 1898 | 358 | 165 | 31 | 5.8 | 1899 | 403 | 211 | 34 | 5.7 | 1900 | 498 | 205 | 29 | 4.9 | 1901 | 507 | 231 | 31 | 5.1 | 1902 | 570 | 249 | 30 | 4.7 | 1903 | 788 | 305 | 27 | 4.6 | 1904 | 849 | 374 | 31 | 5.2 --------------------------------------------------------------------- [Footnote 38: Proceedings of the Seventh Biennial Convention, 1905 (Cleveland, n.d.); Report of Secretary-Treasurer, p. 124.] The decrease in the ratio of disability to death claims paid is due primarily to a stricter definition of disability and to better administration. The number of disability claims paid per 1000 of membership shows also, however, a slight decrease. The records of the Trainmen which separate claims resulting from accidents still farther emphasize the need for disability insurance. DEATH AND DISABILITY CLAIMS IN BROTHERHOOD OF TRAINMEN (1886-1904). ====================================================================== Kind of |Number |Number from|Percentage of|Percentage of|Percentage Claims |from | Accidental| Claims from | Claims from | of Claims |Natural| Causes | Natural | Accidental | from all |Causes | | Causes | Causes. | Causes. -----------+-------+-----------+-------------+-------------+---------- Disability.| 526 | 2,610 | 16.77 | 83.23 | 32-1/3 Death | 2,033 | 4,522 | 31. | 69. | 67-2/3 -----------+-------+-----------+-------------+-------------+---------- Total | 2,559 | 7,322 | 26-1/3 | 73-2/3 | 100 -----------+-------+-----------+-------------+-------------+---------- The data show the place disability insurance has occupied among the Railway Trainmen during twenty years. For this period disability claims for all causes were 32-1/3 per cent. of all claims paid. The percentage of claims from accidental causes--including both disability and death--was 73-2/3 of the whole number of claims paid, while the percentage from natural causes was only 26-1/2. In other words, these statistics show that the Trainmen's accidental disability and death claims, as compared with those due to natural causes, have averaged almost three claims paid as the result of accidental causes to one as the result of natural causes.[39] [Footnote 39: Proceedings of the Seventh Biennial Convention, 1905 (Cleveland, n.d.), pp. 65-66.] The old-line companies do not offer the form of disability insurance required by railway employees. These companies issue accident policies against death and total or partial disability from accident while on duty; but there are two defects in the form of this insurance. In the first place, the definition of total disability adopted by the companies is much stricter than that of the insurance departments of the railway brotherhoods. A typical insurance company's definition of total disability is incapacity for "prosecuting any and every kind of business pertaining to a regular occupation from the loss of both eyes, both hands, both feet, or one hand and one foot;" while partial disability is "the loss of one hand or one foot or any injury preventing the performance of one or more important daily duties pertaining to a regular occupation." In other words, to secure the indemnity for total disability, the insured must be disabled from performing any regular labor whatever. In the railway organizations total disability is so defined as to cover inability of the insured to continue in his position. Secondly, the disability insurance offered by the regular insurance companies is joined with accident insurance affording a weekly indemnity during the period of illness due to accident. The railway employee, if he insures against totally disabling accidents, must also insure against temporarily disabling accidents, since the companies do not separate the two forms of insurance. The inclusion of all accidents in one policy necessitates a heavy premium. For example, to secure accident insurance including, besides a weekly indemnity of $20, provision for the payment of $1000 in case of death or total disability resulting from accidents, an engineer must pay an annual premium of $50.40 or $56 according to the section of the country over which he runs, or the system by which he is employed. The combination of life with disability insurance meets the need of the ordinary railway employee better than any other combination. The formative period of the two older organizations furnished opportunities for a study of the disability benefit and showed its usefulness in strengthening the national unions. These organizations, however, experienced grave difficulties in their attempts to administer disability insurance. The Engineers included "totally disabled members" among the beneficiaries of the fund provided for in 1866.[40] The by-laws of the insurance association founded by the Brotherhood on December 3, 1867, provided for assessments of 50 cents per member for the benefit of each totally disabled member--one half the amount assessed in case of death.[41] The history of this benefit was tersely summed up by General Secretary-Treasurer Abbott in his address to the Engineers' Association, December 3, 1871: "The Baltimore convention, 1869, adopted a disability clause, the Nashville, Tenn., convention amended it, and the Toronto, Canada, convention, 1871, repealed it." At St. Louis, 1872, the Brotherhood formed a separate association, known as the "Total Disability Insurance Association," for furnishing insurance against disability to members. An entrance fee of $2 was required and the assessment was fixed at $1.[42] In 1876 the convention dissolved the Total Disability Insurance Association, and the Engineers did not succeed in establishing a satisfactory system of disability insurance until 1884, when the prosperous condition of the association enabled the convention to carry out its long-cherished plan and to make provision for the payment of the same benefit in case of total disability as at death.[43] In the call of the Conductors for a convention to effect a permanent organization issued in November, 1868, the purpose of the proposed Order was stated to be the protection of "the members and their families in case of sickness, accident or death."[44] The mutual insurance association instituted by the first convention paid a disability benefit equal to the death benefit. The law under which the association operated was repealed at the second convention in October, 1869; but when the third convention in October, 1870, adopted a new insurance plan, provision was made that disability insurance should be paid in an amount equal to that paid in case of death. Not until 1881, however, did the Conductors satisfactorily solve the problem. [Footnote 40: Locomotive Engineers' Journal, Vol. 1, p. 9.] [Footnote 41: Constitution, 1869, in Locomotive Engineers' Journal, Vol. 4, p. 31.] [Footnote 42: Locomotive Engineers' Journal, Vol. 5, p. 11; Vol. 7, pp. 28, 60.] [Footnote 43: _Ibid_., Vol. 7, pp. 28-60; Vol. 11, p. 78; Constitution, 1884 (Cleveland, 1884).] [Footnote 44: Proceedings of the Order of Railway Conductors of America, 1868-1885 (Cedar Rapids, 1888), p. 19.] The difficulties experienced by the Engineers and the Conductors in establishing disability insurance, without doubt, served to deter the Firemen from adopting a similar system until their fifth convention in 1878. During the period 1868-1880 the disability benefit was in process of evolution. By 1880 the three older organizations had demonstrated the possibility of maintaining the benefit, and since that time it has been regarded as an essential element in railway insurance systems. Hence the Trainmen in 1883, the Telegraphers in 1887, and the Switchmen in 1886, in their first constitutions, and the Trackmen in 1893, made the disability insurance equal to that paid in case of death. All of the railway organizations, except the Telegraphers, follow this policy at the present time. The Telegraphers have not paid a disability benefit since 1897. They provide, however, that should a member become totally or permanently disabled the insurance committee may order his assessments paid and shall deduct the amount of these assessments when the benefit is finally paid.[45] The failure of the Telegraphers to pay a disability benefit is largely due to the fact that their occupation is less dangerous than other forms of railway service. [Footnote 45: Constitution, 1903 (St. Louis, ii. d.), p. 106.] The Letter Carriers also have not the same urgent need for the payment of a disability benefit and until the Denver convention, 1902, paid insurance against death without direct provision for disability. At this convention, however, the National Association organized a Retirement Association for the payment of superannuation benefits to the aged and disabled members.[46] The Association had in view in founding this department the growing necessity of making some provision for the large number of carriers whom old age prevented from doing the regular amount of work.[47] Under the original plan, which went into effect January 1, 1903, the Association issued retirement certificates to members in the sums of $500, $400, $300 and $200 at monthly premiums of $6.70, $5.35, $4.00 and $2.70, respectively. On retirement, after having paid thirty annual premiums, or their equivalent, the beneficiary was entitled to receive annually the amount of his certificate. The retirement might also take place after thirty years' service, or after thirty years' membership in the Association, or after the age of sixty-five had been reached, provided ten annual premiums had been made.[48] This "ten annual premium" concession was for the special benefit of old men whose circumstances would not allow them to pay the sum of thirty years' premiums. The concession was allowed only for a period of ten years.[49] [Footnote 46: The Postal Record, Vol. 15, pp. 235, 254-257.] [Footnote 47: The Postal Record, Vol. 15, p. 301.] [Footnote 48: _Ibid_., Vol. 17, p. 6.] [Footnote 49: _Ibid_., Vol. 15, p. 302.] The scheme also included provision for disability. After January 1, 1906, any member of the Retirement Association who became permanently incapacitated, mentally or physically, for any kind of remunerative labor before thirty years' service or before attaining the age of sixty-five years, was to receive annually from the retirement fund a certain per cent. of the face value of his retirement certificate. The amount was proportionate to the years of service. For five years' membership such a member received fifteen per cent.; for ten years', thirty per cent.; for fifteen years', forty-five per cent.; for twenty years', sixty per cent.; for twenty-five years', seventy-five per cent. Any member of not less than five years' standing might, after ninety days' notice to the chief clerk, withdraw from the Association; and in such event he became entitled to receive seventy-five per cent. of the annual premiums paid to the Association. Also in case of death within two years of his retirement and prior to the payment of not more than twenty-four monthly installments of pension, the Association agreed to pay to the widow, the children, or legal heirs the annuity provided in the deceased member's certificate until the amount paid should aggregate seventy-five per cent. of all premiums received by the Association.[50] [Footnote 50: The Postal Record, Vol. 17, p. 6.] This plan was a failure. In it business principles had been sacrificed for fraternity. Relief had been provided for the old man particularly, but very few took advantage of the opportunity. The young men refused to enter because the favorable rates to old men placed a heavy burden upon the younger members.[51] The report of the chief clerk to the Syracuse convention, in 1903, showed that up to September 1, 1903, only eighteen retirement certificates had been issued, of which thirteen were for $500, two for $300, and three for $200. The average age at entrance was fifty-three and the average length of service, twenty-two years. The total receipts of the retirement fund were only $390.90.[52] On September 1, 1905, the total number of certificates issued had reached twenty-five, with only nineteen outstanding, while the retirement fund had increased to $2839.88.[53] The originators of the Retirement Association were forced to abandon their experimental fraternity scheme and to formulate a plan based more upon business principles. Consequently, at the Portland convention in September, 1905, Chairman Goodwin and Chief Clerk Wilson of the retirement committee proposed a new plan.[54] [Footnote 51: _Ibid_., Vol. 19, p. 7.] [Footnote 52: _Ibid_., Vol. 16, p. 237.] [Footnote 53: _Ibid_., Vol. 18, p. 215.] [Footnote 54: _Ibid_., Vol. 18, pp. 214-215.] Under the new law, which became operative January 1, 1906, the Retirement Association was authorized to offer insurance against disability and old age. The members are, therefore, divided into two classes, annuity members and disability members, but those duly qualified may hold both annuity and disability certificates. Any member of the National Association of Letter Carriers may become an "annuity member;" but only those under sixty-five years of age and in good physical condition may become "disability members." A member retiring from the carriers' service ceases to be entitled to disability relief; on the other hand, however, retirement from the carrier service does not affect the right of a member to an annuity.[55] [Footnote 55: Constitution of Retirement Association, 1905, Art. 7; Postal Record, Vol. 19, pp. 2-6.] The plan provides for annuities of one, two, three, four or five hundred dollars. The annuities can begin in five, or any multiple of five years after the policy is issued and the rate varies according to the deferment of the annuity. A member may withdraw at any time prior to reaching the annuity, and in that event all payments are to be returned, with interest. Members may receive loans to the amount of ninety-five per cent. of the sum accredited to them in the retirement fund, provided this aggregates two hundred dollars or over, and they surrender their certificates as collateral, so that members credited with one hundred dollars or more may receive a loan of fifty dollars as an emergency loan for three months during any one year.[56] [Footnote 56: The Postal Record, Vol. 19, p. 2.] The following table shows the cost of the annuity per $100 for various ages according to the age at which the annuity begins: MONTHLY COST OF $100 ANNUITY IN THE LETTER CARRIERS.[57] ====================================================================== Age | Age at which Annuity Begins. at |--------------------------------------------------------------- Entry| 30 | 35 | 40 | 45 | 50 | 55 | 60 | 65 | 70 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- 20 |$13.47|$ 7.66|$ 4.83|$ 3.19|$ 2.16|$ 1.47| $ .99| $ .66| $ .45 30 | | 28.31| 11.97| 6.63| 4.05| 2.59| 1.68| 1.08| .72 40 | | | | 24.50| 10.06| 5.37| 3.16| 1.91| 1.21 50 | | | | | |19.83 | 7.79| 3.98| 2.27 60 | | | | | | | | 14.62| 5.62 65 | | | | | | | | | 12.46 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- [Footnote 57: _Ibid_., Vol. 17, p. 11.] The new system differs in two important respects from the old. In the first place, the rates are graded according to age, and secondly, the new system provides that a member may retire five years after entrance, or thereafter at any successive period of five years up to seventy, and that his premiums shall be fixed according to the time of retirement and the period of his expectancy. The disability certificates provide for an indemnity of eight dollars per week for loss of time resulting from disability caused by accident or sickness, a maximum of twenty weeks' disability during any one year.[58] However, should a member, after entrance into the association, become disabled permanently by "tuberculosis, paralysis, locomotor ataxia, dropsy, cancer, diabetes, sciatica, chronic rheumatism, chronic kidney or mental disease, or any other chronic disease," not especially named in the constitution, that may, in the judgment of the board of directors, cause permanent drain upon the funds of the Association, the said member shall receive the disability allowance for twenty weeks, after which all payments shall cease and his certificate shall be cancelled.[59] The disability insurance is thus really sick insurance. [Footnote 58: The Postal Record, Vol. 17, p. 6.] [Footnote 59: Constitution 1905, Art. 12, in The Postal Record, Vol. 19, pp. 2-6.] To aid members who are too old to take advantage of the plan offered for securing annuities by their own financial efforts, the Association, in convention at Portland, September, 1905, endorsed an "extended leave of absence retirement plan."[60] The Post Office Department of the United States was requested to grant an extended leave of absence to "superannuated or permanently impaired" carriers on condition that they accept 40 per cent. of their regular salary, while retired, and that they pay the remaining 60 per cent. to the senior substitute in their office. Under the conditions of this plan, the applicant for retirement must submit himself to the board of examiners, who shall, after a physical examination by the physician of the board, determine his eligibility. The results of this plan would be two-fold: first, to relieve the detrimental effect of superannuation upon the efficiency of the service, and, secondly, to remove the fear of those who look for more drastic measures of relief. Aside from a regular pension grant by the Government this plan is considered the most efficient method of securing adequate protection for the superannuated who are too old to avail themselves of the opportunities offered under the system of annuities.[61] [Footnote 60: The Postal Record, Vol. 18, pp. 220-222.] [Footnote 61: The Postal Record, Vol. 19, p. 6.] The principal obstacle to the successful operation of disability insurance has been the difficulty experienced in its administration--largely on account of the impracticability of closely defining permanent or total disability. With almost every revision of the constitutions changes were made in the definition of the term "disability." Strict construction of the law by the executive officials led to dissatisfaction and often to appeals from their decisions to the insurance committees, or to the boards of trustees.[62] During the early years disability claims were often presented through subordinate officials, who were either unable to interpret the laws aright, or were unwilling to assume the responsibility of pronouncing the claims illegal. The Engineers, after a period of thirty-two years, in 1898 adopted a satisfactory definition of total disability: "Any member of this Association losing by amputation a hand at or above the wrist joint; a foot at or above the ankle joint; or sustaining the total and permanent loss of sight in one eye or both eyes, shall receive the full amount of his insurance."[63] Similar definitions of disability have been worked out by the other railway organizations. The Conductors add to this "total loss of the sense of hearing." The Switchmen include "the loss of four fingers of one hand, at or above the second joint." Disability, as defined by the Letter Carriers, means inability, because of sickness or accident, to perform the regular duties of a letter carrier.[64] [Footnote 62: Proceedings of the Nineteenth Annual Session of the Order of Railway Conductors of America, 1887 (n.p., n.d.), p. 69.] [Footnote 63: Constitution, 1899 (Cleveland, 1898), Art. 28.] [Footnote 64: Constitution of the Letter Carriers of the United States, 1905, Art. 13, in The Postal Record, Vol. 19, No. 1, p. 3.] The most important development in the insurance systems of the railway unions has been the change in the amount paid from an uncertain to a fixed amount. This evolution is best illustrated in the history of the older organizations. In the period from 1868 to 1884 the amount paid was the sum collected by levying upon each member a certain assessment for each death or disability. The amount of the benefit therefore varied with the number of members. In the first stage, the Engineers paid one dollar per member upon each death and fifty cents in each case of disability, the Conductors paid one dollar per member upon each death or case of disability, while the Firemen paid fifty cents upon each death or case of disability.[65] The membership was small and the assessments were largely regarded as benevolent contributions. This phase is well illustrated by the early history of the benefit among the Conductors. The first benefit, paid in December, 1871, amounted to $48. During the first thirteen years of the department's activity 19 claims were paid. The last was $70, and the average amount paid was $88.[66] This system continued until 1881-1884, when a general revision of constitutions in these three brotherhoods limited the amount of insurance paid, and laid the foundation for issuing insurance certificates in fixed sums. In the second period, from 1883 to 1890, the number of assessments remained undetermined; but the amount of the benefit was limited to a fixed sum and all surpluses were placed in reserve. The Conductors and the Firemen took the initiative in this change and in the constitution of 1881 fixed the maximum amount for death or disability at $2000 and $1000, respectively; the Engineers, in the constitution of 1884, placed this maximum at $3000. [Footnote 65: Constitution of the Locomotive Engineers, 1869, in Journal, Vol. 4, p. 31; Proceedings of the Railway Conductors, 1868-1885 (Cedar Rapids, 1888), p. 119; Locomotive Firemen's Magazine, Vol. 21, p. 181.] [Footnote 66: Proceedings of the Eighteenth Convention, 1885 (Cedar Rapids, 1888), p. 754; The Railway Conductor, Vol. 4, p. 188.] The Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen, the Order of Railroad Telegraphers, the Switchmen's Union, and the Maintenance-of-Way Employees did not pass through the first period of development, but were organized during the second stage when the amount of insurance was limited. The Trainmen, the Telegraphers, and the Switchmen, in their first constitutions of 1883, 1887 and 1886, respectively, and the Trackmen (Maintenance-of-Way Employees) in 1892 fixed the amount paid at the definite sums of $300, $1000, $500 and $1000, respectively.[67] The Letter Carriers, although organized after the railway unions had fixed at a definite sum the amount of insurance to be paid, for several years paid only a sum equivalent to one assessment, at the regular rates, upon all the certificates in force at the time of the death of the insured.[68] The amounts paid on the second death, March 22, 1892, and on the third death, July 28, 1893, were $599.16 and $596.12, respectively.[69] Finally, in the third period, from 1890 to the present, the number of assessments was also fixed. [Footnote 67: Constitutions for the several years. Reference is made to the Trackmen's Constitution, 1893 (n.p. n.d.); Proceedings of the Second Annual Convention, 1893, in Advance Advocate, Vol. 2.] [Footnote 68: The Postal Record, Vol. 5, p. 185.] [Footnote 69: _Ibid_., Vol. 5, p. 138.] Another important change in the method of conducting these insurance systems was made in the decade from 1890 to 1900. The organizations with two exceptions have not adopted the policy of the insurance companies in varying the charge with the age of the insured. The device they have commonly used is the differentiation in the amount of insurance which may be taken in such a way that the older members may insure themselves only for a smaller amount. As early as 1886 the Firemen provided that only members under forty-five years of age might take insurance,[70] and in 1887 the Telegraphers adopted an age limit of fifty years.[71] The Conductors, under the constitution of 1890, provided that any member between the ages of fifteen and fifty might take $2500 of insurance against death or disability, and any member between the ages of fifty and sixty might take $1000 against death and $500 against disability.[72] In 1892 the Engineers introduced an age limit of fifty, and in 1894 further differentiated applicants so that those under forty years of age might secure $4500, those under forty-five years of age might obtain $3000, and all over forty-five and under fifty years of age, $1500.[73] Even now the Switchmen and the Trainmen offer equal amounts to members of all ages at the same rate. [Footnote 70: Constitution, 1886 (Terre Haute, n.d.), sec. 71.] [Footnote 71: Constitution, 1887, Arts. 12-13, in the Railroad Telegrapher, Vol. 2.] [Footnote 72: Constitution, 1888, second edition (Rochester, 1890), p. 38.] [Footnote 73: Constitution, 1894 (Peoria, 1895).] The Maintenance-of-Way Employees and the Letter Carriers not only limit the age of the insured but also grade the charge per $1000 according to age. In the case of the former, members from eighteen to thirty-five years of age pay $1 monthly per $1000 of insurance; those from thirty-five to forty, $1.25; from forty to fifty, $1.50. Insurance rates in the Letter Carriers' Mutual Benefit Department have, with the exception of the first year of operation, been graded according to age. The minimum and maximum age limits are twenty-one and fifty-five years. The monthly rates vary according to age from 77 cents per $1000 of insurance at twenty-one years to $2.06 at fifty years. The following table shows the regulations as to the amount and rate of insurance issued according to ages: Amount of Insurance Organization. Age Classes. Issued. Engineers ............. Under 40 years. $4500 40 and under 45. 3000 45 and under 50. 1500 Conductors ............ Under 35 years. 3000 35 and under 45. 2000 45 to 50. 1000 Firemen ............... Under 45 years. 3000 45 and over. 1500 Trainmen .............. No age restriction. 1350 Telegraphers .......... 18 and under 45. 1000 45 and under 50. 500 50 and under 60. 300 Switchmen ............. No age restriction. 1200 Maintenance-of-Way Employees ........... 18 and under 45 at graded rates. 1000 Letter Carriers ....... 21 to 55 at graded rates. 1000 to 3000 The necessity for a reduction in the amount of insurance issued to the older men was more urgent among the Engineers and the Conductors than among the other railway organizations, since the latter form the school of apprenticeship from which the engineers and the conductors are drawn. In the Trainmen's and the Switchmen's organizations the young men contribute materially to the cost of insuring the old men. This charge is not so heavy as might appear at first sight, since in both organizations many members withdraw when they are promoted to higher positions in the service. In grading the amount of insurance offered according to age, the brotherhoods have made a compromise between an assessment on each individual according to the liability incurred, and a system in which the welfare of the individual is regarded as entirely at one with the welfare of the membership. The principle of solidarity is still recognized, but under limitations. Originally these unions collected assessments to meet death or disability claims after the occurrence of the death or disability. Considerable delay was thus entailed in the final settlement. All of them, with the exception of the Engineers, now hold reserve funds for the payment of claims. The Conductors took the initiative by providing in the constitution of 1881 that the grand secretary-treasurer, on paying a claim, should levy the regular assessment upon each member to be held in reserve to pay the next claim.[74] This was followed in 1885 by a regulation of the Trainmen which required all members to pay in advance one death assessment. This was repealed by the convention of 1886; but the convention of 1888 re-enacted the law. The Firemen provided in 1888[75] that the subordinate lodges should collect all dues quarterly in advance. [Footnote 74: Constitution, 1903 (Pittsburg, 1903), pp. 80, 86.] [Footnote 75: Constitution, 1888 (Terre Haute, 1888), secs. 50, 52, 53.] In determining the amount of insurance offered, the organizations have had necessarily to consider what their members can afford to pay. Only a certain per cent. of earnings can be set aside for insurance purposes, and that amount has been determined only by the long experience of the organizations. Again, the insurance must be in an amount which accords with the idea of the workmen of what constitutes a satisfactory provision against death or disability. The amount offered must for this reason be comparable with that offered by insurance companies. The following table shows the minimum and the maximum amounts paid by the several brotherhoods: Minimum Maximum Brotherhoods. Amount. Amount. Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers ... $1500 $4500 Order of Railway Conductors ........... 1000 3000 Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen ..... 1500 3000 Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen ...... 500 1350 Order of Railroad Telegraphers ........ 300 1000 Switchmen's Union ..................... 600 1200 Maintenance-of-Way Employees .......... 500 1000 Letter Carriers' Association[76] ...... 1000 3000 [Footnote 76: Under a unique system, known as the "Post Mortem Deduction" scheme, the actual value of a certificate of the Letter Carriers' Association at date of issue is fifteen per cent. less than its face value plus the amount of one assessment, and the value of the certificate does not become equal to its face value until the member has paid assessments equal to fifteen per cent. of the face amount (Constitution, 1904, pp. 67-68).] Originally, except in the case of the Letter Carriers, the maximum amounts paid were much lower than at present. As the membership increased, a greater benefit was paid. In 1887 the Conductors' maximum insurance was $2500, and in 1888 the Firemen's, the Trainmen's, and the Switchmen's was raised to $1500, $1000 and $800, respectively. Each of the railway organizations has since raised the maximum; the Engineers to $4500 in 1892; the Conductors to $5000 in 1893, reduced since 1899 to $3000; the Firemen to $3000 in 1903; the Trainmen to $1350 in 1903; and the Switchmen to $1200 in 1901. While the Engineers, the Conductors, and the Firemen offer insurance in relatively large amounts, only a small per cent. of the membership take out certificates for the larger sums. On June 30, 1904, of the 54,434 Firemen, 43,228 carried $1500 certificates, while only 717 carried $2000 certificates, and 824, $3000 certificates.[77] On November 1, 1904, of the 41,124 Engineers, 24,187 carried $1500, and 10,337 and 1602 carried $3000 and $4500, respectively.[78] In each of these organizations the $1500 certificates are thus in greatest demand. The rule restricting the amount that members over forty-five years of age may take lessens the number of policies for larger sums, but it is evident that the great majority of members in these unions do not care to insure for more than $1500. The Letter Carriers are an exception to this rule. The report of the Chief Collector for December 1, 1905, shows that out of 5284 insurance certificates in force there were 473 $1000 certificates, 386 $1500 certificates, 541 $2000 certificates, and 3884 $3000 certificates.[79] [Footnote 77: Report of W.S. Carter, Grand Secretary-Treasurer, June 30,1904.] [Footnote 78: Locomotive Engineers' Journal, Vol. 38, p. 966.] [Footnote 79: Postal Record, Vol. 19, p. 10.] The advantage of insurance as a means of securing identity of interest within the organization was not fully recognized in the early development of the insurance systems, consequently entrance into the insurance departments of these organizations was originally optional. The Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen first adopted compulsory insurance at the fourth annual convention, 1878.[80] The Brotherhood of Railway Trainmen next adopted a similar feature in 1888. Although the Engineers and the Conductors did not enforce compulsory insurance until 1890 and 1891, respectively, during the twenty years preceding its adoption frequent proposals were made by subordinate divisions of both these organizations for the adoption of such an arrangement. On different occasions the national conventions considered the wisdom of such proposals, weighing in turn the advisability of such a measure and the ability of the organization to enforce it. The thorough discussion of the subject among the Engineers and the Conductors undoubtedly prepared the younger organizations for the settlement of this question at an earlier stage in their development. The Trainmen adopted compulsory insurance in 1888, while the two older organizations were in the midst of the struggle. [Footnote 80: Locomotive Firemen's Magazine, Vol. 21, p. 181.] The Switchmen adopted it in 1892, and, after reorganization, again on October 1, 1901, and the Telegraphers on January 1, 1898. The Letter Carriers alone retain the system of optional insurance. Only in the Switchmen's Union and in the Brotherhood of Maintenance-of-Way Employees has the operation of the compulsory system met with interruption. The compulsory rule of the Maintenance-of-Way Employees during the early nineties was frequently repealed and readopted. The opposition to it was due in a large measure to uncertainty as to the number of yearly assessments necessary and also to the fact that many of the members carried insurance in old-line companies.[81] The Switchmen's insurance department suffered a suspension from 1894 to 1897, and although the Union had compulsory insurance before its suspension, on reorganization a voluntary system was adopted, and not until October 1, 1901, did the Union succeed in reëstablishing a compulsory system. [Footnote 81: Advance Advocate, Vol. 5, p. 485.] In all the organizations there is a class of members, called non-beneficiary, who are not eligible to the insurance departments because of partial disability or because of having passed the age limit. The Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen provides that the non-beneficiary member shall be entitled to all the privileges of the subordinate lodge, but shall not take part in the national convention or in any way participate in the benefits and privileges of the beneficiary department.[82] Similar rules are found in the other brotherhoods. The Trainmen and the Switchmen issue to non-beneficiary members insurance certificates only against death in the sums of $500 and $600, respectively. [Footnote 82: Constitution, amended 1902 (Peoria, n.d.), sec. 163.] The efficiency of compulsory insurance rules in securing and retaining members in the brotherhoods is generally acknowledged among the railway employees. After the member has carried insurance for several years, his financial interests are bound up with the interests of the organization, and his loyalty to the union is increased. From this loyalty flows greater interest in every phase of the brotherhood's work. The operation of compulsory insurance appears to have caused an increase in the membership of the brotherhoods. On January 1, 1890, the date on which compulsory insurance became operative, the membership of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers numbered 7408; on January 1, 1897, it had increased to 18,739; and in May, 1904, to 46,400.[83] On January 1, 1891, the date on which compulsory insurance was inaugurated, the membership of the Order of Railway Conductors numbered 3933; on January 1, 1898, it had increased to 15,807, and again on January 1, 1904, to 31,288. It is noteworthy that during the depression, 1893-1897, those organizations having systems of voluntary insurance suffered far more severely than those enforcing compulsory insurance. Thus, the Telegraphers were almost annihilated, while the Firemen and the Conductors practically maintained their position. [Footnote 83: Locomotive Engineers' Journal, Vol. 37, p. 446; Vol. 18, p. 654.] The cost of insurance per $1000 varies greatly in the different organizations, as may be seen by the following table:[84] Cost of Insurance per Organizations. Fiscal Year Ending. $1000 a Year. Engineers ........... December 31, 1903 $17.80 Conductors .......... December 31, 1903 16.00 Firemen ............. June 30, 1904 12.00 Trainmen ............ December 31, 1903 18.00 Telegraphers ........ December 31, 1903 7.20 Switchmen ........... December 31, 1903 20.00 Maintenance-of-Way 12.00\ Employees ......... December 31, 1903 15.00 | according 18.00/ to age Letter Carriers...... December 31, 1906 9.24\ according 21.96/ to age [Footnote 84: These amounts have been furnished by the grand secretary-treasurers of the several organizations, except those of the Telegraphers and the Maintenance-of-Way Employees, which have been taken from the 1903 constitutions and represent the amount of the regular monthly assessment.] The differences in the cost of insurance are the result of several factors. The slight degree of risk in the occupation is largely responsible for the relative cheapness of the Telegraphers' and the Letter Carriers' insurance. More important differences are due to the age grouping of the membership. Thus the Firemen, whom old-line companies, for the most part, classify as extra-hazardous, furnish insurance against death and disability at $12 per $1000. The principal reason for this low rate is the rapid change in membership, the old men withdrawing and being replaced by young men. Near the close of the nineties the cry of "Something must be done to keep the old members in the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen" was raised; but it was clearly shown that "the greatest favor a member of the Brotherhood could show the insurance department was to pay his assessment for ten years and then withdraw, permitting a man ten years his junior to take his place." The grand secretary-treasurer states that the membership practically changes every seven years, due to promotions to the position of engineer and to withdrawals of older men for various reasons. The withdrawal of old men conduces to a more favorable age grouping, to a decrease in the death rate, and to a consequent decrease in the cost of insurance. The Switchmen's Union presents an interesting contrast. The Union prescribes no age limit, and higher positions in the service are not so frequently open to the advancement of its members. The result is that the number of older members is relatively greater, and insurance is maintained at a considerably higher cost. The cheapness of the insurance offered by these organizations is better appreciated when compared with that offered by old-line companies. The following table shows the cost of insurance per $1000 in a typical life insurance company for different classes of railway employees and letter carriers at thirty-five years of age: Class of Employees. Rate per $1000.[85] Engineers .................................... $27.23 Conductors ................................... 22.23 Firemen ...................................... 27.23 Trainmen ..................................... 27.23 Telegraphers ................................. 22.23 Switchmen .................................... 27.23 Maintenance-of-Way Employees ................. 27.23 Letter Carriers .............................. 27.30 [Footnote 85: The letter carriers' rate is that of the New England Mutual Life Insurance Company, the rates of the other classes of employees are those of the Aetna Life Insurance Company.] Assuming that the average age at admission of the members of unions is thirty-five, the cost of insurance in the regular companies is far higher than the cost for an equal amount in the unions. The conductors pay their union twenty-five per cent. less than they would have to pay to an insurance company and the locomotive firemen pay considerably less than one half of company rates. These rates, moreover, are for insurance against death only, while the insurance offered by the brotherhoods also provides against total disability. The compulsory insurance has not been in operation long enough in any of the organizations for its full effect to be seen. It is certain that as the unions grow older they must materially raise the rates at which they issue insurance. The rapid growth in membership has brought into all the unions in this class in recent years a proportionately large number of young men. The limitation on the age of the insured has contributed to this result. As these members grow older, the death rate will increase. As has been noted above, however, it has not been primarily the cheapness of the insurance but the combination of death and disability insurance which has been the advantage possessed by the union systems. The primary purpose of the insurance features of these organizations is to obtain for the members and their families a higher degree of economic security. The two great economic contingencies against which the railway organizations provide insurance are, first, the loss to a family in consequence of the death of the income-earning member, and second, the economic hardship involved in shifting from one industry to another made necessary by certain severe physical accidents. Insurance paid to the totally disabled employee, or to the family of a deceased member, is frequently the means of maintaining the standard of living of the unfortunate family. The risks to which the railway employee is exposed are due to the nature of the trade, the negligence of a fellow workman, or the negligence of the employers. Compensation for only the last class is given by the law. Against the other two kinds of accident the railway employee must himself make provision, and this provision is amplest and surest when made by insurance. The organizations, as we have seen, have never entirely subordinated the idea of benevolence to the principles of business. In the early years of its history, each grand convention set aside large sums for charitable payments. Before the adoption and satisfactory operation of the Engineers' insurance system, it is estimated that eight tenths of the husbands and fathers of those who applied for charity were uninsured.[86] Purely charitable relief was found inadequate and the present systems represent a compromise between charity and business. [Footnote 86: Locomotive Engineers' Journal, Vol. 22, p. 33.] The insurance features have further been the means of securing and retaining members and thus building up these trade organizations as factors in collective bargaining. The power of the brotherhoods to secure satisfactory agreements with their employers is largely measured by the strength of the organizations, and that strength is usually in direct proportion to the development of their insurance systems. Thus not only is insurance a prime support in the collective bargaining of the unions, but it insures control in the exercise of that function. The infrequency of railroad strikes may be attributed largely to the almost perfect control of the head officials of the brotherhoods over their membership. CHAPTER II. DEATH BENEFITS. The most needed trade-union benefits are those against death and these were the first to be established. At the present time about one half of American national trade unions maintain death benefit systems. In 1904, out of a total of one hundred and seventeen national unions affiliated with the American Federation of Labor, fifty-three were paying death benefits.[87] Of those unions not affiliated with the American Federation of Labor, ten were also paying such benefits. [Footnote 87: Proceedings of the Twenty-fourth Annual Convention of the American Federation of Labor, 1904, p. 46.] The development of death benefits in American trade unions resembles closely the growth of the insurance systems described in the preceding chapter. The first unions to adopt death benefits, for example, paid for a time a sum fluctuating in amount. The benefit was in each case the sum raised by per capita assessments, and the yield varied according to the membership. Thus, the Iron Molders paid a fluctuating benefit from 1870 to 1879.[88] Upon the death of a member, an assessment of forty cents and later of forty-five per capita was levied. At Detroit in 1873 the Cigar Makers inaugurated an endowment plan which provided for the payment of a death benefit, the amount of which was to be the sum raised by an assessment of ten cents on each member. Similarly, the Glass Bottle Blowers, introducing the benefit as late as 1891, made provision for paying the amount secured by an assessment of twenty-five cents per capita.[89] [Footnote 88: Iron Molders' Journal, Vol. 25, June, 1889; Constitution, 1878 (Cincinnati, 1878), Art. 17.] [Footnote 89: Proceedings of the Twenty-fifth Annual Convention, Milwaukee, 1901; Report of Secretary Launer (Milwaukee, 1901).] When the fluctuating benefits were inaugurated the unions were without experience in the exercise of beneficiary functions. They could not calculate with any exactness the amount of the assessment necessary to provide benefits in fixed sum. They preferred, therefore, not to guarantee the payment of any amount. The character of the first death benefit in the Granite Cutters' Union illustrates the reluctance of the Union in assuming the responsibility of guaranteeing fixed benefits. In 1877 they adopted a benefit of fifty dollars, but also provided for an additional voluntary benefit to be raised by an assessment of fifty cents. After a few years the entire system was replaced by provision for the payment of a fixed funeral benefit. The fluctuating benefit was very unsatisfactory, inasmuch as the insured member could not be certain as to what amount he would receive, and this uncertainty was aggravated by the voluntary character of the association. Even where participation was compulsory the fluctuations in the number of members were much greater than at present. As soon as the unions became sufficiently strong, financially and numerically, and had acquired experience in the management of the benefit, they, with few exceptions, guaranteed to their members a benefit of fixed amount. A fixed payment of one hundred dollars was guaranteed by the Iron Molders in 1879 on the death of a member, and in 1882 the voluntary organization known as the Beneficial Association, which had maintained the system of special assessments, was disbanded.[90] The advantage of paying a benefit of fixed amount, as demonstrated by the experience of Local Union No. 87 of Brooklyn, led to the adoption of this system by the Cigar Makers' International Union, in September, 1880.[91] [Footnote 90: Constitution, 1878 (Cincinnati, 1878); Iron Molders' Journal, Vol. 26, May, 1890, p. 2.] [Footnote 91: Constitution, 1880 (New York, 1880), Art. 13.] The majority of American trade unions have inaugurated their death benefits since 1880,[92] and hence have escaped the experimental period of benefits based upon the fluctuating principle. Learning from the experience of the older unions, they have in most cases paid from the beginning death benefits of fixed amount. The benefit is a definite sum in all the unions except the Watch Case Engravers' Association and the Saw Smiths' Union, which in their constitutions of 1901 and 1902 respectively provide for the payment of a benefit upon a fluctuating basis.[93] This must be attributed to the fact that the unions are not sufficiently strong to guarantee the payment of a definite amount. [Footnote 92: See page 12.] [Footnote 93: Constitution of the Watch Case Engravers' International Association of America, 1901 (New York, n.d.), p. 21; Constitution of the Saw Smiths' Union of North America, 1902 (Indianapolis, n.d.), p. 8.] Under the fluctuating system the sum paid was often larger than the amount at which the benefit was later fixed. When, in 1880, the Cigar Makers adopted a death benefit of twenty-five dollars, their membership had increased to 4400, making possible, by a per capita assessment of ten cents, the payment of four hundred and forty-four dollars upon the death of each member. The assessment of twenty-five cents levied by the Glass Bottle Blowers for each death benefit upon a membership of 2423 in 1891 yielded a greater sum than the definite amount adopted one year later. The amount paid under the fluctuating system in the Iron Molders was also larger than the fixed amount later guaranteed by the International Union. In another respect the early death benefits and insurance systems were alike. Participation in the more important and successful death systems was voluntary. Membership in the Iron Molders' Beneficial Association, created to pay death benefits, was, for example, entirely optional.[94] The first constitution of the Granite Cutters provided for an additional voluntary benefit.[95] In both of the above named unions the voluntary idea was short-lived. In January, 1879, the Iron Molders provided for the payment of a death benefit for all members of the craft.[96] By 1884 the Granite Cutters had abolished the voluntary death benefit and paid it to all members.[97] [Footnote 94: Iron Molders' Journal, March, 1871.] [Footnote 95: Constitution, 1877 (Rockland, 1877), Arts. 1-2.] [Footnote 96: Iron Molders' Journal, Vol. 26, May, 1890, p. 2.] [Footnote 97: Constitution, 1884 (Quincy, n.d.), p. 11 ff.] Thus, both the death benefit and the insurance systems in American trade unions had their origin in the movement for mutual insurance which was so widespread in the United States immediately after the Civil War. Only in the railway brotherhoods did the plan result in any considerable increase in membership. In the other unions the insurance systems were replaced by the establishment of benefits, and these were usually smaller in amount than the insurance systems had contemplated.[98] [Footnote 98: The death benefits established by the Cigar Makers and Iron Molders in 1870 and 1879 were for $40 and $100. The ordinary death benefit in American trade unions is still a sum assumed to be sufficient to inter decently the deceased.] The tendency in those unions which have longest maintained the death benefit has been to increase the amount of the benefit and to grade the amount according to the length of membership. The policy of the unions in these respects has, however, varied considerably. In some cases there has been an increase in the minimum amount paid, together with provision for the payment of larger sums to members who have been longer in good standing. In other unions, such as the Iron Molders and the Pattern Makers, the regular benefit remains as originally established, but a larger sum is paid to older members. Only a few of the older organizations retain the uniform benefit. The most notable of these are the Typographical Union, the Glass Bottle Blowers, and the Hatters. The grading of the death benefit serves two purposes. In the first place, the funds are protected. If the benefit were uniform and large, persons in bad health would be tempted to join the union in order to secure protection for their families. The grading of the benefit is accordingly a crude but fairly effective device against a danger which presents itself as soon as the amount becomes large enough to be attractive to "bad risks." A more important reason, perhaps, for the grading of the benefit is the desire to make it a more effective agency in attracting and holding members. If continuous membership carries with it constantly increasing insurance, the lapses in membership lessen. The maximum death benefits paid by the Cigar Makers and the Glass Bottle Blowers are $550 and $500, respectively. The Iron Molders pay a maximum benefit of $200; the Carpenters of $200; the Pattern Makers of $400; the Germania Typographia of $200. In all these cases except that of the Glass Bottle Blowers the benefit is graded according to the period of membership. The maximum benefit is paid in the Cigar Makers and in the Pattern Makers to members of fifteen years' standing. Only a few unions have decreased the amount of the benefit from that first established. Among these are the Brotherhood of Carpenters, the Brotherhood of Leather Workers on Horse Goods, the Tailors' Union, and the Metal Polishers' Union. In the case of the Carpenters the death benefit which was originally established at $250 in 1882 was $100 in 1905. Changes of this kind have naturally followed the too liberal policy of inexperienced unions. The following table, giving the amount of the death benefit as originally established and as paid at present in certain of the more important unions which have adopted the graded death benefit, illustrates the variety of forms which the systems take: AMOUNT OF DEATH BENEFIT. ========================================================================== | | Date of | | |Date of |Introducing|Amount of Death |Amount of Death Name of | Organi-| Death | Benefit Paid |Benefit Paid in Union | zation | Benefits | Originally | 1905. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Boot and | 1895 | 1898 | $50 for six months' |$50 for six months' Shoe | | | membership. | membership. Workers | | | $100 for two years' |$100 for two years' | | | membership. | membership. | | | | Carpenters,| 1881 | 1882 | $250 for six months'|$100 for six Brotherhood| | | membership. |months' membership. of | | | |$200 for one year's | | | |membership. | | | | Cigar | 1864 | 1867 | Yield of a 10 |$50 for two years' Makers | | | cent per capita | membership. | | | assessment. |$200 for five | | | | years' membership. | | | |$350 for ten years' | | | | membership. | | | |$550 for fifteen | | | |years' membership. | | | | Granite | 1877 | 1877 | $50........... |$50. Cutters | | | |$75 for six months' | | | | membership. | | | |$100 for one year's | | | | membership. | | | |$150 for five | | | | years' membership. | | | |$200 for ten years' | | | | membership. | | | | Iron | 1859 | 1870 | Yield of a 40 |$100 for one year's Molders | | | cent per capita | membership. | | | assessment. $150 for five | | | | years' membership. | | | |$175 for ten years' | | | | membership. | | | |$200 for fifteen | | | |years' membership. | | | | Leather | 1896 | 1896 | $40 for one | Workers | | | year's | on Horse | | | membership. | | | | $60 for two |$40 for one | | | years' |year's | | | membership. |membership. | | | $100 for four |$75 for three | | | years' |years' | | | membership. |membership. | | | $200 for five |$100 for four | | | years' | years' | | | membership. |membership. | | | $300 for eight | | | | years' | | | | membership. | | | | | Metal | 1890 | 1890 | $100 for six |$50 for one year's Polishers | | | months' | membership. | | | membership. |$100 for two years' | | | | membership. | | | | Machinists | 1890 | 1890 | $50 for six |$50 for six months' | | | months' | membership. | | | membership. |$75 for one year's | | | | membership. | | | |$100 for two years' | | | | membership. | | | |$150 for three | | | |years' membership. | | | |$200 for four | | | |years' membership. | | | | Painters | 1887 | 1887 | $100............... |$50 for one year's | | | | membership | | | |$100 for two years' | | | | membership | | | |$150 for three | | | | years' membership | | | |$200 for four years' | | | | membership | | | | Pattern | 1887 | 1898 | $50 |$50 for one year's Makers | | | | membership | | | |$75 for two years' | | | | membership | | | |$100 for three | | | | years' membership | | | |$150 for five | | | | years' membership | | | |$200 for seven | | | | years' membership | | | |$250 for nine | | | | years' membership | | | |$300 for eleven | | | | years' membership | | | |$350 for thirteen | | | | years' membership | | | |$400 for fifteen | | | | years' membership | | | | Piano and | 1898 | 1898 | $50 for six |$50 for one year's Organ | | | months' | membership Workers | | | membership |$100 for five | | | | years' membership | | | |$200 for ten years' | | | | membership | | | | Tailors | 1884 | 1890 |$75 for three months'|$25 for six months' | | | membership | membership | | |$100 for one years' |$40 for one year's | | | membership | membership | | | |$50 for two years' | | | | membership | | | |$75 for three years' | | | | membership | | | |$100 for four years' | | | | membership --------------------------------------------------------------------------- A few of the unions require only that the deceased member shall have been in good standing. These unions ordinarily pay a small benefit, although the Glass Bottle Blowers pay five hundred dollars without requiring a preliminary period of membership. The term of necessary membership varies from thirty days in the case of the Barbers to two years in the Cigar Makers. The usual requirement is that the member shall have been in good standing for six months. A few of the unions restrict the benefit to members under a certain age at the time of admission. Where such an age limit is imposed it is ordinarily fifty years, but in a few unions it is sixty years. The following table shows the conditions imposed upon the payment of the death benefit in the more important unions: Preliminary Term of Name of Organization. Age Limit. Good Standing Required Bakers ........................... 50 years 3 months Barbers .......................... 50 years 30 days Boot and Shoe Workers ............ 6 months Glass Bottle Blowers ............. None Carpenters ....................... 50 years 6 months Cigar Makers ..................... 50 years 2 years Granite Cutters .................. 6 months Iron Molders ..................... 12 months Iron, Steel and Tin Workers ...... 3 months Leather Workers on Horse Goods ... 1 year Lithographers .................... 30 days Machinists ....................... 6 months Metal Polishers .................. 1 year Metal Workers .................... 12 months Painters ......................... 50 years 1 year Pattern Makers ................... 50 years 52 weeks Piano and Organ Workers .......... 1 year Plumbers ......................... 6 months Stone Cutters .................... 6 months Tailors .......................... 6 months Tobacco Workers .................. 60 years 1 year Typographical Union .............. None Weavers, Elastic Goring .......... 6 months Wood Workers ..................... 60 years 6 months Only a few unions make good physical condition a requisite for admission to the death benefit. In a small number provision is made that if death result from disease incurred prior to admission the union shall not pay the benefit. In the majority of the unions every member admitted to the union is covered by the death benefit. Some of the unions, such as the Brotherhood of Carpenters, the Boot and Shoe Workers' Union, the Brotherhood of Painters, and the Pattern Makers' League, provide a smaller benefit for those not eligible at time of initiation. In the Brotherhood of Carpenters any apprentice under twenty-one years of age, or any candidate for membership over fifty years of age, in ill health and not qualified for full benefit when admitted to the union, is limited to a funeral allowance of fifty dollars.[99] The Boot and Shoe Workers' Union provides that members of sixty years of age, or those afflicted with chronic diseases at time of initiation, shall be eligible to half benefit only.[100] In the Brotherhood of Painters members of sound health and over fifty years of age when admitted are eligible to a semi-beneficial benefit of fifty dollars and to a funeral benefit of twenty-five dollars in case of death of wife.[101] [Footnote 99: Constitution, 1903 (Indianapolis, n.d.), secs. 65 and 98.] [Footnote 100: Constitution, 1904 (Boston, n.d.), sec. 68.] [Footnote 101: Constitution, 1904 (La Fayette, n.d.), sec. 133.] The requirement of a preliminary period of membership serves to protect the union against the entrance of persons who wish to join because they are in ill health and are anxious to secure insurance which they could not otherwise get. None of the unions provide, however, for any deliberate selection of risks, and the mortality is higher than it would be if the applicants were examined. The death benefit is thus regarded by the unions not as a pure matter of business. It is paid partly on charitable grounds, and the small increase in the cost of the benefit occasioned by the lack of strict physical requirements is regarded as more than compensated by the increase in the solidarity of the organization thus attained. In several important unions the death benefit has been made the basis for a disability benefit. Thus a member receiving the disability benefit loses his right to the death benefit. So closely are the two benefits associated in these organizations that they are practically a single benefit. This combination of death and disability benefits is found chiefly in those trades in which the workmen are exposed to great danger of being disabled by accident.[102] The principal unions maintaining the disability benefit are the Iron Molders, the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, the Cigar Makers, the Painters, the Wood Workers, the Metal Workers, the Glass Workers, and the Boot and Shoe Workers.[103] [Footnote 102: Those unions that pay a death benefit and make no provision for total or permanent disability are: Bakers' and Confectioners' Union, Barbers' International Union, Cigar Makers, Elastic Goring Weavers' Association, United Garment Workers, Glass Bottle Blowers' Association, Granite Cutters' Association, United Hatters, Hotel and Restaurant Employees, Iron, Steel and Tin Workers' Association, Jewelry Workers' Union, Brotherhood of Leather Workers on Horse Goods, Lithographers' Association, Metal Polishers' Union, Pattern Makers' League, Piano and Organ Workers' Union, Plumbers' Association, Printing Pressmen's Union, Retail Clerks' Association, Saw Smiths' Union, Stone Cutters' Association, Stove Mounters' Union, Street Railway Employees' Association, Tailors' Union, Tobacco Workers' Union, Typographical Union, Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, Watch Case Engravers' Association, Wood, Wire and Metal Lathers' Union.] [Footnote 103: Originally, the Granite Cutters paid a disability benefit of five hundred dollars. By 1878 the amount of the disability benefit had been made variable, being raised by an assessment of fifty cents on each member of the Union. About 1884 the disability benefit was abandoned.] Nearly all the unions thus combining death and disability benefits grade the disability benefit. They usually also differentiate the two benefits either in the amount paid or in the period of membership required for eligibility to the benefit. The Iron Molders, the Cigar Makers and the Painters pay the same sums in case of disability as of death.[104] The other unions, with one exception, provide for a greater maximum benefit in case of disability. The period of good standing required to draw a particular sum is usually greater in the case of the disability benefit than in the case of the death benefit. The provisions of the Brotherhood of Carpenters are fairly typical.[105] After six months' good standing members become eligible to a death benefit of one hundred dollars, but they are not eligible to a disability benefit until they have been in membership twelve months. The maximum death benefit is two hundred dollars, while the maximum disability benefit is four hundred dollars. The maximum death benefit is paid on the death of members in good standing for one year, while to be eligible to the maximum disability benefit requires a membership of five years.[106] [Footnote 104: The Cigar Makers retain fifty dollars until the death of the member.] [Footnote 105: The Carpenter, Vol. 2, No. 8, p. 5; Vol. 4, August, 1884.] [Footnote 106: Constitution of the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America, 1888 (n.p., n.d.), p. 10; Constitution, 1905 (Milwaukee, n.d.), p. 18.] The following table shows the amounts of the death and disability benefits in the more important unions, as originally established and as paid in 1905: AMOUNT OF DEATH AND DISABILITY BENEFIT. =========================================================================== |Amount Paid Originally. | Amount Paid in 1905. Name of Union.|------------------------------------------------------------ |Death. |Disability. | Death. |Disability. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Iron Molders. |Yield of a | Yield of a |$100 for 1 yr. |$100 for 1 yr. |40c. per | 40c. per | 150 for 5 yrs.| 150 for 5 yrs. |capita | capita | 175 for 10 yrs| 175 for 10 yrs. |assessment. |assessment. | 200 for 15 yrs| 200 for 15 yrs. | | | | Carpenters, |$250 for 6 |$100 for 6 mo.|$100 for 6 mo. |$100 for 1 yr. Brotherhood |mo. | mo. | 200 for 1 yr. | 200 for 2 yrs. of. | | | | 300 for 3 yrs. | | | | 400 for 5 yrs | | | | Painters |$50 for 6 mo.| $50 for 6 |$100 for 1 yr. |$100 for 1 yr. |mo. | mo. | | |100 for 1 yr.|$100 for 1 yr.| 150 for 2 yrs.| 150 for 2 yrs. | | | | Wood Workers. |$60 for 1 yr.|$100 for 1 |$ 50 for 6 mo. |$150 for 1 yr. | |yr. | 75 for 18 mo.| 200 for 2 yrs. | | | 100 for 3 yrs.| 250 for 3 yrs. | | | | Metal Workers.|$75 for 1 yr.|$500 for 5 |$75 for 1 yr. |$500 for 5 yrs. | |yrs. | | | | | | Glass Workers.|$50 for 6 mo.|$150 for 1 yr.|$150 for 1 yr. |$ 75 for 1 yr. |100 for 1 yr.| | 175 for 2 yrs.| 100 for 2 yrs. | | | | Boot and Shoe |$50 for 6 mo.| | $50 for 6 mo. |$100 for 2 yrs. Workers. |100 for 2 yrs| | 100 for 2 yrs.| --------------------------------------------------------------------------- The ratio of disability benefits paid to death benefits paid varies in the different unions according to the definition of disability adopted. The Iron Molders' Union, which took the initiative in adopting a national disability benefit, undertook to pay benefits to all disabled members, with two exceptions. First, the disability must not have been caused by dissipation, and secondly, the member must not have been disabled before joining the Association.[107] The Granite Cutters' Union, however, when establishing their voluntary insurance association in 1877, limited the benefit to members disabled for life by any real accident suffered while following employment as a granite cutter.[108] The two benefits were unlike in that the Iron Molders paid the benefit no matter how the disability had been incurred, while the Granite Cutters paid only when the disability resulted from a trade accident. [Footnote 107: Constitution of the Iron Molders' Union of North America, 1878 (Cincinnati, 1878), p. 51.] [Footnote 108: Constitution of the Granite Cutters' International Association of America, 1877 (Rockland, 1877), p. 27.] Some of the unions now paying the disability benefit, as for example the Boot and Shoe Workers, have followed the policy of the Iron Molders in paying the benefit in all cases of disability; while others, for example the Brotherhood of Carpenters, pay only where the disability is incurred "while working at the trade." Under this system, in the case of the Iron Molders, the claims for disability were so numerous that in 1882 the term "permanent disability" was defined to mean "total blindness, the loss of an arm or leg, or both," and since 1890 also paralysis.[109] Similarly in 1880 the Granite Cutters defined more exactly what constituted total disability.[110] [Footnote 109: Constitution, 1882 (Cincinnati, 1882), Art. 17; Iron Molders' Journal, Vol. 16, June and August, 1880; Constitution, 1890 (Cincinnati, 1890); Constitution, 1902 (Cincinnati, 1902), p. 40.] [Footnote 110: Constitution, 1880 (Maplewood, 1880), p. 18.] The younger unions have usually adopted the later revised definition of the term "permanent or total disability," with such modifications as are made necessary by the peculiar nature of the trade. The system of the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, adopted in 1886, and still in force, defines permanent disability as "total blindness, the loss of an arm or leg, or both, the total disability of a limb, the loss of four fingers on one hand, or being afflicted with any physical disability resulting from sudden accident."[111] The Amalgamated Glass Workers as late as 1900 had made no attempt to give definite limits to the term "total disability," but in 1903 they adopted the definition of the Carpenters and extended it to include disability resulting from paralysis.[112] The Amalgamated Wood Workers, however, still provide simply that to receive the benefit members shall be disabled from following the trade.[113] [Footnote 111: Constitution, 1886 (n.p., n.d.), p. 11; Constitution, 1905 (Milwaukee, n.d.), p. 19.] [Footnote 112: Constitution, 1900 (Chicago, n.d.), p. 23; Constitution, 1903, p. 11.] [Footnote 113: Constitution of the Amalgamated Wood-Workers' International Union of America, 1905 (Chicago, n.d.), p. 42.] The definitions adopted by the unions are intended as guides for and restrictions upon the administrative officials, but in all cases the latter are given considerable latitude. The cost of the benefit, therefore, depends largely upon the strictness with which the officials construe the rules. In those unions where the injuries entitling to a benefit are not specifically defined, the officers have great discretionary power. Indeed, even if they have the best intention, it is in many trades often impossible to obtain positive evidence as to the totality or permanency of the disability. For example, the Brotherhood of Painters find it almost impossible to pass intelligently upon claims for disability resulting from lead poisoning. The table on page 63 shows the sums paid for death and disability claims in certain unions for which statistics are procurable. The addition of a disability benefit to the death benefit as appears from the table does not add greatly to the cost of maintaining the benefit. In general, the amount paid for disability ranges from five to ten per cent. of the total paid for both benefits. The cost of the benefits is somewhat increased also by the loss of dues from the time of the disability to the death of the insured. SUMS PAID FOR DEATH AND DISABILITY BENEFITS. ===================================================================== | |Sum of Benefits Paid. |Percentage of Benefits | | | Paid. | |---------------------------------------------- Union. | Year. | Death. |Disability.| Death. |Disability --------------------------------------------------------------------- Brotherhood | | | | | of |1894-1896|$ 58,527.10|$10,500.00 | 85 | 15 Carpenters |1896-1898| 59,108.44| 11,100.00 | 85 | 15 |1900-1902| 159,249.98| 7,900.00 | 95.3 | 4.7 |1902-1904| 243,218.25| 16,700.00 | 93.6 | 6.4 |1904-1906| 306,295.44| 28,250.00 | 91.6 | 8.4 | | | | | Painters |1889-1890| 2,894.00| 250.00 | 92.1 | 7.9 |1890-1892| 6,900.00| 750.00 | 90.2 | 9.8 |1892-1894| 10,548.00| 1,475.00 | 87.8 | 12.2 |1898-1899| 7,150.00| 600.00 | 92.2 | 7.8 |1902-1003| 30,307.00| 3,050.00 | 90.9 | 9.1 |1903-1904| 37,711.25| 1,850.00 | 95.4 | 4.6 |1904-1905| 43,855.50| 4,250.00 | 91.2 | 8.8 | | | | | Wood |1900 | 2,850.00| 250.00 | 92 | 8 Workers. |1901 | 4,200.00| 250.00 | 94.4 | 5.6 |1903 | 5,775.00| 500.00 | 90.6 | 9.4 |1904 | 7,574.00| 750.00 | 91.1 | 8.9 | | | | | Iron |1890-1895| 56,172.00| 2,400.00 | 96 | 4 Molders. |1895-1899| 36,899.00| 3,600.00 | 91.2 | 8.8 |1899-1902| 67,414.38| 2,600.00 | 96.3 | 3.7 |1902-1907| 259,554.86| 19,600.00 | 93 | 7 --------------------------------------------------------------------- An increasing number of unions pay a wife's death benefit as well as the regular death benefit. This form is of comparatively recent adoption and its success has not yet been thoroughly demonstrated. Nine American unions were reported to be paying this benefit in September, 1903, and eleven in September, 1904.[114] The following is a list of the unions reported as paying the benefit in 1904: Bakers and Confectioners, Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, Cigar Makers, Compressed Air Workers, Lace Curtain Operatives, Freight Handlers, Painters, Paving Cutters, Photo-Engravers, Cotton Mule Spinners, Tailors. [Footnote 114: Proceedings of the Twenty-third Convention, American Federation of Labor, 1903 (Washington, 1903), p. 41; Proceedings of the Twenty-fourth Convention, American Federation of Labor, 1904 (Washington, 1904), p. 46.] The Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia took the initiative in the adoption of this benefit at the New York Convention in May, 1884,[115] and was immediately followed in the same year by the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners[116] and in 1887 by the Painters[117] and the Cigar Makers.[118] For the year ending September 30, 1904, the Carpenters, the Painters, and the Cigar Makers paid more than 92 per cent. of the whole sum expended by the eleven unions that have adopted this benefit. [Footnote 115: American Federationist, Vol. 2, No. 4, p. 61.] [Footnote 116: The Carpenter, Vol. 4, August, 1884.] [Footnote 117: The Painter, Vol. 1, April, 1887; Vol. 17, p. 529.] [Footnote 118: Constitution of the Cigar Makers' International Union of America, 1887 (Buffalo, 1888), Art. 10.] The wife's death benefit is designed to defray the cost of burial. It is, therefore, small in amount, not exceeding fifty dollars in any of the unions in which it is important. The following table gives the minimum amounts of the wife's funeral benefit paid under the original and under the present rules in the five unions in which the benefit is of importance. The term of membership required for participation in the benefit is also shown. MINIMUM AMOUNT OF WIFE'S DEATH BENEFIT. ===================================================================== | Originally. | In 1905. |------------------------------------------------------ Name of Union.|Amount.|Required Period of| Amount.|Required Period of | | Membership. | | Membership. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Bakers........| $50 | 6 mo. | $50 | 6 mo. Carpenters....| 50 | 6 mo. | 25 | 6 mo. Cigar Makers..| 40 | 2 yr. | 40 | 2 yr. Painters......| 25 | 6 mo. | 50 | 1 yr. Typographia...| 25 | 1 yr. | 50 | none --------------------------------------------------------------------- The wife's death benefit is not graded except in the case of the Carpenters, where the minimum benefit is twenty-five dollars for six months' and fifty dollars for one year's membership. The minimum given in the above table is in all other cases also the maximum. The success of the wife's death or funeral benefit is not beyond controversy. The Tailors, who began to pay the benefit in 1889, abandoned it in 1898. The benefit was at first seventy-five dollars after three months' membership, but it was remodelled until in 1896 it became a graded benefit ranging from twenty-five dollars to fifty dollars according to the length of membership. The chief objection to the benefit was that unmarried members were taxed to support the benefit although they did not participate in the advantages. In 1898 Secretary Lennon declared that the benefit "was based on real injustice, giving one member more benefits for the same dues paid than to another."[119] In other unions which maintain the benefit this objection has been met to some extent, as in the Cigar Makers, by paying the benefit on the death of the widowed mother of an unmarried member provided she was solely dependent upon him for support. Provision is usually made that no member shall receive the wife's funeral benefit more than once. This rule is intended partly to prevent fraud but chiefly to meet the complaint that the benefit confers unequal advantages. [Footnote 119: The Tailor, Vol. 8, No. 1, p. 16.] The unions which have adopted the benefit have all experienced difficulty in safeguarding it against fraudulent claims. They usually require, for eligibility to the benefit, that the wife be not in ill health at the time the member is admitted to the union. In the unions which have had the benefit longest in operation it has been found possible materially to lessen the number of claims for the wife's benefit after some experience in its operation. The following table shows the percentage of claims paid by the Painters for wife's and member's death benefits for a series of biennial periods: ==================================== | Percentage | Percentage | of Wife's | of Member's Year. | Death | Death | Benefits. | Benefits. ------------------------------------ 1889-1890 | 49.1 | 50.9 1890-1892 | 43.5 | 56.5 1892-1894 | 45 | 55 1894-1896 | 37.5 | 62.5 1896-1900 | 35.3 | 64.7 1900-1902 | 32.5 | 67.5 1902-1904 | 32.6 | 67.4 ------------------------------------ It will be observed that the ratio of the number of wife's funeral benefits to the number of member's funeral benefits has steadily fallen for a considerable number of years. The experience of the Painters is probably typical, although the number of claims of each kind is not ascertainable in the other unions. The combination of the wife's funeral benefit with the death benefit causes a material addition in the cost of the death benefit. This increase is greatest in those unions in which the wife's benefit is relatively large in amount. The following table shows the sums paid for member's and wife's death benefits in three of the more important unions: SUMS PAID FOR WIFE'S AND MEMBER'S DEATH BENEFITS. ====================================================================== | |Wife's Death Benefit.|Member's Death Benefit. | |--------------------------------------------- | | |Percentage| |Percentage Union. | Year. | |of Whole | |of Whole | |Expended. |Sum | Expended. |Sum | | |Expended | |Expended | | |for Death | |for Death | | |Benefits. | |Benefits. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Painters |1888-1889|$ 650.00| | | |1889-1890| 1,075.00| 26.8 |$ 2,894.00| 73.2 |1890-1892| 2,075.00| 23.1 | 6,000.00| 76.9 |1892-1894| 3,912.00| 27.7 | 10,548.00| 72.3 |1894-1896| 550.00| 19.1 | 2,319.00| 80.9 |1896-1900| 2,025.00| 18.3 | 8,996.25| 81.7 |1902-1903| 6,050.00| 16.3 | 30,307.00| 83.7 |1903-1904| 9,700.00| 20.4 | 37,711.25| 79.6 |1904-1905| 10,025.00| 18.6 | 43,855.50| 81.4 Brotherhood | | | | | of Carpenters |1890-1892| 23,650.00| 20.1 | 93,696.00| 79.9 |1892-1894| 17,750.00| 14.2 | 106,906.95| 85.8 |1894-1896| 13,525.00| 18.7 | 58,527.10| 81.3 |1896-1898| 6,725.00| 10.2 | 59,108.44| 89.8 |1900-1902| 29,545.00| 15.6 | 159,249.98| 84.4 |1902-1904| 46,892.60| 16.1 | 243,218.25| 83.9 |1904-1906| 45,525.00| 12.9 | 306,294.44| 87.1 | | | | | Tailors |1890-1893| 17,075.00| 32.2 | 35,880.00| 67.8 | 1894 | 3,600.00| 29.5 | 8,591.00| 70.5 | 1895 | 2,435.00| 23.6 | 7,853.50| 76.4 | 1896 | 1,674.70| 25.9 | 4,774.95| 74.1 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From this table it appears that the expenditures on account of the wife's funeral benefit in these unions range from twelve to twenty-five per cent. of the total sum spent for death benefits. In the Cigar Makers' Union and the Typographia it is probably still less. The cost of the wife's funeral benefit to each member cannot be determined for all the organizations. In some, even of the older unions, as the Typographia and the Cigar Makers, separate reports of the cost of the wife's funeral benefit are not made, and the reports only of the Carpenters and the Tailors are capable of analysis. TOTAL AND PER CAPITA COST OF THE WIFE'S FUNERAL BENEFIT. ================================================================ | | | Total | Annual Cost | |Member-| Expenditure | per Member Union. | Year. |ship | for Wife's | of Wife's | | | Funeral | Funeral | | | Benefit. | Benefit. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Brotherhood |1894-1896 | 29,500| $13,525.00| $ .23 of Carpenters |1896-1898 | 30,600| 6,725.00| .11 |1898-1900 | 50,000| | |1900-1902 |106,800| 29,540.00| .13 |1902-1904 |141,800| 46,892.60| .16 |1904-1906 |165,700| 45,525.00| .13 | | | | |Jan. 1-July 1,| | | Tailors | 1890-1891 | 3,760| 4,925.00| .86-2/3 |July 1-Jan. 1,| | | | 1891-1894 | 7,560| 12,150.00| .64 | 1894 | 8,200| 3,600.00| .44 | 1895 | 8,600| 2,435.00| .28 | 1896 | 9,600| 1,674.70| .17 |To July 1, | | | | 1897 | 10,500| 499.00| .10 ---------------------------------------------------------------- In both unions the per capita cost of the benefit was relatively high at the outset, chiefly on account of the larger size of the benefit, but partly on account of the laxity of the rules governing its administration. In the Carpenters the wife's funeral benefit of twenty-five dollars and fifty dollars to members in good standing for six months and one year, respectively, costs each member about fifteen cents annually. The cost of the seventy-five dollar wife's funeral benefit in the Tailors' Union ran in the first year as high as eighty-six and two thirds cents. At the time the benefit was abolished the amount paid was practically the same as that now paid by the Carpenters and the per capita cost had fallen to about seventeen cents in 1896. It may fairly be concluded that a wife's funeral benefit of twenty-five dollars will cost each member of the union about fifteen cents annually. The consideration of the cost of the death benefit has been deferred until an examination of the cost of the disability benefit and of the wife's funeral benefit had been made, since the member's death benefit, the disability benefit and the wife's funeral benefit are regarded in the unions with the most highly developed systems as parts of a single benefit. In only a few unions are the payments for these several purposes separated. The unions thus differ so widely in the character of the death benefit paid that it is impossible to institute any comparison as to the relative expense of maintaining the benefit. Some of the systems combine death and disability benefits, some group the death and disability benefits, some pay a wife's funeral benefit while others do not. It will be possible to describe certain typical systems and to indicate the cost of the benefit in the particular system and certain general differences. The death benefit of the International Typographical Union may be regarded as the simplest type. The greater number of the death benefit systems found in American trade unions are of this general character. The union pays a benefit on the death of any member in good standing. It pays no wife's funeral benefit nor any disability benefit. The benefit, when established in 1892, was fixed at sixty dollars, and has since been raised to seventy dollars in 1906. The annual per capita cost of the benefit has never exceeded eighty-four and has averaged less than eighty cents. This extremely low rate has been due to the large number of lapses. The beneficiary system of the union has not been highly developed and members of the union quitting the trade drop their membership. There is no sort of provision whereby members may retain their beneficiary rights on the payment of less than full dues. Only a small part of the dues are devoted to beneficiary purposes. The net result in such systems is that the members of the union get insurance at a low rate at the expense of those leaving the trade. A second type is that of the Brotherhood of Carpenters. In their system, death and disability benefits are combined and a benefit is paid on the death of a member's wife. The benefits are graded but the maximum amounts are not large. The following table shows the system as a whole: BENEFICIARY SYSTEM OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF CARPENTERS. ===================================================== Member's Death | Wife's Death |Disability Benefit. | Benefit. |Benefit. ----------------------------------------------------- $100 on 6 months'| $25 on 6 months'| $100 on 1 year's membership. | membership. | membership. | | $200 on 1 year's | $50 on 1 year's | $200 on 2 years' membership. | membership. | membership. | | | | $300 on 3 years' | | membership. | | | | $400 on 4 years' | | membership. ----------------------------------------------------- The per capita cost of maintaining this system, adopted in 1882, has varied greatly from year to year. In 1895 it was as high as $2.46, while in 1900 it was as low as eighty-one cents. The explanation of this variation lies in the changes in the number of members and consequent changes in the age grouping. When the membership was at its lowest point in 1895 those who retained their connection with the organization were to a considerable extent the older members who were desirous of keeping their insurance. The number of claims (death, wife's death and disability) in 1895 was sixteen per one thousand of membership. In 1900 when the membership had doubled the number of claims per one thousand of membership was thirteen and in 1906 it was nine. The average amount of a claim in 1895 was $133, while in 1900 it was $105. In 1906 the average amount of a claim was $125. Two deductions may be made from these statistics. The Carpenters have heretofore been unable to retain their membership in dull times. The result has been that the death rate has been lower and the average amount of the claims less than it otherwise would have been. The increase in membership in prosperous times results also in decreasing the average amount of the claims, since in such periods the mass of the members have not been long enough in membership to entitle them to more than the minimum benefits. The benefits furnished by the Carpenters and other unions with similar systems of benefits are provided at less than the cost would be in organizations with stable membership. The per capita cost of $1.23 in 1906 is far below the actuarial cost. The Typographia and the Cigar Makers are typical unions of the third and final class. In these organizations there are highly developed beneficiary systems. The members receive not only death benefits but out-of-work and sick benefits. In both unions the membership is stable. In the Typographia periods of depression and prosperity do not affect the number of members. In the Cigar Makers the increase in members is checked in hard times but no decrease is suffered. In such unions the per capita cost of the death benefit is not lowered by lapses to any appreciable extent. The death benefit in the Typographia includes a member's death benefit graded from sixty-five dollars to two hundred dollars, a wife's funeral benefit of fifty dollars and a disability benefit varying according to the age of the member. This combination of benefits costs to maintain on the average about three dollars. The cost varies considerably from year to year on account of the small number of members, and the consequent lack of regularity in the death rate, but taking five-year periods, the cost is stable. In the Cigar Makers the cost of the death benefit is increasing. The full effect of the grading of the benefit has not as yet shown itself in the cost, since the influx of members recently has caused the rate to be somewhat lower than it would have been. If the Cigar Makers hold their membership and the increase slackens, it may be expected that by 1912 the cost of the benefit will be much higher than at present. In 1905, a normal year, the death benefit, including a member's death benefit graded from $200 to $550 (two to fifteen years), a wife's funeral benefit of forty dollars and a disability benefit equal to the death benefit cost the union the per capita rate of $3.56 to maintain. The following table shows the per capita cost of the death benefit system in several of the more important and typical systems: PER CAPITA COST OF THE DEATH BENEFIT. ========================================================================= Year.|Cigar |Typogra-|Carpen-| Typo- |Iron |Leather |Granite |Glass |Makers.| phia. |ters. |graphical|Mold-|Workers |Cutters.|Bottle | | | | Union. |ers. |on Horse| |Blowers. | | | | | |Goods | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1882 | $0.15 | | | | | | | 1883 | .20 | | | | | | | 1884 | .33 | | | | | | | 1885 | .35 | $2.11 | | | | | | 1886 | .20 | 1.05 |$0.69 | | | | | 1887 | .43 | 1.94 | .66 | | | | | 1888 | 1.23 | 2.58 | .66 | | | | | 1889 | 1.06 | 1.85 | .90 | | | | | 1890 | 1.03 | 1.94 | .90 | | | | | 1891 | 1.51 | 2.23 | .99 | | | | $0.92 | 1892 | 1.60 | 1.60 | 1.38 | | | | 1.02 | 1893 | 1.74 | 2.20 | 1.38 |$0.73 | | | 1.37 | 1894 | 2.12 | 4.36 | 1.62 | .81 | | | 1.28 | 1895 | 2.27 | 3.51 | 2.46 | .78 |$0.44| | | 1896 | 2.69 | 2.36 | 1.62 | .78 | .44| | | 1897 | 2.44 | 4.23 | 1.77 | .84 | .44| | | 1898 | 3.30 | 2.63 | 1.80 | .80 | .44| | |$4.66 1899 | 3.13 | 1.27 | .99 | .83 | | $0.31 | | 1900 | 2.64 | 3.13 | .81 | .78 | .42| .11 | | 1901 | 3.67 | 4.09 | .90 | .72 | .54| .28 | 1.18 | 1902 | 3.11 | 3.58 | 1.10 | .80 | .57| .39 | 1.21 | 1903 | 3.14 | 3.25 | .92 | .72 | .60| .34 | 1.16 | 1904 | 3.24 | 2.26 | 1.18 | .84 | .64| .55 | 1.11 | 1905 | 3.56 | 4.09 | 1.30 | .84 | .72| .38 | 1.53 | 5.93 1906 | 4.08 | 2.71 | 1.23 | .79 | | | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER III. SICK BENEFITS. Second in importance among the systems of benevolent relief maintained by American trade unions is the sick benefit paid to members who are prevented by illness from working. Historically, the sick benefit was probably the earliest beneficiary feature inaugurated by local trade unions, but, for several reasons, its adoption by the national unions was delayed. At the present time two systems of sick benefits can be found among American trade unions. In some unions this benefit is paid from the funds of the local union but is subject to the general supervision of the national organizations. In other unions it is disbursed from the national treasury and is immediately controlled by the national officials. Of the one hundred and seventeen unions allied with the American Federation of Labor in 1904, twenty-eight reported payment of sick benefits.[120] They were as follows: Bakers and Confectioners, Barbers, Bill Posters, Boot and Shoe Workers, Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, Amalgamated Carpenters,[121] Cigar Makers, Compressed Air Workers, Foundry Employees, Freight Handlers, Fur Workers, Glass Snappers, Hotel and Restaurant Employees, Jewelry Workers, Leather Workers on Horse Goods, Machine Printers and Color Mixers, Machinists, Mattress, Spring and Bed Workers, Iron Molders, Oil and Gas Well Workers, Piano and Organ Workers, Plumbers, Print Cutters, Street and Electric Railway Employees, Tile Layers, Tobacco Workers, Travellers' Goods and Leather Novelty Workers, Wire Weavers. All of these, with a few exceptions, such as the Machinists and the American Wire Weavers, pay sick benefits from the national treasury. [Footnote 120: Proceedings of the Twenty-fourth Annual Convention (Washington, 1904), p. 46.] [Footnote 121: An English union with branches in the United States, with a voting strength of fifty in the American Federation of Labor, representing about four thousand members.] The following table contains a list of the principal organizations that pay national sick benefits, arranged in the order of the introduction of the benefit: ================================================================= | Year |Year Sick Benefits Name of Organization. | Organized. | Introduced. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Granite Cutters ................| 1877 | 1877 Cigar Makers ...................| 1864 | 1880 Typographia ....................| 1873 | 1884 Barbers ........................| 1887 | 1893 Iron Molders ...................| 1859 | 1896 Tobacco Workers ................| 1895 | 1896 Pattern Makers .................| 1887 | 1898 Leather Workers on Horse Goods..| 1896 | 1898 Piano and Organ Workers ........| 1898 | 1898 Boot and Shoe Workers ..........| 1895 | 1899 Garment Workers ................| 1891 | 1900 Plumbers .......................| 1889 | 1903 ----------------------------------------------------------------- The Granite Cutters' Union was the first national union to inaugurate a system of national sick benefits. In its first constitution, 1877, provision was made for the formation of a voluntary association for the payment of sick benefits. All members of the Union under fifty-five years of age were eligible to membership.[122] An initiation fee, varying from two dollars for members under thirty years of age to six dollars for those fifty years old, was charged. The amount of the benefit was fixed at six dollars per week during sickness, without any limitation on the amount granted during any one year. The association never had a large membership and was dissolved in 1888. The Union from 1888 to 1897 exempted members during illness from all dues except funeral assessments; since 1897 members in good standing who have been sick for two months are exempt from half dues.[123] [Footnote 122: Constitution, 1877 (Rockland, Maine, 1877), p. 30.] [Footnote 123: Constitution of the Granite Cutters' International Association of America, 1888, Art. 38 (New York, 1888); Constitution, 1897 (Baltimore, n.d.), p. 32.] The Cigar Makers' Union was the first American national trade union to establish a compulsory sick benefit. The system was put into operation in 1880.[124] For some years previously sick benefits had been paid by certain of the local unions, particularly those in New York, New Haven and Brooklyn. In 1877 the Brooklyn local proposed that the sick benefit should be nationalized, but the convention defeated the plan.[125] At the convention of 1878 a committee was appointed to consider the advisability of establishing a national system of relief. This committee made a favorable report in 1879, and its plan was finally adopted at the thirteenth annual session, September, 1880.[126] The success of the sick benefit was immediate, and in 1881 and 1884 the amount of the allowance was increased.[127] The popularity of the sick benefit grew rapidly, and it soon took rank as one of the most successful features of the organization.[128] [Footnote 124: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 6, Oct., 1880, p. 7.] [Footnote 125: _Ibid._, Vol. 3, Oct., 1877, p. 3.] [Footnote 126: _Ibid._, Vol. 5, June, 1879, p. 1; October, 1880, p. 7.] [Footnote 127: Constitution, 1881 (New York, 1881), Art. 9.] [Footnote 128: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 14, August, 1889, pp. 10-11.] In the first national constitution of the Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, adopted in April, 1873, provision was made for the payment of sick benefits by the subordinate unions.[129] The system, however, was unsatisfactory, and in 1879 and 1881 unsuccessful efforts were made to remedy its deficiencies. The desire for a better system finally led to the adoption of a national sick benefit at the New York convention in May, 1884. [Footnote 129: 25-jährige Geschichte der Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, p. 6; American Federationist, Vol. 2, No. 4, p. 60.] The sick-benefit system of the Iron Molders' Union may be regarded as next in importance to those of the Cigar Makers and the German Printers. Although organized into a national union in 1859 the Iron Molders have only within a very recent period turned their attention seriously to the establishment of beneficiary features. In 1866 President Sylvis urged the adoption of a funeral and a disability benefit, to which, he said, sick benefits might be added later.[130] Thirty years later, in 1895, President Fox advocated a national sick benefit as a necessary part of the Iron Molders' beneficiary system.[131] But both of these officials cautioned the National Union against extending the national benefits too far, lest the protective purpose of the association be sacrificed to the benevolent. The unsatisfactory operation of the "Beneficial Association" in the early history of the Union, and later the experience of the Union with the death and disability benefit, had made the membership reluctant to sanction the establishment of any new benefit. A further deterrent influence was the almost total failure of sick benefits operated by the local unions. [Footnote 130: Iron Molders' Journal, Vol. 1, p. 309.] [Footnote 131: Proceedings of the Twentieth Convention, Chicago, 1895 (Cincinnati, 1895).] President Fox's recommendation was effective, however, in securing the establishment of the sick benefit. The system became operative on January 1, 1896, and was essentially the same as that now in operation.[132] Provision is made for a weekly allowance of five dollars during a period of not more than thirteen weeks in any one year to sick members. The beneficiary must have been a member of the organization for six months, and not in arrears for more than twelve weeks' dues.[133] [Footnote 132: Iron Molders' Journal, Vol. 31, No. 8, p. 3; Proceedings of Twentieth Convention, Chicago, 1895 (Cincinnati, 1895), p. 100.] [Footnote 133: Constitution, 1895 (Cincinnati, 1895), Art. 17.] Several unions organized in recent years, availing themselves of the experience of the Cigar Makers and the Typographia, have inaugurated systems of sick benefits within a few years after their organization. The Tobacco Workers' Union introduced national sick benefits in 1896, one year after organization. Similarly, the Boot and Shoe Workers' Union at their fourth convention in June, 1899, established a national sick benefit.[134] This system became operative on January 1, 1900, and provided for members in good standing sick benefits of five dollars per week for not more than thirteen weeks in any one year.[135] [Footnote 134: Proceedings of the Second Convention, Boston, 1896 (Lynn, n.d.), pp. 42-46; Third Convention, Boston, 1897 (Lynn, n.d.); Fourth Convention, Rochester, 1899 (Lynn, n.d.).] [Footnote 135: Constitution, 1899, sec. 65.] Besides the unions thus described, the Barbers, the Bakers, the Leather Workers on Horse Goods, and the Plumbers each pay five dollars per week, the last two for thirteen weeks in any one year, the Barbers for twenty weeks, and the Bakers for twenty-six weeks; the Piano and Organ Workers, five dollars per week for eight weeks; the Pattern Makers, four dollars per week for thirteen weeks; the Garment Workers, three dollars per week to women and four dollars per week to men for eight weeks in any one year, or twelve weeks in two years, or fifteen weeks in three years, or eighteen weeks in four years. In several other important unions the question of establishing a national system of sick benefits has been much discussed. The following unions have given the greatest amount of attention to the subject: the Typographical Union, the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, the Painters, the Wood Workers, and the Machinists. In each of these many of the subordinate unions pay a sick benefit. Among the Carpenters the payment of sick relief has always been an activity of the subordinate unions.[136] Although the Brotherhood has up to the present left the management of the sick benefit to the local unions, the national officials have recommended on several occasions that the benefit should be nationalized. In 1890 General Secretary-Treasurer M'Guire pointed out that under the system of local benefits travelling members were frequently not entitled to sick benefits.[137] At the ninth and tenth annual conventions, in 1896 and 1898, the subject of unifying the system was discussed at length.[138] Many local unions had bankrupted themselves by paying large sick benefits. The convention of 1898 submitted to the referendum a plan for a national system. The defeat of this proposal was chiefly due to the feeling that it was inadvisable to pay the same amount in small towns and cities where wages were low as in the larger cities. [Footnote 136: The Society of Carpenters, founded at Halifax, Nova Scotia, February 18, 1798, provided in its constitution that all members of twelve months' standing, if sick and confined to bed, should receive two shillings per week; if able to walk about but unable to work, they should receive such a sum as the Society thought wise (Constitution, 1798, [MS.]).] [Footnote 137: Proceedings of the Sixth General Convention, Chicago, 1890 (Philadelphia, 1890).] [Footnote 138: The Carpenter, Vol. 16, October, 1896; Vol. 18, October, 1898, p. 8.] The Typographical Union, prior to 1892, had manifested little interest in the establishment of a national sick benefit. At the national conventions of 1893, 1894 and 1898 President Prescott urged the adoption of a national system.[139] In 1898 he succeeded in securing a favorable report from the Committee on Laws, but the convention defeated the proposal.[140] Although the Union has not up to the present established a national sick benefit, the Union Printers' Home maintained by the Union has among its inmates not only aged printers but a large number of those afflicted with disabling diseases. The Home also serves as a sanitarium for tuberculosis patients.[141] [Footnote 139: Proceedings of the Forty-second Convention, Louisville, 1894, p. 3.] [Footnote 140: Proceedings of the Forty-fourth Convention, 1898, in Supplement to The Typographical Journal, November, 1898, p. 99.] [Footnote 141: See below, p. 104.] The table on page 78 shows the chief characteristics of the sick benefit as it has developed in several of the more important unions. SICK BENEFIT. ========================================================================= | Originally. | 1905. |------------------------------------------------ Name of Organization | |Maximum | |Maximum | Rate |No. of | Rate |No. of | Per |Weeks in| Per |Weeks in | Week |a Year. | Week. |a Year. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Iron Molders ...........| $5 | 13[143]| $5.25 | 13[143] Typographia ............| 5 | | 5 | Cigar Makers ...........|/ 3 (1st 8)| 16 | 5 | 13 |\ 1.50 (2d 8) | | | Boot and Shoe Workers ..| 5 | 13 | 5 | 13 Plumbers ...............| 5 | 13 | 5 | 13 Pattern Makers .........| 6.25 | 13 | 4 | 13 Leather Workers on Horse| | | | Goods ..................| | | 5[144] | 13 Granite Cutters ........| 6 | 52 | | Tobacco Workers ........| | | 3 | 13 Piano and Organ Workers.| | | 5 | 8 Garment Workers ........| | |/ 3 (for women)| 8 | | |\ 4 (for men) | 8 Barbers ................|/ 5 (1st 8) | 16 | 5 | 20 |\ 3 (2d 8) | | | Bakers .................| 5 | 26 | 5 | 26 ------------------------------------------------------------------------- [Footnote 143: See page 80.] [Footnote 144: Exemption of half dues.] The sick benefit is intended to support members and their families while the member is unable, through illness, to work. Such sickness, to entitle a member to the benefit, must in all the unions be an illness which prevents him from "attending to his usual vocations."[142] Practically all the unions provide, however, that if the sickness is the result of "intemperance, debauchery or other immoral conduct" the benefit shall not be paid. A few of the unions also specifically provide that illness "caused by the member's own act" shall not constitute a claim for the benefit.[145] [Footnote 142: Iron Molders' Constitution, 1902 (Cincinnati, 1902), p. 37; Cigar Makers' Constitution, 1896, fourteenth edition (Chicago, n.d.), p. 34; Tobacco Workers' Constitution, 1900, third edition, 1905 (Louisville, n.d.), p. 25; Barbers' Constitution, 1902, p. 10; Garment Workers' Constitution, 1902, p. 37; Piano and Organ Workers' Constitution, 1902 (n.p., 1903), p. 18; Boot and Shoe Workers' Constitution, 1906, p. 31; Pattern Makers' Constitution, 1906, p. 48; Leather Workers on Horse Goods' Constitution, 1905, p. 21.] [Footnote 145: The Boot and Shoe Workers, who have a large number of female members, provide that "female members shall not be entitled to [sick] benefits while pregnant nor for five weeks after confinement" (Constitution, 1906, sec. 64).] In nearly all of the unions a member must have been in continuous good standing for six months to be entitled to receive the sick benefit. The Plumbers require that he shall have been a member for a year. Such requirements afford protection to some extent against persons in ill health joining the unions in order to receive the benefit. The unions rely almost entirely upon those provisions to prevent such abuse. In practically none is an examination regularly required in order to determine whether the candidate for admission to the union is likely to be a heavy risk. Certain of them do provide, however, that in case the candidate at the time of his admission is over a fixed age, or in case he is afflicted with a chronic disease, he shall be entitled to a smaller weekly benefit than would otherwise be the case. Thus, in the Typographia members fifty years of age and those passing unsatisfactory medical examinations pay five cents less weekly dues than regular members, but can draw no benefit until after two years' good standing. At the expiration of this period they may receive three dollars per week, two dollars less than the regular benefit, for fifty weeks, and then one dollar and fifty cents, half of the regular benefit, for another fifty weeks. The rules of the unions paying sick benefits vary markedly as to the time at which the payment of the benefit begins. The Cigar Makers and the Typographia pay benefits for the first week of sickness but not for a fraction of a week; the benefit begins from the time the sickness is reported to the local union. The Iron Molders and the Boot and Shoe Workers begin payment with the beginning of the second week, and in no case allow benefits for the first week or for a fractional part of a week. In the Pattern Makers' League, the Brotherhood of Leather Workers on Horse Goods, and the Piano and Organ Workers no benefit is paid unless the illness continues two weeks; the benefits are then paid for the entire period. The Tobacco Workers begin payment with the second week, but if the illness continues twenty-one days, payment is also allowed for the first week. The Plumbers do not pay a sick benefit unless the illness extends two weeks, in which case payment begins with the second week. The sick benefit is not intended in any of the unions as a pension for persons suffering from chronic disability. In all of them the number of weeks in any one year during which a member may draw the benefit is limited. The usual provision is that the member may not receive the relief more than thirteen weeks in any one year.[146] Several unions, however, set the maximum at eight weeks, while in a very few a member may draw it for more than thirteen weeks in a single year. The most liberal provision is found in the Typographia. A member of that organization may draw a weekly sick benefit of five dollars for fifty weeks, and may then draw a weekly benefit of three dollars for another fifty weeks. [Footnote 146: See table on page 78.] Several of the unions have found that certain members draw the maximum number of weeks' benefit yearly. These members are invalids and practically unable to work at the trade. The benefit is thus to a certain extent converted into a pension for disability. The Iron Molders and the Boot and Shoe Workers have made express provision for retiring such members from the benefit. In 1902 the Iron Molders provided that a member permanently disabled who had "drawn the full sick benefits for three years should be compelled to draw disability benefits." In 1907 the Financier reported that since 1902 eighty-nine members had thus been retired. In 1906 the Boot and Shoe Workers' Union provided that after a member had drawn the full amount of the sick benefit for two years he should be paid a disability benefit of one hundred dollars.[147] The Garment Workers reach much the same end by providing that a member may not receive more than eight weeks' benefit during one year, nor more than twelve in two years, fifteen in three years, and eighteen in four years.[148] [Footnote 147: Constitution, 1906 (Boston, 1906), pp. 30-32; Proceedings of the Seventh Convention, 1906, pp. 44-45.] [Footnote 148: Constitution, 1906 (New York, n.d.), p. 41.] The rate of the weekly sick benefit is five dollars in all the unions except the Tobacco Workers and the Pattern Makers. In the former it is three dollars and in the latter four. The Cigar Makers when they introduced the benefit paid three dollars per week for the first eight weeks and one dollar and a half for the second eight weeks.[149] After a year's experience the amounts were increased to four dollars and two dollars, respectively; in 1884 to five dollars and three dollars; in 1891 the benefit was set at five dollars per week and the maximum period during which the benefit could be obtained was fixed at thirteen weeks.[150] The Typographia, introducing the benefit in 1884, fixed the amount at five dollars and paid the same rate without regard to the number of weeks the benefit had been paid. In 1888 the amount was increased to six dollars.[151] But in July, 1894, because of the drain on the funds of the union due to the depression of business, the amount was reduced to five dollars.[152] The Granite Cutters paid for a time six dollars, but since 1888 have simply allowed total or half exemption of dues.[153] The only other one of the unions which has reduced the amount of the benefit is the Pattern Makers. When this union introduced the sick benefit the amount paid was fixed at six dollars and twenty-five cents, but since 1900 only four dollars have been paid. The only union at present differentiating the amount of the benefit according to the length of the term of sickness is the Typographia. [Footnote 149: Constitution, 1880, Art. 12.] [Footnote 150: Constitution, 1881 (New York, 1881), Art. 9; 1884 (New York, 1884), Art. 9; 1891 (Buffalo, 1892), p. 28.] [Footnote 151: 25 jährige Geschichte der Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, p. 35.] [Footnote 152: American Federationist, Vol. 2, No. 4, p. 62.] [Footnote 153: Constitution, 1877 (Rockland, 1877), p. 31.] The total amount which may be drawn in any one year in about one half the unions is sixty-five dollars; that is, thirteen weeks at five dollars per week. The largest amounts during any one year are paid by the Typographia, the Bakers and the Barbers. The Bakers and the Barbers allow members to draw $130 and $100, respectively, while a member of the Typographia may receive as much as $265 per year. The table on page 82 shows the total and per capita cost of the sick benefit in four of the principal unions maintaining it. The per capita cost in the four unions, for the last year in which data are available, ranged from $3.59 in the Cigar Makers to $2.18 in the Leather Workers on Horse Goods. The chief reason for the higher per capita cost to the Cigar Makers and the Typographia is the more liberal provision for the payment of the benefit. In both of these unions the relief is paid from the time the illness is reported. The Iron Molders and the Leather Workers do not pay a sick benefit unless the illness extends over two weeks. In the case of the Iron Molders the benefit begins with the second week. Just how effective these limitations are in keeping down the cost per member can only be conjectured since the statistical records of the unions do not afford data for a thoroughgoing analysis. The financier of the Iron Molders estimated in 1902 that if the union had paid for the first week of sickness, the amount paid in sick benefits would have been increased twenty-three per cent.[154] [Footnote 154: Iron Molders' Journal, September, 1902, Supplement, p. 648.] TOTAL AND PER CAPITA COST OF THE SICK BENEFIT. ============================================================================== Year.|Cigar Makers. | Typographia. | Iron Molders. |Leather Workers | | | |on Horse Goods. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ |Total Cost.| Per | |Per | | Per | |Per | |Capita| Total |Capita| Total |Capita| Total |Capita | | Cost.| Cost | | Cost. | Cost.| Cost. |Cost. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1881 |$ 3,987.73| $ .27| | | | | | 1882 | 17,145.29| 1.50| | | | | | 1883 | 22,250.56| 1.68| | | | | | 1884 | 31,551.50| 2.77| | | | | | 1885 | 29,379.89| 2.44|$2,444.85|$4.37 | | | | 1886 | 42,225.59| 1.71| 2,751.35| 2.89 | | | | 1887 | 63,900.88| 3.10| 3,034.60| 2.82 | | | | 1888 | 58,824.19| 3.40| 3,495.90| 3.10 | | | | 1889 | 59,519.94| 3.29| 4,831.50| 4.27 | | | | 1890 | 64,660.47| 2.55| 5,361.36| 4.34 | | | | 1891 | 87,472.97| 3.40| 6,175.88| 4.67 | | | | 1892 | 89,906.30| 3.22| 6,790.60| 4.91 | | | | 1893 | 104,391.83| 3.68| 6,051.65| 4.33 | | | | 1894 | 106,758.37| 3.64| 7,004.07| 5.81 | | | | 1895 | 112,567.06| 3.82| 5,098.98| 4.66 | | | | 1896 | 109,208.62| 3.74| 5,426.65| 4.86 |$ 38,511.00| $1.79| | 1897 | 112,774.63| 4.00| 4,681.25| 4.32 | 36,720.00| 1.59| | 1898 | 111,283.60| 3.90| 3,983.85| 3.62 | 37,710.00| 1.50| | 1899 | 107,785.07| 3.45| 4,506.35| 4.20 | 57,465.00| 1.98|$ 855.00|$ .90 1900 | 117,455.84| 3.21| 4,651.65| 4.45 | 102,935.00| 2.49| 2,105.00| .88 1901 | 134,614.11| 3.65| 4,316.81| 4.22 | 118,515.00| 2.46| 4,870.00| 1.22 1902 | 137,403.45| 3.47| 4,977.98| 4.99 | 134,116.00| 2.47| 8,595.00| 1.81 1903 | 147,054.56| 3.42| 3,767.93| 3.77 | 179,355.00| 2.78| 11,680.00| 1.90 1904 | 163,226.18| 3.59| 2,945.68| 2.96 | 198,214.25| 2.59| 16,940.00| 2.18 1905 | 165,917.00| 3.73| 4,835.45| 4.95 | 174.946.28| | 14,345.00| 2.13 1906 | 162,905.82| 3.70| 2,945.68| 3.02 | 176,799.00| | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Differences in the rate of morbidity in different trades affect the cost, but these are relatively unimportant in the unions considered. A more important cause of difference in cost is the extent to which the unions are able to prevent the sick benefit from becoming a pension to members incapacitated by old age and disease. The heavy cost in the Typographia is partly due to the more liberal provision which is made for such members. In those unions, such as the Iron Molders and the Leather Workers on Horse Goods, which do not maintain an out-of-work benefit, the cost of the sick benefit is undoubtedly somewhat higher than it would be on account of the temptation of the unemployed member to feign illness. CHAPTER IV. OUT-OF-WORK BENEFITS. The out-of-work benefit, of prime importance among English trade unions, has made little headway in America either as a national or even as a local trade-union benefit. In 1905 the amount expended for out-of-work benefits could not well have exceeded eighty thousand dollars, and of this sum a considerable part was spent by the Amalgamated Carpenters, a British trade union with branches in the United States. Certainly less than one half of one per cent. of the expenditures of American national unions, and less than one per cent. of their expenditures for beneficiary purposes, is for out-of-work relief. In the one hundred principal English trade unions twenty-one per cent. of the total expenditure in the ten years from 1892 to 1901 was for out-of-work benefits. Of the sum spent by the same unions for benefits of all kinds (not including strike pay) about one third was for out-of-work benefits.[155] [Footnote 155: Weyl, "Benefit Features of British Trade Unions" in Bulletin of the Bureau of Labor, No. 64, p. 722.] Relief to the unemployed member has assumed in American unions three forms: (_a_) an out-of-work benefit of a fixed amount per week in money, (_b_) exemption of unemployed members from weekly or monthly dues, and (_c_) a loan or benefit sufficient to transport the unemployed member in search of employment. The first and second of these are ordinarily known as out-of-work benefits, while the third is known as a travelling benefit. The unions that pay a money benefit are the Cigar Makers, the Typographia, the Coal Hoisting Engineers, and the Jewelry Workers.[156] The Cigar Makers' Union is still the only American trade union of considerable membership which maintains a system of out-of-work benefits under which unemployed members receive a weekly money benefit. On October 11, 1875, the New York branch of the Cigar Makers' Union formed an out-of-work benefit and became from that time the steady advocate of a national system. As early as 1876 the New York Union proposed a plan to the International Convention, modelled upon the system in operation in the local union, under which a member was entitled to receive aid for a term of three weeks, beginning with the second week of unemployment.[157] This proposal failed of adoption; but the International Convention agreed that sick members should have their cards receipted by the out-of-work seal. Proposals for the establishment of a money out-of-work benefit were made in 1877 and in 1879 at conventions of the Union. Although International President Hurst endorsed the idea in 1876 and recommended that it be placed before the local unions for consideration, the International Convention voted adversely. A substitute, proposed by Mr. Gompers, was adopted in 1879. This provided that every subordinate union should establish a labor bureau for the purpose of securing work for unemployed members.[158] The compromise was by no means satisfactory, and suggestions continued to be made for the establishment of a national out-of-work benefit.[159] [Footnote 156: The Amalgamated Carpenters, an English union which had in 1902 forty-four branches with 3307 members in the United States, also pay an out-of-work benefit.] [Footnote 157: Journal, Vol. 1, September, 1876, p. 1.] [Footnote 158: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 2, April, 1877, p. 2; Vol. 3, October, 1877, p. 3; Vol. 5, September, 1879, p. 3.] [Footnote 159: _Ibid_., Vol. 8, September, 1883, p. 9; Vol. 11, October, 1885, p. 6; Vol. 13, July, 1888, p. 7; Vol. 14, December, 1888, p. 3; Vol. 15, October, 1889, pp. 17-18; Constitution, amended 1889, Art. 8.] The Cigar Makers' present national system of out-of-work relief was adopted at the eighteenth session, held in New York City in September, 1889, and became operative in January, 1890. The measure as finally adopted by the International Convention was framed by Mr. Gompers. It provided that the unemployed members should receive three dollars per week and fifty cents for each additional day, that after receiving six weeks' aid the member should not be entitled to further assistance for seven weeks, and that no member should be granted more than seventy-two dollars during any one year. The original system has remained practically unchanged with the exception that in 1896 the annual allowance per member was reduced. From the outset--the first benefit was paid on January 22, 1890[160]--this system has been successful in operation. The report of the international president to the nineteenth session, September, 1891, showed that 2286 members out of 24,624, or less than ten per cent. of the total membership, drew out-of-work benefits during the first year, to the amount of $22,760.50; while during the first six months of 1891, the second year of its operation, 1074 out of 24,221, or less than five per cent., received assistance to the amount of $13,214.50.[161] During 1892 the per capita cost of the benefit was 65-1/2 cents, as compared with 92 cents and 87 cents in 1890 and 1891, respectively. These years were immediately preceding the great industrial and financial depression of 1893-1897, and in consequence during the following years the per capita amount paid showed considerable increase. In 1894 the unemployed cost the Union $174,517.25, or $6.27 per capita of membership, and in 1896, $175,767.25, or $6.43 per capita.[162] Since 1897 the yearly amount paid has gradually decreased with the exception of 1901 and 1904. During sixteen years of operation, ending January 1, 1906, $1,045,866.11 has been paid to unemployed members.[163] [Footnote 160: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 15, February, 1890, p. 9.] [Footnote 161: _Ibid_., Vol. 17, October, 1891, p. 5 (Supplement).] [Footnote 162: Proceedings of the Twenty-first Session, September, 1896; in Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 22, No. 1.] [Footnote 163: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 31, April, 1906, p. 13.] Even before the Cigar Makers, the Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, the small union of the German American printers, had established an out-of-work benefit. The Typographia began to pay an out-of-work benefit in 1884, eleven years after the organization of the national union. The new preamble adopted at the first national convention in Philadelphia, 1873, declared one of the purposes of the union to be the support of members "when unable to obtain work."[164] In 1884, when the union nationalized its system of benefits, the out-of-work benefit was fixed at five dollars per week. In 1888, owing to the prosperous financial condition of the Union, it was increased to six dollars per week, but in July, 1894, because of the strain upon the funds of the organization caused by the introduction of typesetting machines and the general business depression, it was reduced to the original sum.[165] [Footnote 164: American Federationist, Vol. 2, No. 4, p. 61.] [Footnote 165: _Ibid_.] The system in operation at present provides that members in good standing who have been on the unemployed list for eighteen days shall be entitled to six dollars per week. After drawing twenty-four dollars, no further benefit is granted until the member is on the unemployed list again for eighteen days, and no member is entitled to more than ninety-six dollars in any one fiscal year. Since 1888, with the exception of the fiscal years ending June 30, 1890, and June 30, 1891, the amount paid for out-of-work assistance has been the largest single item in the budget of the Union. During the year ending June 30, 1894, $17,262.50, or $14.33 per capita, an equivalent of forty-eight per cent. of the total disbursements for all benevolent purposes, was paid in out-of-work claims. The total amount paid up to June 30, 1906, was $145,826.91, and the average yearly per capita cost had been $5.99.[166] [Footnote 166: See table, page 91.] Only two other American unions paid out-of-work benefits in 1906. Both of these are small unions and recently organized. The National Brotherhood of Coal Hoisting Engineers pay five dollars per week to members out of employment, after the first thirty days, until work is secured, or until the expiration of twelve weeks.[167] The Jewelry Workers provide for the payment of seven dollars per week to married men and five dollars to unmarried men.[168] Certain other unions, notably the Pattern Makers,[169] pay a "victimized" benefit to members who are unable to secure employment because they are members of the union. Such benefits are directly connected with collective bargaining, and any discussion thereof lies without the scope of this monograph. [Footnote 167: Constitution, 1902 (Danville, Ill., n.d.), p. 14.] [Footnote 168: Constitution, 1902 (New York, n.d.), p. 6.] [Footnote 169: Constitution, 1906 (New York, n.d.), p. 17.] The introduction of a national out-of-work benefit has been, however, much discussed in several important unions. These have been the International Typographical Union, the Brotherhood of Carpenters and the Boot and Shoe Workers' Union. The unemployment caused by the depression of 1892-1897 was responsible for much of the consideration given the matter. In none of these unions has the subject been more fully debated than in the Typographical Union. In October, 1895, the New York local union adopted an out-of-work benefit, which provided for its unemployed members an allowance of four dollars per week for a period of eight weeks in each year.[170] Such activity on the part of the largest local union added considerable force to the movement for an International benefit. President Prescott in his report to the forty-second session of the International Union in 1894 recommended the establishment of an out-of-work benefit, in preference to a sick benefit. He showed that during 1894 several of the largest local unions had found it necessary to levy special assessments for the support of unemployed members. The amount of unemployment, especially in large cities, had increased rapidly. A large per cent. of the unemployed consisted of old men who were unable to compete with younger men in the operation of the linotype. The neglect of this class of men President Prescott characterized as criminal.[171] All agitation for the establishment of an out-of-work benefit has, however, up to the present time failed.[172] [Footnote 170: Typographical Journal, Vol. 7, No. 5, p. 3.] [Footnote 171: Proceedings of the Forty-second Annual Session, 1894, p. 3.] [Footnote 172: Proceedings of the Forty-third Annual Session, 1896, pp. 76, 86.] In 1894 at the eighth general session and again at the ninth in 1896 the Carpenters and Joiners considered seriously the question.[173] The Boot and Shoe Workers at their fifth convention in 1902, although refusing to adopt a proposed plan for a national system, recommended as a partial substitute that all local unions raise funds for the payment of dues of out-of-work members and provide such other relief as they should deem wise, "to the end that from the experience so gained a national plan for relief of unemployed members may be developed."[174] [Footnote 173: The Carpenter, Vol. 14, September, 1894; Vol. 16, September, 1896.] [Footnote 174: Proceedings of the Fifth Convention, 1902, p. 28.] In the unions maintaining out-of-work benefits it is customary to provide as a precautionary measure that members must have been in good standing for a lengthy period before being entitled to the benefit. The Cigar Makers and the Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia provide that only members of the union in good standing for two years shall be entitled to the benefit.[175] [Footnote 175: Constitution of the Cigar Makers' International Union of America, 1896, thirteenth edition (Chicago, n.d.), sec. 117; Constitution of the Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, 1901.] Both the Cigar Makers and the Typographia have also stringent regulations intended to prevent fraud. In the Cigar Makers' Union a member thrown out of employment must obtain from the collector of the shop in which he works a certificate stating the cause of his discharge. If the unemployment is caused by the intoxication of the member, or if he has "courted his discharge" through bad workmanship or otherwise, he is not entitled to the benefit for eight weeks. Mere inability to retain employment does not, however, deprive a member of the relief. If a member leaves employment of his own volition, he is not entitled to a benefit until he has obtained work again for at least one week. Having obtained the certificate of the collector, the unemployed member must register at the office of the union in a book provided for that purpose. After having been registered for one week, he begins to draw the out-of-work benefit. If while receiving out-of-work pay he refuses to work in a shop where work is offered him, or neglects to apply for work when directed by an officer of the union, he loses his right to the benefit and cannot receive out-of-work pay again until he has had employment for at least one week. Shop collectors are required to report immediately the name of any member refusing to work. After having received out-of-work benefit for six weeks, the member is not entitled to assistance for seven weeks thereafter. From June 1 to September 23 and from December 16 to January 15 no out-of-work benefits are paid. During these periods, however, any member out of work can obtain remission of dues by application to the financial secretary. He must, however, pay such dues at the rate of ten per cent weekly when he secures employment. The total out-of-work benefit which may be paid in any one fiscal year is fifty-four dollars. Moreover, any member who has received fifty-four dollars in benefits is not entitled to any further sums until he shall have worked four weeks. But members over fifty years of age are not required to secure employment for four weeks, but may continue to draw the fifty-four dollars yearly although not working. The protective rules of the Typographia are similar to those of the Cigar Makers. Members thrown out of employment through their own fault cannot be entered on the lists for thirty-six days. If a member gives up his situation voluntarily, he is not entitled to a benefit for four weeks unless his action is approved by the executive committee of the local Typographia. Unemployed members must report daily to an officer of the union. If a member neglects to report he loses his benefit for that day. If a member drawing the benefit refuses to take a situation he loses his right to the benefit for seven weeks. If he refuses work as a substitute he loses his right to the benefit for two weeks. If an unemployed member is unable to fill a situation and so cannot secure work, he is not entitled longer to a benefit, and it becomes the duty of the local executive to recommend that he be given a sum of money in lieu of his rights as a member. The following table shows the cost of maintaining the out-of-work benefit in the Cigar Makers and in the Typographia: COST OF MAINTAINING THE OUT-OF-WORK BENEFIT. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- | Typographia. | Cigar Makers. Year. |--------------------------------------------------------- | | Per Capita | | Per Capita | Total Cost. | Cost. | Total Cost. | Cost. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- 1885 | $ 1,118.90 | $ 2.00 | | 1886 | 1,453.08 | 1.52 | | 1887 | 1,240.10 | 1.15 | | 1888 | 1,315.13 | 1.16 | | 1889 | 6,281.50 | 5.55 | | 1890 | 4,315.00 | 3.47 | $ 22,760.50 | $ .92 1891 | 6,067.00 | 4.58 | 21,223.50 | .87 1892 | 9,359.50 | 6.77 | 17,460.75 | .65 1893 | 7,835.00 | 5.67 | 89,402.75 | 3.34 1894 | 17,262.50 | 14.33 | 174,517.25 | 6.27 1895 | 9,464.20 | 8.66 | 166,377.25 | 5.99 1896 | 7,812.00 | 7.00 | 175,767.25 | 6.43 1897 | 8,485.00 | 7.83 | 117,471.40 | 4.46 1898 | 8,603.00 | 7.82 | 70,197.70 | 2.65 1899 | 11,135.00 | 10.39 | 38,037.00 | 1.31 1900 | 8,703.00 | 8.33 | 23,897.00 | .70 1901 | 6,716.00 | 6.56 | 27,083.76 | .79 1902 | 7,839.00 | 7.86 | 21,071.00 | .56 1903 | 4,846.00 | 4.86 | 15,558.00 | .39 1904 | 5,785.00 | 5.82 | 29,872.50 | .72 1905 | 5,105.00 | 5.23 | 35,168.50 | .87 1906 | 5,086.00 | 5.22 | 23,911.00 | .60 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Total | $145,826.91 | | $1,069,777.11 | ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Average | 6,638.49 | $5.99 | 62,928.06 | $2.20 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From the above table some comparison can be made of the per capita cost of the out-of-work benefit in the Cigar Makers' Union and in the Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, respectively. For the twenty-two years ending with the fiscal year June 30, 1906, the average annual cost to the German-American Printers has been $5.99 per member, while the Cigar Makers have disbursed, during the fifteen years in which the benefit has been paid, a yearly average of $2.20 per member. The higher average cost to the Typographia has been due chiefly to two causes, (1) the greater amount paid as a weekly benefit, and (2) the larger annual sum which may be paid. The Typographia has always paid a greater weekly benefit. From the adoption of the benefit in 1884 to 1888 this union granted five dollars per week for a maximum period of twelve weeks. During 1888-1894 six dollars per week was allowed. For several years following 1894 five dollars per week for sixteen weeks, or eighty dollars per year, was granted, while at present six dollars per week, or ninety-six dollars per year, is paid. On the other hand, the Cigar Makers' Union, during 1889-1896, paid three dollars per week and fifty cents for each additional day, with a possible maximum of seventy-two dollars per year; but since 1896 the maximum allowance has been fifty-four dollars. Thus, at present the German Printers pay both a greater weekly benefit and a larger maximum yearly amount. In the Typographia there appears to be a tendency towards an increased per capita cost, while in the Cigar Makers' Union the reverse has been true. This may be attributed in large part to the difference in the age grouping of the memberships. The membership of the German Printers is small, of a higher average age, and is gradually decreasing, while that of the Cigar Makers, with a lower average age, shows a steady increase. Many of the older men in both organizations are employed only when trade is very brisk and draw each year the full amount of the benefits. The variations from year to year are so great, however, as to obscure any general tendency. During the depression of 1893-1897 the per capita cost in the Typographia rose from $3.47 in 1890 to $6.77 in 1892, and to $14.33 in 1894. The per capita cost in the Cigar Makers' Union shows a very sudden increase from 65 cents in 1892 to $3.34 in 1893, to $6.27 in 1894, and to $6.43 in 1896, after which there followed a gradual decrease. The cost of the out-of-work benefit is therefore far more variable than that of any other benefit in either of the unions, and necessitates on the part of both the maintenance of larger reserves. * * * * * The systems of so-called out-of-work benefits maintained by the Iron Molders, Pattern Makers, Tobacco Workers, Granite Cutters, Leather Workers on Horse Goods, and Locomotive Firemen, as has already been noted, merely exempt the unemployed member from payment of national dues. This is a device to retain members in "good standing" during unemployment. The system maintained by the Iron Molders is the most important of those in operation. The history of the introduction of this benefit by the Iron Molders' Union illustrates the conditions many unions face in building up a system of relief. As a union develops benefits the dues required of members are larger. The unemployed member thus finds himself heavily burdened by the dues he must pay his union at the very time he needs most the protection afforded by the benefit. The establishment of the out-of-work benefit in the Iron Molders' Union was the direct result of the inauguration of a system of sick benefits in 1896. Members in arrears for dues for a period longer than thirteen weeks were excluded from sick relief. The limitation aroused serious dissatisfaction. It was felt that if an unemployed member could not be aided, at least he should be protected against the loss of his right to benefits. Some local unions paid the dues of their unemployed members, but in a period of depression the burden became too great. In October, 1897, two years after the inauguration of the sick benefit, the national union of the Iron Molders assumed the responsibility of paying the dues of unemployed members. All members of six months' standing, who were not in arrears for more than four weeks' dues, became entitled to relief from the payment of dues for thirteen weeks during any fiscal year. The out-of-work benefit does not begin, however, until two weeks after the member has become idle.[176] The national union issues through the local unions out-of-work stamps which are received in payment of dues. [Footnote 176: Constitution, 1902 (Cincinnati, 1902), Art. 19. Until 1899 the unemployed member must not have been in arrears for more than four weeks' dues, and the benefit did not begin until he had been idle four weeks. (Constitution, 1898.)] The fund for paying the dues of unemployed members is supported by a weekly tax of one cent on each member. For 1898 the income of the out-of-work relief fund was $6,861.61, while the disbursements were only $1278, representing 7100 out-of-work stamps. In the whole period (1897-1907) since the inauguration of the out-of-work benefit, the revenue has more than sufficed for the disbursements. Although the 1899 convention transferred $10,000 of the surplus to other funds, on June 20, 1907, there remained in the fund the sum of $125,021, nearly twice as much as had been expended. The Union has not passed through a period of depression since the system was established, and the officers have insisted that wise policy requires the maintenance of a large reserve.[177] [Footnote 177: Proceedings of Twenty-second Session, p. 646. In Supplement to Iron Molders' Journal, September, 1902.] The exemption of unemployed members from the payment of dues takes many forms. The Tobacco Workers' Union provides that members out of employment shall be granted twelve weeks in which to pay dues before they may be suspended from the Union.[178] The Granite Cutters' Association provides that any member in good standing and out of employment for two months or more shall be exempt from half of his dues.[179] The Brotherhood of Leather Workers on Horse Goods grants exemption from payment of dues for a period of thirteen weeks in any one year to unemployed members.[180] The Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen provides that any member out of employment and unable to pay his dues or assessments shall not be expelled, and that the local lodge must pay his dues for one quarter. It is optional with the subordinate lodge as to whether or not it shall keep the member in good standing for more than one quarter.[181] [Footnote 178: Constitution, 1900, third edition, 1905 (Louisville, n.d.), sec. 43.] [Footnote 179: Constitution, 1906 (Quincy, n.d.), p. 45.] [Footnote 180: Constitution, 1904 (Kansas City, n.d.), p. 22.] [Footnote 181: Constitution, 1905 (Indianapolis, n.d.), sec. 195.] The regulations enforced by the unions concerning the remission of the dues of unemployed members are less stringent than the rules governing the larger money out-of-work benefit. In the first place the period of good standing required before a member is entitled to assistance is shorter. A member of the Iron Molders is eligible to the benefit after six months of good standing. The Granite Cutters require only a two months' membership.[182] Moreover, the rules as to registration are less strict. In the Iron Molders' Union an unemployed member must report the date of the beginning of his idleness at the first regular meeting after he has been discharged and must report in person at every regular meeting of his local union; otherwise he cannot claim the benefit. The Leather Workers have the same provisions. The Tobacco Workers require idle members claiming indulgence in the payment of dues to report to the local financial secretary twice each week.[183] [Footnote 182: Constitution, 1905 (Quincy, n.d.), p. 45.] [Footnote 183: Constitution of the Leather Workers on Horse Goods, 1905 (Kansas City, n.d.), p. 22; Constitution of the International Tobacco Workers' Union, 1900, third edition, 1905 (Louisville, n.d.), sec. 43.] The cost of the exemption of dues in none of the unions is large. The following table gives the chief facts concerning the benefit in the Iron Molders' Union for the period 1900-1906: OUT-OF-WORK RELIEF IN THE IRON MOLDERS' UNION. ========================================================== Year. |Number of Stamps| Value of | Cost per Member |Issued Yearly. |Out-of-work[184]| per Year. | | Stamps | ---------------------------------------------------------- 1900 | 23,436 | $ 5,859.00 | $0.12 1901 | 26,349 | 6,587.25 | .12 1902 | 10,389 | 2,597.25 | .04 1903 | 26,073 | 6,518.25 | .04 1904 | 92,685 | 23,171.25 | .27 1905 | 24,906 | 6,226.50 | .07 1906 | 16,676 | 4,169.00 | .04 ---------------------------------------------------------- Average| 31,502 | $7,875.50 | $0.10 ---------------------------------------------------------- [Footnote 184: Approximate number only. Data furnished by Mr. R.H. Metcalf, financier of the union.] The great variations in the number of out-of-work stamps issued is due, of course, to variations in the amount of unemployment. The annual amount of unemployment per capita, so far as it is measured by the number of stamps issued, varied from less than one fourth of a week in 1902, 1903 and 1906 to one and one half weeks in 1904. The per capita cost of maintaining the benefit varied from four cents in 1902, 1903 and 1906 to twenty-seven cents in 1904. In the history of certain of the principal unions a system of loans or travelling benefits has preceded the out-of-work benefit. The travelling benefit may indeed be termed the first stage of out-of-work relief. The following unions maintain the travelling benefit either in the form of a loan or of a gift: the Cement Workers, Chain Makers, Cigar Makers, Compressed Air Workers, Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, Flour and Cereal Mill Employees, Fur Workers, Glass Snappers, Hod Carriers, Lace Curtain Operatives, Leather Workers on Horse Goods, Machine Printers and Color Mixers, the Mattress and Spring Bed Workers, Shipwrights, Slate Quarrymen, Tile Layers and Helpers, and the Watch Case Engravers. The travelling benefit and the out-of-work benefit are complementary in several of these unions. The systems of travelling benefits maintained by the Cigar Makers, the Leather Workers on Horse Goods and the Typographia are the most important. The history of the travelling benefit in the Cigar Makers' Union begins almost with the earliest years of the Union. Prior to the Detroit convention, September, 1873, the Union maintained a system of loans to travelling craftsmen. Under this system any member, travelling in search of employment, was entitled to a loan sufficient to transport him to the nearest union. The local union in which the travelling member secured employment was required to collect at least twenty per cent. of the weekly wages of such member.[185] This first attempt was an absolute failure and in 1878 the system was abolished.[186] In October, 1878, local union No. 122 proposed an amendment to the international constitution to provide means of aiding "all travelling craftsmen in need." The aid was not to be a loan but an absolute gift.[187] This proposal failed of adoption; but in August, 1879, local union no. 144 proposed a new plan.[188] A member of six months' standing, if unemployed, was to be loaned a sufficient sum to transport him by the cheapest route to the nearest union and so to the next. The total of the loans was not to aggregate more than twenty dollars.[189] The plan was adopted and became effective May 1, 1880. In 1884 the amount of any one loan was limited to twelve dollars, and in 1896 it was farther reduced to eight dollars.[190] [Footnote 185: Constitution, 1867, Art. 11.] [Footnote 186: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 1, October 5, 1878, p. 3.] [Footnote 187: _Ibid._] [Footnote 188: _Ibid._ Vol. 4, August, 1879, p. 2.] [Footnote 189: Constitution, 1880 (New York, 1880), Art. 4.] [Footnote 190: Constitution, 1884 (New York, 1884), Art. 7; 1896, fourteenth edition, (Chicago, n.d.), p. 27. (Issued in 1906.)] The Cigar Makers have always required members to return the sum borrowed. The repayment of such loans, in the case of the Cigar Makers' Union, must commence with the first week of employment, and must continue at the rate of ten per cent. of the weekly earnings.[191] The Brotherhood of Leather Workers on Horse Goods require payment at the rate of fifteen per cent. of weekly wages.[192] The German-American Printers, on the other hand, grant travelling loans as an absolute gift.[193] This is the only important union which follows this policy. [Footnote 191: Constitution, 1880 (New York, 1880), Art. 4; 1896, thirteenth edition, (Chicago, n.d.), p. 28.] [Footnote 192: Constitution, 1904 (Kansas City, n.d.), p. 21.] [Footnote 193: Report of Industrial Commission, Vol. 17, Introduction, p. XLII.] Naturally the rules governing the benefit in the Typographia are more stringent than in the case of those unions which merely loan travelling money. The chief regulations are as follows: In order to draw the benefit a member must have been in good standing for at least six months. He must have paid in full his dues to the day of his departure. He may draw two cents per mile for the first two hundred miles and one cent for every additional mile, but he cannot at any one time receive more than ten dollars. A member assisted with the travelling benefit must remain at least three months in a place before he can claim another travelling benefit. When he has drawn a total of twenty-five dollars he is not entitled to any further assistance for twelve months. Those members who lose their places through their own fault are not entitled to a travelling benefit for three months, and those who give up their places can receive the benefit only if the executive committee of the local Typographia approves their action. A travelling member going to a place where there is a local Typographia must report to it within two days or he forfeits his right to out-of-work benefits for four weeks. If a member receives the travelling benefit and does not leave, he must return the amount received, and is not in good standing until he has done this. The total amounts paid yearly in some of the leading unions furnish some idea of the importance of this benefit. Since the inauguration of the benefit to January 1, 1906, the Cigar Makers' International Union has paid a total of $991,777.98 in travelling loans, or an average of $38,145.31 per year.[194] The Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia has paid from July 1, 1884, to June 30, 1906, $8116.11, or an average of $368.91.[195] For the year ending September 30, 1904, the Cement Workers paid $1600, the Flour and Cereal Mill Employees, $2084.95, the Hod Carriers and Building Laborers, $1500, and the Leather Workers on Horse Goods, $7703.15.[196] [Footnote 194: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 31, April 15, 1906.] [Footnote 195: Hugo Miller, 25-jährige Geschichte der Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia, 1873-1898, p. 58; Jahres-Bericht, 1899-1906.] [Footnote 196: Report of Proceedings of the Twenty-fourth Annual Convention, American Federation of Labor, 1904 (Washington, 1904), p. 46.] The table on page 99 shows the total amounts paid yearly and the average loan per capita of membership in the Cigar Makers' Union and the average per capita cost in the Deutsch-Amerikanischen Typographia. TOTAL AND PER CAPITA AMOUNTS OF TRAVELLING LOANS AND BENEFITS. ======================================================= | Cigar Makers. | Typographia. |---------------------------------------------- Year. | Amount of | Loans Per | Amount of | |Travelling | Capita of | Travelling | Cost per | Loans. |Membership.| Benefits | Member. -------------------------------------------------------- 1880 | $ 2,808.15| $0.63 | | 1881 | 12,747,09| .87 | | 1882 | 20,386.64| 1.78 | | 1883 | 37,135.20| 2.81 | | 1884 | 39,632.08| 3.48 | | 1885 | 26,683.54| 2.22 | $ 345.50 | $0.61 1886 | 31,835.71| 1.29 | 264.10 | .27 1887 | 49,281.04| 2.34 | 483.45 | .44 1888 | 42,894.75| 2.50 | 669.29 | .59 1889 | 43,540.44| 2.71 | 456.17 | .40 1890 | 37,914.72| 1.53 | 576.65 | .46 1891 | 53,535.73| 2.21 | 622.47 | .47 1892 | 47,732.47| 1.78 | 797.19 | .57 1893 | 60,475.11| 2.25 | 439.64 | .31 1894 | 42,154.17| 1.52 | 680.06 | .56 1895 | 41,657.16| 1.50 | 304.46 | .27 1896 | 33,076.22| 1.39 | 339.86 | .30 1897 | 29,067.04| 1.10 | 279.50 | .25 1898 | 25,237.43| .95 | 390.62 | .35 1899 | 24,234.33| .83 | 320.74 | .29 1900 | 33,238.13| .97 | 178.79 | .17 1901 | 44,652.73| 1.31 | 175.05 | .17 1902 | 45,314.05| 1.22 | 107.28 | .11 1903 | 52,521.41| 1.33 | 159.56 | .16 1904 | 58,728.71| 1.41 | 181.85 | .18 1905 | 55,293.93| 1.37 | 195.46 | .20 1906 | 50,650.21| 1.29 | 147.52 | .15 --------------------------------------------------------- Total |$991,177.98| | $8116.11 | --------------------------------------------------------- Average| 38,145.31| $1.63 | 368.91 | $0.33 --------------------------------------------------------- The travelling loan in the Cigar Makers was for some time badly administered. Until the adoption of the out-of-work benefit, the financial secretaries, moved by sympathy, frequently granted the benefit to members who had never left their jurisdiction and who had no intention of leaving.[197] This practice endangered the entire system.[198] Since the adoption of the out-of-work benefit the amount of loans per capita of membership has diminished. At present the cost of the travelling benefit in the Cigar Makers is not large; the loans are promptly and efficiently collected. Data for recent years are not available; but in the period from 1881 to 1901 the sum of $735,266 was loaned and $660,255 was repaid. The balance outstanding at the close of 1900 was $75,014, and of this a considerable part was collectible. The net cost of the system for twenty-one years was thus certainly less than $50,000, an average annual cost of about $2400, or an annual average per capita cost of ten cents. Even in the Typographia, where the benefit is a gift, the annual per capita cost to the membership is not large, varying from eleven to sixty cents, according to the state of employment. [Footnote 197: Cigar Makers' Journal, Vol. 6, July, 1881, p. 1.] [Footnote 198: _Ibid.,_ Vol. 9, July, 1884, p. 3.] CHAPTER V. SUPERANNUATION BENEFITS. In 1901 thirty-eight of the one hundred principal British unions paid a superannuation benefit. These unions had a membership of 566,765, and the amount paid in superannuation benefits from 1892 to 1901 was about one sixth of the total amount expended for all benefits.[199] In the American trade unions, on the other hand, superannuation benefits are paid by only a few unions. A considerable number of unions have in recent years been considering the advisability of introducing this feature, and it is likely within a brief period to form an important part of the beneficiary system of the American unions. [Footnote 199: Weyl, "Benefit Features of British Trade Unions," in Bulletin of the Bureau of Labor, Vol. 12, p. 722.] The superannuation benefit may take several forms--a weekly stipend, a lump sum or a support in a home for the aged. The aim of the benefit in all three cases is to protect the member in old age. The weekly stipend is regarded as the preferable form, since in going to a home the member must leave his family. Ordinarily, too, a weekly payment is deemed wiser than a lump sum, since the aged member cannot very well manage property, and the chances are that he will lose his capital. The British trade unions uniformly pay the benefit in the form of a weekly or monthly pension. The earliest attempt made by any American trade union to make provision for the support of aged members was that of the Typographical Union in 1857. The National Convention of that year appointed a committee to consider the proposal of the Philadelphia printers for the establishment of an "Asylum for Superannuated and Indigent Printers." This plan was defeated at the ninth convention in 1860.[200] The Iron Molders' Union as early as 1874 provided for the establishment of a "superannuated fund," from which superannuated members of twenty years' standing were to receive three hundred dollars and those of twenty-five years' four hundred, if permanently disabled and unable to earn a living at their trade. Membership was to date from July 5, 1859, and no benefit was to be paid until August, 1879.[201] Because of the failure to accumulate sufficient reserve for its support, the regulations were repealed in 1878 before any benefit fell due.[202] The superannuation benefit adopted by the Granite Cutters early in their history met a similar fate. [Footnote 200: Proceedings of the Seventh Convention, Chicago, 1858 (New York, 1858), p. 11; Proceedings of the Ninth Convention, Nashville, 1860 (Boston, 1860), pp. 53-54.] [Footnote 201: Constitution, 1876 (Cincinnati, 1876), Art. 18.] [Footnote 202: Constitution, 1878 (Cincinnati, 1878), Art. 17; Iron Molders' Journal, August, 1878, p. 4; October, 1878, p. 30.] In recent years agitation for the establishment of some form of superannuation benefit has been carried forward in several of the more important unions. In 1893 Mr. Gompers proposed the establishment of this form of beneficiary relief in the Cigar Makers' Union. In June, 1904, a plan was discussed for the payment of a monthly benefit of six dollars to members sixty years of age and twenty-five years in good standing. Larger benefits were to be paid to members older and of longer standing. Up to the present, however, the Cigar Makers have not adopted any of the plans for a superannuation benefit. The Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, at the 1900 convention, provided for the payment to members of twenty-five years' continuous membership and over sixty years of age such amount as the National Convention might designate.[203] In 1902 it was decided that if the members by referendum vote endorsed an increase of dues, the amount of this benefit should be fixed at $150.[204] But the increase of dues failed of ratification, and the plan for a superannuation benefit was abandoned. [Footnote 203: Proceedings of the Eleventh General Convention of the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, Scranton, 1900 (Scranton, 1900). p. 67.] [Footnote 204: Proceedings of the Twelfth General Convention, 1902 (Atlanta, 1902), pp. 123, 163; The Carpenter, Vol. 22, November, 1902, p. 3; Vol. 23, No. 1.] A few unions have allowed aged members to draw all or a part of their death benefit. Thus, the Granite Cutters permit members sixty years of age who have been in continuous good standing for ten years to draw the sum of $125.[205] The Typographia also pays an indeterminate lump sum to aged members who wish to retire from the trade. [Footnote 205: Constitution, 1905 (Boston, n.d.), p. 28.] More important still, a considerable number of unions have made provision for the payment of a superannuation benefit in one form or another at a definite future date. Such unions are the Journeymen Plumbers, the Pattern Makers, the Machinists and the Jewelry Workers. In the Plumbers' Association any member of at least twenty years' full membership and not less than forty-five years of age, who, through old age or infirmity, is incapacitated from following his employment, is entitled to the benefit according to a prescribed scale; those of twenty consecutive years' full membership and not under sixty-five years of age are to receive three hundred dollars; those of twenty-five years' membership and not under seventy years of age, four hundred dollars; those of thirty years' membership and over, five hundred dollars. The rule providing for the payment of the benefit became effective in January, 1903, but no benefit is to be paid before January, 1923.[206] The Pattern Makers' League provides that superannuated members be divided into two classes: (_a_) members sixty years of age and of twenty-five years' continuous membership, who receive twelve dollars per month, and (_b_) those sixty-five years of age and over and of thirty years' membership, who receive sixteen dollars per month. The provisions of this rule became operative July 1, 1900, and the first benefit will be payable on July 1, 1920.[207] The Jewelry Workers have the same specifications as the Pattern Makers. The rule went into effect January 1, 1902, but no benefit will be paid until January 1, 1922.[208] The Machinists provide that any member sixty-five years of age and of ten consecutive years' good standing shall receive five hundred dollars and those sixty-eight years of age and of twenty years' standing shall receive one thousand dollars. This benefit became effective June 1, 1903, and no payment can be made before June 1, 1913. [Footnote 206: Constitution, 1904 (Chicago, n.d.), pp. 52-53.] [Footnote 207: Constitution, 1906 (New York, n.d.), pp. 15-16.] [Footnote 208: Constitution, 1902, Art. 11.] The only two American trade unions which in 1908 are actually paying a superannuation benefit as distinguished from a mere compounding of the death benefit are the Granite Cutters and the Typographical Union. In both the establishment of the benefit is very recent. In 1905 the Granite Cutters made provision for the payment of a monthly benefit of ten dollars for "six months each year beginning with November" to those who had been members for twenty years and who had reached the age of sixty-two. The applicants must have been in continuous good standing for the "last ten years previous to arriving at the age of sixty-two."[209] The first payments under the new rule were made in December, 1905. [Footnote 209: Constitution, 1905 (Quincy, n.d.), p. 45.] The Typographical Union has, however, led all the American trade unions in the provision which it has made for its aged members. As has been noted above, as early as 1857 it was proposed to establish a home for aged printers in Philadelphia, and the project was revived from time to time. The persistence with which this proposal appeared and reappeared gave evidence of its popularity. In 1870 a Kansas union proposed the establishment of a "Home for Disabled Printers." All members of local unions were to be taxed two dollars each for the purpose of endowing the Home. The committee of the International Union to whom the plan was referred reported that they "deemed it impracticable at the present time." In 1877 a similar proposal was defeated. In 1882 a committee consisting of the officers of the union was appointed to inquire into the possibility of establishing and maintaining a "Home for Disabled Printers." This committee expressed its approval of the project, but doubted the ability of the union to finance it. In 1886 Messrs. George W. Childs and A.J. Drexel of Philadelphia presented to the International Union the sum of ten thousand dollars. This donation was to be used in any manner the union might see fit. For some years an active discussion as to the best use to be made of the fund was carried on, and in the meantime the sum was being increased by contributions from members of the union. It ultimately became evident that some plan for applying this fund to the establishment of a home for aged printers would best satisfy the membership. In 1887 the Austin, Texas, union announced that the Mayor and City Council of Austin were willing to present a site for such a home. In 1889 the Board of Trade of Colorado Springs offered to donate eighty acres of land for the same purpose, and other offers of land were received from time to time. The International Union finally decided to accept the offer of the site at Colorado Springs, and this decision was approved by a referendum vote. The Home was opened on May 12, 1892. Applicants for admission were required to have been members of the union in good standing for five years. Persons incapacitated either by age or by illness were admitted to the Home. The number of residents has increased from twenty-two in 1893 to one hundred and forty-three in 1907. A considerable part of the residents are sufferers from tuberculosis, and the union has made provision for treating them according to modern methods. A part of the inmates, however, have always been persons whose incapacity was solely the result of old age. About 1904 an agitation began to be carried on in the union for making more adequate provision for the maintenance of aged members. The establishment of the Home had made provision only for those incapacitated members who were willing to leave their families and live in an institution. It was argued that the Home benefited one class of the aged, and that another class, equally worthy, was left entirely dependent upon its own resources. Moreover, certain innovations in the trade had made the union highly sensible of the helplessness of its aged members. The introduction of the linotype caused many old members to lose their employment. The New York local union established an out-of-work benefit in 1896 which has since been maintained. This benefit, while nominally an out-of-work benefit, was in many cases really a superannuation benefit. In 1903 the Chicago local union made provision for the payment of old-age pensions to its members, and other local unions rapidly followed the same policy. In 1903 and 1904 propositions were introduced at the sessions of the International Union for the establishment of an International old-age pension system. In 1905 the session of the International authorized the appointment of a committee to investigate the subject. The eight-hour strike which taxed for two years the resources of the Union delayed the consideration of this report. In 1907 the committee reported in favor of the establishment of old age pensions, and presented a plan which when submitted to the referendum was ratified by a large majority, and on August 1, 1908, the International secretary-treasurer began the payment of pensions. All members sixty years of age who have been in continuous good standing for twenty years, and who earn less than four dollars per week, are entitled to a weekly pension of four dollars. The original plan provided also that in order to receive a pension a member must have no other means of support. The officers of the Union, however, have construed this provision liberally, and the pension is paid as of right and not as a form of charity. The pension scheme thus adopted by the Typographical Union is the most ambitious that has been proposed in any American trade union. The sum of money required to finance the project will be very large, and the Union has levied for the support of the pension system an assessment of one half of one per cent. on the wages of all its members. Whether this will be sufficient adequately to support the benefit is as yet uncertain, since the number of pensioners cannot be estimated with any accuracy. It is certain also that the number of pensioners will not reach its maximum for a considerable period. CHAPTER VI. ADMINISTRATION. No factor has been of more consequence in determining the development and stability of the relief systems than the character of their administration. The problems that confront the unions are both legislative and administrative, but the administrative organs must not only execute the rules already in force, but must furnish data upon which additional rules can be based. When the early voluntary insurance associations were formed under the auspices of the national unions, their management was usually confided to a separate set of officials, and the funds of the association were kept distinct from those of the unions with which they were connected. In some cases the officers of the unions, for purposes of economy, acted also as officers of the association. The Iron Molders' Beneficial Association was thus formed as a separate institution to furnish a voluntary death and disability benefit to any journeyman molder in good standing in any local union under the jurisdiction of the national organization.[210] [Footnote 210: Iron Molders' Journal, Vol. 7, March, 1871.] The administration of the beneficiary systems, in all but two of the unions, is now carried on by the officers who manage the general affairs of the union. The Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and the National Association of Letter Carriers each maintains a mutual benefit department administered by separate officers. The official staff of the Engineers' Insurance Association consists of a president, a vice-president, a secretary-treasurer and five trustees; while that of the Letter Carriers consists of the president of the National Association, a board of trustees, a chief collector and a depositary. In those unions in which the administration of the beneficiary system is in the hands of the officials of the union the officials in charge of the administration of the benefits are usually two, variously known as a grand chief, grand master or president and a secretary-treasurer. In a few unions the offices of treasurer and secretary are separated. In the Cigar Makers the president also performs the duty of secretary. In the Tailors the general secretary has sole charge of the benefits. In the Iron Molders' Union the "financier" has charge of the administration of the sick benefits. The secretary-treasurer in the majority of the unions is the chief official concerned in administering the benefits. Such is the case in the Typographical Union, the Brotherhood of Painters, the United Association of Plumbers, the Boot and Shoe Workers' Union, the Tobacco Workers' Union, the Brotherhood of Leather Workers on Horse Goods, and the Barbers' International Union.[211] In the Iron Molders' Union, the Brotherhood of Carpenters, the Wood Workers' Union, the Glass Bottle Blowers' Association, the United Garment Workers' Union, and the Granite Cutters' Union these duties are divided between the general secretary and the general treasurer. [Footnote 211: Typographical Union, Constitution, 1904 (Indianapolis, n.d.), p. 26; Plumbers' Constitution, 1904 (Chicago, n.d.), pp. 19-21; Painters' Constitution, 1904 (La Fayette, n.d.), secs. 230-241; Boot and Shoe Workers' Constitution, 1904 (Boston, n.d.), sec. 7; Tobacco Workers' Constitution, 1900, third edition, 1905 (Louisville, n.d.), pp. 10-15; Leather Workers on Horse Goods, Constitution, 1904 (Kansas City, n.d.), p. 7; Barbers' Constitution, 1905 (Indianapolis, n.d.), pp. 13-14.] Ordinarily no particular part of the funds of the union is devoted to the payment of beneficiary claims. The unions paying insurance, however, are exceptional in this respect. In such cases the funds of the insurance departments are separate from the general funds of the brotherhoods, and the dues for maintaining the insurance departments are levied as assessments distinct from the general levies. Nearly all the grand lodges have made provision in their constitutions against encroachments upon the beneficiary funds by the grand officers for the benefit of other departments. The Trainmen and the Switchmen provide that the beneficiary fund shall be used exclusively in paying death and disability claims.[212] The Telegraphers provide that no part of the mortuary fund shall be paid out, loaned or diverted for any purpose except for the payment of approved death claims.[213] The Firemen pay out of their beneficiary fund "all expenses for the proper conducting of the beneficiary departments."[214] The position of the Conductors on this point is not so explicit. The Order, however, holds in reserve a fund of $300,000, from which the grand officers may draw, in case the assessments levied for beneficiary purposes are insufficient to pay legal claims and the surplus in the beneficiary fund is not sufficient to cover the deficit.[215] The Engineers and the Maintenance-of-Way Employees have no specific regulation of this kind; but the implication is that similar protection is furnished their funds. The Letter Carriers provide that the beneficiary fund shall be used exclusively for paying insurance claims. [Footnote 212: Constitution of the Railroad Trainmen, 1903 (Cleveland, 1903), sec. 58; Constitution of the Switchmen's Union of North America. 1903 (Buffalo, n.d.), sec. 57.] [Footnote 213: Constitution, 1903 (St. Louis, n.d.), Article 23, p. 109.] [Footnote 214: Constitution, amended, 1902 (Peoria, n.d.), sec. 52.] [Footnote 215: Constitution, 1903 (Cedar Rapids, n.d.), Article 27, p. 86.] Only a few of the unions paying benefits as distinguished from insurance make any such provisions. The Boot and Shoe Workers provide that the "sick and death benefit fund shall not be drawn upon for any purpose except for payment of sick and death benefits;" the Painters, that "no money received for a specific purpose shall be otherwise used;" and the Tobacco Workers, that "none of the funds shall be transferable one to another."[216] The Cigar Makers and the unions which follow its methods go quite to the other extreme.[217] All the moneys of the union are kept in a single fund and are drawn upon for the payment of benefits, organizing expenses, or strike pay, as need requires. In the great majority of unions, however, a nominal allocation of funds is practised. Thus, the Typographical Union in 1906 apportioned its monthly dues as follows: five cents to the general fund; five cents to the special defense fund; seven and one half cents to the defense fund; seven and one half cents to the burial fund; and ten cents to the endowment fund of the Union Printers' Home. Similarly, the Iron Molders, the Boot and Shoe Workers, Painters, Pattern Makers, Barbers and many others apportion their dues in fixed ratios to specific objects. But such apportionments are mere book-keeping devices. None of these unions hesitate in an emergency to transfer money from one fund to another. The Iron Molders and the Printers, for example, give their executive board or council power to transfer money from one fund to another whenever occasion demands.[218] In the other unions there is an implied power. In 1899 the Executive Board of the Iron Molders transferred $10,000 from the surplus in the out-of-work fund to other funds, as follows: $3000 to the strike fund; $5000 to the expense fund, and $2000 to the monthly fund.[219] Similarly, the Typographical Union, from 1897 to 1902, transferred $24,174.64 from the burial fund to the general fund.[220] Although the Brotherhood of Carpenters do not make provision for the transfer of money from one fund to another, it has been found necessary to borrow from one fund in order to meet claims on another. In 1896 the Executive Board borrowed seven thousand dollars from the "protective fund" and twelve thousand from the "organization fund" with which to pay benefit claims.[221] [Footnote 216: Constitution of the Boot and Shoe Workers' Union, 1904 (Lynn, 1904), p. 25; Constitution of the Brotherhood of Painters, Decorators and Paperhangers of America, 1906 (La Fayette, n.d.), p. 39; Constitution of the Tobacco Workers' Union, 1900, third edition, 1905 (Louisville, n.d.), p. 18.] [Footnote 217: The following are the more important unions making no allocation of their funds: Cigar Makers, Typographia, Piano and Organ Workers, and Plumbers.] [Footnote 218: Constitution of the Iron Molders' Union of North America, 1902 (Cincinnati, n. d.), p. 20; Constitution of the International Typographical Union of North America, 1904 (Indianapolis, 1904) p. 10.] [Footnote 219: Proceedings of the Twenty-second Session, Toronto, 1902, p. 646 (Supplement to Iron Molders' Journal, September, 1902).] [Footnote 220: Proceedings of the Forty-sixth Session, Milwaukee, 1900, pp. 51, 99 (Supplement to Typographical Journal, September, 1900).] [Footnote 221: The Carpenter, Vol. 16, October, 1896.] Efficient financial administration requires in the case of certain benefits an apportionment of revenue between the national union and its subordinate unions. The funds for the payment of death and disability benefits or of old age pensions can be held at national headquarters, since the administration of such benefits can be centralized and immediate payment is not essential. In the railway unions and in the great number of unions, such as the Brotherhood of Carpenters and the Typographical Union, which have developed only death benefits, the dues for beneficiary purposes are collected by the local unions and paid over to the national treasury. In those national unions which have introduced sick, out-of-work, or travelling benefits, national funds are ordinarily held by the local unions, for the reason that it is desirable that payment of claims should be made immediately. The unions which pay such benefits are divisible into two classes according to the extent to which they have entrusted the funds of the national union to the local unions. The Cigar Makers, the Typographia, the Piano and Organ Workers and the Plumbers intrust to the local unions all the funds of the national organization. A more numerous class of unions apportion the dues between the local unions and the national organization. The Iron Molders, for example, collect twenty-five cents per week from every member. This amount is applied as follows: ten cents per week per member is transferred to the International treasurer, of which sixteen per cent. is placed to the credit of the death and disability fund, twenty-six per cent. to the monthly fund, and fifty-eight per cent. to the strike fund; eight cents per week per member is held by the local unions as a credit to the benefit fund out of which are paid sick and out-of-work benefits; and the remainder, seven cents per member, is held by the local unions as a fund for local expenditures. The adjudication of claims is naturally the most important administrative task connected with a system of benefits. In all cases the national officials rely upon the local unions and their officers for a certain amount of coöperation and aid in preventing fraud, but the amount of this dependence varies with the character of the benefit. In death and disability benefits the national union can prevent fraud almost without any coöperation on the part of the local unions. A certificate of death or disability, properly signed, is in the great majority of cases an indisputable evidence of the fact it purports to attest. A union may in like manner administer an old age pension directly from its head office. But in the case of sick, travelling and out-of-work benefits, the local unions become an essential part of the administrative machinery of the national union. No national union attempts to determine whether a member of a local union is entitled to the out-of-work benefit except through the local union. The administrative systems fall thus into two great classes according as the benefit administered can be guarded against fraud by means of certificates and sworn statements, or according as it must be administered partly by persons in contact with the claimant. In both cases the national officers administer the benefits; but in the one they act directly and the mediation of the local union is formal and dispensable, while in the other the aim of national administration is to supervise and control the local administration. The administration of the death benefit or of a system of insurance against death presents relatively few difficult problems. The local union reports the death to the national officials and certifies to the good standing of the deceased member in his local union. If the reports of national and local unions correspond and the deceased member is clear on the records of both local and national unions, the claim is approved by the national officers and payment is made to the designated beneficiary, or the legal heirs of the deceased. The report of the subordinate union to the national union, covering the case in point, contains a certificate validating the claim, sworn to before a notary public or commissioner by the president and the financial secretary, together with all documents upon which the local authorities based their decision or prayer for the payment of the claim. Upon receipt of an application for a claim the general secretary-treasurer, the general president, or both, examine it and, if satisfied as to its validity, order immediate payment; if the claim is questionable it is referred to the general executive board for final adjustment.[222] [Footnote 222: Iron Molders' Constitution, 1902 (Cincinnati, 1902), p. 41; Cigar Makers' Constitution, 1896, fourteenth edition (Chicago, n.d.), sec. 151; Painters' Constitution, 1906 (La Fayette, n.d.), sec. 151.] The adjudication of disability claims is more difficult than that of death claims. Of the unions that pay disability insurance or benefits the Locomotive Engineers, the Railway Conductors, the Locomotive Firemen, the Railroad Trainmen, the Switchmen, the Maintenance-of-Way Employees, the Iron Molders, the Brotherhood of Carpenters, the Painters, and the Glass Workers specify the disabilities that constitute "total or permanent disability," while the Wood-Workers and Metal Workers define disability simply by the resultant disqualification for "following the trade,"[223] In the latter group of unions the administrative officers have large discretionary power. The lack of more specific rules in such cases causes unsatisfactory administration and this in turn gives rise to general complaint.[224] [Footnote 223: Iron Molders' Constitution, 1902 (Cincinnati, 1902), p. 40; Carpenters' Constitution, 1905 (Milwaukee, n.d.), p. 19; Painters' Constitution, 1904 (La Fayette, n.d.), p. 29; Glass Workers' Constitution, 1903 (n.p., n.d.)5 p. 11; Wood Workers' Constitution, 1905 (Chicago, n.d.), sec. 137; Metal Workers' Constitution, 1903 (Joliet, n.d.), sec. 115.] [Footnote 224: Proceedings of the Nineteenth Session of the Iron Molders' Union of North America, 1890, Report of President (Cincinnati, n.d.); Proceedings of the Seventh General Convention of the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America, 1892, Report of the President (Philadelphia, 1892).] All claims for disability benefits are filed with the local officers of the disabled members' union for their examination and approval or rejection. In case of approval the claims are forwarded to the central office of the national union with all necessary papers concerning its validity. If the claim is approved, payment is made through the local union to the legal claimants.[225] The majority of the unions paying disability benefits, as a precautionary measure specify the time within which claims for disability must be filed. The Conductors and the Carpenters require claims to be filed within one year from date of disability,[226] the Firemen and the Switchmen, within six months,[227] and the Trainmen "promptly" after injury;[228] while the Engineers and the Maintenance-of-Way Employees fix no specific time for filing claims. The Carpenters and the Painters require that notice of a claim for disability must be given to the general secretary-treasurer within sixty days after disability occurs. [Footnote 225: Constitution of the Iron Molders' Union of North America 1902 (Cincinnati, 1902), p. 41; Constitution of the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America, 1905 (Milwaukee, n.d.), secs. 109-110; Constitution of the Brotherhood of Painters, Decorators and Paperhangers of America, 1906 (La Fayette, n.d.), secs. 84-87.] [Footnote 226: Constitution of the Railway Conductors of America, 1903 (Cedar Rapids, n.d.), p. 82; Constitution of the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, 1905 (Milwaukee, n.d.), p. 19.] [Footnote 227: Constitution of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen, 1905 (Indianapolis, n.d.), p. 30; Constitution of the Switchmen's Union of North America, 1903 (Buffalo, n.d.), p. 20.] [Footnote 228: Constitution of the Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen, 1903 (Cleveland, 1903), p. 35.] The disability claim must be accompanied, under the rules of practically all the unions, by the sworn certificates of the attending physicians.[229] The Firemen provide that the national officials may, when they consider it necessary, appoint a physician to pass upon the validity of a claim; the Maintenance-of-Way Employees require subordinate lodges to appoint a special committee to report on the nature and cause of the disability. The Engineers exercise special care in passing upon a claim for loss of sight. In such cases they require a certificate signed by two experienced oculists; and in case the eyes have not been removed the claim remains on file for one year, when additional certificates from two experienced oculists, certifying to total or permanent blindness, must be furnished.[230] [Footnote 229: Constitution of the Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen, 1903 (Cleveland, 1903), p. 35; Constitution of the Switchmen's Union of North America, 1903 (Buffalo, n.d.), p. 16; Constitution of the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, 1905 (Milwaukee, n.d.), p. 19; Constitution of the Brotherhood of Painters, Decorators and Paperhangers of America, 1906 (La Fayette, n.d.), p. 20.] [Footnote 230: Constitution of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen, 1905 (Indianapolis, n.d.), p. 34; Constitution of the Maintenance-of-Way Employees, 1903 (St. Louis, n.d.), p. 13; Constitution of the Grand International Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, 1904 (Cleveland, 1904), p. 85.] A member whose claim for a death or disability benefit has been rejected may appeal from the decision of the official authorized to pass upon claims. The provisions of the Trainmen are typical. Every claim rejected by the secretary-treasurer is referred to the Beneficiary Board, consisting of the grand master, the assistant grand master and the secretary-treasurer. If rejected also by the Board the claimant may appeal to the Grand Lodge "at its next succeeding session, but not afterward." The appellant must give a written notice to the grand secretary-treasurer of his intention to appeal.[231] [Footnote 231: Constitution of the Railroad Trainmen, 1903 (Cleveland, 1903), p. 39.] The unions paying the sick benefit fall into two classes according as they administer the benefit directly from the offices of the national union with the aid of the local union or as they intrust the administration of the benefit to the local union and leave to the national officers only a general supervision. The Boot and Shoe Workers, the Barbers and the Tobacco Workers are in the former class, while in the latter are the Cigar Makers, Iron Molders, Typographia, Plumbers, Leather Workers on Horse Goods and the Garment Workers. The chief means relied upon to guard against fraud are the certificate of the attending physician and the report of a visiting committee of the local union. Some of the unions require both the certificate and the report; the larger part, however, rely on the report of the visiting committee, although local unions are permitted to require that a physician's certificate shall be furnished. The duties of the visiting committee are set forth with great elaboration in all the constitutions. Thus, the Boot and Shoe Workers require that the claim shall be investigated by "three Union members of good repute not related to the sick member, each acting independently of the others and reporting individually to the local executive board." The Plumbers and Cigar Makers require that every sick member shall be visited at least once in each week and that no two members of the committee shall visit him at the same time. Notwithstanding these precautions it has not been possible entirely to prevent the payment of fraudulent claims for sick benefits. The visiting committees of the local unions are frequently neglectful or careless in exercising their supervisory functions, and occasionally knowingly sanction the payment of unwarranted claims. Where the unions do not have an out-of-work benefit, there is always the chance that unemployed members will claim the sick benefit and that the local unions, aware that the money for the payment of the claim comes from the national union, will not scrutinize with any care the severity of the illness. Reserving to the national officials the right to pass finally upon sick-benefit claims is not effective as a precaution against such frauds. The national officials cannot inform themselves as to the honesty of the physician who signs the certificate nor as to the good faith with which the visiting committee has performed its duties. On the whole, the better policy seems to be to place the responsibility of passing upon individual claims directly upon the local union, and to reserve to the national officials an oversight of the administration of the local unions. In several of the unions no effective measures appear to have been taken to keep the local unions up to their duties, but in others a close scrutiny is maintained. The system in use by the Iron Molders is probably the most effective of those used by the unions which do not pay a money out-of-work benefit and in which consequently the need for supervision is greatest. Every member of the union is catalogued on a card. When he is reported as having received a benefit payment from any local union, this fact is entered on his card. Members removing from one local union to another and drawing more sick benefits than they are allowed by the rules are thus detected and forced to make restitution. The "financier" of the union also notes the sick rate in each local union. When the amount of sickness in any locality appears to be excessive, he employs for a limited time a reputable physician, who must sign all claims for sick relief. The result usually is the discovery of laxity in the local administration and the necessary corrective measures are applied.[232] The Cigar Makers have a staff of travelling auditors who from time to time inspect the accounts of local unions and scrutinize the administration of the benefits. [Footnote 232: Proceedings of the Twenty-second Convention, 1902, in Supplement to Iron Molders' Journal, September, 1902; Proceedings of the Twenty-third Convention, in Supplement to Iron Molders' Journal, September, 1907.] The administration of out-of-work relief is similar to that of sick benefits in that the national union must of necessity rely upon the local union. The requirement of registration from day to day is the chief administrative check upon the payment of the benefit to members not entitled thereto. The more complete the system of benefits the less is the difficulty in preventing the payment of fraudulent claims. A union such as the Cigar Makers or the Typographia has a comparatively small problem in administration as compared with that of a union like the Iron Molders. Since the Iron Molders do not maintain an out-of-work benefit unemployed members are tempted to try to secure sick benefits. Even in the Cigar Makers the sick benefit and the out-of-work benefit are used as a form of superannuation relief. The addition of a superannuation benefit would lower the expense of maintaining the sick and out-of-work benefits. The administration of trade-union benefits is subject to certain rules imposed by the statutes of the various states. All the commonwealths of the United States regulate by law the conduct of insurance business. In this regulation, distinction has necessarily been made between regular insurance companies and that class of organizations known as fraternal or beneficiary societies. The trade organizations described in this monograph as maintaining insurance or benefit departments fall under the latter class. The unions paying insurance, as distinguished from benefits, have conformed to certain requirements of these laws, either by incorporating their insurance departments or by modifying the rules of the organizations in harmony with special state regulations for fraternal insurance companies. Prior to 1894--from December, 1867, to 1894--the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers had its headquarters in the state of New York. In the latter year the State Superintendent of Insurance notified the Brotherhood that incorporation of the insurance department was necessary for the continuance of the business. In consequence thereof the central office of the Brotherhood was transferred to Cleveland, Ohio, and on the twenty-second of February, 1894, the insurance department was incorporated under the laws of the state of Ohio as a separate organization.[233] Similarly, the Conductors were forced to incorporate by the pressure of the state laws. In December, 1885, the Order moved its central office from Cedar Rapids to Chicago. In order to strengthen its power and to broaden its influence, the Order, in 1886, applied for a certificate of incorporation under the laws of the state of Illinois. The Secretary of State refused the certificate on the ground that the insurance regulations of the Order were not in accordance with the state laws, and requested that these be changed and that the insurance department be incorporated as a separate organization. The Secretary of State was willing to incorporate the Order under the Act of 1872, provided the Order eliminated from the object of organization the clauses referring to the payment of benefits or indemnity; or he was willing to issue a charter based on the Act of 1883 which provided that only such powers could be taken as are specifically granted therein, namely, "the furnishing of life indemnity or pecuniary benefits to widows, orphans, heirs, relatives, and devisees of deceased members, or accident or permanent disability indemnity to members."[234] In other words, the Order could have been incorporated under the Act of 1872 to do all business except insurance, while under the Act of 1883 it could have been incorporated to maintain a system of insurance, but nothing else. The only alternative was separate organization for the protective and the benevolent departments. The Order was unwilling to separate the two departments and consequently transferred its central office to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The Board of Directors, on July 12, 1887, ordered the grand secretary to proceed with incorporation under the laws of the state of Iowa.[235] The certificate of incorporation, however, was not issued until the laws of the union were made to conform to the insurance laws of the state. These changes were only unimportant ones, such as the change of the name of the Insurance Department to "Mutual Benefit Department," and in no way affected the intent of any laws of the Order. [Footnote 233: Locomotive Engineers' Journal, Vol. 28, p. 360.] [Footnote 234: Proceedings of the Nineteenth Convention of the Order of Railway Conductors, New Orleans, 1887 (Cedar Rapids, n.d.), pp. 51-52, 63.] [Footnote 235: Proceedings of the Nineteenth Convention of the Order of Railway Conductors, New Orleans, 1887 (Cedar Rapids, n.d.), pp. 155-156.] The other railway brotherhoods have conformed to the insurance laws of the states in which they do business. The insurance department of the Switchmen's Union is incorporated under the laws of the state of New York. The Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen does business in the state of Illinois under a law enacted in 1893 whereby all beneficial fraternal associations are declared to be corporations, the insurance features of which are subject to state laws.[236] The Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen operates its insurance department under a license issued by the insurance department of the state of Ohio under the Fraternal Beneficiary Society Act. [Footnote 236: Hurd, Revised Statutes of Illinois, 1901 (Chicago, 1901), secs. 258-260, p. 1071.] The National Association of Letter Carriers, at the time of organizing the Benefit Association, on August 7, 1891, incorporated the Association under the laws of the state of New Jersey. But less than one year later, on February 26, 1892, the Association was reincorporated under the laws of the state of Tennessee. This change was made, according to Collector Dunn,[237] in order that both the National Association and the Mutual Benefit Association might operate under a single charter. [Footnote 237: Letter to the author, February 14, 1905.] The unions that pay benefits as distinguished from insurance are less subject to legal regulation. They do not issue beneficiary certificates as do the railway unions, the Letter Carriers' Association, and the large class of fraternal beneficiary societies, and hence are not deemed to be maintaining insurance departments. With one exception, the Brotherhood of Painters,[238] the unions of this group have neither taken out charters of incorporation nor in any way obtained authority to operate benefit departments within their respective states. These unions cannot be said to operate their beneficiary systems irrespective of state laws. In all the states the laws define the scope and functions of such organizations. [Footnote 238: Constitution, 1901 (La Fayette, n.d.), p. 1. Chartered under the laws of the State of Indiana.] The Brotherhood of Painters, in the incorporation of its organization, has taken a step beyond the practices of unions of its type. On December 7, 1894, the Secretary of State of Indiana issued a certificate of incorporation to the Brotherhood under the state law entitled "An act to authorize the formation of voluntary associations;" and in order to conform more strictly to the state laws the corporate name was changed, in December, 1899, to the present name.[239] Incorporation, however, has not proved satisfactory. For many years the Brotherhood maintained one general fund from which local unions received assistance in time of strikes, or in other cases of need. As a chartered institution the funds were liable at legal action and all payments from them subject to injunction. This state of affairs led the officials to urge complete separation of protective and benevolent funds, thereby offering greater protection to the membership. Consequently in 1904 the Brotherhood adopted the recommendations of the national officials and apportioned the national receipts into separate funds to be used only as specified. [Footnote 239: Constitution of the Brotherhood of Painters, Decorators, and Paperhangers of America, 1899 (La Fayette, n.d.), pp. 2-5.] 
14458	----	Social Science Text-Books EDITED BY RICHARD T. ELY A HISTORY OF TRADE UNIONISM IN THE UNITED STATES BY SELIG PERLMAN, PH.D. Assistant Professor of Economics in the University of Wisconsin; Co-author of the History of Labour in the United States New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1922 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 1922 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. October, 1922. AUTHOR'S PREFACE The present _History of Trade Unionism in the United States_ is in part a summary of work in labor history by Professor John R. Commons and collaborators at the University of Wisconsin from 1904 to 1918, and in part an attempt by the author to carry the work further. Part I of the present book is based on the _History of Labour in the United States_ by Commons and Associates (Introduction: John R. Commons; Colonial and Federal Beginnings, to 1827: David J. Saposs; Citizenship, 1827-1833: Helen L. Summer; Trade Unionism, 1833-1839: Edward B. Mittelman; Humanitarianism, 1840-1860: Henry E. Hoagland; Nationalization, 1860-1877: John B. Andrews; and Upheaval and Reorganization, 1876-1896: by the present author), published by the Macmillan Company in 1918 in two volumes. Part II, "The Larger Career of Unionism," brings the story from 1897 down to date; and Part III, "Conclusions and Inferences," is an attempt to bring together several of the general ideas suggested by the History. Chapter 12, entitled "An Economic Interpretation," follows the line of analysis laid down by Professor Commons in his study of the American shoemakers, 1648-1895.[1] The author wishes to express his strong gratitude to Professors Richard T. Ely and John R. Commons for their kind aid at every stage of this work. He also wishes to acknowledge his indebtedness to Mr. Edwin E. Witte, Director of the Wisconsin State Legislative Reference Library, upon whose extensive and still unpublished researches he based his summary of the history of the injunction; and to Professor Frederick L. Paxson, who subjected the manuscript to criticism from the point of view of General American History. S.P. FOOTNOTE: [1] See his _Labor and Administration_, Chapter XIV (Macmillan, 1913). CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE v PART I. THE STRUGGLE FOR SURVIVAL CHAPTER 1 LABOR MOVEMENTS BEFORE THE CIVIL WAR (1) Early Beginnings, to 1827 8 (2) Equal Citizenship, 1827-1832 9 (3) The Period of the "Wild-Cat" Prosperity, 1833-1837 18 (4) The Long Depression, 1837-1862 29 2 THE "GREENBACK" PERIOD, 1862-1879 42 3 THE BEGINNING OF THE KNIGHTS OF LABOR AND OF THE AMERICAN FEDERATION OF LABOR 68 4 REVIVAL AND UPHEAVAL, 1879-1887 81 5 THE VICTORY OF CRAFT UNIONISM AND THE FINAL FAILURE OF PRODUCERS' COOPERATION 106 6 STABILIZATION, 1888-1897 130 7 TRADE UNIONISM AND THE COURTS 146 PART II. THE LARGER CAREER OF UNIONISM 8 PARTIAL RECOGNITION AND NEW DIFFICULTIES, 1898-1914 163 (1) The Miners 167 (2) The Railway Men 180 (3) The Machinery and Metal Trades 186 (4) The Employers' Reaction 190 (5) Legislation, Courts, and Politics 198 9 RADICAL UNIONISM AND A "COUNTER-REFORMATION" 208 10 THE WAR-TIME BALANCE SHEET 226 11 RECENT DEVELOPMENTS 245 PART III. CONCLUSIONS AND INFERENCES 12 AN ECONOMIC INTERPRETATION 265 13 THE IDEALISTIC FACTOR 279 14 WHY THERE IS NOT AN AMERICAN LABOR PARTY 285 15 THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE PROLETARIAT AND TRADE UNIONISM 295 BIBLIOGRAPHY 307 PART I THE STRUGGLE FOR SURVIVAL HISTORY OF TRADE UNIONISM IN THE U.S. CHAPTER 1 LABOR MOVEMENTS BEFORE THE CIVIL WAR (1) _Early Beginnings, to 1827_ The customary chronology records the first American labor strike in 1741. In that year the New York bakers went out on strike. A closer analysis discloses, however, that this outbreak was a protest of master bakers against a municipal regulation of the price of bread, not a wage earners' strike against employers. The earliest genuine labor strike in America occurred, as far as known, in 1786, when the Philadelphia printers "turned out" for a minimum wage of six dollars a week. The second strike on record was in 1791 by Philadelphia house carpenters for the ten-hour day. The Baltimore sailors were successful in advancing their wages through strikes in the years 1795, 1805, and 1807, but their endeavors were recurrent, not permanent. Even more ephemeral were several riotous sailors' strikes as well as a ship builders' strike in 1817 at Medford, Massachusetts. Doubtless many other such outbreaks occurred during the period to 1820, but left no record of their existence. A strike undoubtedly is a symptom of discontent. However, one can hardly speak of a beginning of trade unionism until such discontent has become expressed in an organization that keeps alive after a strike, or between strikes. Such permanent organizations existed prior to the twenties only in two trades, namely, shoemaking and printing. The first continuous organization of wage earners was that of the Philadelphia shoemakers, organized in 1792. This society, however, existed for less than a year and did not even leave us its name. The shoemakers of Philadelphia again organized in 1794 under the name of the Federal Society of Journeymen Cordwainers and maintained their existence as such at least until 1806. In 1799 the society conducted the first organized strike, which lasted nine or ten weeks. Prior to 1799, the only recorded strikes of any workmen were "unorganized" and, indeed, such were the majority of the strikes that occurred prior to the decade of the thirties in the nineteenth century. The printers organized their first society in 1794 in New York under the name of The Typographical Society and it continued in existence for ten years and six months. The printers of Philadelphia, who had struck in 1786, neglected to keep up an organization after winning their demands. Between the years 1800 and 1805, the shoemakers and the printers had continuous organizations in Philadelphia, New York, and Baltimore. In 1809 the shoemakers of Pittsburgh and the Boston printers were added to the list, and somewhat later the Albany and Washington printers. In 1810 the printers organized in New Orleans. The separation of the journeymen from the masters, first shown in the formation of these organizations, was emphasized in the attitude toward employer members. The question arose over the continuation in membership of those who became employers. The shoemakers excluded such members from the organization. The printers, on the other hand, were more liberal. But in 1817 the New York society put them out on the ground that "the interests of the journeymen are _separate_ and in some respects _opposite_ to those of the employers." The strike was the chief weapon of these early societies. Generally a committee was chosen by the society to present a price list or scale of wages to the masters individually. The first complete wage scale presented in this country was drawn up by the organized printers of New York in 1800. The strikes were mainly over wages and were generally conducted in an orderly and comparatively peaceful manner. In only one instance, that of the Philadelphia shoemakers of 1806, is there evidence of violence and intimidation. In that case "scabs" were beaten and employers intimidated by demonstrations in front of the shop or by breaking shop windows. During a strike the duties of "picketing" were discharged by tramping committees. The Philadelphia shoemakers, however, as early as 1799, employed for this purpose a paid officer. This strike was for higher wages for workers on boots. Although those who worked on shoes made no demands of their own, they were obliged to strike, much against their will. We thus meet with the first sympathetic strike on record. In 1809 the New York shoemakers, starting with a strike against one firm, ordered a general strike when they discovered that that firm was getting its work done in other shops. The payment of strike benefits dates from the first authenticated strike, namely in 1786. The method of payment varied from society to society, but the constitution of the New York shoemakers, as early as 1805, provided for a permanent strike fund. The aggressive trade unionism of these early trade societies forced the masters to combine against them. Associations of masters in their capacity as merchants had usually preceded the journeymen's societies. Their function was to counteract destructive competition from "advertisers" and sellers in the "public market" at low prices. As soon, however, as the wage question became serious, the masters' associations proceeded to take on the function of dealing with labor--mostly aiming to break up the trade societies. Generally they sought to create an available force of non-union labor by means of advertising, but often they turned to the courts and brought action against the journeymen's societies on the ground of conspiracy. The bitterness of the masters' associations against the the journeymen's societies perhaps was caused not so much by their resistance to reductions in wages as by their imposition of working rules, such as the limitation of the number of apprentices, the minimum wage, and what we would now call the "closed shop." The conspiracy trials largely turned upon the "closed shop" and in these the shoemakers figured exclusively.[2] Altogether six criminal conspiracy cases are recorded against the shoemakers from 1806 to 1815. One occurred in Philadelphia in 1806; one in New York in 1809; two in Baltimore in 1809; and two in Pittsburgh, the first in 1814 and the other in 1815. Each case was tried before a jury which was judge both of law and fact. Four of the cases were decided against the journeymen. In one of the Baltimore cases judgment was rendered in favor of the journeymen. The Pittsburgh case of 1815 was compromised, the shoemakers paying the costs and returning to work at the old wages. The outcome in the other cases is not definitely known. It was brought out in the testimony that the masters financed, in part at least, the New York and Pittsburgh prosecutions. Effective as the convictions in court for conspiracy may have been in checking the early trade societies, of much greater consequence was the industrial depression which set in after the conclusion of the Napoleonic Wars. The lifting of the Embargo enabled the foreign traders and manufacturers to dump their products upon the American market. The incipient American industries were in no position to withstand this destructive competition. Conditions were made worse by past over investment and by the collapse of currency inflation. Trade unionism for the time being had to come to an end. The effect on the journeymen's societies was paralyzing. Only those survived which turned to mutual insurance. Several of the printers' societies had already instituted benefit features, and these now helped them considerably to maintain their organization. The shoe-makers' societies on the other hand had remained to the end purely trade-regulating organizations and went to the wall. Depression reached its ebb in 1820. Thereafter conditions improved, giving rise to aggressive organizations of wage earners in several industries. We find strikes and permanent organizations among hatters, tailors, weavers, nailers, and cabinet makers. And for the first time we meet with organizations of factory workers--female workers. Beginning with 1824 and running through 1825, the year which saw the culmination of a period of high prices, a number of strikes occurred in the important industrial centers. The majority were called to enforce higher wages. In Philadelphia, 2900 weavers out of about 4500 in the city were on strike. But the strike that attracted the most public attention was that of the Boston house carpenters for the ten-hour day in 1825. The Boston journeymen carpenters chose the most strategic time for their strike. They called it in the spring of the year when there was a great demand for carpenters owing to a recent fire. Close to six hundred journeymen were involved in this struggle. The journeymen's demand for the ten-hour day drew a characteristic reply from the "gentlemen engaged in building," the customers of the master builders. They condemned the journeymen on the moral ground that an agitation for a shorter day would open "a wide door for idleness and vice"; hinted broadly at the foreign origin of the agitation; declared that all combinations intending to regulate the value of labor by abridging the working day were in a high degree unjust and injurious to the other classes in the community; announced their resolution to support the masters at the sacrifice of suspending building altogether; and bound themselves not to employ any journeyman or master who might enforce the ten-hour day. The strike failed. The renewed trade-union activities brought forth a fresh crop of trials for conspiracy.[3] One case involved Philadelphia master shoemakers who combined to reduce wages, two were against journeymen tailors in Philadelphia and Buffalo and the fourth was a hatters' case in New York. The masters were acquitted and the hatters were found guilty of combining to deprive a non-union man of his livelihood. In the Philadelphia tailors' case, the journeymen were convicted on the charge of intimidation. Of the Buffalo tailors' case it is only known that it ended in the conviction of the journeymen. (2) _Equal Citizenship, 1827-1832_ So far we have dealt only with trade societies but not yet with a labor movement. A labor movement presupposes a feeling of solidarity which goes beyond the boundaries of a single trade and extends to other wage earners. The American labor movement began in 1827, when the several trades in Philadelphia organized the Mechanics' Union of Trade Associations, which was, so far as now known, the first city central organization of trades in the world. This Union, originally intended as an economic organization, changed to a political one the following year and initiated what was probably the most interesting and most typically American labor movement--a struggle for "equality of citizenship." It was brought to a head by the severe industrial depression of the time. But the decisive impulse came from the nation-wide democratic upheaval led by Andrew Jackson, for which the poorer classes in the cities displayed no less enthusiasm than the agricultural West. To the wage earner this outburst of democratic fervor offered an opportunity to try out his recently acquired franchise. Of the then industrial States, Massachusetts granted suffrage to the workingmen in 1820 and New York in 1822. In Pennsylvania the constitution of 1790 had extended the right of suffrage to those who paid any kind of a state or county tax, however small. The wage earners' Jacksonianism struck a note all its own. If the farmer and country merchant, who had passed through the abstract stage of political aspiration with the Jeffersonian democratic movement, were now, with Jackson, reaching out for the material advantages which political power might yield, the wage earners, being as yet novices in politics, naturally were more strongly impressed with that aspect of the democratic upheaval which emphasized the rights of man in general and social equality in particular. If the middle class Jacksonian was probably thinking first of reducing the debt on his farm or perchance of getting a political office, and only as an after-thought proceeding to look for a justification in the Declaration of Independence, as yet the wage earner was starting with the abstract notion of equal citizenship as contained in the Declaration, and only then proceeding to search for the remedies which would square reality with the idea. Hence it was that the aspiration toward equal citizenship became the keynote of labor's earliest political movement. The issue was drawn primarily between the rich and the poor, not between the functional classes, employers and employes. While the workmen took good care to exclude from their ranks "persons not living by some useful occupation, such as bankers, brokers, rich men, etc.," they did not draw the line on employers as such, master workmen and independent "producers." The workingmen's bill of complaints, as set forth in the Philadelphia _Mechanic's Free Press_ and other labor papers, clearly marks off the movement as a rebellion by the class of newly enfranchised wage earners against conditions which made them feel degraded in their own eyes as full fledged citizens of the commonwealth. The complaints were of different sorts but revolved around the charge of the usurpation of government by an "aristocracy." Incontrovertible proof of this charge was found in special legislation chartering banks and other corporations. The banks were indicted upon two counts. First, the unstable bank paper money defrauded the wage earner of a considerable portion of the purchasing power of his wages. Second, banks restricted competition and shut off avenues for the "man on the make." The latter accusation may be understood only if we keep in mind that this was a period when bank credits began to play an essential part in the conduct of industry; that with the extension of the market into the States and territories South and West, with the resulting delay in collections, business could be carried on only by those who enjoyed credit facilities at the banks. Now, as credit generally follows access to the market, it was inevitable that the beneficiary of the banking system should not be the master or journeyman but the merchant for whom both worked.[4] To the uninitiated, however, this arrangement could only appear in the light of a huge conspiracy entered into by the chartered monopolies, the banks, and the unchartered monopolist, the merchant, to shut out the possible competition by the master and journeyman. The grievance appeared all the more serious since all banks were chartered by special enactments of the legislature, which thus appeared as an accomplice in the conspiracy. In addition to giving active help to the rich, the workingmen argued, the government was too callous to the suffering of the poor and pointed to the practice of imprisonment for debt. The Boston Prison Discipline Society, a philanthropic organization, estimated in 1829 that about 75,000 persons were annually imprisoned for debt in the United States. Many of these were imprisoned for very small debts. In one Massachusetts prison, for example, out of 37 cases, 20 were for less than $20. The Philadelphia printer and philanthropist, Mathew Carey, father of the economist Henry C. Carey, cited a contemporary Boston case of a blind man with a family dependent on him imprisoned for a debt of six dollars. A labor paper reported an astounding case of a widow in Providence, Rhode Island, whose husband had lost his life in a fire while attempting to save the property of the man who later caused her imprisonment for a debt of 68 cents. The physical conditions in debtors' jails were appalling, according to unimpeachable contemporary reports. Little did such treatment of the poor accord with their newly acquired dignity as citizens. Another grievance, particularly exasperating because the government was responsible, grew in Pennsylvania out of the administration of the compulsory militia system. Service was obligatory upon all male citizens and non-attendance was punished by fine or imprisonment. The rich delinquent did not mind, but the poor delinquent when unable to pay was given a jail sentence. Other complaints by workingmen went back to the failure of government to protect the poorer citizen's right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." The lack of a mechanic's lien law, which would protect his wages in the case of his employer's bankruptcy, was keenly felt by the workingmen. A labor paper estimated in 1829 that, owing to the lack of a lien law on buildings, not less than three or four hundred thousand dollars in wages were annually lost. But the most distinctive demands of the workingmen went much further. This was an age of egalitarianism. The Western frontiersmen demanded equality with the wealthy Eastern merchant and banker, and found in Andrew Jackson an ideal spokesman. For a brief moment it seemed that by equality the workingmen meant an equal division of all property. That was the program which received temporary endorsement at the first workingmen's meeting in New York in April 1829. "Equal division" was advocated by a self-taught mechanic by the name of Thomas Skidmore, who elaborated his ideas in a book bearing the self-revealing title of "_The Rights of Man to Property: being a Proposition to make it Equal among the Adults of the Present Generation: and to Provide for its Equal Transmission to Every Individual of Each Succeeding Generation, on Arriving at the Age of Maturity_," published in 1829. This Skidmorian program was better known as "agrarianism," probably from the title of a book by Thomas Paine, _Agrarian Justice, as Opposed to Agrarian Law and to Agrarian Monopoly_, published in 1797 in London, which advocated equal division by means of an inheritance tax. Its adoption by the New York workingmen was little more than a stratagem, for their intention was to forestall any attempts by employers to lengthen the working day to eleven hours by raising the question of "the nature of the tenure by which all men hold title to their property." Apparently the stratagem worked, for the employers immediately dropped the eleven-hour issue. But, although the workingmen quickly thereafter repudiated agrarianism, they succeeded only too well in affixing to their movement the mark of the beast in the eyes of their opponents and the general public. Except during the brief but damaging "agrarian" episode, the demand for free public education or "Republican" education occupied the foreground. We, who live in an age when free education at the expense of the community is considered practically an inalienable right of every child, find it extremely difficult to understand the vehemence of the opposition which the demand aroused on the part of the press and the "conservative" classes, when first brought up by the workingmen. The explanation lies partly in the political situation, partly in the moral character of the "intellectual" spokesmen for the workingmen, and partly in the inborn conservatism of the tax-paying classes upon whom the financial burden would fall. That the educational situation was deplorable much proof is unnecessary. Pennsylvania had some public schools, but parents had to declare themselves too poor to send their children to a private school before they were allowed the privilege of sending them there. In fact so much odium attached to these schools that they were practically useless and the State became distinguished for the number of children not attending school. As late as 1837 a labor paper estimated that 250,000 out of 400,000 children in Pennsylvania of school age were not in any school. The Public School Society of New York estimated in a report for 1829 that in New York City alone there were 24,200 children between the ages of five and fifteen years not attending any school whatever. To meet these conditions the workingmen outlined a comprehensive educational program. It was not merely a literary education that the workingmen desired. The idea of industrial education, or training for a vocation, which is even now young in this country, was undoubtedly first introduced by the leaders of this early labor movement. They demanded a system of public education which would "combine a knowledge of the practical arts with that of the useful sciences." The idea of industrial education appears to have originated in a group of which two "intellectuals," Robert Dale Owen and Frances Wright, were the leading spirits. Robert Dale Owen was the eldest son of Robert Owen, the famous English manufacturer-philanthropist, who originated the system of socialism known as "Owenism." Born in Scotland, he was educated at Hofwyl, Switzerland, in a school conducted by Emmanuel von Fellenberg, the associate of the famous Pestalozzi, as a self-governing children's republic on the manner of the present "Julior Republics." Owen himself said that he owed his abiding faith in human virtue and social progress to his years at Hofwyl. In 1825 Robert Dale left England to join his father in a communistic experiment at New Harmony, Indiana, and together they lived through the vicissitudes which attended that experiment. There he met Frances Wright, America's first suffragist, with whom he formed an intimate friendship lasting through many years. The failure at New Harmony convinced him that his father had overlooked the importance of the anti-social habits which the members had formed before they joined; and he concluded that those could be prevented only by applying a rational system of education to the young. These conclusions, together with the recollections of his experience at Hofwyl, led him to advocate a new system of education, which came to be called "state guardianship." State guardianship was a demand for the establishment by the state of boarding schools where children should receive, not only equal instruction, general as well as industrial, but equal food and equal clothing at the public expense. Under this system, it was asserted, public schools would become "not schools of charity, but schools of the nation, to the support of which all would contribute; and instead of being almost a disgrace, it would become an honor to have been educated there." It was urged as an especial advantage that, as children would be clothed and cared for at all times, the fact that poor parents could not afford to dress their children "as decently as their neighbors" would not prevent their attendance. State guardianship became the battle cry of an important faction in the Workingmen's party in New York. Elsewhere a less radical program was advocated. In Philadelphia the workingmen demanded only that high schools be on the Hofwyl model, whereas in the smaller cities and towns in both Pennsylvania and New York the demand was for "literary" day schools. Yet the underlying principle was the same everywhere. A labor candidate for Congress in the First Congressional District of Philadelphia in 1830 expressed it succinctly during his campaign. He made his plea on the ground that "he is the friend and indefatigable defender of a system of general education, which will place the citizens of this extensive Republic on an equality; a system that will fit the children of the poor, as well as the rich, to become our future legislators; a system that will bring the children of the poor and the rich to mix together as a band of Republican brethren." In New England the workingmen's movement for equal citizenship was simultaneously a reaction against the factory system. To the cry for a Republican system of education was added an anti-child labor crusade. One who did more than any other to call attention to the evils of the factory system of that day was a lawyer by the name of Seth Luther, who, according to his own account, had "for years lived among cotton mills, worked in them, travelled among them." His "_Address to the Working Men of New England on the State of Education, and on the Condition of the Producing Classes in Europe and America, with Particular Reference to the Effect of Manufacturing (as now conducted) on the Health and Happiness of the Poor, and on the Safety of our Republic_" was delivered widely and undoubtedly had considerable influence over the labor movement of the period. The average working day in the best factories at that time was nearly thirteen hours. For the children who were sent into the factories at an early age these hours precluded, of course, any possibility of obtaining even the most rudimentary education. The New England movement was an effort to unite producers of all kinds, including not only farmers but factory workers with mechanics and city workingmen. In many parts of the State of New York the workingmen's parties included the three classes--"farmers, mechanics, and working men,"--but New England added a fourth class, the factory operatives. It was early found, however, that the movement could expect little or no help from the factory operatives, who were for the most part women and children. The years 1828, 1829, and 1830 were years of political labor movements and labor parties. Philadelphia originated the first workingmen's party, then came New York and Boston, and finally state-wide movements and political organizations in each of the three States. In New York the workingmen scored their most striking single success, when in 1829 they cast 6000 votes out of a total of 21,000. In Philadelphia the labor ticket polled 2400 in 1828 and the labor party gained the balance of power in the city. But the inexperience of the labor politicians coupled with machinations on the part of "designing men" of both older parties soon lost the labor parties their advantage. In New York Tammany made the demand for a mechanics' lien law its own and later saw that it became enacted into law. In New York, also, the situation became complicated by factional strife between the Skidmorian "agrarians," the Owenite state guardianship faction, and a third faction which eschewed either "panacea." Then, too, the opposition parties and press seized upon agrarianism and Owen's alleged atheism to brand the whole labor movement. The labor party was decidedly unfortunate in its choice of intellectuals and "ideologists." It would be, however, a mistake to conclude that the Philadelphia, New York, or New England political movements were totally without results. Though unsuccessful in electing their candidates to office, they did succeed in placing their demands to advantage before the public. Humanitarians, like Horace Mann, took up independently the fight for free public education and carried it to success. In Pennsylvania, public schools, free from the taint of charity, date since 1836. In New York City the public school system was established in 1832. The same is true of the demand for a mechanics' lien law, of the abolition of imprisonment for debt, and of others. (3) _The Period of the "Wild-cat" Prosperity, 1833-1837_ With the break-up of the workingmen's parties, labor's newly acquired sense of solidarity was temporarily lost, leaving only the restricted solidarity of the isolated trade society. Within that limit, however, important progress began to be made. In 1833, there were in New York twenty-nine organized trades; in Philadelphia, twenty-one; and in Baltimore, seventeen. Among those organized in Philadelphia were hand-loom weavers, plasterers, bricklayers, black and white smiths, cigar makers, plumbers, and women workers including tailoresses, seamstresses, binders, folders, milliners, corset makers, and mantua workers. Several trades, such as the printers and tailors in New York and the Philadelphia carpenters, which formerly were organized upon the benevolent basis, were now reorganized as trade societies. The benevolent New York Typographical Society was reduced to secondary importance by the appearance in 1831 of the New York Typographical Association. But the factor that compelled labor to organize on a much larger scale was the remarkable rise in prices from 1835 to 1837. This rise in prices was coincident with the "wild-cat" prosperity, which followed a rapid multiplication of state banks with the right of issue of paper currency--largely irredeemable "wild-cat" currency. Cost of living having doubled, the subject of wages became a burning issue. At the same time the general business prosperity rendered demands for higher wages easily attainable. The outcome was a luxuriant growth of trade unionism. In 1836 there were in Philadelphia fifty-eight trade unions; in Newark, New Jersey, sixteen; in New York, fifty-two; in Pittsburgh, thirteen; in Cincinnati, fourteen; and in Louisville, seven. In Buffalo the journeymen builders' association included all the building trades. The tailors of Louisville, Cincinnati, and St. Louis made a concentrated effort against their employers in these three cities. The wave of organization reached at last the women workers. In 1830 the well-known Philadelphia philanthropist, Mathew Carey, asserted that there were in the cities of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Baltimore about 20,000 women who could not by constant employment for sixteen hours out of twenty-four earn more than $1.25 a week. These were mostly seamstresses and tailoresses, umbrella makers, shoe binders, cigar makers, and book binders. In New York there was in 1835 a Female Union Association, in Baltimore a United Seamstresses' Society, and in Philadelphia probably the first federation of women workers in this country. In Lynn, Massachusetts, a "Female Society of Lynn and Vicinity for the Protection and Promotion of Female Industry" operated during 1833 and 1834 among the shoe binders and had at one time 1000 members, who, like the seamstresses, were home workers and earned scanty wages. Where nearly every trade was in motion, it did not take long to discover a common direction and a common purpose. This was expressed in city "trades' unions," or federations of all organized trades in a city, and in its ascendency over the individual trade societies. The first trades' union was organized August 14, 1833, in New York. Baltimore followed in September, Philadelphia in November, and Boston in March 1834. New York after 1820 was the metropolis of the country and also the largest industrial and commercial center. There the house carpenters had struck for higher wages in the latter part of May 1833, and fifteen other trades met and pledged their support. Out of this grew the New York Trades' Union. It had an official organ in a weekly, the _National Trades' Union_, published from 1834 to 1836, and a daily, _The Union_, issued in 1836. Ely Moore, a printer, was made president. Moore was elected a few months later as the first representative of labor in Congress. In addition, trades' unions were organized in Washington; in New Brunswick and Newark, New Jersey; in Albany, Troy, and Schenectady, New York; and in the "Far West"--Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and Louisville. Except in Boston, the trades' unions felt anxious to draw the line between themselves and the political labor organizations of the preceding years. In Philadelphia, where as we have seen, the formation of an analogous organization, the Mechanics' Union of Trade Associations of 1828, had served as a preliminary for a political movement, the General Trades' Union took especial precaution and provided in the constitution that "no party, political or religious questions shall at any time be agitated in or acted upon in the Union." Its official organ, the _National Laborer_, declared that "_the Trades' Union never will be political_ because its members have learned from experience that the introduction of politics into their societies has thwarted every effort to ameliorate their conditions." The repudiation of active politics did not carry with it a condemnation of legislative action or "lobbying." On the contrary, these years witnessed the first sustained legislative campaign that was ever conducted by a labor organization, namely the campaign by the New York Trades' Union for the suppression of the competition from prison-made goods. Under the pressure of the New York Union the State Legislature created in 1834 a special commission on prison labor with its president, Ely Moore, as one of the three commissioners. On this question of prison labor the trade unionists clashed with the humanitarian prison reformers, who regarded productive labor by prisoners as a necessary means of their reform to an honest mode of living; and the humanitarian won. After several months' work the commission submitted what was to the Union an entirely unsatisfactory report. It approved the prison-labor system as a whole and recommended only minor changes. Ely Moore signed the report, but a public meeting of workingmen condemned it. The rediscovered solidarity between the several trades now embodied in the city trades' unions found its first expression on a large scale in a ten-hour movement. The first concerted demand for the ten-hour day was made by the workingmen of Baltimore in August 1833, and extended over seventeen trades. But the mechanics' aspiration for a ten-hour day--perhaps the strongest spiritual inheritance from the preceding movement for equal citizenship,[5] had to await a change in the general condition of industry to render trade union effort effective before it could turn into a well sustained movement. That change finally came with the prosperous year of 1835. The movement was precipitated in Boston. There, as we saw, the carpenters had been defeated in an effort to establish a ten-hour day in 1825,[6] but made another attempt in the spring of 1835. This time, however, they did not stand alone but were joined by the masons and stone-cutters. As before, the principal attack was directed against the "capitalists," that is, the owners of the buildings and the real estate speculators. The employer or small contractor was viewed sympathetically. "We would not be too severe on our employers," said the strikers' circular, which was sent out broadcast over the country, "they are slaves to the capitalists, as we are to them." The strike was protracted. The details of it are not known, but we know that it won sympathy throughout the country. A committee visited in July the different cities on the Atlantic coast to solicit aid for the strikers. In Philadelphia, when the committee arrived in company with delegates from New York, Newark, and Paterson, the Trades' Union held a special meeting and resolved to stand by the "Boston House Wrights" who, "in imitation of the noble and decided stand taken by their Revolutionary Fathers, have determined to throw off the shackles of more mercenary tyrants than theirs." Many societies voted varying sums of money in aid of the strikers. The Boston strike was lost, but the sympathy which it evoked among mechanics in various cities was quickly turned to account. Wherever the Boston circular reached, it acted like a spark upon powder. In Philadelphia the ten-hour movement took on the aspect of a crusade. Not only the building trades, as in Boston, but most of the mechanical branches were involved. Street parades and mass meetings were held. The public press, both friendly and hostile, discussed it at length. Work was suspended and after but a brief "standout" the whole ended in a complete victory for the workingmen. Unskilled laborers, too, struck for the ten-hour day and, in the attempt to prevent others from taking their jobs, riotous scenes occurred which attracted considerable attention. The movement proved so irresistible that the Common Council announced a ten-hour day for public servants. Lawyers, physicians, merchants, and politicians took up the cause of the workingmen. On June 8 the master carpenters granted the ten-hour day and by June 22 the victory was complete. The victory in Philadelphia was so overwhelming and was given so much publicity that its influence extended to many smaller towns. In fact, the ten-hour system, which remained in vogue in this country in the skilled trades until the nineties, dates largely from this movement in the middle of the thirties. The great advance in the cost of living during 1835 and 1836 compelled an extensive movement for higher wages. Prices had in some instances more than doubled. Most of these strikes were hastily undertaken. Prices, of course, were rising rapidly but the societies were new and lacked balance. A strike in one trade was an example to others to strike. In a few instances, however, there was considerable planning and reserve. The strike epidemic affected even the girls who worked in the textile factories. The first strike of factory girls on record had occurred in Dover, New Hampshire, in 1828. A factory strike in Paterson, New Jersey, which occurred in the same year, occasioned the first recorded calling out of militia to quell labor disturbances. There the strikers were, however, for the most part men. But the factory strike which attracted the greatest public attention was the Lowell strike in February, 1834, against a 15 percent reduction in wages. The strike was short and unsuccessful, notwithstanding that 800 striking girls at first exhibited a determination to carry their struggle to the end. It appears that public opinion in New England was disagreeably impressed by this early manifestation of feminism. Another notable factory strike was one in Paterson in July 1835. Unlike similar strikes, it had been preceded by an organization. The chief demand was the eleven-hour day. The strike involved twenty mills and 2000 persons. Two weeks later the employers reduced hours from thirteen and a half to twelve hours for five days and to nine hours on Saturday. This broke the strike. The character of the agitation among the factory workers stamps it as ephemeral. Even more ephemeral was the agitation among immigrant laborers, mostly Irish, on canals and roads, which usually took the form of riots. As in the preceding period, the aggressiveness of the trade societies eventually gave rise to combative masters' associations. These, goaded by restrictive union practices, notably the closed shop, appealed to the courts for relief. By 1836 employers' associations appeared in nearly every trade in which labor was aggressive; in New York there were at least eight and in Philadelphia seven. In Philadelphia, at the initiative of the master carpenters and cordwainers, there came to exist an informal federation of the masters' associations in the several trades. From 1829 to 1842 there were eight recorded prosecutions of labor organizations for conspiracy. The workingmen were convicted in two cases; in two other cases the courts sustained demurrers to the indictments; in three cases the defendants were acquitted after jury trials; and the outcome of one case is unknown. Finally, in 1842, long after the offending societies had gone out of existence under the stress of unemployment and depressions, the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts handed down a decision, which for forty years laid to rest the doctrine of conspiracy as applied to labor unions.[7] The unity of action of the several trades displayed in the city trades' unions engendered before long a still wider solidarity in the form of a National Trades' Union. It came together in August 1834, in New York City upon the invitation of the General Trades' Union of New York. The delegates were from the trades' unions of New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Brooklyn, Poughkeepsie, and Newark. Ely Moore, then labor candidate for Congress, was elected president. An attempt by the only "intellectual" present, a Doctor Charles Douglass, representing the Boston Trades' Union, to strike a political note was immediately squelched. A second convention was held in 1835 and a third one in 1837. The National Trades' Union played a conspicuous part in securing the ten-hour day for government employes. The victory of the ten-hour principle in private employment in 1835 generally led to its adoption by states and municipalities. However, the Federal government was slow to follow the example, since Federal officials were immune from the direct political pressure which the workingmen were able to use with advantage upon locally elected office holders. In October 1835, the mechanics employed in the New York and Brooklyn Navy Yards petitioned the Secretary of the Navy for a reduction of the hours of labor to ten. The latter referred the petition to the Board of Navy Commissioners, who returned the petition with the opinion that it would be detrimental to the government to accede to their request. This forced the matter into the attention of the National Trades' Union. At its second convention in 1835 it decided to petition Congress for a ten-hour day for employes on government works. The petition was introduced by the labor Congressman from New York, Ely Moore. Congress curtly replied, however, that it was not a matter for legislation but "that the persons employed should redress their own grievances." With Congress in such a mood, the hopes of the workingmen turned to the President. A first step was made in the summer of 1836, when the workers in the Navy Yard at Philadelphia struck for a ten-hour day and appealed to President Jackson for relief. They would have nothing further to do with Congress. They had supported President Jackson in his fight against the United States Bank and now sought a return favor. At a town meeting of "citizens, mechanics, and working men," a committee was appointed to lay the issue before him. He proved indeed more responsive than Congress and ordered the ten-hour system established. But the order applied only to the localities where the strike occurred. The agitation had been chiefly local. Besides Philadelphia and New York the mechanics secured the ten-hour day in Baltimore and Annapolis, but in the District of Columbia and elsewhere they were still working twelve or fourteen hours. In other words, the ten-hour day was secured only where trade societies existed. But the organized labor movement did not rest with a partial success. The campaign of pressure on the President went on. Finally, although somewhat belatedly, President Van Buren issued on March 31, 1840, the famous executive order establishing the ten-hour day on government work without a reduction in wages. The victory came after the National Trades' Union had gone out of existence and should be, more correctly, correlated with a labor political movement. Early in 1837 came a financial panic. The industrial depression wiped out in a short time every form of labor organization from the trade societies to the National Trades' Union. Labor stood defenseless against the economic storm. In this emergency it turned to politics as a measure of despair. The political dissatisfaction assumed the form of hostility towards banks and corporations in general. The workingmen held the banks responsible for the existing anarchy in currency, from which they suffered both as consumers and producers. Moreover, they felt that there was something uncanny and threatening about corporations with their continuous existence and limited liability. Even while their attention had been engrossed by trade unionism, the workingmen were awake to the issue of monopoly. Together with their employers they had therefore supported Jackson in his assault upon the largest "monster" of them all--the Bank of the United States. The local organizations of the Democratic party, however, did not always remain true to faith. In such circumstances the workingmen, again acting in conjunction with their masters, frequently extended their support to the "insurgent" anti-monopoly candidates in the Democratic party conventions. Such a revolt took place in Philadelphia in 1835; and in New York, although Tammany had elected Ely Moore, the President of the General Trades' Union of New York, to Congress in 1834, a similar revolt occurred. The upshot was a triumphant return of the rebels into the fold of Tammany in 1837. During the next twenty years, Tammany came nearer to being a workingmen's organization than at any other time in its career. (4) _The Long Depression, 1837-1862_ The twenty-five years which elapsed from 1837 to 1862 form a period of business depression and industrial disorganization only briefly interrupted during 1850-1853 by the gold discoveries in California. The aggressive unions of the thirties practically disappeared. With industry disorganized, trade unionism, or the effort to protect the standard of living by means of strikes, was out of question. As the prospect for immediate amelioration became dimmed by circumstances, an opportunity arrived for theories and philosophies of radical social reform. Once the sun with its life-giving heat has set, one begins to see the cold and distant stars. The uniqueness of the period of the forties in the labor movement proceeds not only from the large volume of star-gazing, but also from the accompanying fact that, for the first and only time in American history, the labor movement was dominated by men and women from the educated class, the "intellectuals," who thus served in the capacity of expert astrologers. And there was no lack of stars in the heaven of social reform to occupy both intellectual and wage earner. First, there was the efficiency scheme of the followers of Charles Fourier, the French socialist, or, as they preferred to call themselves, the Associationists. Theirs was a proposal aiming directly to meet the issue of the prevailing industrial disorganization and wasteful competition. Albert Brisbane, Horace Greeley, and the Brook Farm enthusiasts and "Associationists" of the forties, made famous by their intimate association with Ralph Waldo Emerson, had much in common with the present-day efficiency engineers. This "old" efficiency of theirs, like the new one, was chiefly concerned with increasing the production of wealth through the application of the "natural" laws of human nature. With the enormous increase in production to be brought about by "Fourierism" and "Association," the question of justice in distribution was relegated to a secondary place. Where they differed from the new efficiency was in method, for they believed efficiency would be attained if only the human instincts or "passions" were given free play, while the efficiency engineers of today trust less to unguided instinct and more to "scientific management" of human "passions." Midway between trade unionism and the simon-pure, idealistic reform philosophies stood producers' and consumers' cooperation. It had the merit of being a practical program most suitable to a time of depression, while on its spiritual side it did not fail to satisfy the loftiest intellectual. It was the resultant of the two most potent forces which acted upon the movement of the forties, the pressure of an inadequate income of the wage earner and the influence of the intellectuals. During no other period has there been, relatively speaking, so much effort along that line. Although, as we shall see, the eighties were properly the era of producers' cooperation on a large scale, the self-governing workshop had always been familiar to the American labor movement. The earliest attempt, as far as we have knowledge, occurred in Philadelphia in 1791, when the house carpenters out on strike offered by way of retaliation against their employers to undertake contracts at 25 percent less than the price charged by the masters. Fourteen years later, in 1806, the journeymen cordwainers of the same city, following their conviction in court on the charge of conspiracy brought in by their masters, opened up a cooperative shoe warehouse and store. As a rule the workingmen took up productive cooperation when they had failed in strikes. In 1836 many of the trade societies began to lose their strikes and turned to cooperation. The cordwainers working on ladies' shoes entered upon a strike for higher wages in March 1836, and opened three months later a "manufactory" or a warehouse of their own. The handloom weavers in two of the suburbs of Philadelphia started cooperative associations at the same time. At the end of 1836 the hand-loom weavers of Philadelphia proper had two cooperative shops and were planning to open a third. In New Brunswick, New Jersey, the journeymen cordwainers opened a shop after an unsuccessful strike early in 1836; likewise the tailors of Cincinnati, St. Louis, and Louisville. In New York the carpenters had done so already in 1833, and the painters of New York and Brooklyn opened their shops in 1837. Before long the spirit became so contagious that the Trades' Union of Philadelphia, the city federation of trade societies, was obliged to take notice. Early in 1837 a conference of about 200 delegates requested each trade society to submit estimates for a shop to employ ten members. However, further steps were prevented by the financial panic and business depression. The forties witnessed several similar attempts. When the iron molders of Cincinnati failed to win a strike in the autumn of 1847, a few of their number collected what funds they could and organized a sort of joint-stock company which they called "The Journeymen Molders' Union Foundry." Two local philanthropists erected their buildings. In Pittsburgh a group of puddlers tried to raise money by selling stock to anyone who wished to take an interest in their cooperative venture. The cooperative ventures multiplied in 1850 and 1851, following a widespread failure of strikes and were entered upon with particular readiness by the German immigrants. Among the Germans was an attitude towards producers' cooperation, based more nearly on general principles than the practical exigencies of a strike. Fresh from the scenes of revolutions in Europe, they were more given to dreams about reconstructing society and more trustful in the honesty and integrity of their leaders. The cooperative movement among the Germans was identified with the name of Wilhelm Weitling, the well-known German communist, who settled in America about 1850. This movement centered in and around New York. The cooperative principle met with success among the English-speaking people only outside the larger cities. In Buffalo, after an unsuccessful strike, the tailors formed an association with a membership of 108 and in October 1850, were able to give employment to 80 of that number. Again, following an unsuccessful Pittsburgh strike of iron founders in 1849, about a dozen of the strikers went to Wheeling, Virginia, each investing $3000, and opened a cooperative foundry shop. Two other foundries were opened on a similar basis in Stetsonville, Ohio, and Sharon, Pennsylvania. These associations of iron founders, however, might better be called association of small capitalists or master-workmen. During the forties, consumers' or distributive cooperation was also given a trial. The early history of consumers' cooperation is but fragmentary and, so far as we know, the first cooperative attempt which had for its exclusive aim "competence to purchaser" was made in Philadelphia early in 1829. A store was established on North Fifth Street, which sold goods at wholesale prices to members, who paid twenty cents a month for its privileges. In 1831 distributive cooperation was much discussed in Boston by a "New England Association of Farmers, Mechanics, and Other Working Men." A half dozen cooperative attempts are mentioned in the Cooperator, published in Utica in 1832, but only in the case of the journeymen cordwainers of Lynn do we discover an undertaking which can with certainty be considered as an effort to achieve distributive cooperation. Several germs of cooperative effort are found between 1833 and 1845, but all that is known about them is that their promoters sought to effect a saving by the purchase of goods in large quantities which were then broken up and distributed at a slight advance above original cost in order to meet expenses. The managers were unpaid, the members' interest in the business was not maintained, and the stores soon failed, or passed into the possession of private owners. It was the depression of 1846-1849 which supplied the movement for distributive cooperation with the needed stimulus, especially in New England. Although the matter was discussed in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and even as far west as Ohio and Illinois, yet in none of the industrial centers of these States, except perhaps in New York, was it put into successful operation. In New England, however, the conditions were exceptionally favorable. A strike movement for higher wages during a partial industrial revival of 1843-1844 had failed completely. This failure, added to the fact that women and girls were employed under very unsatisfactory conditions, strengthened the interest of humanitarians in the laboring people and especially in cooperation as a possible means of alleviating their distress. Under the stimulus of these agitations, the New England Protective Union was formed in 1845. Until 1849, however, it bore the name of the Working Men's Protective Union. As often happens, prosperity brought disunion and, in 1853, a schism occurred in the organization due to personal differences. The seceders formed a separate organization known as the American Protective Union. The Working Men's Protective Union embodied a larger conception of the cooperative idea than had been expressed before. The important thought was that an economy of a few dollars a year in the purchase of commodities was a poor way out of labor difficulties, but was valuable only as a preparation for something better. Though the resources of these laborers were small, they began the work with great hopes. This business, starting so unpretentiously, assumed larger and increasing proportions until in October, 1852, the Union embraced 403 divisions of which 167 reported a capital of $241,712 and 165 of these announced annual sales amounting to $1,696,825. Though the schism of 1853, mentioned above, weakened the body, the agent of the American Protective Union claimed for the divisions comprising it sales aggregating in value over nine and one-fourth millions dollars in the seven years ending in 1859. It is not possible to tell what might have been the outcome of this cooperative movement had the peaceful development of the country remained uninterrupted. As it happened, the disturbed era of the Civil War witnessed the near annihilation of all workingmen's cooperation. It is not difficult to see the causes which led to the destruction of the still tender plant. Men left their homes for the battle field, foreigners poured into New England towns and replaced the Americans in the shops, while share-holders frequently became frightened at the state of trade and gladly saw the entire cooperative enterprise pass into the hands of the storekeeper. This first American cooperative movement on a large scale resembled the British movement in many respects, namely open membership, equal voting by members irrespective of number of shares, cash sales and federation of societies for wholesale purchases, but differed in that goods were sold to members nearly at cost rather than at the market price. Dr. James Ford in his _Cooperation in New England, Urban and Rural_,[8] describes two survivals from this period, the Central Union Association of New Bedford, Massachusetts, founded in 1848, and the Acushnet Cooperative Association, also of New Bedford, which began business in 1849. But the most characteristic labor movement of the forties was a resurgence of the old Agrarianism of the twenties. Skidmore's "equal division" of all property appealed to the workingmen of New York because it seemed to be based on equality of opportunity. One of Skidmore's temporary associates, a Welshman by the name of George Henry Evans, drew from him an inspiration for a new kind of agrarianism to which few could object. This new doctrine was a true Agrarianism, since it followed in the steps of the original "Agrarians," the brothers Gracchi in ancient Rome. Like the Gracchi, Evans centered his plan around the "ager publicum"--the vast American public domain. Evans began his agitation about 1844. Man's right to life, according to Evans, logically implied his right to use the materials of nature necessary for being. For practical reasons he would not interfere with natural resources which have already passed under private ownership. Evans proposed instead that Congress give each would-be settler land for a homestead free of charge. As late as 1852 debaters in Congress pointed out that in the preceding sixty years only 100,000,000 acres of the public lands had been sold and that 1,400,000,000 acres still remained at the disposal of the government. Estimates of the required time to dispose of this residuum at the same rate of sale varied from 400 or 500 to 900 years. With the exaggerated views prevalent, it is no wonder that Evans believed that the right of the individual to as much land as his right to live calls for would remain a living right for as long a period in the future as a practical statesman may be required to take into account. The consequences of free homesteads were not hard to picture. The landless wage earners could be furnished transportation and an outfit, for the money spent for poor relief would be more profitably expended in sending the poor to the land. Private societies and trade unions, when laborers were too numerous, could aid in transporting the surplus to the waiting homesteads and towns that would grow up. With the immobility of labor thus offering no serious obstacle to the execution of the plan, the wage earners of the East would have the option of continuing to work for wages or of taking up their share of the vacant lands. Moreover, mechanics could set up as independent producers in the new settlements. Enough at least would go West to force employers to offer better wages and shorter hours. Those unable to meet the expenses of moving would profit by higher wages at home. An equal opportunity to go on land would benefit both pioneer and stay-at-home. But Evans would go still further in assuring equality of opportunity. He would make the individual's right to the resources of nature safe against the creditors through a law exempting homesteads from attachment for debts and even against himself by making the homestead inalienable. Moreover to assure that right to the American people _in perpetuo_ he would prohibit future disposal of the public land in large blocks to moneyed purchasers as practiced by the government heretofore. Thus the program of the new agrarianism: free homesteads, homestead exemption, and land limitation. Evans had a plan of political action, which was as unique as his economic program. His previous political experiences with the New York Workingmen's party had taught him that a minority party could not hope to win by its own votes and that the politicians cared more for offices than for measures. They would endorse any measure which was supported by voters who held the balance of power. His plan of action was, therefore, to ask all candidates to pledge their support to his measures. In exchange for such a pledge, the candidates would receive the votes of the workingmen. In case neither candidate would sign the pledge, it might be necessary to nominate an independent as a warning to future candidates; but not as an indication of a new party organization. Evans' ideas quickly won the adherence of the few labor papers then existing. Horace Greeley's New York Tribune endorsed the homestead movement as early as 1845. The next five years witnessed a remarkable spread of the ideas of the free homestead movement in the press of the country. It was estimated in 1845 that 2000 papers were published in the United States and that in 1850, 600 of these supported land reform. Petitions and memorials having proved of little avail, the land reformers tried Evans' pet plan of bargaining votes for the support of their principles. Tammany was quick to start the bidding. In May, 1851, a mass-meeting was held at Tammany Hall "of all those in favor of land and other industrial reform, to be made elements in the Presidential contest of 1852." A platform was adopted which proclaimed man's right to the soil and urged that freedom of the public lands be endorsed by the Democratic party. Senator Isaac A. Walker of Wisconsin was nominated as the candidate of the party for President. For a while the professional politician triumphed over the too trusting workingman reformer. But the cause found strong allies in the other classes of the American community. From the poor whites of the upland region of the South came a similar demand formulated by the Tennessee tailor, Andrew Johnson, later President of the United States, who introduced his first homestead bill in 1845. From the Western pioneers and settlers came the demand for increased population and development of resources, leading both to homesteads for settlers and land grants for railways. The opposition came from manufacturers and landowners of the East and from the Southern slave owners. The West and East finally combined and the policy of the West prevailed, but not before the South had seceded from the Union. Not the entire reform was accepted. The Western spirit dominated. The homestead law, as finally adopted in 1862, granted one hundred and sixty acres as a free gift to every settler. But the same Congress launched upon a policy of extensive land grants to railways. The homestead legislation doubtless prevented great estates similar to those which sprang of a different policy of the Australian colonies, but did not carry out the broad principles of inalienability and land limitation of the original Agrarians. Their principle of homestead exemption, however, is now almost universally adopted. Thus the homestead agitation begun by Evans and a group of wage earners and farmers in 1844 was carried to victory, though to an incomplete victory. It contained a fruitful lesson to labor in politics. The vested interests in the East were seen ultimately to capitulate before a popular movement which at no time aspired toward political power and office, but, concentrating on one issue, endeavored instead to permeate with its ideas the public opinion of the country at large. Of all the "isms" so prevalent during the forties, "Agrarianism" alone came close to modern socialism, as it alone advocated class struggle and carried it into the political field, although, owing to the peculiarity of the American party structure, it urged a policy of "reward your friends, and punish your enemies" rather than an out and out labor party. It is noteworthy that of all social reform movements of the forties Agrarianism alone was not initiated by the intellectuals. On the other hand, another movement for legislative reform, namely the shorter-hour movement for women and children working in the mills and factories, was entirely managed by humanitarians. Its philosophy was the furthest removed from the class struggle idea. For only a short year or two did prosperity show itself from behind the clouds to cause a mushroom growth of trade unions, once in 1850-1851 and again in 1853-1854, following the gold discoveries in California. During these few years unionism disentangled itself from humanitarianism and cooperationism and came out in its wholly modern form of restrictive craft unionism, only to be again suppressed by the business depressions that preceded and followed the panic of 1857. Considered as a whole, however, the period of the forties and fifties was the zenith in American history of theories of social reform, of "panaceas," of humanitarianism. The trade union wave of the fifties was so short lived and the trade unionists were so preoccupied with the pressing need of advancing their wages to keep pace with the soaring prices caused by the influx of California gold, that we miss the tendency which was so strong in the thirties to reach out for a wider basis of labor organization in city trades' unions, and ultimately in a National Trades' Union. On the other hand, the fifties foreshadowed a new form of expansion of labor organization--the joining together in a nation-wide organization of all local unions of one trade. The printers[9] organized nationally in 1850, the locomotive engineers and the hat-finishers in 1854; and the iron molders, and the machinists and blacksmiths in 1859; in addition there were at least a half dozen less successful attempts in other trades. FOOTNOTES: [2] See below, 147-148. [3] See below, 148-149. [4] See below, 270-272. [5] The workingmen felt that they required leisure to be able to exercise their rights of citizens. [6] The ship carpenters had been similarly defeated in 1832. [7] For a detailed discussion of these trials see below, 149-152. [8] Published in 1916 by the Russell Sage Foundation, pp. 16-18. [9] The printers had organized nationally for the first time in 1836, but the organization lasted less than two years; likewise the cordwainers or shoemakers. But we must keep in mind that what constituted national organization in the thirties would pass only for regional or sectional organization in later years. CHAPTER 2 THE "GREENBACK" PERIOD, 1862-1879 The few national trade unions which were formed at the close of the fifties did not constitute by themselves a labor movement. It needed the industrial prosperity caused by the price inflation of the Civil War time to bring forth again a mass movement of labor. We shall say little of labor's attitude towards the question of war and peace before the War had started. Like many other citizens of the North and the Border States the handful of organized workers favored a compromise. They held a labor convention in Philadelphia, in which a great labor leader of the sixties, William H. Sylvis, President of the International Molders' Union, took a prominent part and pronounced in favor of the compromise solution advanced by Congressman Crittenden of Kentucky. But no sooner had Fort Sumter been fired upon by the secessionists than labor rallied to the support of the Federal Union. Entire local unions enlisted at the call of President Lincoln, and Sylvis himself assisted in recruiting a company composed of molders. The first effect of the War was a paralysis of business and an increase of unemployment. The existing labor organizations nearly all went to the wall. The period of industrial stagnation, however, lasted only until the middle of 1862. The legal tender acts of 1862 and 1863 authorized the issue of paper currency of "greenbacks" to the amount of $1,050,000,000, and immediately prices began to soar. For the next sixteen years, namely until 1879, when the government resumed the redemption of greenbacks in gold, prices of commodities and labor expressed in terms of paper money showed varying degrees of inflation; hence the term "greenback" period. During the War the advance in prices was due in part to the extraordinary demand by the government for the supply of the army and, of course, to speculation. In July 1863, retail prices were 43 percent above those of 1860 and wages only 12 percent above; in July 1864, retail prices rose to 70 percent and wages to 30 percent above 1860; and in July 1865, prices rose to 76 percent and wages only to 50 percent above the level of 1860. The unequal pace of the price movement drove labor to organize along trade-union lines. The order observed in the thirties was again followed out. First came a flock of local trade unions; these soon combined in city centrals--or as they came to be called, trades' assemblies--paralleling the trades' union of the thirties; and lastly, came an attempt to federate the several trades' assemblies into an International Industrial Assembly of North America. Local trade unions were organized literally in every trade beginning in the second half of 1862. The first trades' assembly was formed in Rochester, New York, in March 1863; and before long there was one in every town of importance. The International Industrial Assembly was attempted in 1864, but failed to live up to the expectations: The time had passed for a national federation of city centrals. As in the thirties the spread of unionism over the breadth of the land called out as a counterpart a widespread movement of employers' associations. The latter differed, however, from their predecessors in the thirties in that they made little use of the courts in their fight against the unions. The growth of the national trade unions was a true index of the condition of business. Four were organized in 1864 as compared to two organized in 1863, none in 1862, and one in 1861. During 1865, which marked the height of the intense business activity, six more national unions were organized. In 1866 industry entered upon a period of depression, which reached its lowest depth in 1867 and continued until 1869. Accordingly, not a single national union was organized in 1866 and only one in 1867. In 1868 two new national labor unions were organized. In 1869 two more unions were formed--a total of seven for the four depressed years, compared with ten in the preceding two prosperous years. In the summer of 1870 business became good and remained good for approximately three years. Nine new national unions appeared in these three years. These same years are marked also by a growth of the unions previously organized. For instance, the machinists and blacksmiths, with only 1500 members in 1870, had 18,000 in 1873. Other unions showed similar gains. An estimate of the total trade union membership at any one time (in view of the total lack of reliable statistics) would be extremely hazardous. The New York _Herald_ estimated it in August 1869, to be about 170,000. A labor leader claimed at the same time that the total was as high as 600,000. Probably 300,000 would be a conservative estimate for the time immediately preceding the panic of 1873. Although the strength of labor was really the strength of the national trade unions, especially during the depression of the later sixties, far greater attention was attracted outside as well as inside the labor movement by the National Labor Union, a loosely built federation of national trade unions, city trades' assemblies, local trade unions, and reform organizations of various descriptions, from philosophical anarchists to socialists and woman suffragists. The National Labor Union did not excel in practical activity, but it formed an accurate mirror of the aspirations and ideals of the American mechanics of the time of the Civil War and after. During its six years' existence it ran the gamut of all important issues which agitated the labor movement of the time. The National Labor Union came together in its first convention in 1866. The most pressing problem of the day was unemployment due to the return of the demobilized soldiers and the shutting down of war industries. The convention centered on the demand to reduce the working day to eight hours. But eight hours had by that time come to signify more than a means to increase employment. The eight-hour movement drew its inspiration from an economic theory advanced by a self-taught Boston machinist, Ira Steward. And so naturally did this theory flow from the usual premises in the thinking of the American workman that once formulated by Steward it may be said to have become an official theory of the labor movement. Steward's doctrine is well expressed by a couplet which was very popular with the eight-hour speakers of that period: "Whether you work by the piece or work by the day, decreasing the hours increases the pay." Steward believed that the amount of wages is determined by no other factor than the worker's standard of living. He held that wages cannot fall below the standard of living not because, as the classical economists said, it would cause late marriages and a reduction in the supply of labor, but solely because the wage earner will refuse to work for less than enough to maintain his standard of living. Steward possessed such abundant faith in this purely psychological check on the employer that he made it the cornerstone of his theory of social progress. Raise the worker's standard of living, he said, and the employer will be immediately forced to raise wages; no more can wages fall below the level of the worker's standard of living than New England can be ruled against her will. The lever for raising the standard of living was the eight-hour day. Increase the worker's leisure and you will increase his wants; increase his wants and you will immediately raise his wages. Although he occasionally tried to soften his doctrine by the argument that a shorter work-day not only does not decrease but may actually increase output, his was a distinctly revolutionary doctrine; he aimed at the total abolition of profits through their absorption into wages. But the instrument was nothing more radical than a progressive universal shortening the hours. So much for the general policy. To bring it to pass two alternatives were possible: trade unionism or legislation. Steward chose the latter as the more hopeful and speedy one. Steward knew that appeals to the humanity of the employers had largely failed; efforts to secure the reform by cooperation had failed; the early trade unions had failed; and there seemed to be no recourse left now but to accomplish the reduction of hours by legislative enactment. In 1866 Steward organized the Grand Eight-Hour League of Massachusetts as a special propagandist organization of the eight-hour philosophy. The League was a secret organization with pass words and obligations, intended as the central organization of a chain of subordinate leagues in the State, afterwards to be created. Of a total of about eighty local leagues in existence from 1865 to 1877, about twenty were in Massachusetts, eight elsewhere in New England, at least twenty-five in Michigan, four or five in Pennsylvania, about seven in Illinois, as many in Wisconsin, and smaller numbers in Missouri, Iowa, Indiana, and California. Michigan, Illinois, Iowa, and Pennsylvania had each a Grand Eight-Hour League. Practically all of these organizations disappeared soon after the panic of 1873. The National Labor Union centered on the passage of an eight-hour law for employes of the Federal government. It was believed, perhaps not without some justice, that the effect of such law would eventually lead to the introduction of the same standard in private employment--not indeed through the operation of the law of supply and demand, for it was realized that this would be practically negligible, but rather through its contagious effect on the minds of employes and even employers. It will be recalled that, at the time of the ten-hour agitation of the thirties, the Federal government had lagged about five years behind private employers in granting the demanded concession. That in the sixties the workingmen chose government employment as the entering wedge shows a measure of political self-confidence which the preceding generation of workingmen lacked. The first bill in Congress was introduced by Senator Gratz Brown of Missouri in March 1866. In the summer a delegation from the National Labor Union was received by President Andrew Johnson. The President pointed to his past record favorable to the workingmen but refrained from any definite promises. Finally, an eight-hour bill for government employes was passed by the House in March 1867, and by the Senate in June 1868. On June 29, 1868, President Johnson signed it and it went into effect immediately. The result of the eight-hour law was not all that the friends of the bill hoped. The various officials in charge of government work put their own interpretations upon it and there resulted much diversity in its observance, and consequently great dissatisfaction. There seemed to be no clear understanding as to the intent of Congress in enacting the law. Some held that the reduction in working hours must of necessity bring with it a corresponding reduction in wages. The officials' view of the situation was given by Secretary Gideon Wells. He pointed out that Congress, by reducing the hours of labor in government work, had forced upon the department of the Navy the employment of a larger number of men in order to accomplish the necessary work; and that at the same time Congress had reduced the appropriation for that department. This had rendered unavoidable a twenty percent reduction in wages paid employes in the Navy Yard. Such a state of uncertainty continued four years longer. At last on May 13, 1872, President Grant prohibited by proclamation any wage reductions in the execution of the law. On May 18, 1872, Congress passed a law for the restitution of back pay. The expectations of the workingmen that the Federal law would blaze the way for the eight-hour system in private employment failed to materialize. The depression during the seventies took up all the impetus in that direction which the law may have generated. Even as far as government work is concerned forty years had to elapse before its application could be rounded out by extending it to contract work done for the government by private employers. We have dealt at length with this subject because it marked an important landmark. It demonstrated to the wage earners that, provided they concentrated on a modest object and kept up a steady pressure, their prospects for success were not entirely hopeless, hard as the road may seem to travel. The other and far more ambitious object of the workingman of the sixties, that of enacting general eight-hour laws in the several States, at first appeared to be within easy reach--so yielding political parties and State legislatures seemed to be to the demands of the organized workmen. Yet before long these successes proved to be entirely illusory. The year 1867 was the banner year for such State legislation. Eight-hour laws were passed in Illinois, Wisconsin, Connecticut, Missouri, and New York. California passed such a law in 1868. In Pennsylvania, Michigan, Maryland, and Minnesota bills were introduced but were defeated. Two common features characterized these laws, whether enacted or merely proposed to the legislatures. There were none which did not permit of longer hours than those named in the law, provided they were so specified in the contract. A contract requiring ten or more hours a day was perfectly legal. The eight-hour day was the legal day only "when the contract was silent on the subject or where there is no express contract to the contrary," as stated in the Wisconsin law. But the greatest weakness was a lack of a provision for enforcement. New York's experience is typical and characteristic. When the workingmen appealed to Governor Fenton to enforce the law, he replied that the act had received his official signature and he felt that it "would be an unwarrantable assumption" on his part to take any step requiring its enforcement. "Every law," he said, "was obligatory by its own nature, and could derive no additional force from any further act of his." In Massachusetts, however, the workingmen succeeded after hard and protracted labor in obtaining an enforceable ten-hour law for women--the first effective law of its kind passed in any American State. This law, which was passed in 1874, provides that "no minor under the age of eighteen years, and no woman over that age" shall be employed more than ten hours in one day or sixty hours in any one week in any manufacturing establishment in the State. The penalty for each violation was fixed at fifty dollars. The repeated disappointments with politics and legislation led in the early seventies to a revival of faith in trade unionism. Even in the early sixties we find not a few unions, national and local, limiting their hours by agreement with employers. The national unions, however, for the most part left the matter to the local unions for settlement as their strength or local conditions might dictate. In some cases the local unions were advised to accept a reduction of wages in order to secure the system, showing faith in Steward's theory that such reduction could not be permanent. The movement to establish the eight-hour day through trade unionism reached its climax in the summer of 1872, when business prosperity was at its height. This year witnessed in New York City a general eight-hour strike. However, it succeeded in only a few trades, and even there the gain was only temporary, since it was lost during the years of depression which followed the financial panic of 1873. To come back to the National Labor Union. At the second convention in 1867 the enthusiasm was transferred from eight-hour laws to the bizarre social reform philosophy known as "greenbackism." "Greenbackism" was, in substance, a plan to give the man without capital an equal opportunity in business with his rich competitor. It meant taking away from bankers and middlemen their control over credit and thereby furnishing credit and capital through the aid of the government to the producers of physical products. On its face greenbackism was a program of currency reform and derived its name from the so-called "greenback," the paper money issued during the Civil War. But it was more than currency reform--it was industrial democracy. "Greenbackism" was the American counterpart of the contemporary radicalism of Europe. Its program had much in common with that of Lassalle in Germany who would have the state lend its credit to cooperative associations of workingmen in the confident expectation that with such backing they would drive private capitalism out of existence by the competitive route. But greenbackism differed from the scheme of Lassalle in that it would utilize the government's enormous Civil War debt, instead of its taxing power, as a means of furnishing capital to labor. This was to be done by reducing the rate of interest on the government bonds to three percent and by making them convertible into legal tender currency and convertible back into bonds, at the will of the holder of either. In other words, the greenback currency, instead of being, as it was at the time, an irredeemable promise to pay in specie, would be redeemable in government bonds. On the other hand, if a government bondholder could secure slightly more than three percent by lending to a private borrower, he would return his bonds to the government, take out the corresponding amount in greenbacks and lend it to the producer on his private note or mortgage. This would involve, of course, the possible inflation of legal tender currency to the amount of outstanding bonds. But inflation was immaterial, since all prices would be affected alike and meanwhile the farmers, the workingmen, and their cooperative establishments would be able to secure capital at slightly more than three percent instead of the nine or twelve percent which they were compelled to pay at the bank. Thereby they would be placed on a competitive level with the middleman, and the wage earner would be assisted to escape the wage system into self-employment. Such was the curious doctrine which captured the leaders of the organized wage earners in 1867. The way had indeed been prepared for it in 1866, when the wage earners espoused producers' cooperation as the only solution. But, in the following year, 1867, they concluded that no system of combination or cooperation could secure to labor its natural rights as long as the credit system enabled non-producers to accumulate wealth faster than labor was able to add to the national wealth. Cooperation would follow "as a natural consequence," if producers could secure through legislation credit at a low rate of interest. The government was to extend to the producer "free capital" in addition to free land which he received with the Homestead Act. The producers' cooperation, which offered the occasion for the espousal of greenbackism, was itself preceded by a movement for consumers' cooperation. Following the upward sweep of prices, workmen had begun toward the end of 1862 to make definite preparations for distributive cooperation. They endeavored to cut off the profits of the middleman by establishing cooperative grocery stores, meat markets, and coal yards. The first substantial effort of this kind to attract wide attention was the formation in December 1862, of the Union Cooperative Association of Philadelphia, which opened a store. The prime mover and the financial secretary of this organization was Thomas Phillips, a shoemaker who came from England in 1852, fired with the principles of the Rochdale pioneers, that is, cash sales, dividends on purchases rather than on stock, and "one man, one vote." By 1866 the movement had extended until practically every important industrial town between Boston and San Francisco had some form of distributive cooperation. This was the high tide of the movement. Unfortunately, the condition of the country was unfavorable to these enterprises and they were destined to early collapse. The year 1865 witnessed disastrous business failures. The country was in an uncertain condition and at the end of the sixties the entire movement had died out. From 1866 to 1869 experiments in productive cooperation were made by practically all leading trades including the bakers, coach makers, collar makers, coal miners, shipwrights, machinists and blacksmiths, foundry workers, nailers, ship carpenters, and calkers, glass blowers, hatters, boiler makers, plumbers, iron rollers, tailors, printers, needle women, and molders. A large proportion of these attempts grew out of unsuccessful strikes. The most important undertakings were among the workers in iron, undoubtedly due in large measure to the indefatigable efforts of William H. Sylvis, the founder of the Iron Molders' International Union. At the close of 1869 members of the Iron Molders' International Union owned and operated many cooperative foundries chiefly in New York and Pennsylvania. The first of the foundries established at Troy in the early summer of 1866 was followed quickly by one in Albany and then during the next eighteen months by ten more--one each in Rochester, Chicago, Quincy, Louisville, Somerset, Pittsburgh, and two each in Troy and Cleveland. The original foundry at Troy was an immediate financial success and was hailed with joy by those who believed that under the name of cooperationists the baffled trade unionists might yet conquer. The New York _Sun_ congratulated the iron molders of Troy and declared that Sylvis had checkmated the association of stove manufacturers and, by the establishment of this cooperative foundry, had made the greatest contribution of the year to the labor cause. But the results of the Troy experiment, typical of the others, show how far from a successful solution of the labor problem is productive cooperation. Although this "Troy Cooperative Iron Founders' Association" was planned with great deliberation and launched at a time when the regular stove manufacturers were embarrassed by strikes, and although it was regularly incorporated with a provision that each member was entitled to but one vote whether he held one share at $100, or the maximum privilege of fifty in the total of two thousand shares, it failed as did the others in furnishing permanent relief to the workers as a class. At the end of the third year of this enterprise, the _American Workman_ published a sympathetic account of its progress unconsciously disclosing its fatal weakness, namely, the inevitable tendency of cooperators to adopt the capitalistic view. The writer of this account quotes from these cooperators to show that "the fewer the stockholders in the company the greater its success." A similar instance is furnished by the Cooperative Foundry Company of Rochester. This venture has also been a financial success, though a partial failure as a cooperative enterprise. When it was established in 1867 all employes were stockholders and profits were divided as follows: Twelve percent on capital and the balance in proportion to the earnings of the men. But the capitalist was stronger than the cooperative brother. Dividends on capital were advanced in a few years to seventeen and one-half percent, then to twenty-five, and finally the distribution of any part of the profits in proportion to wages was discontinued. Money was made every year and dividends paid, which in 1884 amounted to forty percent on the capital. At that time about one-fifth of the employes were stockholders. Also in this case cooperation did not prevent the usual conflict between employer and employe, as is shown in a strike of three and a half months' duration. It is interesting to notice that one of the strikers, a member of the Molders' Union, owned stock to the amount of $7000. The machinists, too, throughout this period took an active interest in cooperation. Their convention which met in October, 1865, appointed a committee to report on a plan of action to establish a cooperative shop under the auspices of the International Union. The plan failed of adoption, but of machinists' shops on the joint-stock plan there were a good many. Two other trades noted for their enthusiasm for cooperation at this time were the shoemakers and the coopers. The former, organized in the Order of St. Crispin, then the largest trade union in the country, advocated cooperation even when their success in strikes was at its height. "The present demand of the Crispin is steady employment and fair wages, but his future is self-employment" was one of their mottoes. During the seventies they repeatedly attempted to carry this motto into effect. The seventies also saw the beginning of the most successful single venture in productive cooperation ever undertaken in this country, namely, the eight cooperative cooperage shops in Minneapolis, which were established at varying intervals from 1874 to 1886. The coopers took care to enforce true cooperation by providing for equal holding of stock and for a division of ordinary profits and losses in proportion to wages. The cooper shops prospered, but already ten years later four out of the eight existing in 1886 had passed into private hands. In 1866 when the eight-hour demand was as yet uppermost, the National Labor Union resolved for an independent labor party. The espousal of greenbackism in 1867 only reenforced that resolution. The leaders realized only too well that neither the Republican nor Democratic party would voluntarily make an issue of a scheme purporting to assist the wage earner to become an independent producer. Accordingly, the history of the National Labor Union became largely the history of labor's first attempt to play a lone political hand on a national scale. Each annual session of the National Labor Union faithfully reaffirmed the decision to "cut loose" from the old parties. But such a vast undertaking demanded time. It was not until 1872 that the National Labor Union met as a political convention to nominate a national ticket. From the first the stars were inauspicious. Charges were made that political aspirants sought to control the convention in order to influence nominations by the Republican and Democratic parties. A "greenback" platform was adopted as a matter of course and the new party was christened the National Labor and Reform Party. On the first formal ballot for nomination for President, Judge David Davis of Illinois, a personal friend of Abraham Lincoln, received 88 votes, Wendell Phillips, the abolitionist, 52, and the remainder scattered. On the third ballot Davis was nominated. Governor J. Parker of New Jersey was nominated for Vice-President. At first Judge Davis accepted the nomination, but resigned after the Democrats had nominated Horace Greeley. The loss of the candidate spelled the death of the party. The National Labor Union itself had been only an empty shell since 1870, when the national trade unions, disaffected with the turn towards politics, withdrew. Now, its pet project a failure, it, too, broke up. In 1873, on the eve of the financial panic, the national trade unions attempted to reconstruct a national labor federation on a purely trade-union basis in the form of a National Industrial Congress. But the economic disaster of the panic nipped it in the bud just as it cut off the life of the overwhelming majority of the existing labor organizations. Another attempt to get together on a national basis was made in the National Labor Congress at Pittsburgh in 1876. But those who responded were not interested in trade unionism and, mirroring the prevailing labor sentiment during the long years of depressions, had only politics on their mind, greenback or socialist. As neither greenbacker nor socialist would meet the other half-way, the attempt naturally came to naught. Greenbackism was popular with the working people during the depressed seventies because it now meant to them primarily currency inflation and a rise of prices and, consequently, industrial prosperity--not the phantastic scheme of the National Labor Union. Yet in the Presidential election of 1876 the Greenback party candidate, Peter Cooper, the well known manufacturer and philanthropist, drew only a poor 100,000, which came practically from the rural districts only. It was not until the great strikes of 1877 had brought in their train a political labor upheaval that the greenback movement assumed a formidable form. The strikes of 1877, which on account of the wide area affected, the degree of violence displayed, and the amount of life and property lost, impressed contemporaries as being nothing short of social revolution, were precipitated by a general ten percent reduction in wages on the three trunk lines running West, the Pennsylvania, the Baltimore & Ohio, and the New York Central, in June and July 1877. This reduction came on top of an earlier ten percent reduction after the panic. The railway men were practically unorganized so that the steadying influence of previous organization was totally lacking in the critical situation of unrest which the newly announced wage reduction created. One must take also into account that in the four terrible years which elapsed since the panic, America had developed a new type of a man--the tramp--who naturally gravitated towards places where trouble was expected. The first outbreak occurred at Martinsburg, West Virginia, on July 17, the day after the ten percent reduction had gone into effect. The strike spread like wildfire over the adjacent sections of the Baltimore & Ohio road, the strikers assuming absolute control at many points. The militia was either unwilling or powerless to cope with the violence. In Baltimore, where in the interest of public safety all the freight trains had stopped running, two companies of militia were beleaguered by a mob to prevent their being dispatched to Cumberland, where the strikers were in control. Order was restored only when Federal troops arrived. But these occurrences fade into insignificance when compared with the destructive effects of the strike on the Pennsylvania in and around Pittsburgh. The situation there was aggravated by a hatred of the Pennsylvania railway corporation shared by nearly all residents on the ground of an alleged rate discrimination against the city. The Pittsburgh militia fraternized with the strikers, and when 600 troops which arrived from Philadelphia attempted to restore order and killed about twenty rioters, they were besieged in a roundhouse by a furious mob. In the battle the railway yards were set on fire. Damages amounting to about $5,000,000 were caused. The besieged militia men finally gained egress and retreated fighting rear-guard actions. At last order was restored by patrols of citizens. The strike spread also to the Erie railway and caused disturbances in several places, but not nearly of the same serious nature as on the Baltimore & Ohio and the Pennsylvania. The other places to which the strike spread were Toledo, Louisville, Chicago, St. Louis, and San Francisco. The strikes failed in every case but their moral effect was enormous. The general public still retained a fresh memory of the Commune of Paris of 1871 and feared for the foundations of the established order. The wage earners, on the other hand, felt that the strikers had not been fairly dealt with. It was on this intense labor discontent that the greenback agitation fed and grew. Whereas in 1876 the greenback labor vote was negligible, notwithstanding the exhortations by many of the former trade union leaders who turned greenback agitators, now, following the great strikes, greenbackism became primarily a labor movement. Local Greenback-Labor parties were being organized everywhere and a national Greenback-Labor party was not far behind in forming. The continued industrial depression was a decisive factor, the winter of 1877-1878 marking perhaps the point of its greatest intensity. Naturally the greenback movement was growing apace. One of the notable successes in the spring of 1878 was the election of Terence V. Powderly, later Grand Master Workman of the Knights of Labor, as mayor of Scranton, Pennsylvania. The Congressional election in the autumn of 1878 marked the zenith of the movement. The aggregate greenback vote cast in the election exceeded a million, and fourteen Representatives were sent to Congress. In New England the movement was strong enough to poll almost a third of the total vote in Maine, over 8 percent of the total vote in both Connecticut and New Hampshire, and from 4 to 6 percent, in the other States. In Maine the greenbackers elected 32 members of the upper house and 151 members of the lower house and one Congressman, Thompson Murch of Rochland, who was secretary of the National Granite Cutters' Union. However, the bulk of the vote in that State was obviously agricultural. In Massachusetts, the situation was dominated by General Benjamin F. Butler, lifelong Republican politician, who had succeeded in getting the Democratic nomination for governor and was endorsed by the Greenback convention. He received a large vote but was defeated for office. But just as the Greenback-Labor movement was assuming promising proportions a change for the better in the industrial situation cut under the very roots of its existence. In addition, one month after the election of 1878, its principal issue disappeared. January 1, 1879, was the date fixed by the act for resumption of redemption of greenbacks in gold and on December 17, 1878, the premium on gold disappeared. From that day on, the greenback became a dead issue. Another factor of great importance was the large increase in the volume of the currency. In 1881 the currency, which had averaged about $725,000,000 for the years 1876-1878, reached over $1,111,000,000. Under these conditions, all that remained available to the platform-makers and propagandists of the party was their opposition to the so-called "monopolistic" national banks with their control over currency and to the refunding of the bonded debt of the government. The disappearance of the financial issue snapped the threads which had held together the farmer and the wage-worker. So long as depression continued, the issue was financial and the two had, as they thought, a common enemy--the banker. The financial issue once settled, or at least suspended, the object of the attack by labor became the employer, and that of the attack by the farmer--the railway corporation and the warehouse man. Prosperity had mitigated the grievances of both classes, but while the farmer still had a great deal to expect from politics in the form of state regulation of railway rates, the wage earners' struggle now turned entirely economic and not political. In California, as in the Eastern industrial States, the railway strikes of 1877 precipitated a political movement. California had retained gold as currency throughout the entire period of paper money, and the labor movement at no time had accepted the greenback platform. The political issue after 1877 was racial, not financial, and the weapon was not merely the ballot, but also "direct action"--violence. The anti-Chinese agitation in California, culminating as it did in the Exclusion Law passed by Congress in 1882, was doubtless the most important single factor in the history of American labor, for without it the entire country might have been overrun by Mongolian labor and the labor movement might have become a conflict of races instead of one of classes.[10] The seventies witnessed another of those recurring attempts of consumers' cooperation already noticed in the forties and sixties. This time the movement was organized by the "Sovereigns of Industry," a secret order, founded at Worcester, Massachusetts, in 1874 by one William H. Earle. The spirit of the Order was entirely peaceful and unobtrusive as expressed in the first paragraph of the Declaration of Purposes which reads as follows: "The Order of the Sovereigns of Industry is an association of the industrial or laboring classes, without regard to race, sex, color, nationality, or occupation; not founded for the purpose of waging any war of aggression upon any other class, or for fostering any antagonism of labor against capital, or of arraying the poor against the rich; but for mutual assistance in self-improvement and self-protection." The scheme of organization called for a local council including members from the town or district, a state council, comprising representatives from the local councils and a National Council in which the States were represented. The president of the National Council was the founder of the Order, William H. Earle. Success accompanied the efforts of the promoters of the Sovereigns of Industry for a few years. The total membership in 1875-1876 was 40,000, of whom seventy-five percent were in New England and forty-three percent in Massachusetts. Though the Order extended into other States and even reached the territories, its chief strength always remained in New England and the Middle States. During the last period of its existence a national organ was published at Washington, but the Order does not appear to have gained a foothold in any of the more Southern sections of the country. In 1875, 101 local councils reported as having some method of supplying members with goods, 46 of whom operated stores. The largest store belonged to the council at Springfield, Massachusetts, which in 1875 built the "Sovereign Block" at a cost of $35,500. In his address at the fourth annual session in Washington, President Earle stated that the store in Springfield led all the others with sales amounting to $119,000 for the preceding year. About one-half of the councils failed to report, but at the Congress of 1876 President Earle estimated the annual trade at $3,000,000. Much enthusiasm accompanied the progress of the movement. The hall in "Sovereign Block" at Springfield was dedicated amid such jubilation as marks an event thought to be the forerunner of a new era. There is indeed a certain pathos in the high hopes expressed in the Address of Dedication by President Earle, for, though the Order continued to thrive until 1878, shortly after a decline began, and dissolution was its fate in 1880. The failure of the Sovereigns marked the latest attempt on a large scale[11] to inoculate the American workingmen with the sort of cooperative spirit which proved so successful in England.[12] This failure of distributive cooperation to gain the strong and lasting foothold in this country that it has abroad has been accounted for in various ways by different writers. Great emphasis has been laid upon the lack of capital, the lack of suitable legislation on the subject of cooperation, the mutual isolation of the educated and wage-earning classes, the lack of business ability among wage earners, and the altogether too frequent venality and corruption among cooperators. Probably the lack of adequate leadership has played as important a part as any. It is peculiar to America that the wage earner of exceptional ability can easily find a way for escaping into the class of independent producers or even employers of labor. The American trade union movement has suffered much less from this difficulty. The trade unions are fighting organizations; they demand the sort of leader who is of a combative spirit, who possesses the organizing ability and the "personal magnetism" to keep his men in line; and for this kind of ability the business world offers no particular demand. On the other hand, the qualifications which go to make a successful manager of a cooperative store, namely, steadiness, conservatism of judgment, attention to detail and business punctuality always will be in great demand in the business world. Hence, when no barrier is interposed in the form of preempted opportunities or class bias, the exceptional workingman who possesses these qualifications will likely desert his class and set up in business for himself. In England, fortunately for the cooperative movement, such an escape is very difficult. The failure of consumers' cooperation in America was helped also by two other peculiarly American conditions. European economists, when speaking of the working class, assume generally that it is fixed in residence and contrast it with capital, which they say is fluid as between city and city and even between country and country. American labor, however, native as well as immigrant, is probably more mobile than capital; for, tradition and habit which keep the great majority of European wage earners in the place where their fathers and forefathers had lived before them are generally absent in this country, except perhaps in parts of New England and the South. It is therefore natural that the cooperative spirit, which after all is but an enlarged and more generalized form of the old spirit of neighborliness and mutual trust, should have failed to develop to its full strength in America. Another condition fatal to the development of the cooperative spirit is the racial heterogeneity of the American wage-earning class, which separates it into mutually isolated groups even as the social classes of England and Scotland are separated by class spirit. As a result, we find a want of mutual trust which depends so much on "consciousness of kind." This is further aggravated by competition and a continuous displacement in industry of nationalities of a high standard of living by those of a lower one. This conflict of nationalities, which lies also at the root of the closed shop policy of many of the American trade unions, is probably the most effective carrier that there is to a widespread growth of the cooperative spirit among American wage earners. This is further hindered by other national characteristics which more or less pervade all classes of society, namely, the traditional individualism--the heritage of puritanism and the pioneer days, and the emphasis upon earning capacity with a corresponding aversion to thrift. FOOTNOTES: [10] The National Labor Union came out against Chinese immigration in 1869, when the issue was brought home to the Eastern wage earners following the importation by a shoe manufacturer in North Adams, Massachusetts, of Chinese strike breakers. [11] There were many cooperative stores in the eighties and a concerted effort to duplicate the venture of the Sovereigns was attempted as late as 1919 under the pressure of the soaring cost of living. [12] Where Consumers' Cooperation has worked under most favorable conditions as in England, its achievements have been all that its most ardent champions could have desired. Such is the picture presented by Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Webb in the following glowing terms: "The organization of industry by Associations of Consumers offers, as far as it goes, a genuine alternative to capitalist ownership, because it supersedes the capitalist power, whether individual or joint-stock, alike in the control of the instruments of production by which the community lives, and in the absorption of the profits, which otherwise support a capitalist class. The ownership and control are vested in, and the profits are distributed among, the whole community of consumers, irrespective of their industrial wealth. Through the device of dividend on purchases the Cooperative Movement maintains an open democracy, through the control of this democracy of consumers it has directly or indirectly kept down prices, and protected the wage-earning class from exploitation by the Credit System and from the extortions of monopolist traders and speculators. By this same device on purchases, and the automatic accumulation of part of the profit in the capital of each society and in that of the Wholesales, it has demonstratedly added to the personal wealth of the manual working class, and has, alike in Great Britain, and in other countries, afforded both a valuable financial reserve to the wage earners against all emergencies and an instrument for their elevation from the penury to which competition is always depressing them. By making possible the upgrowth of great business enterprises in working class hands, the Cooperative Movement has, without divorcing them from their fellows, given to thousands of the manual workers both administrative experience and a well-grounded confidence; and has thus enabled them to take a fuller part in political and social life than would otherwise have been probable."--_New Statesman_, May 30, 1916. "Special Supplement on the Cooperative Movement." Indeed the success of the consumer's cooperative movement in European countries has been marvellous, even measured by bare figures. In all Europe in 1914, there were about 9,000,000 cooperators of whom one-third lived in Great Britain and not less than two and a half millions in Germany. In England and Scotland alone, the 1400 stores and two Wholesale Cooperative Societies controlled in 1914 about 420 million dollars of retail distributive trade and employed nearly 50,000 operatives in processes of production in their own workshops and factories. CHAPTER 3 THE BEGINNING OF THE KNIGHTS OF LABOR AND OF THE AMERICAN FEDERATION OF LABOR With the practical disintegration of the organized labor movement in the seventies, two nuclei held together and showed promise of future growth. One was the "Noble Order of the Knights of Labor" and the other a small trade union movement grouped around the International Cigar Makers' Union. The "Noble Order of the Knights of Labor," while it first became important in the labor movement after 1873, was founded in 1869 by Uriah Smith Stephens, a tailor who had been educated for the ministry, as a secret organization. Secrecy was adopted as a protection against persecutions by employers. The principles of the Order were set forth by Stephens in the secret ritual. "Open and public association having failed after a struggle of centuries to protect or advance the interest of labor, we have lawfully constituted this Assembly," and "in using this power of organized effort and cooperation, we but imitate the example of capital heretofore set in numberless instances;" for, "in all the multifarious branches of trade, capital has its combinations, and, whether intended or not, it crushes the manly hopes of labor and tramples poor humanity into the dust." However, "we mean no conflict with legitimate enterprise, no antagonism to necessary capital." The remedy consists first in work of education: "We mean to create a healthy public opinion on the subject of labor (the only creator of values or capital) and the justice of its receiving a full, just share of the values or capital it has created." The next remedy was legislation: "We shall, with all our strength, support laws made to harmonize the interests of labor and capital, for labor alone gives life and value to capital, and also those laws which tend to lighten the exhaustiveness of toil." Next in order were mutual benefits. "We shall use every lawful and honorable means to procure and retain employ for one another, coupled with a just and fair remuneration, and, should accident or misfortune befall one of our number, render such aid as lies within our power to give, without inquiring his country or his creed." For nine years the Order remained a secret organization and showed but a slow growth. In 1878 it was forced to abolish secrecy. The public mind was rendered uneasy by the revolutionary uprising of workingmen of Paris who set up the famous "Commune of Paris" of 1871, by the destructive great railway strikes in this country in 1877 and, lastly, by a wave of criminal disorders in the anthracite coal mining region in Eastern Pennsylvania,[13] and became only too prone to attribute revolutionary and criminal intents to any labor organization that cloaked itself in secrecy. Simultaneously with coming out into the open, the Knights adopted a new program, called the Preamble of the Knights of Labor, in place of the vague Secret Ritual which hitherto served as the authoritative expression of aims. This Preamble recites how "wealth," with its development, has become so aggressive that "unless checked" it "will inevitably lead to the pauperisation and hopeless degradation of the toiling masses." Hence, if the toilers are "to enjoy the blessings of life," they must organize "every department of productive industry" in order to "check" the power of wealth and to put a stop to "unjust accumulation." The battle cry in this fight must be "moral worth not wealth, the true standard of individual and national greatness." As the "action" of the toilers ought to be guided by "knowledge," it is necessary to know "the true condition of the producing masses"; therefore, the Order demands "from the various governments the establishment of bureaus of labor statistics." Next in order comes the "establishment of cooperative institutions productive and distributive." Union of all trades, "education," and producers' cooperation remained forever after the cardinal points in the Knights of Labor philosophy and were steadily referred to as "First Principles," namely principles bequeathed to the Order by Uriah Stephens and the other "Founders."[14] These idealistic "First Principles" found an ardent champion in Terence V. Powderly, a machinist by trade and twice mayor of Scranton, Pennsylvania, on a labor ticket, who succeeded Stephens in 1878 to the headship of the Order. Powderly bore unmistakably the stamp of this sort of idealism throughout all the time when he was the foremost labor leader in the country. Unlike Samuel Gompers, who came to supplant him about 1890, he was foreign to that spirit of combative unionism which accepts the wage system but concentrates on a struggle to wrest concessions from the employers. Even when circumstances which were largely beyond his control made Powderly a strike leader on a huge scale, his heart lay elsewhere--in circumventing the wage system by opening to the worker an escape into self-employment through cooperation. Producers' cooperation, then, was the ambitious program by which the Order of the Knights of Labor expected to lead the American wage-earning class out of the bondage of the wage system into the Canaan of self-employment. Thus the Order was the true successor of the cooperative movement in the forties and sixties. Its motto was "Cooperation of the Order, by the Order, and for the Order." Not scattered local initiative, but the Order as a whole was to carry on the work. The plan resembled the Rochdale system of England in that it proposed to start with an organization of consumers--the large and ever-growing membership of the Order. But it departed radically from the English prototype in that instead of setting out to save money for the consumer, it primarily aimed to create a market for the productive establishments which were to follow. Consumers' cooperation was to be but a stepping stone to producers' self-employment. Eventually when the Order had grown to include nearly all useful members of society--so the plan contemplated--it would control practically the whole market and cooperative production would become the rule rather than the exception. So far, therefore, as "First Principles" went, the Order was not an instrument of the "class struggle," but an association of idealistic cooperators. It was this pure idealism which drew to the Order of the Knights of Labor the sympathetic interest of writers on social subjects and university teachers, then unfortunately too few in number, like Dr. Richard T. Ely[15] and President John Bascom of Wisconsin. The other survival in the seventies of the labor movement of the sixties, which has already been mentioned, namely the trade union movement grouped around the Cigar Makers' Union, was neither so purely American in its origin as the Knights of Labor nor so persistently idealistic. On the contrary, its first membership was foreign and its program, as we shall see, became before long primarily opportunist and "pragmatic." The training school for this opportunistic trade unionism was the socialist movement during the sixties and seventies, particularly the American branch of the International Workingmen's Association, the "First _Internationale_," which was founded by Karl Marx in London in 1864. The conception of _economic_ labor organization which was advanced by the _Internationale_ in a socialistic formulation underwent in the course of years a process of change: On the one hand, through constant conflict with the rival conception of _political_ labor organization urged by American followers of the German socialist, Ferdinand Lassalle, and on the other hand, through contact with American reality. Out of that double contact emerged the trade unionism of the American Federation of Labor. The _Internationale_ is generally reputed to have been organized by Karl Marx for the propaganda of international socialism. As a matter of fact, its starting point was the practical effort of British trade union leaders to organize the workingmen of the Continent and to prevent the importation of Continental strike-breakers. That Karl Marx wrote its _Inaugural Address_ was merely incidental. It chanced that what he wrote was acceptable to the British unionists rather than the draft of an address representing the views of Giuseppe Mazzini, the leader of the "New Italy" and the "New Europe," which was submitted to them at the same time and advocated elaborate plans of cooperation. Marx emphasized the class solidarity of labor against Mazzini's harmony of capital and labor. He did this by reciting what British labor had done through the Rochdale system of cooperation without the help of capitalists and what the British Parliament had done in enacting the ten-hour law of 1847 against the protest of capitalists. Now that British trade unionists in 1864 were demanding the right of suffrage and laws to protect their unions, it followed that Marx merely stated their demands when he affirmed the independent economic and political organization of labor in all lands. His _Inaugural Address_ was a trade union document, not a _Communist Manifesto_. Indeed not until Bakunin and his following of anarchists had nearly captured the organization in the years 1869 to 1872 did the program of socialism become the leading issue. The philosophy of the _Internationale_ at the period of its ascendency was based on the economic organization of the working class in trade unions. These must precede the political seizure of the government by labor. Then, when the workingmen's party should achieve control, it would be able to build up successively the socialist state on the foundation of a sufficient number of existing trade unions. This conception differed widely from the teaching of Ferdinand Lassalle. Lassallean socialism was born in 1863 with Lassalle's _Open Letter_ to a workingmen's committee in Leipzig. It sprang from his antagonism to Schultze-Delizsch's[16] system of voluntary cooperation. In Lassalle's eagerness to condemn the idea of the harmony of capital and labor, which lay at the basis of Schultze's scheme for cooperation, he struck at the same time a blow against all forms of non-political organization of wage earners. Perhaps the fact that he was ignorant of the British trade unions accounts for his insufficient appreciation of trade unionism. But no matter what the cause may have been, to Lassalle there was but one means of solving the labor problem-political action. When political control was finally achieved, the labor party, with the aid of state credit, would build up a network of cooperative societies into which eventually all industry would pass. In short, the distinction between the ideas of the _Internationale_ and of Lassalle consisted in the fact that the former advocated trade unionism prior to and underlying political organization, while the latter considered a political victory as the basis of socialism. These antagonistic starting points are apparent at the very beginning of American socialism as well as in the trade unionism and socialism of succeeding years. Two distinct phases can be seen in the history of the _Internationale_ in America. During the first phase, which began in 1866 and lasted until 1870, the _Internationale_ had no important organization of its own on American soil, but tried to establish itself through affiliation with the National Labor Union. The inducement held out to the latter was of a practical nature, the international regulation of immigration. During the second phase the _Internationale_ had its "sections" in nearly every large city of the country, centering in New York and Chicago, and the practical trade union part of its work receded before its activity on behalf of the propaganda of socialism. These "sections," with a maximum membership which probably never exceeded a thousand, nearly all foreigners, became a preparatory school in trade union leadership for many of the later organizers and leaders of the American Federation of Labor: for example, Adolph Strasser, the German cigar maker, whose organization became the new model in trade unionism, and P.J. McGuire, the American-born carpenter, who founded the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners and who was for many years the secretary-treasurer of the American Federation of Labor. Fate had decreed that these sections of a handful of immigrants should play for a time high-sounding parts in the world labor movement. When, at the World Congress of the International Workingmen's Association at the Hague in 1872, the anarchist faction led by Bakunin had shown such strength that Marx and his socialist faction deemed it wise to move the General Council out of mischief's way, they removed it to New York and entrusted its powers into the hands of the faithful German Marxians on this side of the Atlantic. This spelled the end of the _Internationale_ as a world organization, but enormously increased the stakes of the factional fights within the handful of American Internationalists. The organization of the workers into trade unions, the _Internationale's_ first principle, was forgotten in the heat of intemperate struggles for empty honors and powerless offices. On top of that, with the panic of 1873 and the ensuing prolonged depression, the political drift asserted itself in socialism as it had in the labor movement in general and the movement, erstwhile devoted primarily to organization of trade unions, entered, urged on by the Lassalleans, into a series of political campaigns somewhat successful at first but soon succumbing to the inevitable fate of all amateurish attempts. Upon men of Strasser's practical mental grasp these petty tempests in the melting pot could only produce an impression of sheer futility, and he turned to trade unionism as the only activity worth his while. Strasser had been elected president of the Cigar Makers' International Union in 1877, in the midst of a great strike in New York against the tenement-house system. The president of the local New York union of cigar makers was at the time Samuel Gompers, a young man of twenty-seven, who was born in England and came to America in 1862. In his endeavor to build up a model for the "new" unionism and in his almost uninterrupted headship of that movement for forty years is indicated Gompers' truly representative character. Born of Dutch-Jewish parents in England in 1850, he typifies the cosmopolitan origins of American unionism. His early contact in the union of his trade with men like Strasser, upon whom the ideas of Marx and the International Workingmen's Association had left an indelible stamp, and his thorough study of Marx gave him that grounding both in idealism and class consciousness which has produced many strong leaders of American unions and saved them from defection to other interests. Aggressive and uncompromising in a perpetual fight for the strongest possible position and power of trade unions, but always strong for collective agreements with the opposing employers, he displays the business tactics of organized labor. At the head of an organization which denies itself power over its constituent unions, he has brought and held together the most widely divergent and often antagonistic unions, while permitting each to develop and even to change its character to fit the changing industrial conditions. The dismal failure of the strike against the tenement house system in cigar making brought home to both Strasser and Gompers the weakness of the plan of organization of their union as well as that of American trade unions in general. They consequently resolved to rebuild their union upon the pattern of the British unions, although they firmly intended that it should remain a militant organization. The change involved, first, complete authority over the local unions in the hands of the international officers; second, an increase in the membership dues for the purpose of building up a large fund; and, third, the adoption of a far-reaching benefit system in order to assure stability to the organization. This was accomplished at the convention held in August, 1879. This convention simultaneously adopted the British idea of the "equalization of funds," which gave the international officers the power to order a well-to-do local union to transfer a portion of its funds to another local union in financial straits. With the various modifications of the feature of "equalization of funds," the system of government in the Cigar Makers' International Union was later used as a model by the other national and international trade unions. As Strasser and men of his ilk grew more and more absorbed in the practical problems of the everyday struggle of the wage-earners for better conditions of employment, the socialistic portion of their original philosophy kept receding further and further into the background until they arrived at pure trade unionism. But their trade unionism differed vastly from the "native" American trade unionism of their time, which still hankered for the haven of producers' cooperation. The philosophy which these new leaders developed might be termed a philosophy of pure wage-consciousness. It signified a labor movement reduced to an opportunistic basis, accepting the existence of capitalism and having for its object the enlarging of the bargaining power of the wage earner in the sale of his labor. Its opportunism was instrumental--its idealism was home and family and individual betterment. It also implied an attitude of aloofness from all those movements which aspire to replace the wage system by cooperation, whether voluntary or subsidized by government, whether greenbackism, socialism, or anarchism. Perhaps the most concise definition of this philosophy is to be found in Strasser's testimony before the Senate Committee on Education and Labor in 1883: "_Q._ You are seeking to improve home matters first? "_A._ Yes, sir, I look first to the trade I represent; I look first to cigars, to the interests of men who employ me to represent their interest. "_Chairman_: I was only asking you in regard to your ultimate ends. "_Witness_: We have no ultimate ends. We are going on from day to day. We are fighting only for immediate objects--objects that can be realized in a few years. "By Mr. Call: _Q._ You want something better to eat and to wear, and better houses to live in? "_A._ Yes, we want to dress better and to live better, and become better citizens generally. "_The Chairman_: I see that you are a little sensitive lest it should be thought that you are a mere theoriser, I do not look upon you in that light at all. "_The Witness_: Well, we say in our constitution that we are opposed to theorists, and I have to represent the organization here. We are all practical men." Another offshoot of the same Marxian _Internationale_ were the "Chicago Anarchists."[17] The _Internationale_, as we saw, emphasized trade unionism as the first step in the direction of socialism, in opposition to the political socialism of Lassalle, which ignored the trade union and would start with a political party outright. Shorn of its socialistic futurity this philosophy became non-political "business" unionism; but, when combined with a strong revolutionary spirit, it became a non-political revolutionary unionism, or syndicalism. The organization of those industrial revolutionaries was called the International Working People's Association, also known as the "Black" or anarchist International, which was formed at Pittsburgh in 1883. Like the old _Internationale_ it busied itself with forming trade unions, but insisted that they conform to a revolutionary model. Such a "model" trade union was the Federation of Metal Workers of America, which was organized in 1885. It said in its Declaration of Principles that the entire abolition of the present system of society can alone emancipate the workers, but under no consideration should they resort to politics; "our organization should be a school to educate its members for the new condition of society, when the workers will regulate their own affairs without any interference by the few. Since the emancipation of the productive classes must come by their own efforts, it is unwise to meddle in present politics.... All _direct_ struggles of the laboring masses have our fullest sympathy." Alongside the revolutionary trade unions were workers' armed organizations ready to usher in the new order by force. "By force," recited the Pittsburgh Manifesto of the Black International, "our ancestors liberated themselves from political oppression, by force their children will have to liberate themselves from economic bondage. It is, therefore, your right, it is your duty, says Jefferson,--to arms!" The following ten years were to decide whether the leadership of the American labor movement was to be with the "practical men of the trade unions" or with the cooperative idealists of the Knights of Labor. FOOTNOTES: [13] After the defeat of a strong anthracite miners' union in 1869, which was an open organization, the fight against the employers was carried on by a secret organization known as the Molly Maguires, which used the method of terrorism and assassination. It was later exposed and many were sentenced and executed. [14] The Preamble further provides that the Order will stand for the reservation of all lands for actual settlers; the "abrogation of all laws that do not bear equally upon capital and labor, the removal of unjust technicalities, delays, and discriminations in the administration of justice, and the adopting of measures providing for the health and safety of those engaged in mining, manufacturing, or building pursuits"; the enactment of a weekly pay law, a mechanics' lien law, and a law prohibiting child labor under fourteen years of age; the abolition of the contract system on national, state, and municipal work, and of the system of leasing out convicts; equal pay for equal work for both sexes; reduction of hours of labor to eight per day; "the substitution of arbitration for strikes, whenever and wherever employers and employees are willing to meet on equitable grounds"; the establishment of "a purely national circulating medium based upon the faith and resources of the nation, issued directly to the people, without the intervention of any system of banking corporations, which money shall be a legal tender in payment of all debts, public or private". [15] Dr. Ely in his pioneer work, _The Labor Movement in America_, published in 1886, showed a most genuine sympathy for the idealistic strivings and gropings of labor for a better social order. He even advised some of his pupils at the Johns Hopkins University to join the Knights of Labor in order to gain a better understanding of the labor movement. [16] Schultze-Delizsch was a German thinker and practical reformer of the liberal school. [17] The Anarchists who were tried and executed after the Haymarket Square bomb in Chicago in May, 1886. See below, 91-93. CHAPTER 4 REVIVAL AND UPHEAVAL, 1879-1887 With the return of business prosperity in 1879, the labor movement revived. The first symptom of the upward trend was a rapid multiplication of city federations of organized trades, variously known as trade councils, amalgamated trade and labor unions, trades assemblies, and the like. Practically all of these came into existence after 1879, since hardly any of the "trades' assemblies" of the sixties had survived the depression. As was said above, the national trade unions existed during the sixties and seventies in only about thirty trades. Eighteen of these had either retained a nucleus during the seventies or were first formed during that decade. The following is a list of the national unions in existence in 1880 with the year of formation: Typographical (1850), Hat Finishers (1854), Iron Molders (1859), Locomotive Engineers (1863), Cigar Makers (1864), Bricklayers and Masons (1865), Silk and Fur Hat Finishers (1866), Railway Conductors (1868), Coopers (1870), German-American Typographia (1873), Locomotive Firemen (1873), Horseshoers (1874), Furniture Workers (1873), Iron and Steel Workers (1876), Granite Cutters (1877), Lake Seamen (1878), Cotton Mill Spinners (1878), New England Boot and Shoe Lasters (1879). In 1880 the Western greenbottle blowers' national union was established; in 1881 the national unions of boiler makers and carpenters; in 1882, plasterers and metal workers; in 1883, tailors, lithographers, wood carvers, railroad brakemen, and silk workers. An illustration of the rapid growth in trade union membership during this period is given in the following figures: the bricklayers' union had 303 in 1880; 1558 in 1881; 6848 in 1882; 9193 in 1883. The typographical union had 5968 members in 1879; 6520 in 1880; 7931 in 1881; 10,439 in 1882; 12,273 in 1883. The total trade union membership in the country, counting the three railway organizations and those organized only locally, amounted to between 200,000 and 225,000 in 1883 and probably was not below 300,000 in the beginning of 1885. A distinguishing characteristic of the trade unions of this time was the predominance in them of the foreign element. The Illinois Bureau of Labor describes the ethnical composition of the trade unions of that State during 1886, and states that 21 percent were American, 33 percent German, 19 percent Irish, 10 percent British other than Irish, 12 percent Scandinavian, and the Poles, Bohemians, and Italians formed about 5 percent. The strong predominance of the foreign element in American trade unions should not appear unusual, since, owing to the breakdown of the apprenticeship system, the United States had been drawing its supply of skilled labor from abroad. The Order of the Knights of Labor, despite its "First Principles" based on the cooperative ideal, was soon forced to make concessions to a large element of its membership which was pressing for strikes. With the advent of prosperity, the Order expanded, although the Knights of Labor played but a subordinate part in the labor movement of the early eighties. The membership was 20,151 in 1879; 28,136 in 1880; 19,422 in 1881; 42,517 in 1882; 51,914 in 1883; showing a steady and rapid growth, with the exception of the year 1881. But these figures are decidedly deceptive as a means of measuring the strength of the Order, for the membership fluctuated widely; so that in the year 1883, when it reached 50,000 no less than one-half of this number passed in and out of the organization during the year. The enormous fluctuation, while reducing the economic strength of the Order, brought large masses of people under its influence and prepared the ground for the upheaval in the middle of the eighties. It also brought the Order to the attention of the public press. The labor press gave the Order great publicity, but the Knights did not rely on gratuitous newspaper publicity. They set to work a host of lecturers, who held public meetings throughout the country adding recruits and advertising the Order. The most important Knights of Labor strike of this period was the telegraphers' strike in 1883. The telegraphers had a national organization in 1870, which soon collapsed. In 1882 they again organized on a national basis and affiliated with the Order as District Assembly 45.[18] The strike was declared on June 19, 1883, against all commercial telegraph companies in the country, among which the Western Union, with about 4000 operators, was by far the largest. The demands were one day's rest in seven, an eight-hour day shift and a seven-hour night shift, and a general increase of 15 percent in wages. The public and a large portion of the press gave their sympathy to the strikers, not so much on account of the oppressed condition of the telegraphers as of the general hatred that prevailed against Jay Gould, who then controlled the Western Union Company. This strike was the first in the eighties to call the attention of the general American public to the existence of a labor question, and received considerable attention at the hands of the Senate Committee on Education and Labor. By the end of July, over a month after the beginning of the strike, the men who escaped the blacklist went back to work on the old terms. From 1879 till 1882 the labor movement was typical of a period of rising prices. It was practically restricted to skilled workmen, who organized to wrest from employers still better conditions than those which prosperity would have given under individual bargaining. The movement was essentially opportunistic and displayed no particular class feeling and no revolutionary tendencies. The solidarity of labor was not denied by the trade unions, but they did not try to reduce the idea to practice: each trade coped more or less successfully with its own employers. Even the Knights of Labor, the organization _par excellence_ of the solidarity of labor, was at this time, in so far as practical efforts went, merely a faint echo of the trade unions. But the situation radically changed during the depression of 1884-1885. The unskilled and the semi-skilled, affected as they were by wage reductions and unemployment even in a larger measure than the skilled, were drawn into the movement. Labor organizations assumed the nature of a real class movement. The idea of the solidarity of labor ceased to be merely verbal and took on life! General strikes, sympathetic strikes, nationwide boycotts and nation-wide political movements became the order of the day. The effects of an unusually large immigration joined hands with the depression. The eighties were the banner decade of the entire century for immigration. The aggregate number of immigrants arriving was 5,246,613--two and a half millions larger than during the seventies and one million and a half larger than during the nineties. The eighties witnessed the highest tide of immigration from Great Britain and the North of Europe and the beginning of the tide of South and East European immigration. However, the depression of 1883-1885 had one redeeming feature by which it was distinguished from other depressions. With falling prices, diminishing margins of profit, and decreasing wages, the amount of employment was not materially diminished. Times continued hard during 1885, a slight improvement showing itself only during the last months of the year. The years 1886 and 1887 were a period of gradual recovery, and normal conditions may be said to have returned about the middle of 1887. Except in New England, the old wages, which had been reduced during the bad years, were won again by the spring of 1887. The year 1884 was one of decisive failure in strikes. They were practically all directed against reductions in wages and for the right of organization. The most conspicuous strikes were those of the Fall River spinners, the Troy stove mounters, the Cincinnati cigar makers and the Hocking Valley coal miners. The failure of strikes brought into use the other weapon of labor--the boycott. But not until the latter part of 1884, when the failure of the strike as a weapon became apparent, did the boycott assume the nature of an epidemic. The boycott movement was a truly national one, affecting the South and the Far West as well as the East and Middle West. The number of boycotts during 1885 was nearly seven times as large as during 1884. Nearly all of the boycotts either originated with, or were taken up by, the Knights of Labor. The strike again came into prominence in the latter half of 1885. This coincided with the beginning of an upward trend in general business conditions. The strikes of 1885, even more than those of the preceding year, were spontaneous outbreaks of unorganized masses. The frequent railway strikes were a characteristic feature of the labor movement in 1885. Most notable was the Gould railway strike in March, 1885. On February 26, a cut of 10 percent was ordered in the wages of the shopmen of the Wabash road. A similar reduction had been made in October, 1884, on the Missouri, Kansas & Texas. Strikes occurred on the two roads, one on February 27 and the other March 9, and the strikers were joined by the men on the third Gould road, the Missouri Pacific, at all points where the two lines touched, making altogether over 4500 men on strike. The train service personnel, that is, the locomotive engineers, firemen, brakemen, and conductors, supported the strikers and to this fact more than to any other was due their speedy victory. The wages were restored and the strikers reemployed. But six months later this was followed by a second strike. The road, now in the hands of a receiver, reduced the force of shopmen at Moberly, Missouri, to the lowest possible limit, which virtually meant a lockout of the members of the Knights of Labor in direct violation of the conditions of settlement of the preceding strike. The General Executive Board of the Knights, after a futile attempt to have a conference with the receiver, declared a boycott on Wabash rolling stock. This order, had it been carried out, would have affected over 20,000 miles of railway and would have equalled the dimensions of the great railway strike of 1877. But Jay Gould would not risk a general strike on his lines at this time. According to an appointment made between him and the executive board of the Knights of Labor, a conference was held between that board and the managers of the Missouri Pacific and the Wabash railroads, at which he threw his influence in favor of making concessions to the men. He assured the Knights that in all troubles he wanted the men to come directly to him, that he believed in labor organizations and in the arbitration of all difficulties and that he "would always endeavor to do what was right." The Knights demanded the discharge of all new men hired in the Wabash shops since the beginning of the lockout, the reinstatement of all discharged men, the leaders being given priority, and an assurance that no discrimination against the members of the Order would be made in the future. A settlement was finally made at another conference, and the receiver of the Wabash road agreed, under pressure by Jay Gould, to issue an order conceding the demands of the Knights of Labor. The significance of the second Wabash strike in the history of railway strikes was that the railway brotherhoods (engineers, firemen, brakemen, and conductors), in contrast with their conduct during the first Wabash strike, now refused to lend any aid to the striking shopmen, although many of the members were also Knights of Labor. But far more important was the effect of the strike upon the general labor movement. Here a labor organization for the first time dealt on an equal footing with probably the most powerful capitalist in the country. It forced Jay Gould to recognize it as a power equal to himself, a fact which he conceded when he declared his readiness to arbitrate all labor difficulties that might arise. The oppressed laboring masses finally discovered a powerful champion. All the pent-up feeling of bitterness and resentment which had accumulated during the two years of depression, in consequence of the repeated cuts in wages and the intensified domination by employers, now found vent in a rush to organize under the banner of the powerful Knights of Labor. To the natural tendency on the part of the oppressed to exaggerate the power of a mysterious emancipator whom they suddenly found coming to their aid, there was added the influence of sensational reports in the public press. The newspapers especially took delight in exaggerating the powers and strength of the Order. In 1885 the New York _Sun_ detailed one of its reporters to "get up a story of the strength and purposes of the Knights of Labor." This story was copied by newspapers and magazines throughout the country and aided considerably in bringing the Knights of Labor into prominence. The following extract illustrates the exaggerated notion of the power of the Knights of Labor. "Five men in this country control the chief interests of five hundred thousand workingmen, and can at any moment take the means of livelihood from two and a half millions of souls. These men compose the executive board of the Noble Order of the Knights of Labor of America. The ability of the president and cabinet to turn out all the men in the civil service, and to shift from one post to another the duties of the men in the army and navy, is a petty authority compared with that of these five Knights. The authority of the late Cardinal was, and that of the bishops of the Methodist Church is, narrow and prescribed, so far as material affairs are concerned, in comparison with that of these five rulers. "They can stay the nimble touch of almost every telegraph operator; can shut up most of the mills and factories, and can disable the railroads. They can issue an edict against any manufactured goods so as to make their subjects cease buying them, and the tradesmen stop selling them. "They can array labor against capital, putting labor on the offensive or the defensive, for quiet and stubborn self-protection, or for angry, organized assault, as they will." Before long the Order was able to benefit by this publicity in quarters where the tale of its great power could only attract unqualified attention, namely, in Congress. The Knights of Labor led in the agitation for prohibiting the immigration of alien contract laborers. The problem of contract immigrant labor rapidly came to the front in 1884, when such labor began frequently to be used to defeat strikes. Twenty persons appeared to testify before the committee in favor of the bill, of whom all but two or three belonged to the Knights of Labor. The anti-contract labor law which was passed by Congress on February 2, 1885, therefore, was due almost entirely to the efforts of the Knights of Labor. The trade unions gave little active support, for to the skilled workingmen the importation of contract Italian and Hungarian laborers was a matter of small importance. On the other hand, to the Knights of Labor with their vast contingent of unskilled it was a strong menace. Although the law could not be enforced and had to be amended in 1887 in order to render it effective, its passage nevertheless attests the political influence already exercised by the Order in 1885. The outcome of the Gould strike of 1885 and the dramatic exaggeration of the prowess of the Order by press and even by pulpit were largely responsible for the psychological setting that called forth and surrounded the great upheaval of 1886. This upheaval meant more than the mere quickening of the pace of the movement begun in preceding years and decades. It signalled the appearance on the scene of a new class which had not hitherto found a place in the labor movement, namely the unskilled. All the peculiar characteristics of the dramatic events in 1886 and 1887, the highly feverish pace at which organizations grew, the nation-wide wave of strikes, particularly sympathetic strikes, the wide use of the boycott, the obliteration, apparently complete, of all lines that divided the laboring class, whether geographic or trade, the violence and turbulence which accompanied the movement--all of these were the signs of a great movement by the class of the unskilled, which had finally risen in rebellion. This movement, rising as an elemental protest against oppression and degradation, could be but feebly restrained by any considerations of expediency and prudence; nor, of course, could it be restrained by any lessons from experience. But, if the origin and powerful sweep of this movement were largely spontaneous and elemental, the issues which it took up were supplied by the existing organizations, namely the trade unions and the Knights of Labor. These served also as the dykes between which the rapid streams were gathered and, if at times it seemed that they must burst under the pressure, still they gave form and direction to the movement and partly succeeded in introducing order where chaos had reigned. The issue which first brought unity in this great mass movement was a nation-wide strike for the eight-hour day declared for May 1, 1886. The initiative in this strike was taken not by the Order but by the trade unionists and on the eve of the strike the general officers of the Knights adopted an attitude of hostility. But if the slogan failed to arouse the enthusiasm of the national leaders of the Knights, it nevertheless found ready response in the ranks of labor. The great class of the unskilled and unorganized, which had come to look upon the Knights of Labor as the all-powerful liberator of the laboring masses from oppression, now eagerly seized upon this demand as the issue upon which the first battle with capital should be fought. The agitation assumed large proportions in March. The main argument for the shorter day was work for the unemployed. With the exception of the cigar makers, it was left wholly in the hands of local organizations. The Knights of Labor as an organization figured far less prominently than the trade unions, and among the latter the building trades and the German-speaking furniture workers and cigar makers stood in the front of the movement. Early in the strike the workingmen's cause was gravely injured by a bomb explosion on Haymarket Square in Chicago, attributed to anarchists, which killed and wounded a score of policemen. The bomb explosion on Haymarket Square connected two movements which had heretofore marched separately, despite a certain mutual affinity. For what many of the Knights of Labor were practising during the upheaval in a less drastic manner and without stopping to look for a theoretical justification, the contemporary Chicago "anarchists,"[19] the largest branch of the "Black International," had elevated into a well rounded-out system of thought. Both syndicalism and the Knights of Labor upheaval were related chapters in the revolutionary movement of the eighties. Whether in its conscious or unconscious form, this syndicalism was characterized by an extreme combativeness, by the ease with which minor disputes grew into widespread strikes involving many trades and large territories, by a reluctance, if not an out and out refusal, to enter into agreements with employers however temporary, and lastly by a ready resort to violence. In 1886 the membership of the Black International probably was about 5000 or 6000 and of this number about 1000 were English speaking. The circumstances of the bomb explosion were the following. A strikers' meeting was held near the McCormick Reaper Works in Chicago, late on the third of May. About this time strike-breakers employed in these works began to leave for home and were attacked by strikers. The police arrived in large numbers and upon being received with stones, fired and killed four and wounded many. The same evening the International issued a call in which appeared the word _"Revenge"_ with the appeal: "Workingmen, arm yourselves and appear in full force." A protest mass meeting met the next day on Haymarket Square and was addressed by Internationalists. The police were present in numbers and, as they formed in line and advanced on the crowd, some unknown hand hurled a bomb into their midst killing and wounding many. It is unnecessary to describe here the period of police terror in Chicago, the hysterical attitude of the press, or the state of panic that came over the inhabitants of the city. Nor is it necessary to deal in detail with the trial and sentence of the accused. Suffice it to say that the Haymarket bomb showed to the labor movement what it might expect from the public and the government if it combined violence with a revolutionary purpose. Although the bomb outrage was attributed to the anarchists and not generally to the strikers for the eight-hour day, it did materially reduce the sympathy of the public as well as intimidate many strikers. Nevertheless, _Bradstreet's_ estimated that no fewer than 340,000 men took part in the movement; 190,000 actually struck, only 42,000 of this number with success, and 150,000 secured shorter hours without a strike. Thus the total number of those who secured with or without strikes the eight-hour day was something less than 200,000. But even those who for the present succeeded, whether with or without striking, soon lost the concession, and _Bradstreet's_ estimated in January, 1887, that, so far as the payment of former wages for a shorter day's work is concerned, the grand total of those retaining the concession did not exceed, if it equalled, 15,000. American labor movements have never experienced such a rush to organize as the one in the latter part of 1885 and during 1886. During 1886 the combined membership of labor organizations was exceptionally large and for the first time came near the million mark. The Knights of Labor had a membership of 700,000 and the trade unions at least 250,000, the former composed largely of unskilled and the latter of skilled. The Knights of Labor gained in a remarkably short time--in a few months--over 600,000 new members and grew from 1610 local assemblies with 104,066 members in good standing in July 1885, to 5892 assemblies with 702,924 members in July 1886. The greatest portion of this growth occurred after January 1, 1886. In the state of New York there were in July 1886, about 110,000 members (60,809 in District Assembly 49 of New York City alone); in Pennsylvania, 95,000 (51,557 in District Assembly 1, Philadelphia, alone); in Massachusetts, 90,000 (81,191 in District Assembly 30 of Boston); and in Illinois, 32,000. In the state of Illinois, for which detailed information for that year is available, there were 204 local assemblies with 34,974 members, of which 65 percent were found in Cook County (Chicago) alone. One hundred and forty-nine assemblies were mixed, that is comprised members of different trades including unskilled and only 55 were trade assemblies. Reckoned according to country of birth the membership was 45 percent American, 16 percent German, 13 percent Irish, 10 percent British, 5 percent Scandinavian, and the remaining 2 percent scattered. The trade unions also gained many members but in a considerably lesser proportion. The high water mark was reached in the autumn of 1886. But in the early months of 1887 a reaction became visible. By July 1, the membership of the Order had diminished to 510,351. While a share of this retrogression may have been due to the natural reaction of large masses of people who had been suddenly set in motion without experience, a more immediate cause came from the employers. Profiting by past lessons, they organized strong associations. The main object of these employers' associations was the defeat of the Knights. They were organized sectionally and nationally. In small localities, where the power of the Knights was especially great, all employers regardless of industry joined in a single association. But in large manufacturing centers, where the rich corporation prevailed, they included the employers of only one industry. To attain their end these associations made liberal use of the lockout, the blacklist, and armed guards and detectives. Often they treated agreements entered into with the Order as contracts signed under duress. The situation in the latter part of 1886 and in 1887 had been clearly foreshadowed in the treatment accorded the Knights of Labor on the Gould railways in the Southwest in the early part of 1886. As already mentioned, at the settlement of the strike on the Gould system in March 1885, the employes were assured that the road would institute no discriminations against the Knights of Labor. However, it is apparent that a series of petty discriminations was indulged in by minor officials, which kept the men in a state of unrest. It culminated in the discharge of a foreman, a member of the Knights, from the car shop at Marshall, Texas, on the Texas & Pacific Road, which had shortly before passed into the hands of a receiver. A strike broke out over the entire road on March 1, 1886. It is necessary, however, to note that the Knights of Labor themselves were meditating aggressive action two months before the strike. District Assembly 101, the organization embracing the employes on the Southwest system, held a convention on January 10, and authorized the officers to call a strike at any time they might find opportune to enforce the two following demands: first, the formal "recognition" of the Order; and second, a daily wage of $1.50 for the unskilled. The latter demand is peculiarly characteristic of the Knights of Labor and of the feeling of labor solidarity that prevailed in the movement. But evidently the organization preferred to make the issue turn on discrimination against members. Another peculiarity which marked off this strike as the beginning of a new era was the facility with which it led to a sympathetic strike on the Missouri Pacific and all leased and operated lines. This strike broke out simultaneously over the entire system on March 6. It affected more than 5000 miles of railway situated in Missouri, Kansas, Arkansas, Indian Territory, and Nebraska. The strikers did not content themselves with mere picketing, but actually took possession of the railroad property and by a systematic "killing" of engines, that is removing some indispensable part, effectively stopped all the freight traffic. The number of men actively on strike was in the neighborhood of 9000, including practically all of the shopmen, yardmen, and section gangs. The engineers, firemen, brakemen, and conductors took no active part and had to be forced to leave their posts under threats from the strikers. The leader, one Martin Irons, accurately represented the feelings of the strikers. Personally honest and probably well-meaning, his attitude was overbearing and tyrannical. With him as with those who followed him, a strike was not a more or less drastic means of forcing a better labor contract, but necessarily assumed the aspect of a crusade against capital. Hence all compromise and any policy of give and take were excluded. Negotiations were conducted by Jay Gould and Powderly to submit the dispute to arbitration, but they failed and, after two months of sporadic violence, the strike spent itself and came to an end. It left, however, a profound impression upon the public mind, second only to the impression made by the great railway strike of 1877; and a Congressional committee was appointed to investigate the whole matter. The disputes during the second half of 1886 ended, for the most part, disastrously to labor. The number of men involved in six months, was estimated at 97,300. Of these, about 75,300 were in nine great lockouts, of whom 54,000 suffered defeat at the hands of associated employers. The most important lockouts were against 15,000 laundry workers at Troy, New York, in June; against 20,000 Chicago packing house workers; and against 20,000 knitters at Cohoes, New York, both in October. The lockout of the Chicago butcher workmen attracted the most attention. These men had obtained the eight-hour day without a strike during May. A short time thereafter, upon the initiative of Armour & Company, the employers formed a packers' association and, in the beginning of October, notified the men of a return to the ten-hour day on October 11. They justified this action on the ground that they could not compete with Cincinnati and Kansas City, which operated on the ten-hour system. On October 8, the men, who were organized in District Assemblies 27 and 54, suspended work, and the memorable lockout began. The packers' association rejected all offers of compromise and on October 18 the men were ordered to work on the ten-hour basis. But the dispute in October, which was marked by a complete lack of ill-feeling on the part of the men and was one of the most peaceable labor disputes of the year, was in reality a mere prelude to a second disturbance which broke out in the plant of Swift & Company on November 2 and became general throughout the stockyards on November 6. The men demanded a return to the eight-hour day, but the packers' association, which was now joined by Swift & Company, who formerly had kept aloof, not only refused to give up the ten-hour day, but declared that they would employ no Knights of Labor in the future. The Knights retaliated by declaring a boycott on the meat of Armour & Company. The behavior of the men was now no longer peaceable as before, and the employers took extra precautions by prevailing upon the governor to send two regiments of militia in addition to the several hundred Pinkerton detectives employed by the association. To all appearances, the men were slowly gaining over the employers, for on November 10 the packers' association rescinded its decision not to employ Knights, when suddenly on November 15, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, a telegram arrived from Grand Master Workman Powderly ordering the men back to work. Powderly had refused to consider the reports from the members of the General Executive Board who were on the ground, but, as was charged by them, was guided instead by the advice of a priest who had appealed to him to call off the strike and thus put an end to the suffering of the men and their families. New York witnessed an even more characteristic Knights of Labor strike and on a larger scale. This strike began as two insignificant separate strikes, one by coal-handlers at the Jersey ports supplying New York with coal and the other by longshoremen on the New York water front; both starting on January 1, 1887. Eighty-five coal-handlers employed by the Philadelphia & Reading Railroad Company, members of the Knights of Labor, struck against a reduction of 2-1/2 cents an hour in the wages of the "top-men" and were joined by the trimmers who had grievances of their own. Soon the strike spread to the other roads and the number of striking coal-handlers reached 3000. The longshoremen's strike was begun by 200 men, employed by the Old Dominion Steamship Company, against a reduction in wages and the hiring of cheap men by the week. The strikers were not organized, but the Ocean Association, a part of the Knights of Labor, took up their cause and was assisted by the longshoremen's union. Both strikes soon widened out through a series of sympathetic strikes of related trades and finally became united into one. The Ocean Association declared a boycott on the freight of the Old Dominion Company and this was strictly obeyed by all of the longshoremen's unions. The International Boatmen's Union refused to allow their boats to be used for "scab coal" or to permit their members to steer the companies' boats. The longshoremen joined the boatmen in refusing to handle coal, and the shovelers followed. Then the grain handlers on both floating and stationary elevators refused to load ships with grain on which there was scab coal, and the bag-sewers stood with them. The longshoremen now resolved to go out and refused to work on ships which received scab coal, and finally they decided to stop work altogether on all kinds of craft in the harbor until the trouble should be settled. The strike spirit spread to a large number of freight handlers working for railroads along the river front, so that in the last week of January the number of strikers in New York, Brooklyn, and New Jersey, reached approximately 28,000; 13,000 longshoremen, 1000 boatmen, 6000 grain handlers, 7500 coal-handlers, and 400 bag-sewers. On February 11, August Corbin, president and receiver of the Philadelphia & Reading Railroad Company, fearing a strike by the miners working in the coal mines operated by that road, settled the strike by restoring to the eighty-five coal-handlers, the original strikers, their former rate of wages. The Knights of Labor felt impelled to accept such a trivial settlement for two reasons. The coal-handlers' strike, which drove up the price of coal to the consumer, was very unpopular, and the strike itself had begun to weaken when the brewers and stationary engineers, who for some obscure reason had been ordered to strike in sympathy, refused to come out. The situation was left unchanged, as far as the coal-handlers employed by the other companies, the longshoremen, and the many thousands of men who went out on sympathetic strike were concerned. The men began to return to work by the thousands and the entire strike collapsed. The determined attack and stubborn resistance of the employers' associations after the strikes of May 1886, coupled with the obvious incompetence displayed by the leaders, caused the turn of the tide in the labor movement in the first half of 1887. This, however, manifested itself during 1887 exclusively in the large cities, where the movement had borne in the purest form the character of an uprising by the class of the unskilled and where the hardest battles were fought with the employers. District Assembly 49, New York, fell from its membership of 60,809 in June 1886, to 32,826 in July 1887. During the same interval, District Assembly 1, Philadelphia, decreased from 51,557 to 11,294, and District Assembly 30, Boston, from 81,197 to 31,644. In Chicago there were about 40,000 Knights immediately before the packers' strike in October 1886, and only about 17,000 on July 1, 1887. The falling off of the largest district assemblies in 10 large cities practically equalled the total loss of the Order, which amounted approximately to 191,000. At the same time the membership of the smallest district assemblies, which were for the most part located in small cities, remained stationary and, outside of the national and district trade assemblies which were formed by separation from mixed district assemblies, thirty-seven new district assemblies were formed, also mostly in rural localities. In addition, state assemblies were added in Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Indiana, Kansas, Mississippi, Nebraska, North Carolina, Ohio, West Virginia, and Wisconsin, with an average membership of about 2000 each. It thus becomes clear that by the middle of 1887, the Great Upheaval of the unskilled and semi-skilled portions of the working class had already subsided beneath the strength of the combined employers and the unwieldiness of their own organization. After 1887 the Knights of Labor lost its hold upon the large cities with their wage-conscious and largely foreign population, and became an organization predominantly of country people, of mechanics, small merchants, and farmers,--a class of people which was more or less purely American and decidedly middle class in its philosophy. The industrial upheaval in the middle of the eighties had, like the great strike of 1877, a political reverberation. Although the latter was heard throughout the entire country, it centered in the city of New York, where the situation was complicated by court interference in the labor struggle. A local assembly of the Knights of Labor had declared a boycott against one George Theiss, a proprietor of a music and beer garden. The latter at first submitted and paid a fine of $1000 to the labor organization, but later brought action in court against the officers charging them with intimidation and extortion. The judge, George C. Barrett, in his charge to the jury, conceded that striking, picketing, and boycotting as such were not prohibited by law, if not accompanied by force, threats, or intimidation. But in the case under consideration the action of the pickets in advising passers-by not to patronize the establishment and in distributing boycott circulars constituted intimidation. Also, since the $1000 fine was obtained by fear induced by a threat to continue the unlawful injury to Theiss inflicted by the "boycott," the case was one of extortion covered by the penal code. It made no difference whether the money was appropriated by the defendants for personal use or whether it was turned over to their organization. The jury, which reflected the current public opinion against boycotts, found all of the five defendants guilty of extortion, and Judge Barrett sentenced them to prison for terms ranging from one year and six months to three years and eight months. The Theiss case, coming as it did at a time of general restlessness of labor and closely after the defeat of the eight-hour movement, greatly hastened the growth of the sentiment for an independent labor party. The New York Central Labor Union, the most famous and most influential organization of its kind in the country at the time, with a membership estimated at between 40,000 and 50,000, placed itself at the head of the movement in which both socialists and non-socialists joined. Henry George, the originator of the single tax movement, was nominated by the labor party for Mayor of New York and was allowed to draw up his own platform, which he made of course a simon-pure single tax platform. The labor demands were compressed into one plank. They were as follows: The reform of court procedure so that "the practice of drawing grand jurors from one class should cease, and the requirements of a property qualification for trial jurors should be abolished"; the stopping of the "officious intermeddling of the police with peaceful assemblages"; the enforcement of the laws for safety and the sanitary inspection of buildings; the abolition of contract labor on public work; and equal pay for equal work without distinction of sex on such work. The George campaign was more in the nature of a religious revival than of a political election campaign. It was also a culminating point in the great labor upheaval. The enthusiasm of the laboring people reached its highest pitch. They felt that, baffled and defeated as they were in their economic struggle, they were now nearing victory in the struggle for the control of government. Mass meetings were numerous and large. Most of them were held in the open air, usually on the street corners. From the system by which one speaker followed another, speaking at several meeting places in a night, the labor campaign got its nickname of the "tailboard campaign." The common people, women and men, gathered in hundreds and often thousands around trucks from which the shifting speakers addressed the crowd. The speakers were volunteers, including representatives of the liberal professions, lawyers, physicians, teachers, ministers, and labor leaders. At such mass meetings George did most of his campaigning, making several speeches a night, once as many as eleven. The single tax and the prevailing political corruption were favorite topics. Against George and his adherents were pitted the powerful press of the city of New York, all the political power of the old parties, and all the influence of the business class. George's opponents were Abram S. Hewitt, an anti-Tammany Democrat whom Tammany had picked for its candidate in this emergency, and Theodore Roosevelt, then as yet known only as a courageous young politician. The vote cast was 90,000 for Hewitt, 68,000 for George, and 60,000 for Roosevelt. There is possible ground for the belief that George was counted out of thousands of votes. The nature of the George vote can be sufficiently gathered from an analysis of the pledges to vote for him. An apparently trustworthy investigation was made by a representative of the New York Sun. He drew the conclusion that the vast majority were not simply wage earners, but also naturalized immigrants, mainly Irish, Germans, and Bohemians, the native element being in the minority. While the Irish were divided between George and Hewitt, the majority of the German element had gone over to Henry George. The outcome was hailed as a victory by George and his supporters and this view was also taken by the general press. In spite of this propitious beginning the political labor movement soon suffered the fate of all reform political movements. The strength of the new party was frittered away in doctrinaire factional strife between the single taxers and the socialists. The trade union element became discouraged and lost interest. So that at the next State election, in which George ran for Secretary of State, presumably because that office came nearest to meeting the requirement for a single taxer seeking a practical scope of action, the vote in the city fell to 37,000 and in the whole State amounted only to 72,000. This ended the political labor movement in New York. Outside of New York the political labor movement was not associated either with the single tax or any other "ism." As in New York it was a spontaneous expression of dissatisfaction brought on by failure in strikes. The movement scored a victory in Milwaukee, where it elected a mayor, and in Chicago where it polled 25,000 out of a total of 92,000. But, as in New York, it fell to pieces without leaving a permanent trace. FOOTNOTES: [18] See the next chapter for the scheme of organization followed by the Order. [19] See above, 79-80. CHAPTER 5 THE VICTORY OF CRAFT UNIONISM AND THE FINAL FAILURE OF PRODUCERS' COOPERATION We now come to the most significant aspect of the Great Upheaval: the life and death struggle between two opposed principles of labor organization and between two opposed labor programs. The Upheaval offered the practical test which the labor movement required for an intelligent decision between the rival claims of Knights and trade unionists. The test as well as the conflict turned principally on "structure," that is on the difference between "craft autonomists" and those who would have labor organized "under one head," or what we would now call the "one big union" advocates. As the issue of "structure" proved in the crucial eighties, and has remained ever since, the outstanding factional issue in the labor movement, it might be well at this point to pass in brief review the structural developments in labor organization from the beginning and try to correlate them with other important developments. The early[20] societies of shoemakers and printers were purely local in scope and the relations between "locals" extended only to feeble attempts to deal with the competition of traveling journeymen. Occasionally, they corresponded on trade matters, notifying each other of their purposes and the nature of their demands, or expressing fraternal greetings; chiefly for the purpose of counteracting advertisements by employers for journeymen or keeping out dishonest members and so-called "scabs." This mostly relates to printers. The shoemakers, despite their bitter contests with their employers, did even less. The Philadelphia Mechanics' Trades Association in 1827, which we noted as the first attempted federation of trades in the United States if not in the world, was organized as a move of sympathy for the carpenters striking for the ten-hour day. During the period of the "wild-cat" prosperity the local federation of trades, under the name of "Trades' Union,"[21] comes to occupy the center of the stage in New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and appeared even as far "West" as Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and Louisville. The constitution of the New York "Trades' Union" provided, among other things, that each society should pay a monthly per capita tax of 6-1/4 cents to be used as a strike fund. Later, when strikes multiplied, the Union limited the right to claim strike aid and appointed a standing committee on mediation. In 1835 it discussed a plan for an employment exchange or a "call room." The constitution of the Philadelphia Union required that a strike be endorsed by a two-thirds majority before granting aid. The National Trades' Union, the federation of city trades' unions, 1834-1836, was a further development of the same idea. Its first and second conventions went little beyond the theoretical. The latter, however, passed a significant resolution urging the trade societies to observe a uniform wage policy throughout the country and, should the employers combine to resist it, the unions should make "one general strike." The last convention in 1836 went far beyond preceding conventions in its plans for solidifying the workingmen of the country. First and foremost, a "national fund" was provided for, to be made up of a levy of two cents per month on each of the members of the trades' unions and local societies represented. The policies of the National Trades' Union instead of merely advisory were henceforth to be binding. But before the new policies could be tried, as we know, the entire trade union movement was wiped out by the panic. The city "trades' union" of the thirties accorded with a situation where the effects of the extension of the market were noticeable in the labor market, and little as yet in the commodity market; when the competitive menace to labor was the low paid out-of-town mechanic coming to the city, not the out-of-town product made under lower labor costs selling in the same market as the products of unionized labor. Under these conditions the local trade society, reenforced by the city federation of trades, sufficed. The "trades' union," moreover, served also as a source of reserve strength. Twenty years later the whole situation was changed. The fifties were a decade of extensive construction of railways. Before 1850 there was more traffic by water than by rail. After 1860 the relative importance of land and water transportation was reversed. Furthermore, the most important railway building during the ten years preceding 1860 was the construction of East and West trunk lines; and the sixties were marked by the establishment of through lines for freight and the consolidation of connecting lines. The through freight lines greatly hastened freight traffic and by the consolidations through transportation became doubly efficient. Arteries of traffic had thus extended from the Eastern coast to the Mississippi Valley. Local markets had widened to embrace half a continent. Competitive menaces had become more serious and threatened from a distance. Local unionism no longer sufficed. Consequently, as we saw, in the labor movement of the sixties the national trade union was supreme. There were four distinct sets of causes which operated during the sixties to bring about nationalization; two grew out of the changes in transportation, already alluded to, and two were largely independent of such changes. The first and most far-reaching cause, as illustrated by the stove molders, was the competition of the products of different localities side by side in the same market. Stoves manufactured in Albany, New York, were now displayed in St. Louis by the side of stoves made in Detroit. No longer could the molder in Albany be indifferent to the fate of his fellow craftsman in Louisville. With the molders the nationalization of the organization was destined to proceed to its utmost length. In order that union conditions should be maintained even in the best organized centers, it became necessary to equalize competitive conditions in the various localities. That led to a well-knit national organization to control working conditions, trade rules, and strikes. In other trades, where the competitive area of the product was still restricted to the locality, the paramount nationalizing influence was a more intensive competition for employment between migratory out-of-town journeymen and the locally organized mechanics. This describes the situation in the printing trade, where the bulk of work was newspaper and not book and job printing. Accordingly, the printers did not need to entrust their national officers with anything more than the control of the traveling journeymen and the result was that the local unions remained practically independent. The third cause of concerted national action in a trade union was the organization of employers. Where the power of a local union began to be threatened by an employers' association, the next logical step was to combine in a national union. The fourth cause was the application of machinery and the introduction of division of labor, which split up the established trades and laid industry open to invasion by "green hands." The shoemaking industry, which during the sixties had reached the factory stage, illustrates this in a most striking manner. Few other industries experienced anything like a similar change during this period. Of course, none of the causes of nationalization here enumerated operated in entire isolation. In some trades one cause, in other trades other causes, had the predominating influence. Consequently, in some trades the national union resembled an agglomeration of loosely allied states, each one reserving the right to engage in independent action and expecting from its allies no more than a benevolent neutrality. In other trades, on the contrary, the national union was supreme in declaring industrial war and in making peace, and even claimed absolute right to formulate the civil laws of the trade for times of industrial peace. The national trade union was, therefore, a response to obvious and pressing necessity. However slow or imperfect may have been the adjustment of internal organizations to the conditions of the trade, still the groove was defined and consequently the amount of possible floundering largely limited. Not so with the next step, namely the national federation of trades. In the sixties we saw the national trade unions join with other local and miscellaneous labor organizations in the National Labor Union upon a political platform of eight-hours and greenbackism. In 1873 the same national unions asserted their rejection of "panaceas" and politics by attempting to create in the National Labor Congress a federation of trades of a strictly economic character. The panic and depression nipped that in the bud. When trade unionism revived in 1879 the national trade unions returned to the idea of a national federation of labor, but this time they followed the model of the British Trades Union Congress, the organization which cares for the legislative interests of British labor. This was the "Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions of the United States and Canada," which was set up in 1881. It is easy to understand why the unions of the early eighties did not feel the need of a federation on economic lines. The trade unions of today look to the American Federation of Labor for the discharge of important economic functions, therefore it is primarily an economic organization. These functions are the assistance of national trade unions in organizing their trades, the adjustment of disputes between unions claiming the same "jurisdiction," and concerted action in matters of especial importance such as shorter hours, the "open-shop," or boycotts. None of these functions would have been of material importance to the trade unions of the early eighties. Existing in well-defined trades, which were not affected by technical changes, they had no "jurisdictional" disputes; operating at a period of prosperity with full employment and rising wages, they did not realize a necessity for concerted action; the era of the boycotts had not yet begun. As for having a common agency to do the work of organizing, the trade unions of the early eighties had no keen desire to organize any but the skilled workmen; and, since the competition of workmen in small towns had not yet made itself felt, each national trade union strove to organize primarily the workmen of its trade in the larger cities, a function for which its own means were adequate. The new organization of 1881 was a loose federation of trade and labor unions with a legislative committee at the head, with Samuel Gompers of the cigar makers as a member. The platform was purely legislative and demanded legal incorporation for trade unions,[22] compulsory education for children, the prohibition of child labor under fourteen, uniform apprentice laws, the enforcement of the national eight-hour law, prison labor reform, abolition of the "truck" and "order" system, mechanics' lien, abolition of conspiracy laws as applied to labor organizations, a national bureau of labor statistics, a protective tariff for American labor, an anti-contract immigrant law, and recommended "all trade and labor organizations to secure proper representation in all law-making bodies by means of the ballot, and to use all honorable measures by which this result can be accomplished." Although closely related to the present American Federation of Labor in point of time and personnel of leadership, the Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions of the United States and Canada was in reality the precursor of the present state federations of labor, which as specialized parts of the national federation now look after labor legislation. Two or three years later it became evident that the Federation as a legislative organization proved a failure.[23] Manifestly the trade unions felt no great interest in national legislation. The indifference can be measured by the fact that the annual income of the Federation never exceeded $700 and that, excepting in 1881, none of its conventions represented more than one-fourth of the trade union membership of the country. Under such conditions the legislative influence of the Federation naturally was infinitesimal. The legislative committee carried out the instructions of the 1883 convention and communicated to the national committees of the Republican and Democratic parties the request that they should define their position upon the enforcement of the eight-hour law and other measures. The letters were not even answered. A subcommittee of the legislative committee appeared before the two political conventions, but received no greater attention. It was not until the majority of the national trade unions came under the menace of becoming forcibly absorbed by the Order of the Knights of Labor that a basis appeared for a vigorous federation. The Knights of Labor were built on an opposite principle from the national trade unions. Whereas the latter started with independent crafts and then with hesitating hands tried, as we saw, to erect some sort of a common superstructure that should express a higher solidarity of labor, the former was built from the beginning upon a denial of craft lines and upon an absolute unity of all classes of labor under one guiding head. The subdivision was territorial instead of occupational and the government centralized. The constitution of the Knights of Labor was drawn in 1878 when the Order laid aside the veil of secrecy to which it had clung since its foundation in 1869. The lowest unit of organization was the local assembly of ten or more, at least three-fourths of whom had to be wage earners at any trade. Above the local assembly was the "district assembly" and above it the "General Assembly." The district assembly had absolute power over its local assemblies and the General Assembly was given "full and final jurisdiction" as "the highest tribunal" of the Order.[24] Between sessions of the General Assembly the power was vested in a General Executive Board, presided over by a Grand Master Workman. The Order of the Knights of Labor in practice carried out the idea which is now advocated so fervently by revolutionary unionists, namely the "One Big Union," since it avowedly aimed to bring into one organization "all productive labor." This idea in organization was aided by the weakness of the trade unions during the long depression of the seventies, which led many to hope for better things from a general pooling of labor strength. But its main appeal rested on a view that machine technique tends to do away with all distinctions of trades by reducing all workers to the level of unskilled machine tenders. To its protagonists therefore the "one big union" stood for an adjustment to the new technique. First to face the problem of adjustment to the machine technique of the factory system were the shoemakers. They organized in 1867 the Order of the Knights of St. Crispin, mainly for the purpose of suppressing the competitive menace of "green hands," that is unskilled workers put to work on shoe machines. At its height in 1872, the Crispins numbered about 50,000, perhaps the largest union in the whole world at that time. The coopers began to be menaced by machinery about the middle of the sixties, and about the same time the machinists and blacksmiths, too, saw their trade broken up by the introduction of the principle of standardized parts and quantity production in the making of machinery. From these trades came the national leaders of the Knights of Labor and the strongest advocates of the new principle in labor organization and of the interests of the unskilled workers in general. The conflict between the trade unions and the Knights of Labor turned on the question of the unskilled workers. The conflict was held in abeyance during the early eighties. The trade unions were by far the strongest organizations in the field and scented no particular danger when here or there the Knights formed an assembly either contiguous to the sphere of a trade union or even at times encroaching upon it. With the Great Upheaval, which began in 1884, and the inrushing of hundreds of thousands of semi-skilled and unskilled workers into the Order, a new situation was created. The leaders of the Knights realized that mere numbers were not sufficient to defeat the employers and that control over the skilled, and consequently the more strategic occupations, was required before the unskilled and semi-skilled could expect to march to victory. Hence, parallel to the tremendous growth of the Knights in 1886, there was a constantly growing effort to absorb the existing trade unions for the purpose of making them subservient to the interests of the less skilled elements. It was mainly that which produced the bitter conflict between the Knights and the trade unions during 1886 and 1887. Neither the jealousy aroused by the success of the unions nor the opposite aims of labor solidarity and trade separatism gives an adequate explanation of this conflict. The one, of course, aggravated the situation by introducing a feeling of personal bitterness, and the other furnished an appealing argument to each side. But the struggle was one between groups within the working class, in which the small but more skilled group fought for independence of the larger but weaker group of the unskilled and semi-skilled. The skilled men stood for the right to use their advantage of skill and efficient organization in order to wrest the maximum amount of concessions for themselves. The Knights of Labor endeavored to annex the skilled men in order that the advantage from their exceptional fighting strength might lift up the unskilled and semi-skilled. From the point of view of a struggle between principles, this was indeed a clash between the principle of solidarity of labor and that of trade separatism, but, in reality, each of the principles reflected only the special interest of a certain portion of the working class. Just as the trade unions, when they fought for trade autonomy, really refused to consider the unskilled men, so the Knights of Labor overlooked the fact that their scheme would retard the progress of the skilled trades. The Knights were in nearly every case the aggressors, and it is significant that among the local organizations of the Knights inimical to trade unions, District Assembly 49, of New York, should prove the most relentless. It was this assembly which conducted the longshoremen's and coal miners' strike in New York in 1887 and which, as we saw,[25] did not hesitate to tie up the industries of the entire city for the sake of securing the demands of several hundred unskilled workingmen. Though District Assembly 49, New York, came into conflict with not a few of the trade unions in that city, its battle royal was fought with the cigar makers' unions. There were at the time two factions among the cigar makers, one upholding the International Cigar Makers' Union with Adolph Strasser and Samuel Gompers as leaders, the other calling itself the Progressive Union, which was more socialistic in nature and composed of more recent immigrants and less skilled workers. District Assembly 49 of the Knights of Labor took a hand in the struggle to support the Progressive Union and by skillful management brought the situation to the point where the latter had to allow itself to be absorbed into the Knights of Labor. The events in the cigar making trade in New York brought to a climax the sporadic struggles that had been going on between the Order and the trade unions. The trade unions demanded that the Knights of Labor respect their "jurisdiction" and proposed a "treaty of peace" with such drastic terms that had they been accepted the trade unions would have been left in the sole possession of the field. The Order was at first more conciliatory. It would not of course cease to take part in industrial disputes and industrial matters, but it proposed a _modus vivendi_ on a basis of an interchange of "working cards" and common action against employers. At the same time it addressed separately to each national trade union a gentle admonition to think of the unskilled workers as well as of themselves. The address said: "In the use of the wonderful inventions, your organization plays a most important part. Naturally it embraces within its ranks a very large proportion of laborers of a high grade of skill and intelligence. With this skill of hand, guided by intelligent thought, comes the right to demand that excess of compensation paid to skilled above the unskilled labor. But the unskilled labor must receive attention, or in the hour of difficulty the employer will not hesitate to use it to depress the compensation you now receive. That skilled or unskilled labor may no longer be found unorganized, we ask of you to annex your grand and powerful corps to the main army that we may fight the battle under one flag." But the trade unions, who had formerly declared that their purpose was "to protect the skilled trades of America from being reduced to beggary," evinced no desire to be pressed into the service of lifting up the unskilled and voted down with practical unanimity the proposal. Thereupon the Order declared open war by commanding all its members who were also members of the cigar makers' union to withdraw from the latter on the penalty of expulsion. Later events proved that the assumption of the aggressive was the beginning of the undoing of the Order. It was, moreover, an event of first significance in the labor movement since it forced the trade unions to draw closer together and led to the founding in the same year, 1886, of the American Federation of Labor. Another highly important effect of this conflict was the ascendency in the trade union movement of Samuel Gompers as the foremost leader. Gompers had first achieved prominence in 1881 at the time of the organization of the Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions. But not until the situation created by the conflict with the Knights of Labor did he get his first real opportunity, both to demonstrate his inborn capacity for leadership and to train and develop that capacity by overcoming what was perhaps the most serious problem that ever confronted American organized labor. The new Federation avoided its predecessor's mistake of emphasizing labor legislation above all. Its prime purpose was economic. The legislative interests of labor were for the most part given into the care of subordinate state federations of labor. Consequently, the several state federations, not the American Federation of Labor, correspond in America to the British Trades Union Congress. But in the conventions of the American Federation of Labor the state federations are represented only nominally. The Federation is primarily a federation of national and international (including Canada and Mexico) trade unions. Each national and international union in the new Federation was acknowledged a sovereignty unto itself, with full powers of discipline over its members and with the power of free action toward the employers without any interference from the Federation; in other words, its full autonomy was confirmed. Like the British Empire, the Federation of Labor was cemented together by ties which were to a much greater extent spiritual than they were material. Nevertheless, the Federation's authority was far from being a shadowy one. If it could not order about the officers of the constituent unions, it could so mobilize the general labor sentiment in the country on behalf of any of its constituent bodies that its good will would be sought even by the most powerful ones. The Federation guaranteed to each union a certain jurisdiction, generally coextensive with a craft, and protected it against encroachments by adjoining unions and more especially by rival unions. The guarantee worked absolutely in the case of the latter, for the Federation knew no mercy when a rival union attempted to undermine the strength of an organized union of a craft. The trade unions have learned from experience with the Knights of Labor that their deadliest enemy was, after all, not the employers' association but the enemy from within who introduced confusion in the ranks. They have accordingly developed such a passion for "regularity," such an intense conviction that there must be but one union in a given trade that, on occasions, scheming labor officials have known how to checkmate a justifiable insurgent movement by a skillful play upon this curious hypertrophy of the feeling of solidarity. Not only will a rival union never be admitted into the Federation, but no subordinate body, state or city, may dare to extend any aid or comfort to a rival union. The Federation exacted but little from the national and international unions in exchange for the guarantee of their jurisdiction: A small annual per capita tax; a willing though a not obligatory support in the special legislative and industrial campaigns it may undertake; an adherence to its decisions on general labor policy; an undertaking to submit to its decision in the case of disputes with other unions, which however need not in every case be fulfilled; and lastly, an unqualified acceptance of the principle of "regularity" relative to labor organization. Obviously, judging from constitutional powers alone, the Federation was but a weak sort of a government. Yet the weakness was not the forced weakness of a government which was willing to start with limited powers hoping to increase its authority as it learned to stand more firmly on its own feet; it was a self-imposed weakness suggested by the lessons of labor history. By contrast the Order of the Knights of Labor, as seen already, was governed by an all-powerful General Assembly and General Executive Board. At a first glance a highly centralized form of government would appear a promise of assured strength and a guarantee of coherence amongst the several parts of the organization. Perhaps, if America's wage earners were cemented together by as strong a class consciousness as the laboring classes of Europe, such might have been the case. But America's labor movement lacked the unintended aid which the sister movements in Europe derived from a caste system of society and political oppression. Where the class lines were not tightly drawn, the centrifugal forces in the labor movement were bound to assert themselves. The leaders of the American Federation of Labor, in their struggle against the Knights of Labor, played precisely upon this centrifugal tendency and gained a victory by making an appeal to the natural desire for autonomy and self-determination of any distinctive group. But originally perhaps intended as a mere "strategic" move, this policy succeeded in creating a labor movement which was, on fundamentals, far more coherent than the Knights of Labor even in the heyday of their glory. The officers and leaders of the Federation, knowing that they could not command, set themselves to developing a unified labor will and purpose by means of moral suasion and propaganda. Where a bare order would breed resentment and backbiting, an appeal, which is reinforced by a carefully nurtured universal labor sentiment, will eventually bring about common consent and a willing acquiescence in the policy supported by the majority. So each craft was made a self-determining unit and "craft autonomy" became a sacred shibboleth in the labor movement without interfering with unity on essentials. The principle of craft autonomy triumphed chiefly because it recognized the existence of a considerable amount of group selfishness. The Knights of Labor held, as was seen, that the strategic or bargaining strength of the skilled craftsman should be used as a lever to raise the status of the semi-skilled and unskilled worker. It consequently grouped them promiscuously in "mixed assemblies" and opposed as long as it could the demand for "national trade assemblies." The craftsman, on the other hand, wished to use his superior bargaining strength for his own purposes and evinced little desire to dissipate it in the service of his humbler fellow worker. To give effect to that, he felt obliged to struggle against becoming entangled with undesirable allies in the semi-skilled and unskilled workers for whom the Order spoke. Needless to say, the individual self-interest of the craft leaders worked hand in hand with the self-interest of the craft as a whole, for had they been annexed by the Order they would have become subject to orders from the General Master Workman or the General Assembly of the Order. In addition to platonic stirrings for "self-determination" and to narrow group interest, there was a motive for craft autonomy which could pass muster both as strictly social and realistic. The fact was that the autonomous craft union could win strikes where the centralized promiscuous Order merely floundered and suffered defeat after defeat. The craft union had the advantage, on the one hand, of a leadership which was thoroughly familiar with the bit of ground upon which it operated, and, on the other hand, of handling a group of people of equal financial endurance and of identical interest. It has already been seen how dreadfully mismanaged were the great Knights of Labor strikes of 1886 and 1887. The ease with which the leaders were able to call out trade after trade on a strike of sympathy proved more a liability than an asset. Often the choice of trades to strike bore no particular relation to their strategic value in the given situation; altogether one gathers the impression that these great strikes were conducted by blundering amateurs who possessed more authority than was good for them or for the cause. It is therefore not to be wondered at if the compact craft unions led by specialists scored successes where the heterogeneous mobs of the Knights of Labor had been doomed from the first. Clearly then the survival of the craft union was a survival of the fittest; and the Federation's attachment to the principle of craft autonomy was, to say the least, a product of an evolutionary past, whatever one may hold with reference to its fitness in our own time. Whatever reasons moved the trade unions of the skilled to battle with the Order for their separate and autonomous existence were bound sooner or later to induce those craftsmen who were in the Order to seek a similar autonomy. From the very beginning the more skilled and better organized trades in the Knights sought to separate from the mixed "district assemblies" and to create within the framework of the Order "national trade assemblies."[26] However, the national officers, who looked upon such a move as a betrayal of the great principle of the solidarity of all labor, were able to stem the tide excepting in the case of the window glass blowers, who were granted their autonomy in 1880. The obvious superiority of the trade union form of organization over the mixed organization, as revealed by events in 1886 and 1887, strengthened the separatist tendency. Just as the struggle between the Knights of Labor and the trade unions on the outside had been fundamentally a struggle between the unskilled and the skilled portions of the wage-earning class, so the aspiration toward the national trade assembly within the Order represented the effort of the more or less skilled men for emancipation from the dominance of the unskilled. But the Order successfully fought off such attempts until after the defeat of the mixed district assemblies, or in other words of the unskilled class, in the struggle with the employers. With the withdrawal of a very large portion of this class, as shown in 1887,[27] the demand for the national trade assembly revived and there soon began a veritable rush to organize by trades. The stampede was strongest in the city of New York where the incompetence of the mixed District Assembly 49 had become patent. At the General Assembly in 1887 at Minneapolis all obstacles were removed from forming national trade assemblies, but this came too late to stem the exodus of the skilled element from the order into the American Federation of Labor. The victory of craft autonomy over the "one big union" was decisive and complete. The strike activities of the Knights were confessedly a deviation from "First Principles." Yet the First Principles with their emphasis on producers' cooperation were far from forgotten even when the enthusiasm for strikes was at its highest. Whatever the actual feelings of the membership as a whole, the leaders neglected no opportunity to promote cooperation. T.V. Powderly, the head of the Order since 1878, in his reports to the annual General Assembly or convention, consistently urged that practical steps be taken toward cooperation. In 1881, while the general opinion in the Order was still undecided, the leaders did not scruple to smuggle into the constitution a clause which made cooperation compulsory. Notwithstanding Powderly's exhortations, the Order was at first slow in taking it up. In 1882 a general cooperative board was elected to work out a plan of action, but it never reported, and a new board was chosen in its place at the Assembly of 1883. In that year, the first practical step was taken in the purchase by the Order of a coal mine at Cannelburg, Indiana, with the idea of selling the coal at reduced prices to the members. Soon thereafter a thorough change of sentiment with regard to the whole matter of cooperation took place, contemporaneously with the industrial depression and unsuccessful strikes. The rank and file, who had hitherto been indifferent, now seized upon the idea with avidity. The enthusiasm ran so high in Lynn, Massachusetts, that it was found necessary to raise the shares of the Knights of Labor Cooperative Shoe Company to $100 in order to prevent a large influx of "unsuitable members." In 1885 Powderly complained that "many of our members grow impatient and unreasonable because every avenue of the Order does not lead to cooperation." The impatience for immediate cooperation, which seized the rank and file in practically every section of the country, caused an important modification in the official doctrine of the Order. Originally it had contemplated centralized control under which it would have taken years before a considerable portion of the membership could realize any benefit. This was now dropped and a decentralized plan was adopted. Local organizations and, more frequently, groups of members with the financial aid of their local organizations now began to establish shops. Most of the enterprises were managed by the stockholders, although, in some cases, the local organization of the Knights of Labor managed the plant. Most of the cooperative enterprises were conducted on a small scale. Incomplete statistics warrant the conclusion that the average amount invested per establishment was about $10,000. From the data gathered it seems that cooperation reached its highest point in 1886, although it had not completely spent itself by the end of 1887. The total number of ventures probably reached two hundred. The largest numbers were in mining, cooperage, and shoes. These industries paid the poorest wages and treated their employes most harshly. A small amount of capital was required to organize such establishments. With the abandonment of centralized cooperation in 1884, the role of the central cooperative board changed correspondingly. The leading member of the board was now John Samuel, one of those to whom cooperation meant nothing short of a religion. The duty of the board was to educate the members of the Order in the principles of cooperation; to aid by information and otherwise prospective and actual cooperators; in brief, to coordinate the cooperative movement within the Order. It issued forms of a constitution and by-laws which, with a few modifications, could be adopted by any locality. It also published articles on the dangers and pitfalls in cooperative ventures, such as granting credit, poor management, etc., as well as numerous articles on specific kinds of cooperation. The Knights of Labor label was granted for the use of cooperative goods and a persistent agitation was steadily conducted to induce purchasers to give a preference to cooperative products. As a scheme of industrial regeneration, cooperation never materialized. The few successful shops sooner or later fell into the hands of an "inner group," who "froze out" the others and set up capitalistic partnerships. The great majority went on the rocks even before getting started. The causes of failure were many: Hasty action, inexperience, lax shop discipline, internal dissensions, high rates of interest upon the mortgage of the plant, and finally discriminations instigated by competitors. Railways were heavy offenders, by delaying side tracks and, on some pretext or other, refusing to furnish cars or refusing to haul them. The Union Mining Company of Cannelburg, Indiana, owned and operated by the Order as its sole experiment of the centralized kind of cooperation, met this fate. After expending $20,000 in equipping the mine, purchasing land, laying tracks, cutting and sawing timber on the land and mining $1000 worth of coal, they were compelled to lie idle for nine months before the railway company saw fit to connect their switch with the main track. When they were ready to ship their product, it was learned that their coal could be utilized for the manufacture of gas only, and that contracts for supply of such coal were let in July, that is nine months from the time of connecting the switch with the main track. In addition, the company was informed that it must supply itself with a switch engine to do the switching of the cars from its mine to the main track, at an additional cost of $4000. When this was accomplished they had to enter the market in competition with a bitter opponent who had been fighting them since the opening of the mine. Having exhausted their funds and not seeing their way clear to securing additional funds for the purchase of a locomotive and to tide over the nine months ere any contracts for coal could be entered into, they sold out to their competitor. But a cause more fundamental perhaps than all other causes of the failure of cooperation in the United States is to be found in the difficulties of successful entrepreneurship. In the labor movement in the United States there has been a failure, generally speaking, to appreciate the significance of management and the importance which must be imputed to it. Glib talk often commands an undeserved confidence and misleads the wage earner. Thus by 1888, three or four years after it had begun, the cooperative movement had passed the full cycle of life and succumbed. The failure, as said, was hastened by external causes and discrimination. But the experiments had been foredoomed anyway,--through the incompatibility of producers' cooperation with trade unionism. The cooperators, in their eagerness to get a market, frequently undersold the private employer expecting to recoup their present losses in future profits. In consequence, the privately employed wage earners had to bear reductions in their wages. A labor movement which endeavors to practice producers' cooperation and trade unionism at the same time is actually driving in opposite directions. FOOTNOTES: [20] See Chapter 1. [21] In the thirties the term "union" was reserved for the city federations of trades. What is now designated as a trade union was called trade society. In the sixties the "Union" became the "trades' assembly." [22] See below, 152-154. [23] See below, 285-290, for a discussion why American labor looks away from legislation. [24] The Constitution read as follows: "It alone possesses the power and authority to make, amend, or repeal the fundamental and general laws and regulations of the Order; to finally decide all controversies arising in the Order; to issue all charters.... It can also tax the members of the Order for its maintenance." [25] See above, 98-100. [26] The "local assemblies" generally followed in practice trade lines, but the district assemblies were "mixed." [27] See above, 100-101. CHAPTER 6 STABILIZATION, 1888-1897 The Great Upheaval of 1886 had, as we saw, suddenly swelled the membership of trade unions; consequently, during several years following, notwithstanding the prosperity in industry, further growth was bound to proceed at a slower rate. The statistics of strikes during the later eighties, like the figures of membership, show that after the strenuous years from 1885 to 1887 the labor movement had entered a more or less quiet stage. Most prominent among the strikes was the one of 60,000 iron and steel workers in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and the West, which was carried to a successful conclusion against a strong combination of employers. The Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers stood at the zenith of its power about this time and was able in 1889, by the mere threat of a strike, to dictate terms to the Carnegie Steel Company. The most noted and last great strike of a railway brotherhood was the one of the locomotive engineers on the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad Company. The strike was begun jointly on February 27, 1888, by the brotherhoods of locomotive engineers and locomotive firemen. The main demands were made by the engineers, who asked for the abandonment of the system of classification and for a new wage scale. Two months previously, the Knights of Labor had declared a miners' strike against the Philadelphia & Reading Railroad Company, employing 80,000 anthracite miners, and the strike had been accompanied by a sympathetic strike of engineers and firemen belonging to the Order. The members of the brotherhoods had filled their places and, in retaliation, the former Reading engineers and firemen now took the places of the Burlington strikers, so that on March 15 the company claimed to have a full contingent of employes. The brotherhoods ordered a boycott upon the Burlington cars, which was partly enforced, but they were finally compelled to submit. The strike was not officially called off until January 3, 1889. Notwithstanding the defeat of the strikers, the damage to the railway was enormous, and neither the railways of the country nor the brotherhoods since that date have permitted a serious strike of their members to occur. The lull in the trade union movement was broken by a new concerted eight-hour movement managed by the Federation, which culminated in 1890. Although on the whole the eight-hour movement in 1886 was a failure, it was by no means a disheartening failure. It was evident that the eight-hour day was a popular demand, and that an organization desirous of expansion might well hitch its wagon to this star. Accordingly, the convention of the American Federation of Labor in 1888 declared that a general demand should be made for the eight-hour day on May 1, 1890. The chief advocates of the resolution were the delegates of the carpenters, who announced a readiness to lead the way for a general eight-hour day in 1890. The Federation at once inaugurated an aggressive campaign. For the first time in its history it employed special salaried organizers. Pamphlets were issued and widely distributed. On every important holiday mass meetings were held in the larger cities. On Labor Day 1889, no less than 420 such mass meetings were held throughout the country. Again the Knights of Labor came out against the plan. The next year the plan of campaign was modified. The idea of a general strike for the eight-hour day in May 1890, was abandoned in favor of a strike trade by trade. In March 1890, the carpenters were chosen to make the demand on May 1 of the same year, to be followed by the miners at a later date. The choice of the carpenters was indeed fortunate. Beginning with 1886, that union had a rapid growth and was now the largest union affiliated with the Federation. For several years it had been accumulating funds for the eight-hour day, and, when the movement was inaugurated in May 1890, it achieved a large measure of success. The union officers claimed to have won the eight-hour day in 137 cities and a nine-hour day in most other places. However, the selection of the miners to follow on May 1, 1891, was a grave mistake. Less than one-tenth of the coal miners of the country were then organized. For years the miners' union had been losing ground, with the constant decline of coal prices. Some months before May 1, 1891, the United Mine Workers had become involved in a disastrous strike in the Connelsville coke region, and the plan for an eight-hour strike was abandoned. In this manner the eight-hour movement inaugurated by the convention of the Federation in 1888 came to an end. Apart from the strike of the carpenters in 1890, it had not led to any general movement to gain the eight-hour work day. Nevertheless, hundreds of thousands of workingmen had won reduced hours of labor, especially in the building trades. By 1891 the eight-hour day had been secured for all building trades in Chicago, St. Louis, Denver, Indianapolis, and San Francisco. In New York and Brooklyn the carpenters, stone-cutters, painters, and plasterers worked eight hours, while the bricklayers, masons, and plumbers worked nine. In St. Paul the bricklayers alone worked nine hours, the remaining trades eight. In 1892 the labor movement faced for the first time a really modern manufacturing corporation with its practically boundless resources of war, namely the Carnegie Steel Company, in the strike which has become famous under the name of the Homestead Strike. The Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers, with a membership of 24,068 in 1891, was probably the strongest trade union in the entire history of the American labor movement. Prior to 1889 the relations between the union and the Carnegie firm had been invariably friendly. In January 1889, H.C. Frick, who, as owner of the largest coke manufacturing plant, had acquired a reputation of a bitter opponent of organized labor, became chairman of Carnegie Brothers and Company. In the same year, owing to his assumption of management, as the union men believed, the first dispute occurred between them and the company. Although the agreement was finally renewed for three years on terms dictated by the Association, the controversy left a disturbing impression upon the minds of the men, since during the course of the negotiations Frick had demanded the dissolution of the union. Negotiations for the new scale presented to the company began in February 1892. A few weeks later the company presented a scale to the men providing for a reduction and besides demanded that the date of the termination of the scale be changed from July 1 to January 1. A number of conferences were held without result; and on May 30 the company submitted an ultimatum to the effect that, if the scale were not signed by June 29, they would treat with the men as individuals. At a final conference which was held on June 23, the company raised its offer from $22 per ton to $23 as the minimum base of the scale, and the union lowered its demand from $25, the rate formerly paid, to $24. But no agreement could be reached on this point nor on others and the strike began June 29 upon the definite issue of the preservation of the union. Even before the negotiations were broken up, Frick had arranged with the Pinkerton detective agency for 300 men to serve as guards. These men arrived at a station on the Ohio River below Pittsburgh near midnight of July 5. Here they embarked on barges and were towed up the river to Pittsburgh and taken up the Monangahela River to Homestead, which they approached about four o'clock on the morning of July 6. The workmen had been warned of their coming and, when the boat reached the landing back of the steel works, nearly the whole town was there to meet them and to prevent their landing. Passion ran high. The men armed themselves with guns and gave the Pinkertons a pitched battle. When the day was over, at least half a dozen men on both sides had been killed and a number were seriously wounded. The Pinkertons were defeated and driven away and, although there was no more disorder of any sort, the State militia appeared in Homestead on July 12 and remained for several months. The strike which began in Homestead soon spread to other mills. The Carnegie mills at 29th and 33d Streets, Pittsburgh, went on strike. The strike at Homestead was finally declared off on November 20, and most of the men went back to their old positions as non-union men. The treasury of the union was depleted, winter was coming, and it was finally decided to consider the battle lost. The defeat meant not only the loss by the union of the Homestead plant but the elimination of unionism in most of the mills in the Pittsburgh region. Where the great Carnegie Company led, the others had to follow. The power of the union was henceforth broken and the labor movement learned the lesson that even its strongest organization was unable to withstand an onslaught by the modern corporation. The Homestead strike stirred the labor movement as few other single events. It had its political reverberation, since it drove home to the workers that an industry protected by high tariff will not necessarily be a haven to organized labor, notwithstanding that the union had actively assisted the iron and steel manufacturers in securing the high protection granted by the McKinley tariff bill of 1890. Many of the votes which would otherwise have gone to the Republican candidate for President went in 1892 to Grover Cleveland, who ran on an anti-protective tariff issue. It is not unlikely that the latter's victory was materially advanced by the disillusionment brought on by the Homestead defeat. In the summer of 1893 occurred the financial panic. The panic and the ensuing crisis furnished a conclusive test of the strength and stability of the American labor movement. Gompers in his presidential report at the convention of 1899, following the long depression, said: "It is noteworthy, that while in every previous industrial crisis the trade unions were literally mowed down and swept out of existence, the unions now in existence have manifested, not only the power of resistance, but of stability and permanency," and he assigned as the most prominent cause the system of high dues and benefits which had come into vogue in a large number of trade unions. He said: "Beyond doubt the superficial motive of continued membership in unions organized upon this basis was the monetary benefits the members were entitled to; but be that as it may, the results are the same, that is, _membership is maintained, the organization remains intact during dull periods of industry, and is prepared to take advantage of the first sign of an industrial revival_." Gompers may have overstated the power of resistance of the unions, but their holding power upon the membership cannot be disputed. The aggregate membership of all unions affiliated with the Federation remained near the mark of 275,000 throughout the period of depression from 1893 to 1897. At last the labor movement had become stabilized. The year 1894 was exceptional for labor disturbances. The number of employes involved reached nearly 750,000, surpassing even the mark set in 1886. However, in contradistinction to 1886, the movement was defensive. It also resulted in greater failure. The strike of the coal miners and the Pullman strike were the most important ones. The United Mine Workers began their strike in Ohio on April 21. The membership did not exceed 20,000, but about 125,000 struck. At first the demand was made that wages should be restored to the level at which they were in May 1893. But within a month the union in most regions was struggling to prevent a further reduction in wages. By the end of July the strike was lost. The Pullman strike marks an era in the American labor movement because it was the only attempt ever made in America of a revolutionary strike on the Continental European model. The strikers tried to throw against the associated railways and indeed against the entire existing social order the full force of a revolutionary labor solidarity embracing the entire American wage-earning class brought to the point of exasperation by unemployment, wage reductions, and misery. That in spite of the remarkable favorable conjuncture the dramatic appeal failed to shake the general labor movement out of its chosen groove is proof positive of the completion of the stabilization process which had been going on since the early eighties. The Pullman strike began May 11, 1894, and grew out of a demand of certain employes in the shops of the Pullman Palace Car Company, situated at Pullman, Illinois, for a restoration of the wages paid during the previous year. In March 1894, the Pullman employes had voted to join the American Railway Union. The American Railway Union was an organization based on industrial lines, organized in June 1893, by Eugene V. Debs. Debs, as secretary-treasurer of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen, had watched the failure of many a strike by only one trade and resigned this office to organize all railway workers in one organization. The American Railway Union was the result. Between June 9 and June 26 the latter held a convention in Chicago. The Pullman matter was publicly discussed before and after its committee reported their interviews with the Pullman Company. On June 21, the delegates under instructions from their local unions, feeling confident after a victory over the Great Northern in April, unanimously voted that the members should stop handling Pullman cars on June 26 unless the Pullman Company would consent to arbitration. On June 26 the railway strike began. It was a purely sympathetic strike as no demands were made. The union found itself pitted against the General Managers' Association, representing twenty-four roads centering or terminating in Chicago, which were bound by contracts with the Pullman Company. The association had been organized in 1886, its main business being to determine a common policy as to traffic and freight rates, but incidentally it dealt also with wages. The strike soon spread over an enormous territory. Many of the members of the brotherhoods joined in, although their organizations were opposed to the strike. The lawless element in Chicago took advantage of the opportunity to rob, burn, and plunder, so that the scenes of the great railway strike of 1877 were now repeated. The damages in losses of property and business to the country have been estimated at $80,000,000. On July 7, E.V. Debs, president, and other principal officers of the American Railway Union were indicted, arrested, and held under $10,000 bail. On July 13 they were charged with contempt of the United States Court in disobeying an injunction which enjoined them, among other things, from compelling or inducing by threats railway employes to strike. The strike had already been weakening for some days. On July 12, at the request of the American Railway Union, about twenty-five of the executive officers of national and international labor unions affiliated with the American Federation of Labor met in conference in Chicago to discuss the situation. Debs appeared and urged a general strike by all labor organizations. But the conference decided that "it would be unwise and disastrous to the interests of labor to extend the strike any further than it had already gone," and advised the strikers to return to work. On July 13, the American Railway Union, through the Mayor of Chicago, offered the General Managers' Association to declare the strike off, provided the men should be restored to their former positions without prejudice, except in cases where they had been convicted of crime. But the Association refused to deal with the union. The strike was already virtually beaten by the combined moral effect of the indictment of the leaders and of the arrival in Chicago of United States troops, which President Cleveland sent in spite of the protest of Governor Altgeld of Illinois. The labor organizations were taught two important lessons. First, that nothing can be gained through revolutionary striking, for the government was sufficiently strong to cope with it; and second, that the employers had obtained a formidable ally in the courts.[28] Defeats in strikes, depression in trade, a rapidly falling labor market and court prosecutions were powerful allies of those socialistic and radical leaders inside the Federation who aspired to convert it from a mere economic organization into an economic-political one and make it embark upon the sea of independent politics. The convention of 1893 is memorable in that it submitted to the consideration of affiliated unions a "political programme." The preamble to the "programme" recited that the English trade unions had recently launched upon independent politics "as auxiliary to their economic action." The eleven planks of the program demanded: compulsory education; the right of popular initiative in legislation; a legal eight-hour work-day; governmental inspection of mines and workshops; abolition of the sweating system; employers' liability laws; abolition of the contract system upon public work; municipal ownership of electric light, gas, street railway, and water systems; the nationalization of telegraphs, telephones, railroads, and mines; "the collective ownership by the people of all means of production and distribution"; and the referendum upon all legislation. Immediately after the convention of 1893 affiliated unions began to give their endorsement to the political program. Not until comparatively late did any opposition make itself manifest. Then it took the form of a demand by such conservative leaders as Gompers, McGuire, and Strasser, that plank 10, with its pledge in favor of "the collective ownership by the people of all means of production and distribution," be stricken out. Notwithstanding this, the majority of national trade unions endorsed the program. During 1894 the trade unions were active participants in politics. In November, 1894, the _Federationist_ gave a list of more than 300 union members candidates for some elective office. Only a half dozen of these, however, were elected. It was mainly to these local failures that Gompers pointed in his presidential address at the convention of 1894 as an argument against the adoption of the political program by the Federation. His attitude clearly foreshadowed the destiny of the program at the convention. The first attack was made upon the preamble, on the ground that the statement therein that the English trade unions had declared for independent political action was false. By a vote of 1345 to 861 the convention struck out the preamble. Upon motion of the typographical union, a substitute was adopted calling for the "abolition of the monopoly system of land holding and the substitution therefor of a title of occupancy and use only." Some of the delegates seem to have interpreted this substitute as a declaration for the single tax; but the majority of those who voted in its favor probably acted upon the principle "anything to beat socialism." Later the entire program was voted down. That sealed the fate of the move for an independent labor party. The American Federation of Labor was almost drawn into the whirlpool of partisan politics during the Presidential campaign of 1896. Three successive conventions had declared in favor of the free coinage of silver; and now the Democratic party had come out for free coinage. In this situation very many prominent trade union leaders declared publicly for Bryan. President Gompers, however, issued a warning to all affiliated unions to keep out of partisan politics. Notwithstanding this Secretary McGraith, at the next convention of the Federation, charged President Gompers with acting in collusion with the Democratic headquarters throughout the campaign in aid of Bryan's candidacy. After a lengthy secret session the convention approved the conduct of Gompers. Free silver continued to be endorsed annually down to the convention of 1898, when the return of industrial prosperity and rising prices put an end to it as a demand advocated by labor. The depressed nineties demonstrated conclusively that a new era had arrived. No longer was the labor movement a mere plaything of the alternating waves of prosperity and depression. Formerly, as we saw, it had centered on economic or trade-union action during prosperity only to change abruptly to "panaceas" and politics with the descent of depression. Now the movement, notwithstanding possible changes in membership, and persistent political leanings in some portions of it, as a whole for the first time became stable in purpose and action. Trade unionism has won over politics. This victory was synchronous with the first successful working out of a national trade agreement and the institutionalization of trade unionism in a leading industry, namely stove molding. While one of the earliest stable trade agreements in a conspicuous trade covering a local field was a bricklayers' agreement in Chicago in 1887, the era of trade agreements really dates from the national system established in the stove foundry industry in 1891. It is true also that the iron and steel workers had worked under a national trade agreement since 1866. However, that trade was too exceptionally strong to be typical. The stove industry had early reached a high degree of development and organization. There had existed since 1872 the National Association of Stove Manufacturers, an organization dealing with prices and embracing in its membership the largest stove manufacturers of the country. The stove foundrymen, therefore, unlike the manufacturers in practically all other industries at that time, controlled in a large measure their own market. Furthermore, the product had been completely standardized and reduced to a piecework basis, and machinery had not taken the place of the molders' skill. It consequently was no mere accident that the stove industry was the first to develop a system of permanent industrial peace. But, on the other hand, this was not automatically established as soon as the favorable external conditions were provided. In reality, only after years of struggle, of strikes and lockouts, and after the two sides had fought each other "to a standstill," was the system finally installed. The eighties abounded in stove molders' strikes, and in 1886 the national union began to render effective aid. The Stove Founders' National Defense Association was formed in 1886 as an employers' association of stove manufacturers. The Defense Association aimed at a national labor policy; it was organized for "resistance against any unjust demands of their workmen, and such other purposes as may from time to time prove or appear to be necessary for the benefit of the members thereof as employers of labor." Thus, after 1886, the alignment was made national on both sides. The great battle was fought the next year. March 8, 1887, the employes of the Bridge and Beach Manufacturing Company in St. Louis struck for an advance in wages and the struggle at once became one between the International Union and the National Defense Association. The St. Louis company sent its patterns to foundries in other districts, but the union successfully prevented their use. This occasioned a series of strikes in the West and of lockouts in the East, affecting altogether about 5000 molders. It continued thus until June, when the St. Louis patterns were recalled, the Defense Association having provided the company with a sufficient number of strike-breakers. Each side was in a position to claim the victory for itself; so evenly matched were the opposing forces. During the next four years disputes in Association plants were rare. In August 1890, a strike took place in Pittsburgh and, for the first time in the history of the industry, it was settled by a written trade agreement with the local union. This supported the idea of a national trade agreement between the two organizations. Since the dispute of 1887, negotiations with this object were from time to time conducted, the Defense Association invariably taking the initiative. Finally, the national convention of the union in 1890 appointed a committee to meet a like committee of the Defense Association. The conference took place March 25, 1891, and worked out a complete plan of organization for the stove molding industry. Every year two committees of three members each, chosen respectively by the union and the association, were to meet in conference and to draw up general laws for the year. In case of a dispute arising in a locality, if the parties immediately concerned were unable to arrive at common terms, the chief executives of both organizations, the president of the union and the president of the association, were to step in and try to effect an adjustment. If, however, they, too, failed, a conference committee composed of an equal number of members from each side was to be called in and its findings were to be final. Meanwhile the parties were enjoined from engaging in hostilities while the matter at dispute was being dealt with by the duly appointed authorities. Each organization obligated itself to exercise "police authority" over its constituents, enforcing obedience to the agreement. The endorsement of the plan by both organizations was practically unanimous, and has continued in operation without interruption for thirty years until the present day. Since the end of the nineties the trade agreement has become one of the most generally accepted principles and aspirations of the American labor movement. However, it is not to be understood that by accepting the principle of the trade agreement the labor movement has committed itself to unlimited arbitration of industrial disputes. The basic idea of the trade agreement is that of collective bargaining rather than arbitration. The two terms are not always distinguished, but the essential difference is that in the trade agreement proper no outside party intervenes to settle the dispute and make an award. The agreement is made by direct negotiation between the two organized groups and the sanction which each holds over the head of the other is the strike or lockout. If no agreement can be reached, the labor organization as well as the employers' association, insists on its right to refuse arbitration, whether it be "voluntary" or so-called "compulsory." The clarification of the conception of the trade agreement was perhaps the main achievement of the nineties. Without the trade agreement the labor movement could hardly come to eschew "panaceas" and to reconstitute itself upon the basis of opportunism. The coming in of the trade agreement, whether national, sectional, or local, was also the chief factor in stabilizing the movement against industrial depressions. FOOTNOTE: [28] See below, 159-160. CHAPTER 7 TRADE UNIONISM AND THE COURTS While it was in the nineties that trade unionists first tasted the sweets of institutionalization in industry through "recognition" by employers, it was also during the later eighties and during the nineties that they experienced a revival of suspicion and hostility on the part of the courts and a renewal of legal restraints upon their activities, which were all the more discouraging since for a generation or more they had practically enjoyed non-interference from that quarter. It was at this period that the main legal weapons against trade unionism were forged and brought to a fine point in practical application. The history of the courts' attitude to trade unionism may therefore best be treated from the standpoint of the nineties. The subject of court interference was not altogether new in the eighties. We took occasion to point out the effect of court interference in labor disputes in the first and second decades of the nineteenth century and again in the thirties. Mention was made also of the court's decision in the Theiss boycott case in New York in 1886, which proved a prime moving factor in launching the famous Henry George campaign for Mayor. And we gave due note to the role of court injunctions in the Debs strike of 1894 and in other strikes. Our present interest is, however, more in the court doctrines than in their effects: more concerned with the development of the legal thought underlying the policies of the courts than with the reactions of the labor movement to the policies themselves. The earliest case on record, namely the Philadelphia shoemakers' strike case in 1806,[29] charged two offences; one was a combination to raise wages, the other a combination to injure others; both offences were declared by the judge to be forbidden by the common law. To the public at large the prosecution seemed to rest solely upon the charge that the journeymen combined to raise wages. The defense took advantage of this and tried to make use of it for its own purposes. The condemnation of the journeymen on this ground gave rise to a vehement protest on the part of the journeymen themselves and their friends. It was pointed out that the journeymen were convicted for acts which are considered lawful when done by masters or merchants. Therefore when the next conspiracy case in New York in 1809 was decided, the court's charge to the jury was very different. Nothing was said about the illegality of the combinations to raise wages; on the contrary, the jury was instructed that this was not the question at issue. The issue was stated to be whether the defendants had combined to secure an increase in their wages by unlawful means. To the question what means were unlawful, in this case the answer was given in general terms, namely that "coercive and arbitrary" means are unlawful. The fines imposed upon the defendants were only nominal. A third notable case of the group, namely the Pittsburgh case in 1815, grew out of a strike for higher wages, as did the preceding cases. The charges were the same as in those and the judge took the identical view that was taken by the court in the New York case. However, he explained more fully the meaning of "coercive and arbitrary" action. "Where diverse persons," he said, "confederate together by direct means to impoverish or prejudice a third person, or to do acts prejudicial to the community," they are engaged in an unlawful conspiracy. Concretely, it is unlawful to "conspire to compel an employer to hire a certain description of persons," or to "conspire to prevent a man from freely exercising his trade in a particular place," or to "conspire to compel men to become members of a particular society, or to contribute toward it," or when persons "conspire to compel men to work at certain prices." Thus it was the effort of the shoemakers' society to secure a closed shop which fell chiefly under the condemnation of the court. The counsel for the defense argued in this case that whatever is lawful for one individual is lawful also for a combination of individuals. The court, however, rejected the arguments on the ground that there was a basic difference between an individual doing a thing and a combination of individuals doing the same thing. The doctrine of conspiracy was thus given a clear and unequivocal definition. Another noteworthy feature of the Pittsburgh case was the emphasis given to the idea that the defendants' conduct was harmful to the public. The judge condemned the defendants because they tended "to create a monopoly or to restrain the entire freedom of the trade." What a municipality is not allowed to do, he argued, a private association of individuals must not be allowed to do. Of the group of cases which grew out of the revival of trade union activity in the twenties, the first, a case against Philadelphia master shoemakers, was decided in 1821, and the judge held that it was lawful for the masters, who had recently been forced by employes to a wage increase, to combine in order to restore wages to their "natural level." But he also held that had the employers combined to depress wages of journeymen below the level fixed by free competition, it would have been criminal. Another Pennsylvania case resulted from a strike by Philadelphia tailors in 1827 to secure the reinstatement of six discharged members. As in previous cases the court rejected the plea that a combination to raise wages was illegal, and directed the attention of the jury to the question of intimidation and coercion, especially as it affected third parties. The defendants were found guilty. In a third, a New York hatters' case of 1823, the charge of combining to raise wages was entirely absent from the indictment. The issue turned squarely on the question of conspiring to injure others by coercion and intimidation. The hatters were adjudged guilty of combining to deprive a non-union workman of his livelihood. The revival of trade unionism in the middle of the thirties brought in, as we saw, another crop of court cases. In 1829 New York State had made "conspiracy to commit any act injurious to public morals or to trade or commerce" a statutory offence, thus reenforcing the existing common law. In 1835 the shoemakers of Geneva struck to enforce the closed shop against a workman who persisted in working below the union rate. The indictment went no further than charging this offence. The journeymen were convicted in a lower court and appealed to the Supreme Court of the State. Chief Justice Savage, in his decision condemning the journeymen, broadened the charge to include a conspiracy to raise wages and condemned both as "injurious to trade or commerce" and thus expressly covered by statute. The far-reaching effects of this decision came clearly to light in a tailor's case the next year. The journeymen were charged with practising intimidation and violence, while picketing their employers' shops during a prolonged strike against a reduction in wages. Judge Edwards, the trial judge, in his charge to the jury, stigmatized the tailors' society as an illegal combination, largely basing himself upon Judge Savage's decision. The jury handed in a verdict of guilty, but recommended mercy. The judge fined the president of the society $150, one journeyman $100, and the others $50 each. The fines were immediately paid with the aid of a collection taken up in court. The decisions produced a violent reaction among the workingmen. They held a mass-meeting in City Hall Park, with an estimated attendance of 27,000, burned Judge Savage and Judge Edwards in effigy, and resolved to call a state convention to form a workingmen's party. So loud, indeed, was the cry that justice had been thwarted that juries were doubtless influenced by it. Two cases came up soon after the tailors' case, the Hudson, New York, shoemakers' in June and the Philadelphia plasterers' in July 1836. In both the juries found a verdict of not guilty. Of all journeymen indicted during this period the Hudson shoemakers had been the most audacious ones in enforcing the closed shop. They not only refused to work for employers who hired non-society men, but fined them as well; yet they were acquitted. Finally six years later, in 1842, long after the offending trade societies had gone out of existence under the stress of unemployment and depression, came the famous decision in the Massachusetts case of Commonwealth _v._ Hunt. This was a shoemakers' case and arose out of a strike. The decision in the lower court was adverse to the defendants. However, it was reversed by the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts. The decision, written by Chief Justice Shaw, is notable in that it holds trade unions to be legal organizations. In the earlier cases it was never in so many words held that trade unions were unlawful, but in all of them there were suggestions to this effect. Now it was recognized that trade unions are _per se_ lawful organizations and, though men may band themselves together to effect a criminal object under the disguise of a trade union, such a purpose is not to be assumed without positive evidence. On the contrary, the court said that "when an association is formed for purposes actually innocent, and afterwards its powers are abused by those who have the control and management of it to purposes of oppression and injustice, it will be criminal in those who misuse it, or give consent thereto, but not in other members of the association." This doctrine that workingmen may lawfully organize trade unions has since Commonwealth _v._ Hunt been adopted in nearly every case. The other doctrine which Justice Shaw advanced in this case has been less generally accepted. It was that the members of a union may procure the discharge of non-members through strikes for this purpose against their employers. This is the essence of the question of the closed shop; and Commonwealth _v._ Hunt goes the full length of regarding strikes for the closed shop as legal. Justice Shaw said that there is nothing unlawful about such strikes, if they are conducted in a peaceable manner. This was much in advance of the position which is taken by many courts upon this question even at the present day. After Commonwealth _v._ Hunt came a forty years' lull in the courts' application of the doctrine of conspiracy to trade unions. In fact so secure did trade unionists feel from court attacks that in the seventies and early eighties their leaders advocated the legal incorporation of trade unions. The desire expressed for incorporation is of extreme interest compared with the opposite attitude of the present day. The motive behind it then was more than the usual one of securing protection for trade union funds against embezzlement by officers. A full enumeration of other motives can be obtained from the testimony of the labor leaders before the Senate Committee on Education and Labor in 1883. McGuire, the national secretary of the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, argued before the committee for a national incorporation law mainly for the reason that such a law passed by Congress would remove trade unions from the operation of the conspiracy laws that still existed though in a dormant state on the statute books of a number of Slates, notably New York and Pennsylvania. He pleaded that "if it (Congress) had not the power, it shall assume the power; and, if necessary, amend the constitution to do it." Adolph Strasser of the cigar makers raised the point of protection for union funds and gave as a second reason that it "will give our organization more stability, and in that manner we shall be able to avoid strikes by perhaps settling with our employers, when otherwise we should be unable to do so, because when our employers know that we are to be legally recognized that will exercise such moral force upon them that they cannot avoid recognizing us themselves." W.H. Foster, the secretary of the Legislative Committee of the Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions, stated that in Ohio the law provided for incorporation at a slight cost, but he wanted a national law to "legalize arbitration," by which he meant that "when a question of dispute arose between the employers and the employed, instead of having it as now, when the one often refuses to even acknowledge or discuss the question with the other, if they were required to submit the question to arbitration, or to meet on the same level before an impartial tribunal, there is no doubt but what the result would be more in our favor than it is now, when very often public opinion cannot hear our cause." He, however, did not desire to have compulsory arbitration, but merely compulsory dealing with the union, or compulsory investigation by an impartial body, both parties to remain free to accept the award, provided, however, "that once they do agree the agreement shall remain in force for a fixed period." Like Foster, John Jarrett, the President of the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers, argued for an incorporation law before the committee solely for its effect upon conciliation and arbitration. He, too, was opposed to compulsory arbitration, but he showed that he had thought out the point less clearly than Foster. The young and struggling trade unions of the early eighties saw only the good side of incorporation without its pitfalls; their subsequent experience with courts converted them from exponents into ardent opponents of incorporation and of what Foster termed "legalized arbitration." During the eighties there was much legislation applicable to labor disputes. The first laws against boycotting and blacklisting and the first laws which prohibited discrimination against members who belonged to a union were passed during this decade. At this time also were passed the first laws to promote voluntary arbitration and most of the laws which allowed unions to incorporate. Only in New York and Maryland were the conspiracy laws repealed. Four States enacted such laws and many States passed laws against intimidation. Statutes, however, played at that time, as they do now, but a secondary role. The only statute which proved of much importance was the Sherman Anti-Trust Act. When Congress passed this act in 1890, few people thought it had application to labor unions. In 1893-1894, as we shall see, however, this act was successfully invoked in several labor controversies, notably in the Debs case. The bitterness of the industrial struggle during the eighties made it inevitable that the labor movement should acquire an extensive police and court record. It was during that decade that charges like "inciting to riot," "obstructing the streets," "intimidation," and "trespass" were first extensively used in connection with labor disputes. Convictions were frequent and penalties often severe. What attitude the courts at that time took toward labor violence was shown most strikingly, even if in too extreme a form to be entirely typical, in the case of the Chicago anarchists.[30] But the significance of the eighties in the development of relations of the courts to organized labor came not from these cases which were, after all, nothing but ordinary police cases magnified to an unusual degree by the intensity of the industrial struggle and by the excited state of public opinion, but in the new lease of life to the doctrine of conspiracy as affecting labor disputes. During the eighties and nineties there seemed to have been more conspiracy cases than during all the rest of the century. It was especially in 1886 and 1887 that organized labor found court interference a factor. At this time, as we saw, there was also passed voluminous state legislation strengthening the application of the common law doctrine of conspiracy to labor disputes. The conviction of the New York boycotters in 1886 and many similar convictions, though less widely known, of participants in strikes and boycotts were obtained upon this ground. Where the eighties witnessed a revolution was in a totally new use made of the doctrine of conspiracy by the courts when they began to issue injunctions in labor cases. Injunctions were an old remedy, but not until the eighties did they figure in the struggles between labor and capital. In England an injunction was issued in a labor dispute as early as 1868;[31] but this case was not noticed in the United States and had nothing whatever to do with the use of injunctions in this country. When and where the first labor injunction was issued in the United States is not known. An injunction was applied for in a New York case as early as 1880 but was denied.[32] An injunction was granted in Iowa in 1884, but not until the Southwest railway strike in 1886 were injunctions used extensively. By 1890 the public had yet heard little of injunctions in connection with labor disputes, but such use was already fortified by numerous precedents. The first injunctions that attained wide publicity were those issued by Federal courts during the strike of engineers against the Chicago, Burlington, & Quincy Railroad[33] in 1888 and during the railway strikes of the early nineties. Justification for these injunctions was found in the provisions of the Interstate Commerce Act and the Sherman Anti-Trust Act. Often the State courts used these Federal cases as precedents, in disregard of the fact that there the issuance of injunctions was based upon special statutes. In other cases the more logical course was followed of justifying the issuance of injunctions upon grounds of equity. But most of the acts which the courts enjoined strikers from doing were already prohibited by the criminal laws. Hence organized labor objected that these injunctions violated the old principle that equity will not interfere to prevent crime. No such difficulties arose when the issuance of injunctions was justified as a measure for the protection of property. In the Debs case,[34] when the Supreme Court of the United States passed upon the issuance of injunctions in labor disputes, it had recourse to this theory. But the theory of protection to property also presented some difficulties. The problem was to establish the principle of irreparable injury to the complainant's property. This was a simple matter when the strikers were guilty of trespass, arson, or sabotage. Then they damaged the complainant's physical property and, since they were usually men against whom judgments are worthless, any injury they might do was irreparable. But these were exceptional cases. Usually injunctions were sought to prevent not violence, but strikes, picketing, or boycotting. What is threatened by strikes and picketing is not the employer's physical property, but the relations he has established as an employer of labor, summed up in his expectancy of retaining the services of old employes and of obtaining new ones. Boycotting, obviously, has no connection with acts of violence against physical property, but is designed merely to undermine the profitable relations which the employer had developed with his customers. These expectancies are advantages enjoyed by established businesses over new competitors and are usually transferable and have market value. For these reasons they are now recognized as property in the law of good-will and unfair competition for customers, having been first formulated about the middle of the nineteenth century. The first case which recognized these expectancies of a labor market was Walker _v._ Cronin,[35] decided by the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court in 1871. It held that the plaintiff was entitled to recover damages from the defendants, certain union officials, because they had induced his employes, who were free to quit at will, to leave his employ and had also been instrumental in preventing him from getting new employes. But as yet these expectancies were not considered property in the full sense of the word. A transitional case is that of Brace Bros. _v._ Evans in 1888.[36] In that case an injunction against a boycott was justified on the ground that the value of the complainant's physical property was being destroyed when the market was cut off. Here the expectancies based upon relations which customers and employes were thought of as giving value to the physical property, but they were not yet recognized as a distinct asset which in itself justifies the issuance of injunctions. This next step was taken in the Barr[37] case in New Jersey in 1893. Since then there have been frequent statements in labor injunction cases to the effect that both the expectancies based upon the merchant-function and the expectancies based upon the employer-function are property. But the recognition of "probable expectancies" as property was not in itself sufficient to complete the chain of reasoning that justifies injunctions in labor disputes. It is well established that no recovery can be had for losses due to the exercise by others of that which they have a lawful right to do. Hence the employers were obliged to charge that the strikes and boycotts were undertaken in pursuance of an unlawful conspiracy. Thus the old conspiracy doctrine was combined with the new theory, and "malicious" interference with "probable expectancies" was held unlawful. Earlier conspiracy had been thought of as a criminal offence, now it was primarily a civil wrong. The emphasis had been upon the danger to the public, now it was the destruction of the employer's business. Occasionally the court went so far as to say that all interference with the business of employers is unlawful. The better view developed was that interference is _prima facie_ unlawful but may be justified. But even this view placed the burden of proof upon the workingmen. It actually meant that the court opened for itself the way for holding the conduct of the workingmen to be lawful only when it sympathized with their demands. During the eighties, despite the far-reaching development of legal theories on labor disputes, the issuance of injunctions was merely sporadic, but a veritable crop came up during 1893-1894. Only the best-known injunctions can be here noted. The injunctions issued in the course of the Southwest railway strike in 1886 and the Burlington strike in 1888 have already received mention. An injunction was also issued by a Federal court during a miners' strike at Coeur d'Alène, Idaho, in 1892.[38] A famous injunction was the one of Judges Taft and Rickes in 1893, which directed the engineers, who were employed by connecting railways, to handle the cars of the Ann Arbor and Michigan railway, whose engineers were on strike.[39] This order elicited much criticism because it came close to requiring men to work against their will. This was followed by the injunction of Judge Jenkins in the Northern Pacific case, which directly prohibited the quitting of work.[40] From this injunction the defendants took an appeal, with the result that in Arthur _v._ Oakes[41] it was once for all established that the quitting of work may not be enjoined. During the Pullman strike numerous injunctions, most sweeping in character, were issued by the Federal courts upon the initiative of the Department of Justice. Under the injunction which was issued in Chicago arose the famous contempt case against Eugene V. Debs,[42] which was carried to the Supreme Court of the United States. The decision of the court in this case is notable, because it covered the main points of doubt above mentioned and placed the use of injunctions in labor disputes upon a firm legal basis. Another famous decision of the Supreme Court growing out of the railway strikes of the early nineties was in the Lennon case[43] in 1897. Therein the court held that all persons who have actual notice of the issuance of an injunction are bound to obey its terms, whether they were mentioned by name or not; in other words, the courts had evolved the "blanket injunction." At the end of the nineties, the labor movement, enriched on the one side by the lessons of the past and by the possession of a concrete goal in the trade agreement, but pressed on the other side by a new form of legal attack and by the growing consolidation of industry, started upon a career of new power but faced at the same time new difficulties. FOOTNOTES: [29] See above, 6. [30] See above, 91-93. [31] Springhead Spinning Co. _v._ Riley, L.R. 6 E. 551 (1868). [32] Johnson Harvester Co. _v._ Meinhardt, 60 How. Pr. 171. [33] Chicago, Burlington, etc., R.R. Co. _v._ Union Pacific R.R. Co., U.S. Dist. Ct., D. Neb. (1888). [34] In re Debs, 158 U.S. 564 (1895). [35] 107 Mass. 555 (1871). [36] 5 Pa. Co. Ct. 163 (1888). [37] Barr _v._ Trades' Council, 53 N.J.E. 101 (1894). [38] Coeur d'Alène Mining Co. _v._ Miners' Union, 51 Fed. 260 (1892). [39] Toledo, etc. Co. _v._ Penn. Co., 54 Fed. 730 (1893). [40] Farmers' Loan and Trust Co. _v._ N.P.R. Co., 60 Fed. 803 (1895). [41] 64 Fed. 310 (1894). [42] In re Debs, 158 U.S. 564 (1894). [43] In re Lennon, 166 U.S. 548 (1897). PART II THE LARGER CAREER OF UNIONISM CHAPTER 8 PARTIAL RECOGNITION AND NEW DIFFICULTIES, 1898-1914 When, in 1898, industrial prosperity returned, there came with it a rapid expansion of labor organization. At no time in its history, prior to the World War, not excepting the Great Upheaval in the eighties, did labor organizations make such important gains as during the following five years. True, in none of these years did the labor movement add over half a million members as in the memorable year of 1886; nevertheless, from the standpoint of permanence, the upheaval during the eighties can scarcely be classed with the one which began in the late nineties. During 1898 the membership of the American Federation of Labor remained practically stationary, but during 1899 it increased by about 70,000 (to about 350,000); in 1900, it increased by 200,000; in 1901, by 240,000; in 1902, by 237,000; in 1903, by 441,000; in 1904, by 210,000, bringing the total to 1,676,000. In 1905 a backward tide set in; and the membership decreased by nearly 200,000 during that year. It remained practically stationary until 1910, when the upward movement was resumed, finally bringing the membership to near the two million mark, to 1,996,000, in 1913. If we include organizations unaffiliated with the Federation, among them the bricklayers[44] and the four railway brotherhoods, with about 700,000 members, the union membership for 1913 will be brought near a total of 2,700,000. A better index of progress is the proportion of organized workers to organizable workers. Two such estimates have been made. Professor George E. Barnett figures the organizable workers in 1900 at 21,837,000; in 1910 at 30,267,000. On this basis wage earners were 3.5 percent organized in 1900 and 7 percent in 1910.[45] Leo Wolman submits more detailed figures for 1910. Excluding employers, the salaried group, agricultural and clerical workers, persons engaged in personal or domestic service, and those below twenty years of age (unorganizable workers), the organizable total was 11,490,944. With an estimated trade union strength of 2,116,317 for 1910 the percentage of the organized was 18.4.[46] Excluding only employers and salaried persons, his percentage was 7.7, which compares closely with Professor Barnett's. Of greater significance are Wolman's figures for organization by industries. These computations show that in 1910 the breweries had 88.8 percent, organized, printing and book binding 34.3 percent, mining 30.5 percent, transportation 17.3 percent, clothing 16.9 percent, building trades 16.2 percent, iron and steel 9.9 percent, metal 4.7 percent, and textile 3.7 percent.[47] By separate occupations, railway conductors, brakemen, and locomotive engineers were from 50-100 percent organized; printers, locomotive firemen, molders and plasterers, from 30-50 percent; bakers, carpenters, plumbers, from 15-30 percent organized.[48] Accompanying the numerical growth of labor organizations was an extension of organization into heretofore untouched trades as well as a branching out into new geographical regions, the South and the West. On the whole, however, though the Federation was not unmindful of the unskilled, still, during the fifteen years after 1898 it brought into its fold principally the upper strata of semi-skilled labor. Down to the "boom" period brought on by the World War, the Federation did not comprise to any great extent either the totally unskilled, or the partially skilled foreign-speaking workmen, with the exception of the miners and the clothing workers. In other words, those below the level of the skilled trades, which did gain admittance, were principally the same elements which had asserted their claim to organization during the stormy period of the Knights of Labor.[49] The new accretions to the American wage-earning class since the eighties, the East and South Europeans, on the one hand, and the ever-growing contingent of "floaters" of native and North and West European stock, on the other hand, were still largely outside the organization. The years of prosperity brought an intensified activity of the trade unions on a scale hitherto unknown. Wages were raised and hours reduced all along the line. The new strength of the trade unions received a brilliant test during the hard times following the financial panic of October 1907, when they successfully fought wage reductions. As good a test is found in the conquest of the shorter day. By 1900 the eight-hour day was the rule in the building trades, in granite cutting and in bituminous coal mining. The most spectacular and costly eight-hour fight was waged by the printers. In the later eighties and early nineties, the Typographical Union had endeavored to establish a nine-hour day in the printing offices. This was given a setback by the introduction of the linotype machine during the period of depression, 1893-1897. In spite of this obstacle, however, the Typographical Union held its ground. Adopting the policy that only journeymen printers must operate the linotype machines, the union was able to meet the situation. And, furthermore, in 1898, through agreement with the United Typothetæ of America, the national association of employers in book and job printing, the union was able to gain the nine-hour day in substantially all book and job offices. In 1903 the union demanded the eight-hour day in all printing offices to become effective January 1, 1906. To gain an advantage over the union, the United Typothetæ, late in the summer of 1905, locked out all its union men. This at once precipitated a strike for the eight-hour day. The American Federation of Labor levied a special assessment on all its members in aid of the strikers. By 1907 the Typographical Union won its demand all along the line, although at a tremendous cost of money running into several million dollars, and in 1909 the United Typothetæ formally conceded the eight-hour day. Another proof of trade union progress is found in the spread of trade agreements. The idea of a joint partnership of organized labor and organized capital in the management of industry, which, ever since the fifties, had been struggling for acceptance, finally showed definite signs of coming to be materialized. (1) _The Miners_ In no other industry has a union's struggle for "recognition" offered a richer and more instructive picture of the birth of the new order with its difficulties as well as its promises than in coal mining. Faced in the anthracite field[50] by a small and well knitted group of employers, generally considered a "trust," and by a no less difficult situation in bituminous mining due to cut-throat competition among the mine operators, the United Mine Workers have succeeded in a space of fifteen years in unionizing the one as well as the other; while at the same time successfully and progressively solving the gigantic internal problem of welding a polyglot mass of workers into a well disciplined and obedient army. The miners' union attained its first successes in the so-called central bituminous competitive field, including Western Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, and Illinois. In this field a beginning had been made in 1886 when the coal operators and the union entered into a collective agreement. However, its scope was practically confined to Ohio and even that limited agreement went under in 1890.[51] With the breakdown of this agreement, the membership dwindled so that by the time of a general strike in 1894, the total paid-up membership was barely 13,000. This strike was undertaken to restore the wage-scale of 1893, but during the ensuing years of depression wages were cut still further.[52] The turn came as suddenly as it was spectacular. In 1897, with a membership which had dropped to 10,000 and of which 7000 were in Ohio and with an empty treasury, the United Mine Workers called a general strike trusting to a rising market and to an awakened spirit of solidarity in the majority of the unorganized after four years of unemployment and distress. In fact the leaders had not miscalculated. One hundred thousand or more coal miners obeyed the order to go on a strike. In Illinois the union had but a handful of members when the strike started, but the miners struck to a man. The tie-up was practically complete except in West Virginia. That State had early become recognized as the weakest spot in the miners' union's armor. Notwithstanding the American Federation of Labor threw almost its entire force of organizers into that limited area, which was then only beginning to assume its present day importance in the coal mining industry, barely one-third of the miners were induced to strike. A contributing factor was a more energetic interference from the courts than in other States. All marching upon the highways and all assemblages of the strikers in large gatherings were forbidden by injunctions. On one occasion more than a score of men were sentenced to jail for contempt of court by Federal Judge Goff. The handicap in West Virginia was offset by sympathy and aid from other quarters. Many unions throughout the country and even the general public sent the striking miners financial aid. In Illinois Governor John R. Tanner refused the requests for militia made by several sheriffs. The general strike of 1897 ended in the central competitive field after a twelve-weeks' struggle. The settlement was an unqualified victory for the union. It conceded the miners a 20 percent increase in wages, the establishment of the eight-hour day, the abolition of company stores, semi-monthly payments, and a restoration of the system of fixing Interstate wage rates in annual joint conferences with the operators, which meant official recognition of the United Mine Workers. The operators in West Virginia, however, refused to come in. The first of these Interstate conferences was held in January, 1898, at which the miners were conceded a further increase in wages. In addition, the agreement, which was to run for two years, established for Illinois the run-of-mine[53] system of payment, while the size of the screens of other states was regulated; and it also conceded the miners the check-off system[54] in every district, save that of Western Pennsylvania.[55] Such a comprehensive victory would not have been possible had it not been for the upward trend which coal prices had taken. But great as was the union's newly discovered power, it was spread most unevenly over the central competitive field. Its firmest grip was in Illinois. The well-filled treasury of the Illinois district has many times been called upon for large contributions or loans, to enable the union to establish itself in some other field. The weakest hold of the United Mine Workers has been in West Virginia. At the end of the general strike of 1897, the West Virginia membership was only about 4000. Moreover, a further spread of the organization met with unusual obstacles. A large percentage of the miners of West Virginia are Negroes or white mountaineers. These have proven more difficult to organize than recent Southern and Eastern European immigrants, who formed the majority in the other districts. And yet West Virginia as a growing mining state soon assumed a high strategic importance. A lower wage scale, the better quality of its coal, and a comparative freedom from strikes have made West Virginia a formidable competitor of the other districts in the central competitive field. Consequently West Virginia operators have been able to operate their mines more days during the year than elsewhere; and despite the lower rates per ton, the West Virginia miners have earned but little less annually than union miners in other States. But above all the United Mine Workers have been handicapped in West Virginia as nowhere else by court interference in strikes and in campaigns of organization. In 1907 a temporary injunction was granted at the behest of the Hitchman Coal and Coke Company, a West Virginia concern, restraining union organizers from attempting to organize employes who signed agreements not to join the United Mine Workers while in the employ of the company. The injunction was made permanent in 1913. The decree of the District Court was reversed by the Circuit Court of Appeals in 1914, but was sustained by the United States Supreme Court in March 1917.[56] Recently the United States Steel Corporation became a dominant factor in West Virginia through its ownership of mines and lent additional strength to the already strong anti-union determination of the employers. Very early the United Mine Workers established a reputation for strict adherence to agreements made. This faithfulness to a pledged word, which justified itself even from the standpoint of selfish motive, in as much as it gained for the union public sympathy, was urged upon all occasions by John Mitchell, the national President of the Union. The first test came in 1899, when coal prices soared up rapidly after the joint conference had adjourned. Although they might have won higher wages had they struck, the miners observed their contracts. A more severe test came in 1902 during the great anthracite strike.[57] A special union convention was then held to consider whether the bituminous miners should be called out in sympathy with the hard pressed striking miners in the anthracite field. By a large majority, however, the convention voted not to strike in violation of the agreements made with the operators. The union again gave proof of statesmanly self-control when, in 1904, taking into account the depressed condition of industry, it accepted without a strike a reduction in wages in the central competitive field. However, as against the miners' conduct in these situations must be reckoned the many local strikes or "stoppages" in violation of agreements. The difficulty was that the machinery for the adjustment of local grievances was too cumbersome. In 1906 the trade agreement system encountered a new difficulty in the friction which developed between the operators of the several competitive districts. On the surface, the source of the friction was the attempt made by the Ohio and Illinois operators to organize a national coal operators' association to take the place of the several autonomous district organizations. The Pittsburgh operators, however, objected. They preferred the existing system of agreements under which each district organization possessed a veto power, since then they could keep the advantage over their competitors in Ohio and Indiana with which they had started under the original agreement of 1898. The miners in this emergency threw their power against the national operators' association. A suspension throughout most districts of the central competitive field followed. In the end, the miners won an increase in wages, but the Interstate agreement system was suspended, giving place to separate agreements for each district. In 1908 the situation of 1906 was repeated. This time the Illinois operators refused to attend the Interstate conference on the ground that the Interstate agreement severely handicapped Illinois. As said before, ever since 1897 payment in Illinois has been upon the run-of-mine basis; whereas in all other States of the central competitive field the miners were paid for screened coal only. With the operators of each State having one vote in the joint conference, it can be understood why the handicap against Illinois continued. Theoretically, of course, the Illinois operators might have voted against the acceptance of any agreement which gave an advantage to other States; however, against this weighed the fact that the union was strongest in Illinois. The Illinois operators, hence, preferred to deal separately with the United Mine Workers. Accordingly, an Interstate agreement was drawn up, applying only to Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. In 1910, the Illinois operators again refused to enter the Interstate conference, but this time the United Mine Workers insisted upon a return to the Interstate agreement system of 1898. On April 1, 1910, operations were suspended throughout the central competitive field. By July agreements had been secured in every State save Illinois, the latter State holding out until September. This long struggle in Illinois was the first real test of strength between the operators and the miners since 1897. The miners' victory made it inevitable that the Illinois operators should eventually reenter the Interstate conference. In 1912, after repeated conferences, the net result was the restoration of the Interstate agreement as it existed before 1906. The special burden of which the Illinois operators had been complaining was not removed; yet they were compelled by the union to remain a party to the Interstate agreement. The union justified its special treatment of the operators in Illinois on the ground that the run-of-mine rates were 40 percent below the screened coal rates, thus compensating them amply for the "slack" for which they had to pay under this system. The Federal report on "Restriction of Output" of 1904 substantiated the union's contention. Ultimately, the United Mine Workers unquestionably hoped to establish the run-of-mine system throughout the central competitive field. The union, incidentally to its policy of protecting the miners, has considerably affected the market or business structure of the industry. An outstanding policy of the union has been to equalize competitive costs over the entire area of a market by means of a system of grading tonnage rates paid to the miner, whereby competitive advantages of location, thickness of vein, and the like were absorbed in higher labor costs. This doubtless tended to eliminate cut-throat competition and thus stabilize the industry. On the other hand, it may have hindered the process of elimination of unprofitable mines, and therefore may be in some measure responsible for the present-day overdevelopment in the bituminous mining industry, which results in periodic unemployment and in idle mines. In the anthracite coal field in Eastern Pennsylvania the difficulties met by the United Mine Workers were at first far greater than in the bituminous branch of the industry. First, the working population was nearly all foreign-speaking, and the union thus lacked the fulcrum which it found in Illinois with its large proportion of English-speaking miners accustomed to organization and to carrying on a common purpose. Secondly, the employers, instead of being numerous and united only for joint dealing with labor, as in bituminous mining, were few in number besides being cemented together by a common selling policy on top of a common labor policy. In consequence, the union encountered a stone wall of opposition, which its loose ranks found for many years well-nigh impossible to overcome. During the general strike of 1897 the United Mine Workers made a beginning in organizing the anthracite miners. In September 1900, they called a general strike. Although at that time the union had only 8000 members in this region, the strike order was obeyed by over 100,000 miners; and within a few weeks the strike became truly general. Probably the union could not have won if it had to rely solely on economic strength. However, the impending Presidential election led to an interference by Senator Mark Hanna, President McKinley's campaign manager. Through him President John Mitchell of the United Mine Workers was informed that the operators would abolish the objectionable sliding scale system of wage payments, increase rates 10 percent and agree to meet committees of their employes for the adjustment of grievances. This, however, did not carry a formal recognition of the union; it was not a trade agreement but merely an unwritten understanding. A part of the same understanding was that the terms which had been agreed upon should remain in force until April, 1901. At its expiration the identical terms were renewed for another year, while the negotiations bore the same informal character. During 1902 the essential instability of the arrangement led to sharp friction. The miners claimed that many operators violated the unwritten agreement. The operators, on their part, charged that the union was using every means for practically enforcing the closed shop, which was not granted in the understanding. In the early months of 1902 the miners presented demands for a reduction of the hours of labor from 10 to 9, for a twenty percent increase in wages, for payment according to the weight of coal mined, and for the recognition of the union. The operators refused to negotiate, and on May 9 the famous anthracite strike of 1902 began. It is unnecessary to detail the events of the anthracite strike. No other strike is better known and remembered. More than 150,000 miners stood out for approximately five months. The strike was financed by a levy of one dollar per week upon all employed miners in the country, which yielded over $2,000,000. In addition several hundred thousand dollars came in from other trade unions and from the public generally. In October, when the country was facing a most serious coal famine, President Roosevelt took a hand. He called in the presidents of the anthracite railroads and the leading union officials for a conference in the White House and urged arbitration. At first he met with rebuff from the operators, but shortly afterward, with the aid of friendly pressure from New York financiers, the operators consented to accept the award of a commission to be appointed by himself. This was the well-known Anthracite Coal Strike Commission. Its appointment terminated the strike. Not until more than a half year later, however, was the award of the Commission made. It conceded the miners a 10 percent increase in wages, the eight and nine-hour day, and the privilege of having a union check-weighman at the scale where the coal sent up in cars by the miners is weighed. Recognition was not accorded the union, except that it was required to bear one-half of the expense connected with the maintenance of a joint arbitration board created by the Commission. When this award was announced there was much dissatisfaction with it among the miners. President Mitchell, however, put forth every effort to have the union accept the award. Upon a referendum vote the miners accepted his view. The anthracite coal strike of 1902 was doubtless the most important single event in the history of American trade unionism until that time and has since scarcely been surpassed. To be sure, events like the great railway strike of 1877 and the Chicago Anarchist bomb and trial in 1886-1887 had equally forced the labor question into public attention. What distinguished the anthracite coal strike, however, was that for the first time a labor organization tied up for months a strategic industry and caused wide suffering and discomfort to the public without being condemned as a revolutionary menace to the existing social order calling for suppression by the government; it was, on the contrary, adjudged a force within the preserves of orderly society and entitled to public sympathy. The public identified the anthracite employers with the trust movement, which was then new and seemingly bent upon uprooting the traditional free American social order; by contrast, the striking miners appeared almost as champions of Old America. A strong contributory factor was the clumsy tactics of the employers who played into the hands of the leaders of the miners. The latter, especially John Mitchell, conducted their case with great skill. Yet the award of the Commission fell considerably short of what the union and its sympathizers outside the ranks of labor hoped for. For by refusing to grant formal recognition, the Commission failed to constitute unionism into a publicly recognized agency in the management of industry and declared by implication that the role of unionism ended with a presentation of grievances and complaints. For ten years after the strike of 1902 the union failed to develop the strength in the anthracite field which many believed would follow. Certain proof of the weakness of the union is furnished by the fact that the wage-scale in that field remained stationary until 1912 despite a rising cost of living. The wages of the anthracite miners in 1912 were slightly higher than in 1902, because coal prices had increased and the Anthracite Coal Strike Commission had reestablished a sliding scale system of tonnage rates. A great weakness, while the union still struggled for existence, was the lack of the "check-off." Membership would swell immediately before the expiration of the agreement but diminish with restoration of quiet. With no immediate outlook for a strike the Slav and Italian miners refused to pay union dues. The original award was to be in force until April 1, 1906. In June, 1905, the union membership was less than 39,000. But by April 1, 1906, one-half of the miners were in the union. A month's suspension of operations followed. Early in May the union and the operators reached an agreement to leave the award of the Anthracite Coal Strike Commission in force for another three years. The following three years brought a duplication of the developments of 1903-1906. Again membership fell off only to return in the spring of 1909. Again the union demanded formal recognition, and again it was refused. Again the original award was extended for three more years. In the winter of 1912, when the time for renewing the agreement again drew near, the entire membership in the three anthracite districts was slightly above 29,000. Nevertheless, the union demanded a twenty percent raise, a complete recognition of the union, the check-off, and yearly agreements, in addition to a more expeditious system of settling local grievances to replace the slow and cumbersome joint arbitration boards provided by the award of the Commission. A strike of 180,000 anthracite miners followed on April 1, 1912, during which the operators made no attempt to run their mines. The strike ended within a month on the basis of the abolition of the sliding scale, a wage increase of approximately 10 percent, and a revision of the arbitration machinery in local disputes. This was coupled with a somewhat larger degree of recognition, but by no means a complete recognition. Nor was the check-off system granted. Strangest of all, the agreement called for a four-year contract, as against a one-year contract originally demanded by the union. In spite of the opposition of local leaders, the miners accepted the agreement. President White's chief plea for acceptance was the need to rebuild the union before anything ambitious could be attempted. After 1912 the union entered upon the work of organization in earnest. In the following two years the membership was more than quadrupled. With the stopping of immigration due to the European War, the power of the union was greatly increased. Consequently, in 1916, when the agreement was renewed, the miners were accorded not only a substantial wage increase and the eight-hour day but also full recognition. The United Mine Workers have thus at last succeeded in wresting a share of industrial control from one of the strongest capitalistic powers of the country; while demonstrating beyond doubt that, with intelligent preparation and with sympathetic treatment, the polyglot immigrant masses from Southern and Eastern Europe, long thought to be impervious to the idea of labor organization, can be changed into reliable material for unionism. The growth of the union in general is shown by the following figures. In 1898 it was 33,000; in 1900, 116,000; in 1903, 247,000; in 1908, 252,000; and in 1913, 378,000.[58] (2) _The Railway Men_ The railway men are divided into three groups. One group comprises the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, the Order of Railroad Conductors, the Brotherhood of Firemen and Enginemen, and the Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen. These are the oldest and strongest railway men's organizations and do not belong to the American Federation of Labor. A second group are the shopmen, comprising the International Association of Machinists; the International Brotherhood of Blacksmiths, Drop Forgers, and Helpers; the Brotherhood of Railway Carmen of America; the Amalgamated Sheet Metal Workers' International Alliance; the Brotherhood of Boilermakers and Iron Ship Builders and Helpers of America; the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers; and the International Brotherhood of Stationary Firemen and Oilers. A third and more miscellaneous group are the Brotherhood of Railway Clerks, the Order of Railway Telegraphers, the Switchmen's Union of North America, the International Brotherhood of Maintenance of Way Employes and Railroad Shop Laborers, and the Brotherhood of Railway Signalmen. The organizations comprised in the latter two groups belong to the American Federation of Labor. For the period from 1898 to the outbreak of the War, the organizations, popularly known as the "brotherhoods," namely, those of the engineers, conductors, firemen, and trainmen, are of outstanding importance. The brotherhoods were unique among American labor organizations in that for many years they practically reproduced in most of their features the sort of unionism typified by the great "Amalgamated" unions of the fifties and sixties in England.[59] Like these unions the brotherhoods stressed mutual insurance and benefits and discouraged when they did not actually prohibit striking. It should, however, be added that the emphasis on insurance was due not to "philosophy," but to the practical consideration that, owing to the extra hazardous nature of their occupations, the men could get no insurance protection from ordinary commercial insurance companies. By the end of the eighties the brotherhoods began to press energetically for improvements in employment conditions and found the railways not disinclined to grant their demands in a measure. This was due in great measure to the strategic position of these trades, which have it in their power completely to tie up the industry when on strike, causing enormous losses to the carriers.[60] Accordingly, they were granted wages which fairly placed them among the lower professional groups in society as well as other privileges, notably "seniority" in promotion, that is promotion based on length of service and not on a free selection by the officials. Seniority was all the more important since the train personnel service is so organized that each employe will pass several times in the regular course of his career from a lower to a higher rung on the industrial ladder.[61] For instance, a typical passenger train engineer starts as fireman on a freight train, advances to a fireman on a passenger train, then to engineer on a freight train, and finally to engineer on a passenger train. A similar sequence is arranged in advancing from brakeman to conductor. Along with seniority the brotherhoods received the right of appeal in cases of discharge, which has done much to eliminate discrimination. Since they were enjoying such exceptional advantages relative to income, to the security of the job, and to the stability of their organization, it is not surprising, in view of the limited class solidarity among American laboring men in general, that these groups of workers should have chosen to stand alone in their wage bargaining and that their refusal to enter "entangling alliances" with other less favored groups should have gone even to the length of staying out of the American Federation of Labor. This condition of relative harmony between employer and employe, notwithstanding the energetic bargaining, continued for about fifteen years until it was disturbed by factors beyond the control of either railway companies or brotherhoods. The steady rise in the cost of living forced the brotherhoods to intensify their demands for increased wages. At the same time an ever tightening regulation of railway rates by the Federal government since 1906 practically prevented a shift of increased costs to the shipper. "Class struggles" on the railways began in earnest. The new situation was brought home to the brotherhoods in the course of several wage arbitration cases in which they figured.[62] The outcome taught them that the public will give them only limited support in their efforts to maintain their real income at the old high level compared with other classes of workers. A most important case arose from a "concerted movement" in 1912[63] of the engineers and firemen on the 52 Eastern roads for higher wages. Two separate arbitration boards were appointed. The engineers' board consisted of seven members, one each for the interests involved and five representing the public. The award was unsatisfactory to the engineers, first, because of the meager raise in wages and, second, because it contained a strong plea to Congress and the country to have all wages of all railway employes fixed by a government commission, which implied a restriction of the right to strike. The award in the firemen's case, which was decided practically simultaneously with the engineers', failed to satisfy either side. The conductors and trainmen on the Eastern roads were next to move "in concert" for increased wages. The roads refused and the brotherhoods decided by a good majority to quit work. This threatened strike occasioned the passage of the so-called Newlands bill as an amendment to the Erdman Act, with increased powers to the government in mediation and with more specified conditions relative to the work of the arbitration boards chosen for each occasion. Whereupon both sides agreed to submit to arbitration. The award allowed an increase in wages of seven percent, or less than one-half of that demanded, but disallowed a plea made by the men for uniformity of the wage scales East and West, and denied the demanded time and a half for overtime. The men accepted but the decision added to their growing opposition to the principle of arbitration. Another arbitration case, in 1914, involving the engineers and firemen on the Western roads led the brotherhoods to come out openly against arbitration. The award was signed only by the representatives on the board of the employers and the public. A characteristic aftermath of this case was an attack made by the unions upon one of the "neutrals" on the board. His impartiality was questioned because of his relations with several concerns which owned large amounts of railroad securities. Therefore, when in 1916 the four brotherhoods together demanded the eight-hour day, they categorically refused to consider arbitration.[64] The evolution to a fighting unionism had become complete. While the brotherhoods of the train service personnel were thus shifting their tactics, they kept drawing nearer to the position held by the other unions in the railway service. These had rarely had the good fortune to bask in the sunshine of their employers' approval and "recognition." Some railways, of the more liberal sort, made agreements with the machinists and with the other shop unions. On the whole, however, the hold of these organizations upon their industry was of a precarious sort. To meet their strong opponents on a basis nearer to equality, they started about 1904 a movement for "system federations,"[65] that is, federations of all organized trades through the length of a given railway system as, for instance, the Pennsylvania Railroad or the Illinois Central Railroad. In turn the creation of system federations sharpened the employers' antagonism. Some railway systems, like the Illinois Central, might be willing to enter into agreements with the separate crafts, but refused to deal with a federation of crafts. In 1912, stimulated by a dispute on the Illinois Central Railroad and on the Harriman lines in general, involving the issue of system federations, a Federation of System Federations was formed by forty systems upon an aggressive program. In 1908 a weak and rather tentative Railway Employes' Department had been launched by the American Federation of Labor. The Federation of Federations was thus a rival organization and "illegal" or, at best, "extra-legal" from the standpoint of the American Federation of Labor. The situation, however, was too acute to permit the consideration of "legality" to enter. An adjustment was made and the Federation of System Federations was "legitimatized" through fusion with the "Department," to which it gave its constitution, officers, and fighting purpose, and from which it took only its name. This is the now well-known Railway Employes' Department of the American Federation of Labor (embracing all important national unions of the railway workers excepting the four brotherhoods), and which, as we shall see, came into its own when the government took over the railways from their private owners eight months after America's entry into the World War. (3) _The Machinery and Metal Trades_ Unlike the miners and the railway brotherhoods, the unions in the machinery and metal trades met with small success in their efforts for "recognition" and trade agreements. The outstanding unions in the industry are the International Association of Machinists and the International Molders' Union, with a half dozen smaller and very small unions.[66] The molders' International united in the same union the stove molders, who as was seen had been "recognized" in 1891, and the molders of parts of machinery and other foundry products. The latter found the National Founders' Association as their antagonist or potential "co-partner" in the industry. The upward swing in business since 1898, combined with the growth of trade unionism and with the successful negotiation of the Interstate agreement in the soft coal mining industry, created an atmosphere favorable to trade agreements. For a time "recognition" and its implications seemed to all concerned, the employer, the unions, and the public, a sort of cure-all for industrial disputes. Accordingly, in March 1899, the National Founders' Association (organized in the previous year and comprising foundrymen engaged principally in machinery manufacturing and jobbing) and the International Molders' Union of North America met and drew up the following tersely worded agreement which became known as the New York Agreement: "That in event of a dispute arising between members of the respective organizations, a reasonable effort shall be made by the parties directly at interest to effect a satisfactory adjustment of the difficulty; failing to do which, either party shall have the right to ask its reference to a Committee of Arbitration which shall consist of the President of the National Founders' Association and the President of the Iron Molders' Union or their representatives, and two other representatives from each organization appointed by the respective Presidents. "The finding of this Committee of Arbitration by majority vote shall be considered final in so far as the future action of the respective organizations is concerned. "Pending settlement by the Committee, there shall be no cessation of work at the instance of either party to the dispute. The Committee of Arbitration shall meet within two weeks after reference of dispute to them." The agreement was a triumph for the principle of pure conciliation as distinct from arbitration by a third party. Both sides preferred to run the risk of a possible deadlock in the conciliation machinery to throwing decisions into the hands of an umpire, who would be an uncertain quantity both as regards special bias and understanding of the industry. The initial meeting of the arbitration committee was held in Cleveland, in May 1899, to consider the demand by the unions at Worcester, Massachusetts, and Providence, Rhode Island, for a minimum wage which the employers had refused. In each city one member of the National Founders' Association was involved and the men in these firms went to work pending the arbitration decision, while the others stayed out on strike. The meeting ended inauspiciously. The founders and molders seemed not to be able to settle their difficulties. Each side stood fast on its own principles and the arbitration committees regularly became deadlocked. The question of a minimum wage was the most important issue. From 1899 to 1902 several joint conventions were held to discuss the wage question. In 1899 a settlement was made, which, however, proved of short duration. In November 1902, the two organizations met, differed, and arranged for a sub-committee to meet in March 1903. The sub-committee met but could reach no agreement. The two organizations clashed also on the question of apprentices. The founders contended that, because there were not enough molders to fill the present demand, the union restrictions as to the employment of apprentices should be removed. The union argued that a removal of the restriction would cause unlimited competition among molders and eventually the founders could employ them at their own price. They likewise failed to agree on the matter of classifying molders. Owing to the stalling of the conciliation machinery many strikes occurred in violation at least of the spirit of the agreement. July 1, 1901, the molders struck in Cleveland for an increase in wages; arbitration committees were appointed but failed to make a settlement. In Chicago and San Francisco strikes occurred for the same reason. It was at last becoming evident that the New York agreement was not working well. In the autumn of 1903 business prosperity reached its high watermark and then came a sharp depression which lessened the demand for molders. Early in 1904 the National Founders' Association took advantage of this situation to reduce wages and finally practically abrogated the New York agreement. In April, 1904, the founders and molders tried to reach a decision as to how the agreement could be made effective, but gave it up after four days and nights of constant consideration. The founders claimed that the molders violated the agreement in 54 out of the 96 cases that came up during the five years of its life; and further justified their action on the ground that the union persistently refused to submit to arbitration by an impartial outsider the issues upon which the agreement was finally wrecked. An agreement similar to the New York one was concluded in 1900 between the National Metal Trades' Association and the International Association of Machinists. The National Metal Trades' Association had been organized in 1899 by members of the National Founders' Association, whose foundries formed only a part of their manufacturing plants. The spur to action was given by a strike called by the machinists in Chicago and other cities for the nine-hour day. After eight weeks of intense struggle the Association made a settlement granting a promise of the shorter day. Although hailed as one of the big agreements in labor history, it lasted only one year, and broke up on the issue of making the nine-hour day general in the Association shops. The machinists continued to make numerous agreements with individual firms, especially the smaller ones, but the general agreement was never renewed. Thereafter the National Metal Trades' Association became an uncompromising enemy of organized labor. In the following ten years both molders and machinists went on fighting for control and engaged in strikes with more or less success. But the industry as a whole never again came so near to embracing the idea of a joint co-partnership between organized capital and labor as in 1900. (4) _The Employers' Reaction_ With the disruption of the agreement systems in the machinery producing and foundry industries, the idea of collective bargaining and union recognition suffered a setback; and the employers' uneasiness, which had already steadily been feeding on the unions' mounting pressure for control, now increased materially. As long, however, as business remained prosperous and a rising demand for labor favored the unions, most of the agreements were permitted to continue. Therefore, it was not until the industrial depression of 1907-1908 had freed the employers' hands that agreements were disrupted wholesale. In 1905 the Structural Erectors' Association discontinued its agreements with the Structural Iron Workers' Union, causing a dispute which continued over many years. In the course of this dispute the union replied to the victorious assaults of the employers by tactics of violence and murder, which culminated in the fatal explosion in the _Los Angeles Times_ Building in 1911. In 1906 the employing lithographers discontinued their national agreement with the lithographers' union. In 1907 the United Typothetæ broke with the pressmen, and the stove founders with the stove mounters and stove polishers. In 1908 the agreements between the Lake Carriers and Lumber Carriers (both operating on the Great Lakes) and the seafaring and water front unions were terminated. In the operation of these unsuccessful agreements the most serious stumbling blocks were the union "working rules," that is to say, the restrictive rules which unions strove to impose on employers in the exercise of their managerial powers in the shop, and for which the latter adopted the sinister collective designation of "restriction of output." Successful trade unionism has always pressed "working rules" on the employer. As early as the first decade of the nineteenth century, the trade societies then existing tried to impose on the masters the closed shop and restrictions on apprenticeship along with higher wages and shorter hours. As a union advances from an ephemeral association to a stable organization more and more the emphasis is shifted from wages to working rules. Unionists have discovered that on the whole wages are the unstable factor, going up or down, depending on fluctuating business conditions and cost of living; but that once they have established their power by making the employer accept their working rules, high wages will ultimately follow. These working rules are seldom improvisations of the moment, but, crude and one-sided as they often are, they are the product of a long labor experience and have taken many years to be shaped and hammered out. Since their purpose is protective, they can best be classified with reference to the particular thing in the workingman's life which they are designed to protect: the standard of living of the trade group, health, the security of the worker's job, equal treatment in the shop and an equal chance with other workmen in promotion, the bargaining power of the trade group, as a whole, and the safety of the union from the employer's attempts to undermine it. We shall mention only a few of these rules by way of illustration. Thus all rules relating to methods of wage payment, like the prohibition of piece work and of bonus systems (including those associated with scientific management systems), are primarily devices to protect the wage earner's rate of pay against being "nibbled away" by the employer; and in part also to protect his health against undue exertion. Other rules like the normal (usually the eight-hour) day with a higher rate for overtime; the rule demanding a guarantee of continuous employment for a stated time or a guarantee of minimum earnings, regardless of the quantity of work available in the shop; again the demand for the sharing of work in slack times among all employes; and further, when layoffs become necessary, the demand of recognition by the employer of a right to continuous employment based on "seniority" in the shop;--all these have for their common aim chiefly the protection of the job. Another sort of rules, like the obstruction to the splitting up of trades and the restrictions on apprenticeship, have in view the protection of the bargaining power of the craft group--through artificially maintaining an undiminished demand for skilled labor, as well as through a reduction of the number of competitors, present and future, for jobs. The protection of the union against the employer's designs, actual or potential, is sought by an insistence on the closed union shop, by the recognition of the right of appeal to grievance boards in cases of discharge to prevent anti-union discrimination, and through establishing a seniority right in promotion which binds the worker's allegiance to his union rather than to the employer. With these rigid rules, partly already enforced on the employer by strikes or threats to strike and partly as yet unrealized but energetically pushed, trade unionism enters the stage of the trade agreement. The problem of industrial government then becomes one of steady adjustment of the conflicting claims of employer and union for the province of shop control staked out by these working rules. When the two sides are approximately equal in bargaining strength (and lasting agreements are possible only when this condition obtains), a promising line of compromise, as recent experience has shown, has been to extend to the unions and their members in some form that will least obstruct shop efficiency the very same kind of guarantees which they strive to obtain through rules of their own making. For instance, an employer might induce a union to give up or agree to mitigate its working rules designed to protect the job by offering a _quid pro quo_ in a guarantee of employment for a stated number of weeks during the year; and likewise, a union might hope to counteract the employer's natural hankering for being "boss in his own business," free of any union working rules, only provided it guaranteed him a sufficient output per unit of labor time and wage investment. However, compromises of this sort are pure experiments even at present--fifteen to twenty years after the dissolution of those agreements; and they certainly require more faith in government by agreement and more patience than one could expect in the participants in these earlier agreements. It is not surprising, therefore, that the short period of agreements after 1898 should in many industries have formed but a prelude to an "open-shop" movement.[67] After their breach with the union, the National Founders' Association and the National Metal Trades' Association have gone about the business of union wrecking in a systematic way. They have maintained a so-called "labor bureau," furnishing men to their members whenever additional help was needed, and keeping a complete card system record of every man in the employ of members. By this system occasion was removed for employers communicating with the business agents of the various unions when new men were wanted. The associations have had in their regular pay a large number of non-union men, or "strike-breakers," who were sent to the shop of any member whose employes were on strike. In addition to these and other national organizations, the trade unions were attacked by a large and important class of local employers' associations. The most influential association of this class was the Employers' Association of Dayton, Ohio. This association had a standing strike committee which, in trying to break a strike, was authorized to offer rewards to the men who continued at work, and even to compensate the employer for loss of production to the limit of one dollar per day for each man on strike. Also a system was adopted of issuing cards to all employes, which the latter, in case of changing employment, were obliged to present to the new employer and upon which the old employer inscribed his recommendation. The extreme anti-unionism of the Dayton Association is best attested by its policy of taking into membership employers who were threatened with strikes, notwithstanding the heavy financial obligations involved. Another class of local associations were the "Citizens' Alliances," which did not restrict membership to employers but admitted all citizens, the only qualification being that the applicant be not a member of any labor organization. These organizations were frequently started by employers and secured cooperation of citizens generally. In some places there were two associations, an employers' and a Citizens' Alliance. A good example of this was the Citizens' Alliances of Denver, Colorado, organized in 1903. These "Citizens' Alliances," being by virtue of mixed membership more than a mere employers' organization, claimed in time of strikes to voice the sentiment of the community in general. So much for the employers' counter attacks on trade unions on the strictly industrial front. But there were also a legal front and a political front. In 1902 was organized the American Anti-Boycott Association, a secret body composed mainly of manufacturers. The purpose of the organization was to oppose by legal proceedings the boycotts of trade unions, and to secure statutory enactments against the boycott. The energies of the association have been devoted mainly to taking certain typical cases to the courts in order thereby to create legal precedents. The famous Danbury Hatters' Case, in which the Sherman Anti-Trust law was invoked against the hatters' union, was fought in the courts by this Association. The employers' fight on the political front was in charge of the National Association of Manufacturers. This association was originally organized in 1895 for the pursuit of purely trade interests, but about 1903, under the influence of the Dayton, Ohio, group of employers, turned to combating trade unions. It closely cooperated with other employers' associations in the industrial and legal field, but its chief efforts lay in the political or legislative field, where it has succeeded through clever lobbying and manipulations in nullifying labor's political influence, especially in Congress. The National Association of Manufacturers saw to it that Congress and State Legislatures might not weaken the effect of court orders, injunctions and decisions on boycotts, closed shop, and related matters. The "open-shop movement" in its several aspects, industrial, legal, and political, continued strong from 1903 to 1909. Nevertheless, despite most persistent effort and despite the opportunity offered by the business depression which followed the financial panic of 1907, the results were not remarkable. True, it was a factor in checking the rapid rate of expansion of unionism, but it scarcely compelled a retrogression from ground already conquered. It is enough to point out that the unions managed to prevent wage reductions in the organized trades notwithstanding the unemployment and distress of 1907-1908. On the whole trade unionism held its own against employers in strictly competitive industry. Different, however, was the outcome in industries in which the number of employers had been reduced by monopolistic or semi-monopolistic mergers. The steel industry is the outstanding instance.[68] The disastrous Homestead strike of 1892[69] had eliminated unionism from the steel plants of Pittsburgh. However, the Carnegie Steel Company was only a highly efficient and powerful corporation, not yet a "trust." The panic of 1893 dealt another blow to the Amalgamated Association of Iron & Steel Workers. The steel mills of Alleghany County, outside Pittsburgh, were all put upon a non-union basis before 1900. In Pittsburgh, the iron mills, too, became non-union between 1890 and 1900. There remained to the organization only the iron mills west of Pittsburgh, the large steel mills of Illinois, and a large proportion of the sheet, tin, and iron hoop mills of the country. In 1900 there began to be whisperings of a gigantic consolidation in the steel industry. The Amalgamated officials were alarmed. In any such combination the Carnegie Steel Company, an old enemy of unionism, would easily be first and would, they feared, insist on driving the union out of every mill in the combination. Then it occurred to President Shaffer and his associates that it might be a propitious time to press for recognition while the new corporation was forming. Anxious for public confidence and to float their securities, the companies could not afford a labor controversy. Accordingly, when the new scales were to be signed in July 1901, the Amalgamated Association demanded of the American Tin Plate Company that it sign a scale not only for those mills that had been regarded as union but for all of its mills. This was agreed, provided the American Sheet Steel Company would agree to the same. The latter company refused, and a strike was started against the American Tin Plate Company, the American Sheet Steel Company, and the American Steel Hoop Company. In conferences held on July 11, 12, and 13 these companies offered to sign for all tin mills but one, for all the sheet mills that had been signed for in the preceding year and for four other mills that had been non-union, and for all the hoop mills that had been signed for in the preceding year. This highly advantageous offer was foolishly rejected by the representatives of the union; they demanded all the mills or none. The strike then went on in earnest. In August, President Shaffer called on all the men working in mills of the United States Steel Corporation to come out on strike. By the middle of August it was evident that the Association had made a mistake. Instead of finding their task easier because the United States Steel Corporation had just been formed, they found that corporation ready to bring all its tremendous power to bear against the organization. President Shaffer offered to arbitrate the whole matter, but the proposal was rejected; and at the end of August the strike was declared at an end. The steel industry was apparently closed to unionism.[70] (5) _Legislation, Courts, and Politics_ While trade unionism was thus on the whole holding its ground against the employers and even winning victories and recognition, its influence on National and State legislation failed for many years to reflect its growing economic strength. The scant success with legislation resulted, on the one hand, from the very expansion of the Federation into new fields, which absorbed nearly all its means and energy; but was due in a still greater measure to a solidification of capitalist control in the Republican party and in Congress, against which President Roosevelt directed his spectacular campaign. A good illustration is furnished by the attempt to get a workable eight-hour law on government work. In the main the leaders of the Federation placed slight reliance upon efforts to shorten the working day through legislation. The movement for shorter hours by law for women, which first attained importance in the nineties, was not the work of organized labor but of humanitarians and social workers. To be sure, the Federation has supported such laws for women and children workers, but so far as adult male labor was concerned, it has always preferred to leave the field clear for the trade unions. The exception to the rule was the working day on public work. The Federal eight-hour day law began to receive attention from the Federation towards the end of the eighties. By that time the status of the law of 1868 which decreed the eight-hour day on Federal government work[71] had been greatly altered. In a decision rendered in 1887 the Supreme Court held that the eight-hour day law of 1868 was merely directory to the officials of the Federal government, but did not invalidate contracts made by them not containing an eight-hour clause. To counteract this decision a special law was passed in 1888, with the support of the Federation, establishing the eight-hour day in the United States Printing Office and for letter carriers. In 1892 a new general eight-hour law was passed, which provided that eight-hours should be the length of the working day on all public works of the United States, whether directed by the government or under contract or sub-contract. Within the next few years interpretations rendered by attorney generals of the United States practically rendered the law useless. In 1895 the Federation began to press in earnest for a satisfactory eight-hour law. In 1896 its eight-hour bill passed the House of Representatives unanimously. In the Senate it was introduced by Senator Kyle, the chairman of the committee on Education and Labor. After its introduction, however, hearings upon the bill were delayed so long that action was prevented during the long session. In the short session of 1898-1899 the bill met the cruel fate of having its introducer, Senator Kyle, submit a minority report against it. Under the circumstances no vote upon the bill could be had in the Senate. In the next Congress, 1899-1901, the eight-hour bill once more passed the House of Representatives only to be lost in the Senate by failure to come to a vote. In 1902, the bill again unanimously passed the House, but was not even reported upon by the Senate committee. In the hearings upon the eight-hour bill in that year the opposition of the National Manufacturers' Association was first manifested. In 1904 the House Labor Committee sidetracked a similar bill by recommending that the Department of Commerce and Labor should investigate its merits. Secretary Metcalf, however, declared that the questions submitted to his Department with reference to the eight-hour bill were "well-nigh unintelligible." In 1906 the House Labor Committee, at a very late stage in the session, reported "favorably" upon the eight-hour bill. At the same time it eliminated all chances of passage of the bill through the failure of a majority of the members of the committee to sign the "favorable" report made. This session of Congress, also, allowed a "rider" to be added to the Panama Canal bill, exempting the canal construction from the provisions of the eight-hour law. In the next two Congresses no report could be obtained from the labor committees of either House upon the general eight-hour day bill, despite the fact that President Roosevelt and later President Taft recommended such legislation. In the sessions of the Congress of 1911-1913 the American Federation of Labor hit upon a new plan. This was the attachment of "riders" to departmental appropriation bills requiring that all work contracted for by these departments must be done under the eight-hour system. The most important "rider" of this character was that attached to the naval appropriation bill. Under its provisions the Attorney-General held that in all work done in shipyards upon vessels built for the Federal government the eight-hour rule must be applied. Finally, in June 1912, a Democratic House and a Republican Senate passed the eight-hour bill supported by the American Federation of Labor with some amendments, which the Federation did not find seriously objectionable; and President Taft signed it. Still better proof of the slight influence of the Federation upon government is furnished by the vicissitudes of its anti-injunction bills in Congress. The Federation had been awakened to the seriousness of the matter of the injunction by the Debs case. A bill of its sponsoring providing for jury trials in "indirect" contempt cases passed the Senate in 1896 only to be killed in the House. In 1900 only eight votes were recorded in the House against a bill exempting labor unions from the Sherman Anti-Trust Act; it failed, however, of passage in the Senate. In 1902 an anti-injunction bill championed by the American Federation of Labor passed the House of Representatives. That was the last time, however, for many years to come when such a bill was even reported out of committee. Thereafter, for a decade, the controlling powers in Congress had their faces set against removal by law of the judicial interference in labor's use of its economic strength against employers. In the meantime, however, new court decisions made the situation more and more critical. A climax was reached in 1908-1909. In February 1908, came the Supreme Court decision in the Danbury Hatters' case, which held that members of a labor union could be held financially responsible to the full amount of their individual property under the Sherman Anti-Trust Act for losses to business occasioned by an interstate boycott.[72] By way of contrast, the Supreme Court within the same week held unconstitutional the portion of the Erdman Act which prohibited discrimination by railways against workmen on account of their membership in a union.[73] One year later, in the Buck's Stove and Range Company boycott case, Gompers, Mitchell, and Morrison, the three most prominent officials of the American Federation of Labor, were sentenced by a lower court in the District of Columbia to long terms in prison for violating an injunction which prohibited all mention of the fact that the plaintiff firm had ever been boycotted.[74] Even though neither these nor subsequent court decisions had the paralyzing effect upon American trade unionism which its enemies hoped for and its friends feared, the situation called for a change in tactics. It thus came about that the Federation, which, as was seen, by the very principles of its program wished to let government alone,--as it indeed expected little good of government,--was obliged to enter into competition with the employers for controlling government; this was because one branch of the government, namely the judicial one, would not let it alone. A growing impatience with Congress was manifested in resolutions adopted by successive conventions. In 1902 the convention authorized the Executive Council to take "such further steps as will secure the nomination--and the election--of only such men as are fully and satisfactorily pledged to the support of the bills" championed by the Federation. Accordingly, the Executive Council prepared a series of questions to be submitted to all candidates for Congress in 1904 by the local unions of each district. The Federation was more active in the Congressional election of 1906. Early in the year the Executive Council urged affiliated unions to use their influence to prevent the nomination in party primaries or conventions of candidates for Congress who refused to endorse labor's demands, and where both parties nominated refractory candidates to run independent labor candidates. The labor campaign was placed in the hands of a Labor Representation Committee, which made use of press publicity and other standard means. Trade union speakers were sent into the districts of the most conspicuous enemies of labor's demands to urge their defeat. The battle royal was waged against Congressman Littlefield of Maine. A dozen union officials, headed by President Gompers, invaded his district to tell the electorate of his insults to organized labor. However, he was reelected, although with a reduced plurality over the preceding election. The only positive success was the election of McDermott of the commercial telegraphers' union in Chicago. President Gompers, however, insisted that the cutting down of the majorities of the conspicuous enemies of labor's demands gave "more than a hint" of what organized labor "can and may do when thoroughly prepared to exercise its political strength." Nevertheless the next Congress was even more hostile than the preceding one. The convention of the Federation following the election approved the new tactics, but was careful at the same time to declare that the Federation was neither allied with any political party nor had any intention of forming an independent labor party. In the Presidential election of 1908, however, the Federation virtually entered into an alliance with the Democrats. At a "Protest Conference" in March, 1908, attended by the executive officers of most of the affiliated national unions as well as by the representatives of several farmers' organizations, the threat was uttered that organized labor would make a determined effort in the coming campaign to defeat its enemies, whether "candidates for President, for Congress, or other offices." The next step was the presentation of the demands of the Federation to the platform committees of the conventions of both parties. The wording of the proposed anti-injunction plank suggests that it had been framed after consultation with the Democratic leaders, since it omitted to demand the sweeping away of the doctrine of malicious conspiracy or the prohibition of the issuance of injunctions to protect business rights, which had regularly been asked by the American Federation of Labor since 1904. In its place was substituted an indefinite statement against the issuance of injunctions in labor disputes where none would be allowed if no labor dispute existed and a declaration in favor of jury trial on the charge of contempt of court. The Republicans paid scant attention to the planks of the Federation. Their platform merely reiterated the recognized law upon the allowance of equity relief; and as if to leave no further doubt in the minds of the labor leaders, proceeded to nominate for President, William H. Taft, who as a Federal judge in the early nineties was responsible for some of the most sweeping injunctions ever issued in labor disputes. A year earlier Gompers had characterized Taft as "the injunction standard-bearer" and as an impossible candidate. The Democratic platform, on the other hand, _verbatim_ repeated the Federation plank on the injunction question and nominated Bryan. After the party conventions had adjourned the _American Federationist_ entered on a vigorous attack upon the Republican platform and candidate. President Gompers recognized that this was equivalent to an endorsement of Bryan, but pleaded that "in performing a solemn duty at this time in support of a political party, labor does not become partisan to a political party, but partisan to a principle." Substantially, all prominent non-Socialist trade-union officials followed Gompers' lead. That the trade unionists did not vote solidly for Bryan, however, is apparent from the distribution of the vote. On the other hand, it is true that the Socialist vote in 1908 in almost all trade-union centers was not materially above that of 1904, which would seem to warrant the conclusion that Gompers may have "delivered to Bryan" not a few labor votes which would otherwise have gone to Debs. In the Congressional election of 1910 the Federation repeated the policy of "reward your friends, and punish your enemies." However, it avoided more successfully the appearance of partisanship. Many progressive Republicans received as strong support as did Democratic candidates. Nevertheless the Democratic majority in the new House meant that the Federation was at last "on the inside" of one branch of the government. In addition, fifteen men holding cards of membership in unions, were elected to Congress, which was the largest number on record. Furthermore William B. Wilson, Ex-Secretary of the United Mine Workers, was appointed chairman of the important House Committee on Labor. The Congress of 1911-1913 with its Democratic House of Representatives passed a large portion of the legislation which the Federation had been urging for fifteen years. It passed an eight-hour law on government contract work, as already noted, and a seaman's bill, which went far to grant to the sailors the freedom of contract enjoyed by other wage earners. It created a Department of Labor with a seat in the Cabinet. It also attached a "rider" to the appropriation bill for the Department of Justice enjoining the use of any of the funds for purposes of prosecuting labor organizations under the Sherman Anti-Trust Law and other Federal laws. In the presidential campaign of 1912 Gompers pointed to the legislation favorable to labor initiated by the Democratic House of Representatives and let the workers draw their own conclusions. The corner stone of the Federation's legislative program, the legal exemption of trade unions from the operation of anti-trust legislation and from court interference in disputes by means of injunctions, was yet to be laid. By inference, therefore, the election of a Democratic administration was the logical means to that end. At last, with the election of Woodrow Wilson as President and of a Democratic Congress in 1912, the political friends of the Federation controlled all branches of government. William B. Wilson was given the place of Secretary of Labor. Hereafter, for at least seven years, the Federation was an "insider" in the national government. The road now seemed clear to the attainment by trade unions of freedom from court interference in struggles against employers--a judicial _laissez-faire_. The political program initiated in 1906 seemed to be bearing fruit. The drift into politics, since 1906, has differed essentially from that of earlier periods. It has been a movement coming from "on top," not from the masses of the laborers themselves. Hard times and defeats in strikes have not very prominently figured. Instead of a movement led by local unions and by city centrals as had been the case practically in all preceding political attempts, the Executive Council of the American Federation of Labor now became the directing force. The rank and file seem to have been much less stirred than the leaders; for the member who held no union office felt less intensely the menace from injunctions than the officials who might face a prison sentence for contempt of court. Probably for this reason the "delivery" of the labor vote by the Federation has ever been so largely problematical. That the Federation leaders were able to force the desired concessions from one of the political parties by holding out a _quid pro quo_ of such an uncertain value is at once a tribute to their political sagacity as well as a mark of the instability of the general political alignment in the country. FOOTNOTES: [44] The bricklayers became affiliated in 1917. [45] "The Growth of Labor Organizations in the United States, 1897-1914," in _Quarterly Journal of Economics_, Aug., 1916, p. 780. [46] "The Extent of Trade Unionism," in _Annals of American Academy of Political Science_, Vol. 69, p. 118. [47] _Ibid._ [48] "The Extent of Trade Unionism," in _Annals of American Academy of Political Science_, Vol. 69, p. 118. [49] The "federal labor unions" (mixed unions) and the directly affiliated local trade unions (in trades in which a national union does not yet exist) are forms of organization which the Federation designed for bringing in the more miscellaneous classes of labor. The membership in these has seldom reached over 100,000. [50] A small but immensely rich area in Eastern Pennsylvania where the only anthracite coal deposits in the United States are found. [51] At a conference at Columbus, Ohio, in January, 1886, coal operators from Western Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois met the organized miners and drew up an agreement covering the wages which were to prevail throughout the central competitive field from May 1, 1886, to April 30, 1887. The scale established would seem to have been dictated by the wish to give the markets of the central competitive field to the Ohio operators. Ohio was favored in the scale established by this first Interstate conference probably because more than half of the operators present came from that State, and because the chief strength of the miners' union also lay in that State. To prevent friction over the interpretation of the Interstate agreement, a board of arbitration and conciliation was established. This board consisted of five miners and five operators chosen at large, and one miner and operator more from each of the States of this field. Such a board of arbitration and conciliation was provided for in all of the Interstate agreements of the period of the eighties. This system of Interstate agreement, in spite of the cut-throat competition raging between operators, was maintained for Pennsylvania and Ohio practically until 1890, Illinois having been lost in 1887, and Indiana in 1888. It formed the real predecessor of the system established in 1898 and in vogue thereafter. [52] See above, 136. [53] The run-of-mine system means payment by weight of the coal as brought out of the mine including minute pieces and impurities. [54] The check-off system refers to collection of union dues. It means that the employer agrees to deduct from the wage of each miner the amount of his union dues, thus constituting himself the union's financial agent. [55] In that district the check-off was granted in 1902. [56] Hitchman Coal and Coke Company _v._ Mitchell, 245 U.S. 232. [57] See below, 175-177. [58] The actual membership of the union is considerably above these figures, since they are based upon the dues-paying membership, and miners out on strike are exempted from the payment of all dues. The number of miners who always act with the union is much larger still. Even in non-union fields the United Mine Workers have always been successful in getting thousands of miners to obey their order to strike. [59] See Webb, _History of Trade Unionism_, p. 205 ff. [60] This was demonstrated in the bitterly fought strike on the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad in 1888. (See above, 130-131.) [61] Seniority also decides the assignment to "runs," which differ greatly in desirability, and it gives preference over junior employes in keeping the job when it is necessary to lay men off. [62] The first arbitration act was passed by Congress in 1888. In 1898 it was superseded by the well known Erdman Act, which prescribed rules for mediation and voluntary arbitration. [63] Concerted movements began in 1907 as joint demands upon all railways in a single section of the country, like the East or the West, by a single group of employes; after 1912 two or more brotherhoods initiated common concerted movements, first in one section only, and at last covering all the railways of the country. [64] See below, 230-233. [65] Long before this, about the middle of the nineties, the first system federations were initiated by the brotherhoods and were confined to them only; they took up adjustment of grievances and related matters. [66] The International Brotherhood of Blacksmiths, the Brotherhood of Boilermakers and Iron Shipbuilders, the Pattern Makers' League, the International Union of Stove Mounters, the International Union of Metal Polishers, Platers, Brass and Silver Workers, the International Federation of Draftsmen's Unions, and the International Brotherhood of Foundry Employes. [67] Professor Barnett attributes the failure of these agreements chiefly to faulty agreement machinery. The working rules, he points out, are rules made by the national union and therefore can be changed by the national union only. At the same time the agreements were national only in so far as they provided for national conciliation machinery; the fixing of wages was left to local bodies. Consequently, the national employers' associations lacked the power to offer the unions an indispensable _quid pro quo_ in higher wages for a compromise on working rules. ("National and District Systems of Collective Bargaining in the United States," in _Quarterly Journal of Economics_, May, 1912, pp. 425 ff.) [68] The following account is taken from Chapter X of the _Steel Workers_ by John A. Fitch, published by the Russell Sage Foundation. [69] See above, 133-135. [70] The opposition of the Steel Corporation to unionism was an important factor in the disruption of the agreement systems in the structural iron-erecting industry in 1905 and in the carrying industry on the Great Lakes in 1908; in each of these industries the Corporation holds a place of considerable control. [71] See above, 47-49. [72] Loewe _v._ Lawlor, 208 U.S. 274 (1908). [73] Adair _v._ U.S., 208 U.S. 161 (1908). [74] 36 Wash. Law Rep. 436 (1909). Gompers was finally sentenced to imprisonment for thirty days and the other two defendants were fined $500 each. These penalties were later lifted by the Supreme Court on a technicality, 233 U.S. 604 (1914). CHAPTER 9 RADICAL UNIONISM AND A "COUNTER-REFORMATION" For ten years after 1904, when it reached its high point, the American Federation of Labor was obliged to stay on the defensive--on the defensive against the "open-shop" employers and against the courts. Even the periodic excursions into politics were in substance defensive moves. This turn of events naturally tended to detract from the prestige of the type of unionism for which Gompers was spokesman; and by contrast raised the stock of the radical opposition. The opposition developed both in and outside the Federation. Inside it was the socialist "industrialist" who advocated a political labor party on a socialist platform, such as the Federation had rejected when it defeated the "program" of 1893,[75] together with a plan of organization by industry instead of by craft. Outside the Federation the opposition marched under the flag of the Industrial Workers of the World, which was launched by socialists but soon after birth fell into the hands of syndicalists. However, fully to understand the issue between conservatives and radicals in the Federation after 1905, one needs to go back much earlier for the "background." The socialist movement, after it had unwittingly assisted in the birth of the opportunistic trade unionism of Strasser and Gompers,[76] did not disappear, but remained throughout the eighties a handful of "intellectuals" and "intellectualized" wage earners, mainly Germans. These never abandoned the hope of better things for socialism in the labor movement. With this end in view, they adopted an attitude of enthusiastic cooperation with the Knights of Labor and the Federation in their wage struggle, which they accompanied, to be sure, by a persistent though friendly "nudging" in the direction of socialism. During the greater part of the eighties the socialists were closer to the trade unionists than to the Knights, because of the larger proportion of foreign born, principally Germans, among them. The unions in the cigar making, cabinet making, brewing, and other German trades counted many socialists, and socialists were also in the lead in the city federations of unions in New York, Chicago, Cleveland, St. Louis, Milwaukee, and other cities. In the campaign of Henry George for Mayor of New York in 1886, the socialists cooperated with him and the labor organizations. When, however, the campaign being over, they fell out with George on the issue of the single tax, they received more sympathy from the trade unionists than George; though one should add that the internal strife caused the majority of the trade unionists to lose interest in either faction and in the whole political movement. The socialist organization went by the name of the Socialist Labor party, which it had kept since 1877. Its enrolled membership was under 10,000, and its activities were non-political (since it refrained from nominating its own tickets) but entirely agitational and propagandist. The socialist press was chiefly in German and was led by a daily in New York. So it continued until there appeared on the scene an imperious figure, one of those men who, had he lived in a country with conditions more favorable to socialism than the United States, would doubtless have become one of the world's outstanding revolutionary leaders. This man was Daniel DeLeon. DeLeon was of South American ancestry, who early immigrated to New York. For a time he was teacher of languages at Columbia College; later he devoted himself thoroughly to socialist propaganda. He established his first connection with the labor movement in the George campaign in 1886 and by 1890 we find him in control of the socialist organization. DeLeon was impatient with the policy of slow permeation carried on by the socialists. A convinced if not fanatical Marxian, his philosophy taught him that the American labor movement, like all national labor movements, had, in the nature of things, to be socialist. He formed the plan of a supreme and last effort to carry socialism into the hosts of the Knights and the Federation, failing which, other and more drastic means would be used. By 1895 he learned that he was beaten in both organizations; not, however, without temporarily upsetting the groups in control. For, the only time when Samuel Gompers was defeated for President of the Federation was in 1894, when the socialists, angered by his part in the rejection of the socialist program at the convention,[77] joined with his enemies and voted another man into office. Gompers was reelected the next year and the Federation seemed definitely shut to socialism. DeLeon was now ready to go to the limit with the Federation. If the established unions refused to assume the part of the gravediggers of capitalism, designed for them, as he believed, by the very logic of history, so much the worse for the established trade unions. Out of this grew the Socialist Trade and Labor Alliance as a life and death rival to the Federation. From the standpoint of socialism no more unfortunate step could have been taken. It immediately stamped the socialists as wilful destroyers of the unity of labor. To the trade unionists, yet fresh from the ordeal of the struggle against the Knights of Labor, the action of the socialists was an unforgivable crime. All the bitterness which has characterized the fight between socialist and anti-socialist in the Federation verily goes back to this gross miscalculation by DeLeon of the psychology of the trade union movement. DeLeon, on his part, attributed the action of the Federation to a hopelessly corrupt leadership and, since he failed to unseat it by working from within, he now felt justified in striking at the entire structure. The Socialist Trade and Labor Alliance was a failure from the outset. Only a small portion of even the socialist-minded trade unionists were willing to join in the venture. Many trade union leaders who had been allied with the socialists now openly sided with Gompers. In brief, the socialist "revolution" in the American labor world suffered the fate of all unsuccessful revolutions: it alienated the moderate sympathizers and forced the victorious majority into taking up a more uncompromising position than heretofore. Finally, the hopelessness of DeLeon's tactics became obvious. One faction in the Socialist Labor party, which had been in opposition ever since he assumed command, came out in revolt in 1898. A fusion took place between it and another socialist group, the so-called Debs-Berger Social Democracy,[78] which took the name of the Social Democratic Party. Later, at a "Unity Congress" in 1901, it became the Socialist Party of America. What distinguished this party from the Socialist Labor party (which, although it had lost its primacy in the socialist movement, has continued side by side with the Socialist party of America), was well expressed in a resolution adopted at the same "Unity" convention: "We recognize that trade unions are by historical necessity organized on neutral grounds as far as political affiliation is concerned." With this program, the socialists have been fairly successful in extending their influence in the American Federation of Labor so that at times they have controlled about one-third of the votes in the conventions. Nevertheless the conservatives have never forgiven the socialists their "original sin." In the country at large socialism made steady progress until 1912, when nearly one million votes were cast for Eugene V. Debs, or about 1/16 of the total. After 1912, particularly since 1916, the socialist party became involved in the War and the difficulties created by the War and retrogressed. For a number of years DeLeon's failure kept possible imitators in check. However, in 1905, came another attempt in the shape of the Industrial Workers of the World. As with its predecessor, impatient socialists helped to set it afoot, but unlike the Alliance, it was at the same time an outgrowth of a particular situation in the actual labor movement, namely, of the bitter fight which was being waged by the Western Federation of Miners since the middle nineties. Beginning with a violent clash between miners and mine owners in the silver region of Coeur d'Alène, Idaho, in the early nineties, the mining States of the West became the scene of many labor struggles which were more like civil wars than like ordinary labor strikes. A most important contributing cause was a struggle, bolder than has been encountered elsewhere in the United States, for control of government in the interest of economic class. This was partly due to the absence of a neutral middle class, farmers or others, who might have been able to keep matters within bounds. The Western Federation of Miners was an organization of workers in and around the metaliferous mines. It also included workers in smelters. It held its first convention in 1893 in Butte, Montana. In 1894 the men employed in the Cripple Creek, Colorado, gold fields demanded a minimum wage of three dollars for an eight-hour day. After four months the strike resulted in a victory for the union. Other strikes occurred in 1896 and 1897 at Leadville, in 1899 in the Coeur d'Alène mining district, and in 1901 at Rossland and Fernie, British Columbia, and also in the San Juan district in California. The most important strike of the Western Federation of Miners, however, began in 1903 at Colorado City, where the mill and smeltermen's union quit work in order to compel better working conditions. As the sympathetic strike was a recognized part of the policy of the Western Federation of Miners, all the miners in the Cripple Creek region were called out. The eight-hour day in the smelters was the chief issue. In 1899 the Colorado legislature had passed an eight-hour law which was declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court of the State. To overcome this difficulty, an amendment to the State constitution was passed in 1902 by a large majority, but the legislature, after having thus received a direct command to establish the eight-hour law, adjourned without taking action. Much of the subsequent disorder and bloodshed in the Cripple Creek region during 1903-1904 is traceable to this failure on the part of the legislature to enact the eight-hour law. The struggle in Colorado helped to convince the Western miners that agreements with their employers were futile, that constitutional amendments and politics were futile, and from this they drew the conclusion that the revolutionary way was the only way. William D. Haywood, who became the central figure in the revolutionary movement of the Industrial Workers of the World since its launching in 1905, was a former national officer of the Western Federation of Miners and a graduate of the Colorado school of industrial experience.[79] Even before 1905 the Western Federation of Miners, which was out of touch with the American Federation of Labor for reasons of geography and of difference in policy and program, attempted to set up a national labor federation which would reflect its spirit. An American Labor Union was created in 1902, which by 1905 had a membership of about 16,000 besides the 27,000 of the miners' federation. It was thus the precursor of the Industrial Workers of the World in 1905. In the latter the revolutionary miners from the West joined hands with radical socialists from the East and Middle West of both socialist parties, the Socialist party of America and DeLeon's Socialist Labor party. We shall forbear tracing here the complicated internal history of the I.W.W., that is the friction which immediately arose between the DeLeonites and the other socialists and later on the struggle between the socialists and the syndicalist-minded labor rebels from the West. Suffice it to say that the Western Federation of Miners, which was its very heart and body, convinced of the futility of it all, seceded in 1907. In 1911 it joined the American Federation of Labor and after several hard-fought strikes, notably in Michigan in 1913, it practically became assimilated to the other unions in the American Federation of Labor. The remnant of the I.W.W. split in 1908 into two rival Industrial Workers of the World, with headquarters in Detroit and Chicago, respectively, on the issue of revolutionary political versus non-political or "direct" action. As a rival to the Federation of Labor the I.W.W. never materialized, but on the one hand, as an instrument of resistance by the migratory laborers of the West and, on the other hand, as a prod to the Federation to do its duty to the unorganized and unskilled foreign-speaking workers of the East, the I.W.W. will for long have a part to play. In fact, about 1912, it seemed as though the I.W.W. were about to repeat the performance of the Knights of Labor in the Great Upheaval of 1885-1887. Its clamorous appearance in the industrial East, showing in the strikes by the non-English-speaking workers in the textile mills of Lawrence, Massachusetts, Paterson, New Jersey, and Little Falls, New York, on the one hand, and on the other, the less tangible but no less desperate strikes of casual laborers which occurred from time to time in the West, bore for the observer a marked resemblance to the Great Upheaval. Furthermore, the trained eyes of the leaders of the Federation espied in the Industrial Workers of the World a new rival which would best be met on its own ground by organizing within the Federation the very same elements to which the I.W.W. especially addressed itself. Accordingly, at the convention of 1912, held in Rochester, the problem of organizing the unskilled occupied a place near the head of the list. But after the unsuccessful Paterson textile strikes in 1912 and 1913, the star of the Industrial Workers of the World set as rapidly as it had risen and the organization rapidly retrogressed. At no time did it roll up a membership of more than 60,000 as compared with the maximum membership of 750,000 of the Knights of Labor. The charge made by the I.W.W. against the Federation of Labor (and it is in relation to the latter that the I.W.W. has any importance at all) is mainly two-fold: on aim and on method. "Instead of the conservative motto, 'A fair day's wage for a fair day's work,'" reads the Preamble, "We must inscribe on our banner the revolutionary watchword, 'Abolition of the wage system.' It is the historic mission of the working class to do away with capitalism. The army of production must be organized, not only for the every-day struggle with capitalists, but to carry on production when capitalism shall have been overthrown." Then on method: "We find that the centering of management in industries into fewer and fewer hands makes the trade union unable to cope with the ever-growing power of the employing class. The trade unions foster a state of affairs which allows one set of the workers to be pitted against another set of workers in the same industry, thereby helping to defeat one another in wage wars.... These conditions must be changed and the interest of the working class upheld only by an organization founded in such a way that all its members in any one industry, or in all industries, if necessary, cease work whenever a strike or a lockout is in any department thereof, thus making an injury to one an injury to all." Lastly, "By organizing industrially we are forming the structure of the new society within the shell of the old." This meant "industrialism" versus the craft autonomy of the Federation. "Industrialism" was a product of the intense labor struggles of the nineties, of the Pullman railway strike in 1894, of the general strike of the bituminous miners of 1898, and of a decade long struggle and boycott in the beer-brewing industry. Industrialism meant a united front against the employers in an industry regardless of craft; it meant doing away with the paralyzing disputes over jurisdiction amongst the several craft unions; it meant also stretching out the hand of fellowship to the unskilled worker who knowing no craft fitted into no craft union. But over and above these changes in structure there hovered a new spirit, a spirit of class struggle and of revolutionary solidarity in contrast with the spirit of "business unionism" of the typical craft union. Industrialism signified a challenge to the old leadership, to the leadership of Gompers and his associates, by a younger generation of leaders who were more in tune with the social ideas of the radical intellectuals and the labor movements of Europe than with the traditional policies of the Federation. But there is industrialism and industrialism, each answering the demands of a _particular stratum_ of the wage-earning class. The class lowest in the scale, the unskilled and "floaters," for which the I.W.W. speaks, conceives industrialism as "one big union," where not only trade but even industrial distinctions are virtually ignored with reference to action against employers, if not also with reference to the principle of organization. The native floater in the West and the unskilled foreigner in the East are equally responsive to the appeal to storm capitalism in a successive series of revolts under the banner of the "one big union." Uniting in its ranks the workers with the least experience in organization and with none in political action, the "one big union" pins its faith upon assault rather than "armed peace," upon the strike without the trade agreement, and has no faith whatsoever in political or legislative action. Another form of industrialism is that of the middle stratum of the wage-earning group, embracing trades which are moderately skilled and have had considerable experience in organization, such as brewing, clothing, and mining. They realize that, in order to attain an equal footing with the employers, they must present a front coextensive with the employers' association, which means that all trades in an industry must act under one direction. Hence they strive to assimilate the engineers and machinists, whose labor is essential to the continuance of the operation of the plant. They thus reproduce on a minor scale the attempt of the Knights of Labor during the eighties to engulf the more skilled trade unions. At the same time the relatively unprivileged position of these trades makes them keenly alive to the danger from below, from the unskilled whom the employer may break into their jobs in case of strikes. They therefore favor taking the unskilled into the organization. Their industrialism is consequently caused perhaps more by their own trade consideration than by an altruistic desire to uplift the unskilled, although they realize that the organization of the unskilled is required by the broader interests of the wage-earning class. However, their long experience in matters of organization teaches them that the "one big union" would be a poor medium. Their accumulated experience likewise has a moderating influence on their economic activity, and they are consequently among the strongest supporters inside the American Federation of Labor of the trade agreement. Nevertheless, opportunistic though they are in the industrial field, their position is not sufficiently raised above the unskilled to make them satisfied with the wage system. Hence, they are mostly controlled by socialists and are strongly in favor of political action through the Socialist party. This form of industrialism may consequently be called "socialist industrialism." In the annual conventions of the Federation, industrialists are practically synonymous with socialists. The best examples of the "middle stratum" industrialism are the unions in the garment industries. Enthusiastic admirers have proclaimed them the harbingers of a "new unionism" in America. One would indeed be narrow to withhold praise from organizations and leaders who in spite of a most chaotic situation in their industry have succeeded so brilliantly where many looked only for failure. Looking at the matter, however, from the wider standpoint of labor history, the contribution of this so-called "new unionism" resides chiefly, first, in that it has rationalized and developed industrial government by collective bargaining and trade agreements as no other unionism, and second, in that it has applied a spirit of broadminded all-inclusiveness to all workers in the industry. To put it in another way, its merit is in that it has made supreme use of the highest practical acquisition of the American Federation of Labor--namely, the trade agreement--while reinterpreting and applying the latter in a spirit of a broader labor solidarity than the "old unionism" of the Federation. As such the clothing workers point the way to the rest of the labor movement. The first successful application of the "new unionism" in the clothing trades was in 1910 by the workers on cloaks and suits in the International Ladies' Garment Workers Union of America, a constituent union of the American Federation of Labor. They established machinery of conciliation from the shop to the industry, which in spite of many tempests and serious crises, will probably live on indefinitely. Perhaps the greatest achievement to their credit is that they have jointly with the employers, through a Joint Board of Sanitary Control, wrought a revolution in the hygienic conditions in the shops. The Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America have won great power in the men's clothing industry, through aggressive but constructive leadership. The nucleus of the union seceded from the United Garment Workers, an A.F. of L. organization, in 1914. The socialistic element within the organization was and still is numerically dominating. But in the practical process of collective bargaining, this union's revolutionary principles have served more as a bond to hold the membership together than as a severe guide in its relations with the employers.[80] As a result, the Amalgamated Clothing Workers attained trade agreements in all the large men's clothing centers. The American Federation of Labor, however, in spite of this union's success, has persistently refused to admit it to affiliation, on account of its original secessionist origin from a chartered international union. The unions of the clothing workers have demonstrated how immigrants (the majority in the industry are Russian and Polish Jews and Italians) may be successfully organized on the basis of a broad minded industrialism. On the issue of industrialism in the American Federation of Labor the last word has not yet been said. It appears, though, that the matter is being solved slowly but surely by a silent "counter-reformation" by the old leaders. For industrialism, or the adjustment of union structure to meet the employer with ranks closed on the front of an entire industry, is not altogether new even in the most conservative portion of the Federation, although it has never been called by that name. Long before industrialism entered the national arena as the economic creed of socialists, the unions of the skilled had begun to evolve an industrialism of their own. This species may properly be termed craft industrialism, as it sought merely to unite on an efficient basis the fighting strength of the unions of the skilled trades by devising a method for speedy solution of jurisdictional disputes between overlapping unions and by reducing the sympathetic strike to a science. The movement first manifested itself in the early eighties in the form of local building trades' councils, which especially devoted themselves to sympathetic strikes. This local industrialism grew, after a fashion, to national dimensions in the form of the International Building Trades' Council organized in St. Louis in 1897. The latter proved, however, ineffective, since, having for its basic unit the local building trades' council, it inevitably came into conflict with the national unions in the building trades. For the same reason it was barred from recognition of the American Federation of Labor. The date of the real birth of craft industrialism on a national scale, was therefore deferred to 1903, when a Structural Building Trades' Alliance was founded. The formation of the Alliance marks an event of supreme importance, not only because it united for the first time for common action all the important national unions in the building industry, but especially because it promulgated a new principle which, if generally adopted, was apparently destined to revolutionize the structure of American labor organizations. The Alliance purported to be a federation of the "basic" trades in the industry, and in reality it did represent an _entente_ of the big and aggressive unions. The latter were moved to federate not only for the purpose of forcing the struggle against the employers, but also of expanding at the expense of the "non-basic" or weak unions, besides seeking to annihilate the last vestiges of the International Building Trades' Council. The Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, probably the most aggressive union in the American Federation of Labor, was the leader in this movement. From the standpoint of the Federation, the Structural Alliance was at best an extra-legal organization, as it did not receive the latter's formal sanction, but the Federation could scarcely afford to ignore it as it had ignored the International Building Trades' Council. Thus in 1908 the Alliance was "legitimatized" and made a "Department" of the American Federation of Labor, under the name of the Building Trades' Department, with the settlement of jurisdictional disputes as its main function. It was accompanied by departments of metal trades, of railway employes, of miners, and by a "label" department. It is not, however, open to much doubt that the Department was not a very successful custodian of the trade autonomy principle. Jurisdictional disputes are caused either by technical changes, which play havoc with official "jurisdiction," or else by a plain desire on the part of the stronger union to encroach upon the province of the weaker one. When the former was the case and the struggle happened to be between unions of equal strength and influence, it generally terminated in a compromise. When, however, the combatants were two unions of unequal strength, the doctrine of the supremacy of the "basic" unions was generally made to prevail in the end. Such was the outcome of the struggle between the carpenters and joiners on the one side and the wood workers on the other and also between the plumbers and steam fitters. In each case it ended in the forced amalgamation of the weaker union with the stronger one, upon the principle that there must be only one union in each "basic" trade. In the case of the steam fitters, which was settled at the convention at Rochester in 1912, the Federation gave what might be interpreted as an official sanction of the new doctrine of one union in a "basic" trade. Notwithstanding these official lapses from the principle of craft autonomy, the socialist industrialists[81] are still compelled to abide by the letter and the spirit of craft autonomy. The effect of such a policy on the coming American industrialism may be as follows: The future development of the "department" may enable the strong "basic" unions to undertake concerted action against employers, while each retains its own autonomy. Such indeed is the notable "concerted movement" of the railway brotherhoods, which since 1907 has begun to set a type for craft industrialism. It is also probable that the majority of the craft unions will sufficiently depart from a rigid craft standard for membership to include helpers and unskilled workers working alongside the craftsmen. The clearest outcome of this silent "counter-reformation" in reply to the socialist industrialists is the Railway Employes' Department as it developed during and after the war-time period.[82] It is composed of all the railway men's organizations except the brotherhoods of engineers, firemen, conductors, trainmen, telegraphers, and several minor organizations, which on the whole cooperate with the Department. It also has a place for the unskilled laborers organized in the United Brotherhood of Maintenance of Way Employes and Railroad Shop Laborers. The Railway Employes' Department therefore demonstrates that under craft unionism the unskilled need not be left out in the cold. It also meets the charge that craft unionism renders it easy for the employers to defeat the unions one by one, since this Department has consolidated the constituent crafts into one bargaining and striking union[83] practically as well as could be done by an industrial union. Finally, the Railway Employes' Department has an advantage over an industrial union in that many of its constituent unions, like the machinists', blacksmiths', boiler-makers', sheet metal workers', and electrical workers', have large memberships outside the railway industry, which might by their dues and assessments come to the aid of the railway workers on strike. To be sure, the solidarity of the unions in the Department might be weakened through jurisdictional disputes, which is something to be considered. However, when unions have gone so far as to confederate for joint collective bargaining, that danger will probably never be allowed to become too serious. FOOTNOTES: [75] See above, 139-141. [76] See above, 76-79. [77] See above, 139-141. [78] Eugene V. Debs, after serving his sentence in prison for disobeying a court injunction during the Pullman strike of 1894, became a convert to socialism. It is said that his conversion was due to Victor Berger of Milwaukee. Berger had succeeded in building up a strong socialist party in that city and in the State of Wisconsin upon the basis of a thorough understanding with the trade unions and was materially helped by the predominance of the German-speaking element in the population. In 1910 the Milwaukee socialists elected a municipal ticket, the first large city to vote the socialists into office. [79] In 1907 Haywood was tried and acquitted with two other officers of the Western Federation of Miners at Boisé, Idaho, on a murder charge which grew out of the same labor struggle. This was one of the several sensational trials in American labor history, on a par with the Molly Maguires' case in the seventies, the Chicago Anarchists' in 1887, and the McNamaras' case in 1912. [80] The same applies to the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union. [81] Except the miners, brewers, and garment workers. [82] See above, 185-186. [83] This refers particularly to the six shopmen's unions. CHAPTER 10 THE WAR-TIME BALANCE SHEET The outbreak of the War in Europe in August 1914 found American labor passing through a period of depression. The preceding winter had seen much unemployment and considerable distress and in the summer industrial conditions became scarcely improved. In the large cities demonstrations by the unemployed were daily occurrences. A long and bloody labor struggle in the coal fields of Colorado, which was slowly drawing to an unsuccessful end in spite of sacrifices of the heaviest kind, seemed only to set into bold relief the generally inauspicious outlook. Yet the labor movement could doubtless find solace in the political situation. Owing to the support it had given the Democratic party in the Presidential campaign of 1912, the Federation could claim return favors. The demand which it was now urging upon its friends in office was the long standing one for the exemption of labor unions from the operation of the anti-trust legislation and for the reduction to a minimum of interference by Federal Courts in labor disputes through injunction proceedings. During 1914 the anti-trust bill introduced in the House by Clayton of Alabama was going through the regular stages preliminary to enactment and, although it finally failed to embody all the sweeping changes demanded by the Federation's lobbyists, it was pronounced at the time satisfactory to labor. The Clayton Act starts with the declaration that "The labor of a human being is not a commodity or article of commerce" and specifies that labor organizations shall not be construed as illegal combinations or conspiracies in restraint of trade under Federal anti-trust laws. It further proceeds to prescribe the procedure in connection with the issuance of injunctions in labor disputes as, for instance, limiting the time of effectiveness of temporary injunctions, making notice obligatory to persons about to be permanently enjoined, and somewhat limiting the power of the courts in contempt proceedings. The most vital section of the Act relating to labor disputes is Section 20, which says "that no such restraining order or injunction shall prohibit any person or persons, whether singly or in concert, from terminating any relation of employment, or from ceasing to perform any work or labor or from recommending, advising, or persuading others by peaceful means so to do; or from attending at any place where any such person or persons may lawfully be, for the purpose of peacefully persuading any person to work or to abstain from working, or from recommending, advising, or persuading others by peaceful and lawful means so to do; or from paying or giving to, or withholding from, any person employed in such dispute, any strike benefits or other moneys or things of value; or from peacefully assembling in a lawful manner, or for lawful purposes, or from doing any act or things which might lawfully be done in the absence of such dispute by any party thereto; nor shall any of the acts specified in this paragraph be considered or held to be violations of any law of the United States." The government was also rendering aid to organized labor in another, though probably little intended, form, namely through the public hearings conducted by the United States Commission on Industrial Relations. This Commission had been authorized by Congress in 1912 to investigate labor unrest after a bomb explosion in the _Los Angeles Times_ Building, which was set off at the order of some of the national officers of the structural iron workers' union, incidental to a strike. The hearings which were conducted by the able and versatile chairman, Frank P. Walsh, with a particular eye for publicity, centering as they did around the Colorado outrages, served to popularize the trade union cause from one end of the country to the other. The report of the Commission or rather the minority report, which was signed by the chairman and the three labor members, and was known as the "staff" report, named _trade unionism_ as the paramount remedy--not compulsory arbitration which was advocated by the employer members, nor labor legislation and a permanent governmental industrial commission proposed by the economist on the commission. The immediate practical effects of the commission were _nil_, but its agitational value proved of great importance to labor. For the first time in the history of the United States the employing class seemed to be arrayed as a defendant before the bar of public opinion. Also, it was for the first time that a commission representing the government not only unhesitatingly pronounced the trade union movement harmless to the country's best interests but went to the length of raising it to the dignity of a fundamental and indispensable institution. The Commission on Industrial Relations on the whole reflected the favorable attitude of the Administration which came to power in 1912. The American Federation of Labor was given full sway over the Department of Labor and a decisive influence in all other government departments on matters relating to labor. Without a political party of its own, by virtue only of its "bargaining power" over the old parties, the American Federation of Labor seemed to have attained a position not far behind that of British labor after more than a decade of independent political action. Furthermore, fortunately for itself, labor in America had come into a political patrimony at a time when the country was standing on the threshold of a new era, during which government was destined to become the arbiter of industry. The War in Europe did not immediately improve industrial conditions in America. The first to feel its effects were the industries directly engaged in the making of munitions. The International Association of Machinists, the organization of the now all-important munition workers, actually had its membership somewhat decreased during 1915, but in the following year made a 50 percent increase. The greater part of the new membership came from the "munitions towns," such as Bridgeport, Connecticut, where, in response to the insatiable demand from the Allied nations, new enormous plants were erected during 1915 and shipment of munitions in mass began early the next year. Bridgeport and surrounding towns became a center of a successful eight-hour movement, in which the women workers newly brought into the industry took the initiative. The Federation as a whole lost three percent of its membership in 1915 and gained seven percent during 1916. On its War policy the Federation took its cue completely from the national government. During the greater part of the period of American neutrality its attitude was that of a shocked lover of peace who is desirous to maintain the strictest neutrality if the belligerents will persist in refusing to lend an ear to reason. To prevent a repetition of a similar catastrophe, the Federation did the obvious thing, pronouncing for open and democratized diplomacy; and proposed to the several national trade union federations that an international labor congress meet at the close of the war to determine the conditions of peace. However, both the British and Germans declined. The convention in 1915 condemned the German-inspired propaganda for an embargo on shipments to all belligerents and the fomenting of strikes in munitions-making plants by German agents. The Federation refused to interpret neutrality to mean that the American wage earner was to be thrown back into the dumps of depression and unemployment, from which he was just delivered by the extensive war orders from the Allied governments. By the second half of 1916 the war prosperity was in full swing. Cost of living was rising rapidly and movements for higher wages became general. The practical stoppage of immigration enabled common labor to get a larger share than usual of the prosperity. Many employers granted increases voluntarily. Simultaneously, a movement for the eight-hour day was spreading from strictly munitions-making trades into others and was meeting with remarkable success. But 1916 witnessed what was doubtless the most spectacular move for the eight-hour day in American history--the joint eight-hour demand by the four railway brotherhoods, the engineers, firemen, conductors, and trainmen. The effectiveness acquired by trade unionism needs no better proof than the remarkable success with which these four organizations, with the full support of the whole labor movement at their back and aided by a not unfriendly attitude on the part of the national Administration, brought to bay the greatest single industry of the country and overcame the opposition of the entire business class. The four brotherhoods made a joint demand for an eight-hour day early in 1916.[84] The railway officials claimed that the demand for the reduction of the work-day from ten to eight hours with ten hours' pay and a time and a half rate for overtime was not made in good faith. Since, they said, the employes ought to have known that the railways could not be run on an eight-hour day, the demand was but a covert attempt to gain a substantial increase in their wages, which were already in advance of any of the other skilled workers. On the other hand, the brotherhoods stoutly maintained during their direct negotiations with the railway companies and in the public press that their demand was a _bona fide_ demand and that they believed that the railway business did admit of a reorganization substantially on an eight-hour basis. The railway officials offered to submit to arbitration the demand of the men together with counter demands of their own. The brotherhoods, however, fearing prejudice and recalling to mind past disappointments, declined the proposal and threatened to tie up the whole transportation system of the country by a strike on Labor Day. When the efforts at mediation by the United States Board of Mediation and Conciliation came to naught, President Wilson invited to Washington the executives of the several railway systems and a convention of the several hundred division chairmen of the brotherhoods and attempted personal mediation. He urged the railway executives to accept the eight-hour day and proposed that a commission appointed by himself should investigate the demand for time and a half overtime. This the employes accepted, but the executives objected to giving the eight-hour day before an investigation was made. Meantime the brotherhoods had issued their strike order effective on Labor Day and the crisis became imminent. To obviate the calamity of a general strike, at a time when the country was threatened with troubles on the Mexican frontier and with the unsettled submarine controversy with Germany ready to flare up any moment, the President went before Congress and asked for a speedy enactment of an eight-hour law for train operatives without a reduction in wages but with no punitive overtime. He coupled it with a request for an authorisation of a special commission to report on the operation of such a law for a period of six months, after which the subject might be reopened. Lastly, he urged an amendment to the Newlands Act making it illegal to call a strike or a lockout pending an investigation of a controversy by a government commission. Spurred on by the danger of the impending strike, Congress quickly acceded to the first two requests by the President and passed the so-called Adamson law.[85] The strike was averted, but in the immediately following Presidential campaign labor's "hold-up" of the national government became one of the trump issues of the Republican candidate. This episode of the summer of 1916 had two sequels, one in the courts and the other one in a negotiated agreement between the railways and the brotherhoods. The former brought many suits in courts against the government and obtained from a lower court a decision that the Adamson law was unconstitutional. The case was then taken to the United States Supreme Court, but the decision was not ready until the spring of 1917. Meantime the danger of a strike had been renewed. However, on the same day when the Supreme Court gave out its decision, the railways and brotherhoods had signed, at the urging of the National Council of Defense, an agreement accepting the conditions of the Adamson law regardless of the outcome in court. When the decision became known it was found to be in favor of the Adamson law. The declaration of war against Germany came a few days later and opened a new era in the American labor situation. Previous to that, on March 12, 1917, when war seemed inevitable, the national officers of all important unions in the Federation met in Washington and issued a statement on "American Labor's Position in Peace or in War." They pledged the labor movement and the influence of the labor organizations unreservedly in support of the government in case of war. Whereas, they said, in all previous wars "under the guise of national necessity, labor was stripped of its means of defense against enemies at home and was robbed of the advantages, the protections, and guarantees of justice that had been achieved after ages of struggle"; and "labor had no representatives in the councils authorized to deal with the conduct of the war"; and therefore "the rights, interests and welfare of workers were autocratically sacrificed for the slogan of national safety"; in this war "the government must recognize the organized labor movement as the agency through which it must cooperate with wage earners." Such recognition will imply first "representation on all agencies determining and administering policies of national defense" and "on all boards authorized to control publicity during war time." Second, that "service in government factories and private establishments, in transportation agencies, all should conform to trade union standards"; and that "whatever changes in the organization of industry are necessary upon a war basis, they should be made in accord with plans agreed upon by representatives of the government and those engaged and employed in the industry." Third, that the government's demand of sacrifice of their "labor power, their bodies or their lives" be accompanied by "increased guarantees and safe-guards," the imposing of a similar burden on property and the limitation of profits. Fourth, that "organization for industrial and commercial service" be "upon a different basis from military service" and "that military service should be carefully distinguished from service in industrial disputes," since "the same voluntary institutions that organized industrial, commercial and transportation workers in times of peace will best take care of the same problems in time of war." For, "wrapped up with the safety of this Republic are ideals of democracy, a heritage which the masses of the people received from our forefathers, who fought that liberty might live in this country--a heritage that is to be maintained and handed down to each generation with undiminished power and usefulness." We quote at such length because this document gives the quintessence of the wise labor statesmanship which this crisis brought so clearly to light. Turning away from the pacifism of the Socialist party, Samuel Gompers and his associates believed that victory over world militarism as well as over the forces of reaction at home depended on labor's unequivocal support of the government. And in reality, by placing the labor movement in the service of the war-making power of the nation they assured for it, for the time being at least, a degree of national prestige and a freedom to expand which could not have been conquered by many years of the most persistent agitation and strikes. The War, thus, far from being a trial for organized labor, proved instead a great opportunity. For the War released organized labor from a blind alley, as it were. The American Federation of Labor, as we saw, had made but slow progress in organization after 1905. At that time it had succeeded in organizing the skilled and some of the semi-skilled workers. Further progress was impeded by the anti-union employers especially in industries commonly understood to be dominated by "trusts." In none of the "trustified" industries, save anthracite coal, was labor organization able to make any headway. And yet the American Federation of Labor, situated as it is, is obliged to stake everything upon the power to organize.[86] The war gave it that all-important power. Soon after the Federal government became the arbiter of industry--by virtue of being the greatest consumer, and by virtue of a public opinion clearly outspoken on the subject--we see the Taft-Walsh War Labor Board[87] embody "the right to organize" into a code of rules for the guidance of the relations of labor and capital during War-time, along with the basic eight-hour day and the right to a living wage. In return for these gifts American labor gave up nothing so vital as British labor had done in the identical situation. The right to strike was left unmolested and remained a permanent threat hanging over slow moving officialdom and recalcitrant employers. And the only restraint accepted by labor was a promise of self-restraint. The Federation was not to strike until all other means for settlement had been tried, nor was it to press for the closed shop where such had not existed prior to the War declaration. But at the same time no employer was to interpose a check to its expansion into industries and districts heretofore unorganized. Nor could an employer discipline an employe for joining a union or inducing others to join. In 1916, when the President established the National Council of Defense, he appointed Samuel Gompers one of the seven members composing the Advisory Commission in charge of all policies dealing with labor and chairman of a committee on labor of his own appointment. Among the first acts of the Council of Defense was an emphatic declaration for the preservation of the standards of legal protection of labor against the ill-advised efforts for their suspension during War-time. The Federation was given representation on the Emergency Construction Board, the Fuel Administration Board, on the Woman's Board, on the Food Administration Board, and finally on the War Industries Board. The last named board was during the war the recognized arbiter of the country's industries, all labor matters being handled by its labor representative. The Department of Labor, which in the War emergency could rightly be considered the Federation's arm in the Administration, was placed in supreme charge of general labor administration. Also, in connection with the administration of the military conscription law, organized labor was given representation on each District Exemption Board. But perhaps the strongest expression of the official recognition of the labor movement was offered by President Wilson when he took time from the pressing business in Washington to journey to Buffalo in November 1917, to deliver an address before the convention of the American Federation of Labor. In addition to representation on boards and commissions dealing with general policies, the government entered with the Federation into a number of agreements relative to the conditions of direct and indirect employment by the government. In each agreement the prevalent trade union standards were fully accepted and provision was made for a three-cornered board of adjustment to consist of a representative of the particular government department, the public and labor. Such agreements were concluded by the War and Navy departments and by the United States Emergency Fleet Corporation. The Shipping Board sponsored a similar agreement between the shipping companies and the seafaring unions; and the War Department between the leather goods manufacturers and leather workers' union. When the government took over the railways on January 1, 1918, it created three boards of adjustment on the identical principle of a full recognition of labor organizations. The spirit with which the government faced the labor problem was shown also in connection with the enforcement of the eight-hour law. The law of 1912 provided for an eight-hour day on contract government work but allowed exceptions in emergencies. In 1917 Congress gave the President the right to waive the application of the law, but provided that in such event compensation be computed on a "basic" eight-hour day. The War and Navy departments enforced these provisions not only to the letter but generally gave to them a most liberal interpretation. The taking over of the railways by the government revolutionized the railway labor situation. Under private management, as was seen, the four brotherhoods alone, the engineers, firemen, conductors, and trainmen enjoyed universal recognition, the basic eight-hour day (since 1916), and high wages. The other organizations of the railway workers, the shopmen, the yardmen, the maintenance of way men, the clerks, and the telegraphers were, at best, tolerated rather than recognized. Under the government administration the eight-hour day was extended to all grades of workers, and wages were brought up to a minimum of 68 cents per hour, with a considerable though not corresponding increase in the wages of the higher grades of labor. All discrimination against union men was done away with, so that within a year labor organization on the railways was nearing the hundred percent mark. The policies of the national railway administration of the open door to trade unionism and of recognition of union standards were successfully pressed upon other employments by the National War Labor Board. On March 29, 1918, a National War Labor Conference Board, composed of five representatives of the Federation of Labor, five representatives of employers' associations and two joint chairmen, William H. Taft for the employers and Frank P. Walsh for the employes, reported to the Secretary of Labor on "Principles and Policies to govern Relations between Workers and Employers in War Industries for the Duration of the War." These "principles and policies," which were to be enforced by a permanent War Labor Board organized upon the identical principle as the reporting board, included a voluntary relinquishment of the right to strike and lockout by employes and employers, respectively, upon the following conditions: First, there was a recognition of the equal right of employes and employers to organize into associations and trade unions and to bargain collectively. This carried an undertaking by the employers not to discharge workers for membership in trade unions or for legitimate trade union activities, and was balanced by an undertaking of the workers, "in the exercise of their right to organize," not to "use coercive measures of any kind to induce persons to join their organizations, nor to induce employers to bargain or deal therewith." Second, both sides agreed upon the observance of the _status quo ante bellum_ as to union or open shop in a given establishment and as to union standards of wages, hours, and other conditions of employment. This carried the express stipulation that the right to organize was not to be curtailed under any condition and that the War Labor Board could grant improvement in labor conditions as the situation warranted. Third, the understanding was that if women should be brought into industry, they must be allowed equal pay for equal work. Fourth, it was agreed that "the basic eight-hour day was to be recognized as applying in all cases in which the existing law required it, while in all other cases the question of hours of labor was to be settled with due regard to government necessities and the welfare, health, and proper comfort of the workers." Fifth, restriction of output by trade unions was to be done away with. Sixth, in fixing wages and other conditions regard was to be shown to trade union standards. And lastly came the recognition of "the right of all workers, including common laborers, to a living wage" and the stipulation that in fixing wages, there will be established "minimum rates of pay which will insure the subsistence of the worker and his family in health and reasonable comfort." The establishment of the War Labor Board did not mean that the country had gone over to the principle of compulsory arbitration, for the Board could not force any party to a dispute to submit to its arbitration or by an umpire of its appointment. However, so outspoken was public opinion on the necessity of avoiding interruptions in the War industries and so far-reaching were the powers of the government over the employer as the administrator of material and labor priorities and over the employes as the administrator of the conscription law that the indirect powers of the Board sufficed to make its decision prevail in nearly every instance. The packing industry was a conspicuous case of the "new course" in industrial relations. This industry had successfully kept unionism out since an ill-considered strike in 1904, which ended disastrously for the strikers. Late in 1917, 60,000 employes in the packing houses went on strike for union recognition, the basic eight-hour day, and other demands. Intervention by the government led to a settlement, which, although denying the union formal recognition, granted the basic eight-hour day, a living wage, and the right to organize, together with all that it implied, and the appointment of a permanent arbitrator to adjudicate disputes. Thus an industry which had prohibited labor organization for fourteen years was made to open its door to trade unionism.[88] Another telling gain for the basic eight-hour day was made by the timber workers in the Northwest, again at the insistence of the government. What the aid of the government in securing the right to organize meant to the strength of trade unionism may be derived from the following figures. In the two years from 1917 to 1919 the organization of the meat cutters and butcher workmen increased its membership from less than 10,000 to over 66,000; the boilermakers and iron shipbuilders from 31,000 to 85,000; the blacksmiths from 12,000 to 28,000; the railway clerks from less than 7000 to over 71,000; the machinists from 112,000 to 255,000; the maintenance of way employes from less than 10,000 to 54,000; the railway carmen from 39,000 to 100,000; the railway telegraphers from 27,000 to 45,000; and the electrical workers from 42,000 to 131,000. The trades here enumerated--mostly related to shipbuilding and railways--accounted for the greater part of the total gain in the membership of the Federation from two and a half million members in 1917 to over three and a third in 1919. An important aspect of the cooperation of the government with the Federation was the latter's eager self-identification with the government's foreign policy, which went to the length of choosing to play a lone hand in the Allied labor world. Labor in America had an implicit faith in the national government, which was shared by neither English nor French labor. Whereas the workers in the other Allied Nations believed that their governments needed to be prodded or forced into accepting the right road to a democratic peace by an international labor congress, which would take the entire matter of war and peace out of the diplomatic chancellories into an open conference of the representatives of the workers, the American workers were only too eager to follow the leadership of the head of the American nation. To this doubtless was added the usual fervor of a new convert to any cause (in this instance the cause of the War against Germany) and a strong distrust of German socialism, which American labor leaders have developed during their drawn-out struggle against the German-trained socialists inside the Federation who have persistently tried to "capture" the organization. When on January 8, 1918, President Wilson enunciated his famous Fourteen Points, the Federation of course gave them an enthusiastic endorsement. In the autumn of 1918 Gompers went to Europe and participated in an Inter-Allied labor conference. He refused, however, to participate in the first International Labor and Socialist Congress called since the War, which met at Berne, Switzerland, in March 1919, since he would not sit with the Germans while their country was not formally at peace with the United States. The convention of the Federation in June 1919 gave complete endorsement to the League of Nations Pact worked out at Versailles,--on general grounds and on the ground of its specific provisions for an international regulation of labor conditions designed to equalize labor standards and costs. Contrasting with this was the position of British labor, which regarded the Pact with a critical eye, frankly confessing disillusionment, but was willing to accept it for the sake of its future possibilities, when the Pact might be remodelled by more liberal and more democratic hands. The contrast in outlook between the mild evolutionism of the American Federation of Labor and the social radicalism of British labor stood out nowhere so strongly as in their respective programs for Reconstruction after the War. The chief claim of the British Labor party for recognition at the hands of the voter at the General Election in December 1918, was its well-thought-out reconstruction program put forth under the telling title of "Labour and the New Social Order." This program was above all a legislative program. It called for a thoroughgoing governmental control of industry by means of a control of private finance, natural resources, transportation, and international trade. To the workingmen such control would mean the right to steady employment, the right to a living wage, and the appropriation of economic surpluses by the state for the common good--be they in the form of rent, excessive profits, or overlarge personal incomes. Beyond this minimum program loomed the cooperative commonwealth with the private capitalist totally eliminated. Such was the program of British labor. What of the Reconstruction program of American labor? First of all, American labor thought of Reconstruction as a program to be carried out by the trade union, not by the government. Moreover, it did not see in Reconstruction the great break with the past which that meant to British labor. The American Federation of Labor applied to Reconstruction the same philosophy which lies at the basis of its ordinary, everyday activity. It concerned itself not with any far-reaching plan for social reorganization, but with a rising standard of living and an enlarged freedom for the union. The American equivalent of a government-guaranteed right to employment and a living wage was the "right to organize." Assure to labor that right, free the trade unions of court interference in strikes and boycotts, prevent excessive meddling by the government in industrial relations--and the stimulated activities of the "legitimate" organizations of labor, which will result therefrom, will achieve a far better Reconstruction than a thousand paper programs however beautiful. So reasoned the leaders of the American Federation of Labor. During the period of War, they of course gladly accepted directly from the government the basic eight-hour day and the high wages, which under other circumstances they could have got only by prolonged and bitter striking. But even more acceptable than these directly bestowed boons was the indirect one of the right to organize free from anti-union discriminations by employers. Having been arrested in its expansion, as we saw, by anti-union employers and especially "trusts," the American Federation of Labor took advantage of the War situation to overflow new territory. Once entrenched and the organization well in hand, it thought it could look to the future with confidence. FOOTNOTES: [84] For the developments which led up to this joint move see above, 182-184. [85] Congress ignored the last-named recommendation which would have introduced in the United States the Canadian system of "Compulsory Investigation." [86] See below, 283-287. [87] See below, 238-240. [88] The unions again lost their hold upon the packing industry in the autumn of 1921. CHAPTER 11 RECENT DEVELOPMENTS The Armistice with Germany came suddenly and unexpectedly. To the organized workers the news was as welcome as to other citizens. But, had they looked at the matter from a special trade union standpoint, they would probably have found a longer duration of the War not entirely amiss. For coal had been unionized already before the War, the railways first during the War, but the third basic industry, steel, was not touched either before or during the War. However, it was precisely in the steel industry that opposition to unionism has found its chief seat, not only to unionism in that industry alone but to unionism in related or subsidiary industries as well. The first three months after the Armistice the general expectation was for a set-back in business conditions due to the withdrawal of the enormous government War-time demand. Employers and trade unions stood equally undecided. When, however, instead of the expected slump, there came a prosperity unknown even during the War, the trade unions resumed their offensive, now unrestrained by any other but the strictly economic consideration. As a matter of fact, the trade unions were not at all free agents, since their demands, frequent and considerable though they were, barely sufficed to keep wages abreast of the soaring cost of living. Through 1919 and the first half of 1920 profits and wages were going up by leaps and bounds; and the forty-four hour week,--no longer the mere eight-hour day,--became a general slogan and a partial reality. Success was especially notable in clothing, building, printing, and the metal trades. One cannot say the same, however, of the three basic industries, steel, coal, and railways. In steel the twelve-hour day and the seven-day week continued as before for approximately one-half of the workers and the unions were preparing for a battle with the "Steel Trust." While on the railways and in coal mining the unions now began to encounter opposition from an unexpected quarter, namely, the government. When in the summer of 1919 the railway shopmen demanded an increase in their wages, which had not been raised since the summer of 1918, President Wilson practically refused the demand, urging the need of a general deflation but binding himself to use all the powers of the government immediately to reduce the cost of living. A significant incident in this situation was a spontaneous strike of shopmen on many roads unauthorized by international union officials, which disarranged the movement of trains for a short time but ended with the men returning to work under the combined pressure of their leaders' threats and the President's plea. In September 1919, the United States Railroad Administration and the shopmen's unions entered into national agreements, which embodied the practices under the Administration as well as those in vogue on the more liberal roads before 1918, including recognition and a large number of "working rules." These "national agreements" became an important issue one year later, when their abolition began to be pressed by the railway executives before the Railroad Labor Board, which was established under the Transportation Act of 1920. In the summer of 1919 employers in certain industries, like clothing, grew aware of a need of a more "psychological" handling of their labor force than heretofore in order to reduce a costly high labor turnover and no less costly stoppages of work. This created a veritable Eldorado for "employment managers" and "labor managers," real and spurious. Universities and colleges, heretofore wholly uninterested in the problem of labor or viewing training in that problem as but a part of a general cultural education, now vied with one another in establishing "labor management" and "labor personnel" courses. One phase of the "labor personnel" work was a rather wide experimentation with "industrial democracy" plans. These plans varied in form and content, from simple provision for shop committees for collective dealing, many of which had already been installed during the War under the orders of the War Labor Board, to most elaborate schemes, some modelled upon the Constitution of the United States. The feature which they all had in common was that they attempted to achieve some sort of collective bargaining outside the channels of the established trade unions. The trade unionists termed the new fashioned expressions of industrial democracy "company unions." This term one may accept as technically correct without necessarily accepting the sinister connotation imputed to it by labor. The trade unions, too, were benefiting as organizations. The Amalgamated Clothing Workers' Union firmly established itself by formal agreement on the men's clothing "markets" of Chicago, Rochester, Baltimore, and New York. The membership of the Amalgamated Clothing Workers' Union rose to 175,000. Employers in general were complaining of increased labor unrest, a falling off of efficiency in the shop, and looked askance at the rapid march of unionization. The trade unions, on their part, were aware of their opportunity and eager for a final recognition as an institution in industry. As yet uncertainty prevailed as to whether enough had survived of the War-time spirit of give and take to make a struggle avoidable, or whether the issue must be solved by a bitter conflict of classes. A partial showdown came in the autumn of 1919. Three great events, which came closely together, helped to clear the situation: The steel strike, the President's Industrial Conference, and the strike of the soft coal miners. The great steel strike, prepared and directed by a Committee representing twenty-four national and international unions with William Z. Foster as Secretary and moving spirit, tried in September 1919 to wrest from the owners of the steel mills what the railway shopmen had achieved in 1918 by invitation of the government, namely, "recognition" and the eight-hour day. Three hundred thousand men went out on strike at the call of the committee. The industry came to a practical standstill. But in this case the twenty-four allied unions were not dealing with a government amenable to political pressure, nor with a loosely joined association of employers competing among themselves. Furthermore, the time had passed when the government had either the will or the power to interfere and order both sides to arbitrate their dispute. On the contrary, the unions were now dealing unaided with the strongest capitalist aggregation in the world. At the request of President Wilson, Gompers had urged the strike committee to postpone the strike until after the meeting of the national industrial conference called by the President in October, but the committee claimed that it could not have kept the men back after a summer of agitation and feverish organization had they even tried. The President's conference, modelled upon a similar conference which met earlier in Great Britain, was composed of three groups of representatives equal in number, one for capital, one for labor, and one for the general public. Decisions, to be held effective, had to be adopted by a majority in each group. The labor representation, dominated of course by Gompers, was eager to make the discussion turn on the steel strike. It proposed a resolution to this effect which had the support of the public group, but fearing a certain rejection by the employer group the matter was postponed. The issue upon which the alignment was effected was industrial control and collective bargaining. All three groups, the employer and public groups and of course the labor group, advocated collective bargaining,--but with a difference. The labor group insisted that collective bargaining is doomed to be a farce unless the employes are allowed to choose as their spokesmen representatives of the national trade union. In the absence of a powerful protector in the national union, they argued, the workers in a shop can never feel themselves on a bargaining equality with their employer, nor can they be represented by a spokesman of the necessary ability if their choice be restricted to those working in the same plant. The employers, now no longer dominated by the War-time spirit which caused them in 1917 to tolerate an expansion of unionism, insisted that no employer must be obliged to meet for the purpose of collective bargaining with other than his own employes.[89] After two weeks of uncertainty, when it had become clear that a resolution supported by both labor and public groups, which restated the labor position in a milder form, would be certain to be voted down by the employer group, the labor group withdrew from the conference, and the conference broke up. The period of the cooperation of classes had definitely closed. Meantime the steel strike continued. Federal troops patrolled the steel districts and there was no violence. Nevertheless, a large part of the country's press pictured the strike by the steel workers for union recognition and a normal workday as an American counterpart of the Bolshevist revolution in Russia. Public opinion, unbalanced and excited as it was over the whirlpool of world events, was in no position to resist. The strike failed. Nothing made so clear to the trade unionists the changed situation since the War ended as the strike of the bituminous coal miners which began November 1. The miners had entered, in October 1917, into a wage agreement with the operators for the duration of the War. The purchasing power of their wages having become greatly reduced by the ever rising cost of living, discontent was general in the union. A further complication arose from the uncertain position of the United States with reference to War and Peace, which had a bearing on the situation. The miners claimed that the Armistice had ended the War. The War having ended, the disadvantageous agreement expired with it. So argued the miners and demanded a sixty percent increase in tonnage rates, a corresponding one for yardmen and others paid by the day or hour, and a thirty-hour week to spread employment through the year. The operators maintained that the agreement was still in force, but intimated a readiness to make concessions if they were permitted to shift the cost to the consumer. At this point, the Fuel Administration, a War-time government body, already partly in the process of dissolution, intervened and attempted to dictate a settlement at a fourteen percent increase, which was entirely unacceptable to the union. The strike continued and the prospect of a dire coal famine grew nearer. To break the deadlock, on motion of Attorney-General Palmer, Judge Anderson of Indianapolis, under the War-time Lever Act, issued an injunction forbidding the union officials to continue conducting the strike. The strike continued, the strikers refusing to return to work, and a Bituminous Coal Commission appointed by the President finally settled it by an award of an increase of twenty-seven percent. But that the same Administration which had given the unions so many advantages during the War should now have invoked against them a War-time law, which had already been considered practically abrogated, was a clear indication of the change in the times. In a strike by anthracite coal miners in the following year an award was made by a Presidential board of three, representing the employers, the union, and the public. The strikers, however, refused to abide by it and inaugurated a "vacation-strike," the individual strikers staying away on a so-called vacation, nominally against the will of the union officers. They finally returned to work. Both the steel and coal strikes furnished occasions for considerable anti-union propaganda in the press. Public sentiment long favorable to labor became definitely hostile.[90] In Kansas the legislature passed a compulsory arbitration law and created an Industrial Relations Court to adjudicate trade disputes. Simultaneously an "anti-Red" campaign inaugurated by Attorney-General Palmer contributed its share to the public excitement and helped to prejudice the cause of labor more by implication than by making direct charges. It was in an atmosphere thus surcharged with suspicion and fear that a group of employers, led by the National Association of Manufacturers and several local employers' organizations, launched an open-shop movement with the slogan of an "American plan" for shops and industries. Many employers, normally opposed to unionism, who in War-time had permitted unionism to acquire scope, were now trying to reconquer their lost positions. The example of the steel industry and the fiasco of the President's Industrial Conference crystallized this reviving anti-union sentiment into action. Meanwhile the railway labor situation remained unsettled and fraught with danger. The problem was bound up with the general problem as to what to do with the railways. Many plans were presented to Congress, from an immediate return to private owners to permanent government ownership and management. The railway labor organizations, that is, the four brotherhoods of the train service personnel and the twelve unions united in the Railway Employes' Department of the American Federation of Labor, came before Congress with the so-called Plumb Plan, worked out by Glenn E. Plumb, the legal representative of the brotherhoods. This plan proposed that the government take over the railways for good, paying a compensation to the owners, and then entrust their operation to a board composed of government officials, union representatives, and representatives of the technical staffs.[91] So much for ultimate plans. On the more immediate wage problem proper, the government had clearly fallen down on its promise made to the shopmen in August 1919, when their demands for higher wages were refused and a promise was made that the cost of living would be reduced. Early in 1920 President Wilson notified Congress that he would return the roads to the owners on March 1, 1920. A few days before that date the Esch-Cummins bill was passed under the name of the Transportation Act of 1920. Strong efforts were made to incorporate in the bill a prohibition against strikes and lockouts. In that form it had indeed passed the Senate. In the House bill, however, the compulsory arbitration feature was absent and the final law contained a provision for a Railroad Labor Board, of railway, union, and public representatives, to be appointed by the President, with the power of conducting investigations and issuing awards, but with the right to strike or lockout unimpaired either before, during, or after the investigation. It was the first appointed board of this description which was to pass on the clamorous demands by the railway employes for higher wages.[92] No sooner had the roads been returned under the new law, and before the board was even appointed, than a strike broke out among the switchmen and yardmen, whose patience had apparently been exhausted. The strike was an "outlaw" strike, undertaken against the wishes of national leaders and organized and led by "rebel" leaders risen up for the occasion. For a time it threatened not only to paralyze the country's railway system but to wreck the railway men's organizations as well. It was finally brought to an end through the efforts of the national leaders, and a telling effect on the situation was produced by an announcement by the newly constituted Railroad Labor Board that no "outlaw" organization would have standing before it. The Board issued an award on July 20, retroactive to May 1, increasing the total annual wage bill of the railways by $600,000,000. The award failed to satisfy the union, but they acquiesced. When the increase in wages was granted to the railway employes, industry in general and the railways in particular were already entering a period of slump. With the depression the open-shop movement took on a greater vigor. With unemployment rapidly increasing employers saw their chance to regain freedom from union control. A few months later the tide also turned in the movement of wages. Inside of a year the steel industry reduced wages thirty percent, in three like installments; and the twelve-hour day and the seven-day week, which had figured among the chief causes of the strike of 1919 and for which the United States Steel Corporation was severely condemned by a report of a Committee of the Interchurch World Movement,[93] has largely continued as before. In the New York "market" of the men's clothing industry, where the union faces the most complex and least stable condition mainly owing to the heterogeneous character of the employing group, the latter grasped the opportunity to break with the Amalgamated Clothing Workers' Union. By the end of the spring of 1921 the clothing workers won their struggle, showing that a union built along new lines was at least as efficient a fighting machine as any of the older unions. It was this union also and several local branches of the related union in the ladies' garment industry, which realized the need of assuring to the employer at least a minimum of labor efficiency if the newly established level of wages was not to be materially lowered. Hence the acceptance of the principle of "standards of production" fixed with the aid of scientific managers employed jointly by the employers and the union. The spring and summer of 1921 were a time of widespread "readjustment" strikes, or strikes against cuts in wages, especially in the building trades. The building industry went through in 1921 and 1922 one of its periodic upheavals against the tyranny of the "walking delegates" and against the state of moral corruption for which some of the latter shared responsibility together with an unscrupulous element among the employers. In San Francisco, where the grip of the unions upon the industry was strongest, the employers turned on them and installed the "open-shop" after the building trades' council had refused to accept an award by an arbitration committee set up by mutual agreement. The union claimed, however, in self-justification that the Committee, by awarding a _reduction_ in the wages of fifteen crafts while the issue as originally submitted turned on a demand by these crafts for a _raise_ in wages, had gone outside its legitimate scope. In New York City an investigation by a special legislative committee uncovered a state of reeking corruption among the leadership in the building trades' council and among an element in the employing group in connection with a successful attempt to establish a virtual local monopoly in building. Some of the leading corruptionists on both sides were given court sentences and the building trades' council accepted modifications in the "working rules" formulated by the counsel for the investigating committee. In Chicago a situation developed in many respects similar to the one in San Francisco. In a wage dispute, which was submitted by both sides to Federal Judge K.M. Landis for arbitration, the award authorized not only a wage reduction but a revision of the "working rules" as well. Most of the unionists refused to abide by the award and the situation developed into literal warfare. In Chicago the employers' side was aggressively upheld by a "citizens' committee" formed to enforce the Landis award. The committee claimed to have imported over 10,000 out-of-town building mechanics to take the places of the strikers. In the autumn of 1921 the employers in the packing industry discontinued the arrangement whereby industrial relations were administered by an "administrator,"[94] Judge Alschuler of Chicago, whose rulings had materially restricted the employers' control in the shop. Some of the employers put into effect company union plans. This led to a strike, but in the end the unions lost their foothold in the industry, which the War had enabled them to acquire. By that time, however, the open-shop movement seemed already passing its peak, without having caused an irreparable breach in the position of organized labor. Evidently, the long years of preparation before the War and the great opportunity during the War itself, if they have failed to give trade unionism the position of a recognized national institution, have at least made it immune from destruction by employers, however general or skillfully managed the attack. In 1920 the total organized union membership, including the 871,000 in unions unaffiliated with the American Federation of Labor, was slightly short of 5,000,000, or over four million in the Federation itself. In 1921 the membership of the Federation declined slightly to 3,906,000, and the total organized membership probably in proportion. In 1922 the membership of the Federation declined to about 3,200,000, showing a loss of about 850,000 since the high mark of 1920. The legal position of trade unions has continued as uncertain and unsatisfactory to the unions, as if no Clayton Act had been passed. The closed shop has been condemned as coercion of non-unionists. Yet in the Coppage case[95] the United States Supreme Court found that it is not coercion when an employer threatens discharge unless union membership is renounced. Similarly, it is unlawful for union agents to attempt organization, even by peaceful persuasion, when employes have signed contracts not to join the union as a condition of employment.[96] A decision which arouses strong doubt whether the Clayton Act made any change in the status of trade unions was given by the Supreme Court in the recent Duplex Printing case.[97] In this decision the union rested its defense squarely on the immunities granted by the Clayton Act. Despite this, the injunction was confirmed and the boycott again declared illegal, the court holding that the words "employer and employes" in the Act restrict its benefits only to "parties standing in proximate relation to a controversy," that is to the employes who are immediately involved in the dispute and not to the national union which undertakes to bring their employer to terms by causing their other members to boycott his goods. The prevailing judicial interpretation of unlawful union methods is briefly as follows: Strikes are illegal when they involve defamation, fraud, actual physical violence, threats of physical violence, or inducement of breach of contract. Boycotts are illegal when they bring third parties into the dispute by threats of strikes, or loss of business, publication of "unfair lists,"[98] or by interference with Interstate commerce. Picketing is illegal when accompanied by violence, threats, intimidation, and coercion. In December 1921 the Supreme Court declared mere numbers in groups constituted intimidation and, while admitting that circumstances may alter cases, limited peaceful picketing to one picket at each point of ingress or egress of the plant.[99] In another case the Court held unconstitutional an Arizona statute, which reproduced _verbatim_ the labor clauses of the Clayton Act;[100] this on the ground that concerted action by the union would be illegal if the means used were illegal and therefore the law which operated to make them legal deprived the plaintiff of his property without due process of law. In June 1922, in the Coronado case, the Court held that unions, although unincorporated, are in every respect like corporations and are liable for damages in their corporate capacity, including triple damages under the Sherman Anti-Trust law, and which may be collected from their funds. We have already pointed out that since the War ended the American labor movement has in the popular mind become linked with radicalism. The steel strike and the coal miners' strike in 1919, the revolt against the national leaders and "outlaw" strikes in the printing industry and on the railways in 1920, the advocacy by the organizations of the railway men of the Plumb Plan for nationalization of railways and its repeated endorsement by the conventions of the American Federation of Labor, the resolutions in favor of the nationalization of coal mines passed at the conventions of the United Mine Workers, the "vacation" strike by the anthracite coal miners in defiance of a government wage award, the sympathy expressed for Soviet Russia in a number of unions, notably of the clothing industry, have led many to see, despite the assertions of the leaders of the American Federation of Labor to the contrary, an apparent drift in the labor movement towards radicalism, or even the probability of a radical majority in the Federation in the not distant future. The most startling shift has been, of course, in the railway men's organizations, which have changed from a pronounced conservatism to an advocacy of a socialistic plan of railway nationalization under the Plumb Plan. The Plumb Plan raises the issue of socialism in its American form. In bare outline the Plan proposes government acquisition of the railroads at a value which excludes rights and privileges not specifically granted to the roads in their charters from the States. The government would then lease the roads to a private operating corporation governed by a tri-partite board of directors equally representing the consuming public, the managerial employes, and the classified employes. An automatic economy-sharing scheme was designed to assure efficient service at low rates calculated to yield a fixed return on a value shorn of capitalized privileges. The purpose of the Plumb Plan is to equalize the opportunities of labor and capital in using economic power to obtain just rewards for services rendered to the public. In this respect it resembles many of the land reform and other "panaceas" which are scattered through labor history. Wherein it differs is in making the trade unions the vital and organized representatives of producers' interests entitled to participate in the direct management of industry. An ideal of copartnership and self-employment was thus set up, going beyond the boundaries of self-help to which organized labor had limited itself in the eighties. But it is easy to overestimate the drift in the direction of radicalism. The Plumb Plan has not yet been made the _sine qua non_ of the American labor program. Although the American Federation of Labor endorsed the principle of government ownership of the railways at its conventions of 1920 and 1921, President Gompers, who spoke against the Plan, was reelected and again reelected. And in obeying instructions to cooperate with brotherhood leaders, he found that they also thought it inopportune to press Plumb Plan legislation actively. So far as the railway men themselves are concerned, after the Railroad Labor Board set up under the Esch-Cummins act had begun to pass decisions actually affecting wages and working rules, the pressure for the Plumb Plan subsided. Instead, the activities of the organizations, though scarcely lessened in intensity, have become centered upon the issues of conditions of employment. The drift towards independent labor politics, which many anticipate, also remains quite inconclusive. A Farmer-Labor party, launched in 1920 by influential labor leaders of Chicago (to be sure, against the wishes of the national leaders), polled not more than 350,000 votes. And in the same election, despite a wide dissatisfaction in labor circles with the change in the government's attitude after the passage of the War emergency and with a most sweeping use of the injunction in the coal strike, the vote for the socialist candidate for President fell below a million, that is behind the vote of 1912, notwithstanding a doubling of the electorate with women's suffrage. Finally, the same convention of the American Federation of Labor, which showed so much sympathy for the ideas of the Plumb Plan League, approved a rupture with the International Trade Union Federation, with headquarters in Amsterdam, Holland, mainly on account of the revolutionary character of the addresses issued by the latter. FOOTNOTES: [89] The most plausible argument in favor of the position taken by the employing group is that no employer should be forced to decide matters as intimately connected with the welfare of his business as the ones relating to his labor costs and shop discipline with national union leaders, since the latter, at best, are interested in the welfare of the trade as a whole but rarely in the particular success of _his own_ particular establishment. [90] The turn in public sentiment really dated from the threat of a strike for the eight-hour day by the four railway brotherhoods in 1916, which forced the passage of the Adamson law by Congress. The law was a victory for the brotherhoods, but also extremely useful to the enemies of organized labor in arousing public hostility to unionism. [91] See below, 259-261, for a more detailed description of the Plan. [92] The Transportation Act included a provision that prior to September 1, 1920, the railways could not reduce wages. [93] A Protestant interdenominational organization of influence, which investigated the strike and issued a report. [94] The union had not been formally "recognized" at any time. [95] Coppage _v._ Kansas, 236 U.S. (1915). [96] Hitchman Coal and Coke Co. _v._ Mitchell et al, 245 U.S. 229 (1917). [97] Duplex Printing Press Co. _v._ Deering, 41 Sup. Ct. 172 (1921). [98] Montana allows the "unfair list" and California allows all boycotts. [99] American Steel Foundries of Granite City, Illinois, _v._ Tri-City Central Trades' Council, 42 Sup. Ct. 72 (1921). [100] Truax et al. _v._ Corrigan, 42 Sup. Ct. 124 (1921). PART III CONCLUSIONS AND INFERENCES CHAPTER 12 AN ECONOMIC INTERPRETATION To interpret the labor movement means to offer a theory of the struggle between labor and capital in our present society. According to Karl Marx, the founder of modern socialism, the efficient cause in all the class struggles of history has been technical progress. Progress in the mode of making a living or the growth of "productive forces," says Marx, causes the coming up of new classes and stimulates in each and all classes a desire to use their power for a maximum class advantage. Referring to the struggle between the class of wage earners and the class of employers, Marx brings out that modern machine technique has concentrated the social means of production under the ownership of the capitalist, who thus became absolute master. The laborer indeed remains a free man to dispose of his labor as he wishes, but, having lost possession of the means of production, which he had as a master-workman during the preceding handicraft stage of industry, his freedom is only an illusion and his bargaining power is no greater than if he were a slave. But capitalism, Marx goes on to say, while it debases the worker, at the same time produces the conditions of his ultimate elevation. Capitalism with its starvation wages and misery makes the workers conscious of their common interests as an exploited class, concentrates them in a limited number of industrial districts, and forces them to organize for a struggle against the exploiters. The struggle is for the complete displacement of the capitalists both in government and industry by the revolutionary labor class. Moreover, capitalism itself renders effective although unintended aid to its enemies by developing the following three tendencies: First, we have the tendency towards the concentration of capital and wealth in the hands of a few of the largest capitalists, which reduces the number of the natural supporters of capitalism. Second, we observe a tendency towards a steady depression of wages and a growing misery of the wage-earning class, which keeps revolutionary ardor alive. And lastly, the inevitable and frequent economic crises under capitalism disorganize it and hasten it on towards destruction. The last and gravest capitalistic industrial crisis will coincide with the social revolution which will bring capitalism to an end. The wage-earning class must under no condition permit itself to be diverted from its revolutionary program into futile attempts to "patch-up" capitalism. The labor struggle must be for the abolition of capitalism. American wage earners have steadily disappointed several generations of Marxians by their refusal to accept the Marxian theory of social development and the Marxian revolutionary goal. In fact, in their thinking, most American wage earners do not start with any general theory of industrial society, but approach the subject as bargainers, desiring to strike the best wage bargain possible. They also have a conception of what the bargain ought to yield them by way of real income, measured in terms of their customary standard of living, in terms of security for the future, and in terms of freedom in the shop or "self-determination." What impresses them is not so much the fact that the employer owns the employment opportunities but that he possesses a high degree of bargaining advantage over them. Viewing the situation as bargainers, they are forced to give their best attention to the menaces they encounter as bargainers, namely, to the competitive menaces; for on these the employer's own advantage as a bargainer rests. Their impulse is therefore not to suppress the employer, but to suppress those competitive menaces, be they convict labor, foreign labor, "green" or untrained workers working on machines, and so forth. To do so they feel they must organize into a union and engage in a "class struggle" against the employer. It is the employer's purpose to bring in ever lower and lower levels in competition among laborers and depress wages; it is the purpose of the union to eliminate those lower levels and to make them stay eliminated. That brings the union men face to face with the whole matter of industrial control. They have no assurance that the employer will not get the best of them in bargaining unless they themselves possess enough control over the shop and the trade to check him. Hence they will strive for the "recognition" of the union by the employer or the associated employers as an acknowledged part of the government of the shop and the trade. It is essential to note that in struggling for recognition, labor is struggling not for something absolute, as would be a struggle for a complete dispossession of the employer, but for the sort of an end that admits of relative differences and gradations. Industrial control may be divided in varying proportions,[101] reflecting at any one time the relative ratio of bargaining power of the contesting sides. It is labor's aim to continue increasing its bargaining power and with it its share of industrial control, just as it is the employer's aim to maintain a _status quo_ or better. Although this presupposes a continuous struggle, it is not a revolutionary but an "opportunist" struggle. Once we accept the view that a broadly conceived aim to control competitive menaces is the key to the conduct of organized labor in America, light is thrown on the causes of the American industrial class struggles. In place of looking for these causes, with the Marxians, in the domain of technique and production, we shall look for them on the market, where all developments which affect labor as a bargainer and competitor, of which technical change is one, are sooner or later bound to register themselves. It will then become possible to account for the long stretch of industrial class struggle in America prior to the factory system, while industry continued on the basis of the handicraft method of production. Also we shall be able to render to ourselves a clearer account of the changes, with time, in the intensity of the struggle, which, were we to follow the Marxian theory, would appear hopelessly irregular. We shall take for an illustration the shoe industry.[102] The ease with which shoes can be transported long distances, due to the relatively high money value contained in small bulk, rendered the shoe industry more sensitive to changes in marketing than other industries. Indeed we may say that the shoe industry epitomized the general economic evolution of the country.[103] We observe no industrial class struggle during Colonial times when the market remained purely local and the work was custom-order work. The journeyman found his standard of life protected along with the master's own through the latter's ability to strike a favorable bargain with the consumer. This was done by laying stress upon the quality of the work. It was mainly for this reason that during the custom-order stage of industry the journeymen seldom if ever raised a protest because the regulation of the craft, be it through a guild or through an informal organization, lay wholly in the hands of the masters. Moreover, the typical journeyman expected in a few years to set up with an apprentice or two in business for himself--so there was a reasonable harmony of interests. A change came when improvements in transportation, the highway and later the canal, had widened the area of competition among masters. As a first step, the master began to produce commodities in advance of the demand, laying up a stock of goods for the retail trade. The result was that his bargaining capacity over the consumer was lessened and so prices eventually had to be reduced, and with them also wages. The next step was even more serious. Having succeeded in his retail business, the master began to covet a still larger market,--the wholesale market. However, the competition in this wider market was much keener than it had been in the custom-order or even in the retail market. It was inevitable that both prices and wages should suffer in the process. The master, of course, could recoup himself by lowering the quality of the product, but when he did that he lost a telling argument in bargaining with the consumer or the retail merchant. Another result of this new way of conducting the business was that an increased amount of capital was now required for continuous operation, both in raw material and in credits extended to distant buyers. The next phase in the evolution of the market rendered the separation of the journeymen into a class by themselves even sharper as well as more permanent. The market had grown to such dimensions that only a specialist in marketing and credit could succeed in business, namely, the "merchant-capitalist." The latter now interposed himself permanently between "producer" and consumer and by his control of the market assumed a commanding position. The merchant-capitalist ran his business upon the principle of a large turn-over and a small profit per unit of product, which, of course, made his income highly speculative. He was accordingly interested primarily in low production and labor costs. To depress the wage levels he tapped new and cheaper sources of labor supply, in prison labor, low wage country-town labor, woman and child labor; and set them up as competitive menaces to the workers in the trade. The merchant-capitalist system forced still another disadvantage upon the wage earner by splitting up crafts into separate operations and tapping lower levels of skill. In the merchant-capitalist period we find the "team work" and "task" system. The "team" was composed of several workers: a highly skilled journeyman was in charge, but the other members possessed varying degrees of skill down to the practically unskilled "finisher." The team was generally paid a lump wage, which was divided by an understanding among the members. With all that the merchant-capitalist took no appreciable part in the productive process. His equipment consisted of a warehouse where the raw material was cut up and given out to be worked up by small contractors, to be worked up in small shops with a few journeymen and apprentices, or else by the journeyman at his home,--all being paid by the piece. This was the notorious "sweatshop system." The contractor or sweatshop boss was a mere labor broker deriving his income from the margin between the piece rate he received from the merchant-capitalist and the rate he paid in wages. As any workman could easily become a contractor with the aid of small savings out of wages, or with the aid of money advanced by the merchant-capitalist, the competition between contractors was of necessity of the cut-throat kind. The industrial class struggle was now a three-cornered one, the contractor aligning himself here with the journeymen, whom he was forced to exploit, there with the merchant-capitalist, but more often with the latter. Also, owing to the precariousness of the position of both contractor and journeyman, the class struggle now reached a new pitch of intensity hitherto unheard of. It is important to note, however, that as yet the tools of production had not undergone any appreciable change, remaining hand tools as before, and also that the journeyman still owned them. So that the beginning of class struggles had nothing to do with machine technique and a capitalist ownership of the tools of production. The capitalist, however, had placed himself across the outlets to the market and dominated by using all the available competitive menaces to both contractor and wage earner. Hence the bitter class struggle. The thirties witnessed the beginning of the merchant-capitalist system in the cities of the East. But the situation grew most serious during the forties and fifties. That was a period of the greatest disorganization of industry. The big underlying cause was the rapid extension of markets outrunning the technical development of industry. The large market, opened first by canals and then by railroads, stimulated the keenest sort of competition among the merchant-capitalists. But the industrial equipment at their disposal had made no considerable progress. Except in the textile industry, machinery had not yet been invented or sufficiently perfected to make its application profitable. Consequently industrial society was in the position of an antiquated public utility in a community which persistently forces ever lower and lower rates. It could continue to render service only by cutting down the returns to the factors of production,--by lowering profits, and especially by pressing down wages. In the sixties the market became a national one as the effect of the consolidation into trunk lines of the numerous and disconnected railway lines built during the forties and fifties. Coincident with the nationalized market for goods, production began to change from a handicraft to a machine basis. The former sweatshop boss having accumulated some capital, or with the aid of credit, now became a small "manufacturer," owning a small plant and employing from ten to fifty workmen. Machinery increased the productivity of labor and gave a considerable margin of profits, which enabled him to begin laying a foundation for his future independence of the middleman. As yet he was, however, far from independent. The wider areas over which manufactured products were now to be distributed, called more than ever before for the services of the specialist in marketing, namely, the wholesale-jobber. As the market extended, he sent out his traveling men, established business connections, and advertised the articles which bore his trade mark. His control of the market opened up credit with the banks, while the manufacturer, who with the exception of his patents possessed only physical capital and no market opportunities, found it difficult to obtain credit. Moreover, the rapid introduction of machinery tied up all of the manufacturers' available capital and forced him to turn his products into money as rapidly as possible, with the inevitable result that the merchant was given an enormous bargaining advantage over him. Had the extension of the market and the introduction of machinery proceeded at a less rapid pace, the manufacturer probably would have been able to obtain greater control over the market opportunities, and the larger credit which this would have given him, combined with the accumulation of his own capital, might have been sufficient to meet his needs. However, as the situation really developed, the merchant obtained a superior bargaining power and, by playing off the competing manufacturers one against another, produced a cut-throat competition, low prices, low profits, and consequently a steady and insistent pressure upon wages. This represents the situation in the seventies and eighties. For labor the combination of cut-throat competition among employers with the new machine technique brought serious consequences. In this era of machinery the forces of technical evolution decisively joined hands with the older forces of marketing evolution to depress the conditions of the wage bargain. It is needless to dilate upon the effects of machine technique on labor conditions--they have become a commonplace of political economy. The shoemakers were first among the organized trades to feel the effects. In the later sixties they organized what was then the largest trade union in the world, the Order of the Knights of St. Crispin,[104] to ward off the menace of "green hands" set to work on machines. With the machinists and the metal trades in general, the invasion of unskilled and little skilled competitors began a decade later. But the main and general invasion came in the eighties, the proper era from which to date machine production in America. It was during the eighties that we witness an attempted fusion into one organization, the Order of the Knights of Labor, of the machine-menaced mechanics and the hordes of the unskilled.[105] With the nineties a change comes at last. The manufacturer finally wins his independence. Either he reaches out directly to the ultimate consumer by means of chains of stores or other devices, or else, he makes use of his control over patents and trade marks and thus succeeds in reducing the wholesale-jobber to a position which more nearly resembles that of an agent working on a commission basis than that of the _quondam_ industrial ruler. The immediate outcome is, of course, a considerable increase in the manufacturer's margin of profit. The industrial class struggle begins to abate in intensity. The employer, now comparatively free of anxiety that he may be forced to operate at a loss, is able to diminish pressure on wages. But more than this: the greater certainty about the future, now that he is a free agent, enables him to enter into time agreements with a trade union. At first he is generally disinclined to forego any share of his newly acquired freedom by tying himself up with a union. But if the union is strong and can offer battle, then he accepts the situation and "recognizes" it. Thus the class struggle instead of becoming sharper and sharper with the advance of capitalism and leading, as Marx predicted, to a social revolution, in reality, grows less and less revolutionary and leads to a compromise or succession of compromises,--namely, collective trade agreements. But the manufacturer's emancipation from the middleman need not always lead to trade agreements. In the shoe industry this process did not do away with competition. In other industries such an emancipation was identical with the coming in of the "trust," or a combination of competing manufacturers into a monopoly. As soon as the "trust" becomes practically the sole employer of labor in an industry, the relations between labor and capital are thrown almost invariably back into the state of affairs which characterized the merchant-capitalist system at its worst, but with one important difference. Whereas under the merchant-capitalist system the employer was _obliged_ to press down on wages and fight unionism to death owing to cut-throat competition, the "trust," its strength supreme in both commodity and labor market, can do so and usually does so _of free choice_. The character of the labor struggle has been influenced by cyclical changes in industry as much as by the permanent changes in the organization of industry and market. In fact, whereas reaction to the latter has generally been slow and noticeable only over long periods of time, with a turn in the business cycle, the labor movement reacted surely and instantaneously. We observed over the greater part of the history of American labor an alternation of two planes of thought and action, an upper and a lower. On the upper plane, labor thought was concerned with ultimate goals, self-employment or cooperation, and problems arising therefrom, while action took the form of politics. On the lower plane, labor abandoned the ultimate for the proximate, centering on betterments within the limits of the wage system and on trade-union activity. Labor history in the past century was largely a story of labor's shifting from one plane to another, and then again to the first. It was also seen that what determined the plane of thought and action at any one time was the state of business measured by movements of wholesale and retail prices and employment and unemployment. When prices rose and margins of employers' profits were on the increase, the demand for labor increased and accordingly also labor's strength as a bargainer; at the same time, labor was compelled to organize to meet a rising cost of living. At such times trade unionism monopolized the arena, won strikes, increased membership, and forced "cure-alls" and politics into the background. When, however, prices fell and margins of profit contracted, labor's bargaining strength waned, strikes were lost, trade unions faced the danger of extinction, and "cure-alls" and politics received their day in court. Labor would turn to government and politics only as a last resort, when it had lost confidence in its ability to hold its own in industry. This phenomenon, noticeable also in other countries, came out with particular clearness in America. For, as a rule, down to the World War, prices both wholesale and retail, fluctuated in America more violently than in England or the Continent. And twice, once in the thirties and again in the sixties, an irredeemable paper currency moved up the water mark of prices to tremendous heights followed by reactions of corresponding depth. From the war of 1812, the actual beginning of an industrial America, to the end of the century, the country went through several such complete industrial and business cycles. We therefore conveniently divide labor and trade union history into periods on the basis of the industrial cycle. It was only in the nineties, as we saw, that the response of the labor movement to price fluctuations ceased to mean a complete or nearly complete abandonment of trade unionism during depressions. A continuous and stable trade union movement consequently dates only from the nineties. The cooperative movement which was, as we saw, far less continuous than trade unionism, has also shown the effects of the business cycle. The career of distributive cooperation in America has always been intimately related to the movements of retail prices and wages. If, in the advance of wages and prices during the ascending portion of the industrial cycle, the cost of living happened to outdistance wages by a wide margin, the wage earners sought a remedy in distributive cooperation. They acted likewise during the descending portion of the industrial cycle, when retail prices happened to fall much less slowly than wages. Producers' cooperation in the United States has generally been a "hard times" remedy. When industrial prosperity has passed its high crest and strikes have begun to fail, producers' cooperation has often been used as a retaliatory measure to bring the employer to terms by menacing to underbid him in the market. Also, when in the further downward course of industry the point has been reached where cuts in wages and unemployment have become quite common, producers' cooperation has sometimes come in as an attempt to enable the wage earner to obtain both employment and high earnings bolstered through cooperative profits. FOOTNOTES: [101] The struggle for control, as carried on by trade unions, centers on such matters as methods of wage determination, the employer's right of discharge, hiring and lay-off, division of work, methods of enforcing shop discipline, introduction of machinery and division of labor, transfers of employes, promotions, the union or non-union shop, and similar subjects. [102] The first trade societies were organized by shoemakers. (See above, 4-7.) [103] See Chapter on "American Shoemakers," in _Labor and Administration_, by John R. Commons (Macmillan, 1913). [104] See Don D. Lescohier, _The Order of the Knights of St. Crispin_. [105] See above, 114-116. CHAPTER 13 THE IDEALISTIC FACTOR The puzzling fact about the American labor movement is, after all, its limited objective. As we saw before, the social order which the typical American trade unionist considers ideal is one in which organized labor and organized capital possess equal bargaining power. The American trade unionist wants, first, an equal voice with the employer in fixing wages and, second, a big enough control over the productive processes to protect job, health, and organization. Yet he does not appear to wish to saddle himself and fellow wage earners with the trouble of running industry without the employer. But materialistic though this philosophy appears, it is nevertheless the product of a long development to which the spiritual contributed no less than the material. In fact the American labor movement arrived at an opportunist trade unionism only after an endeavor spread over more than seventy years to realize a more idealistic program. American labor started with the "ideology" of the Declaration of Independence in 1776. Intended as a justification of a political revolution, the Declaration was worded by the authors as an expression of faith in a social revolution. To controvert the claims of George III, Thomas Jefferson quoted Rousseau. To him Rousseau was in all probability little more than an abstract "beau idéal," but Rousseau's abstractions were no mere abstractions to the pioneer American farmer. To the latter the doctrine that all men are born free and equal seemed to have grown directly out of experience. So it appeared, two or three generations later, to the young workmen when they for the first time achieved political consciousness. And, if reality ceased to square with the principles of the Declaration, it became, they felt, the bounden duty of every true American to amend reality. Out of a combination of the principles of individual rights, individual self-determination, equality of opportunity, and political equality enumerated and suggested in the Declaration, arose the first and most persistent American labor philosophy. This philosophy differed in no wise from the philosophy of the old American democracy except in emphasis and particular application, yet these differences are highly significant. Labor read into the Declaration of Independence a condemnation of the wage system as a permanent economic régime; sooner or later in place of the wage system had to come _self-employment_. Americanism to them was a social and economic as well as a political creed. Economic self-determination was as essential to the individual as political equality. Just as no true American will take orders from a king, so he will not consent forever to remain under the orders of a "boss." It was the _uplifting_ force of this social ideal as much as the propelling force of the changing economic environment that molded the American labor program. We find it at work at first in the decade of the thirties at the very beginning of the labor movement. It then took the form of a demand for a free public school system. These workingmen in Philadelphia and New York discovered that in the place of the social democracy of the Declaration, America had developed into an "aristocracy." They thought that the root of it all lay in "inequitable" legislation which fostered "monopoly," hence the remedy lay in democratic legislation. But they further realized that a political and social democracy must be based on an educated and intelligent working class. No measure, therefore, could be more than a palliative until they got a "Republican" system of education. The workingmen's parties of 1828-1831 failed as parties, but humanitarians like Horace Mann took up the struggle for free public education and carried it to success. If in the thirties the labor program was to restore a social and political democracy by means of the public school, in the forties the program centered on economic democracy, on equality of economic opportunity. This took the form of a demand of a grant of public land free of charge to everyone willing to brave the rigors of pioneer life. The government should thus open an escape to the worker from the wage system into self-employment by way of free land. After years of agitation, the same cry was taken up by the Western States eager for more settlers to build up their communities and this combined agitation proved irresistible and culminated in the Homestead law of 1862. The Homestead law opened up the road to self-employment by way of free land and agriculture. But in the sixties the United States was already becoming an industrial country. In abandoning the city for the farm, the wage earner would lose the value of his greatest possession--his skill. Moreover, as a homesteader, his problem was far from solved by mere access to free land. Whether he went on the land or stayed in industry, he needed access to reasonably free credit. The device invented by workingmen to this end was the bizarre "greenback" idea which held their minds as if in a vise for nearly twenty years. "Greenbackism" left no such permanent trace on American social and economic structure as "Republican education" or "free land." The lure of "greenbackism" was that it offered an opportunity for self-employment. But already in the sixties, it became clear that the workingman could not expect to attain self-employment as an individual, but if at all, it had to be sought on the basis of producers' cooperation. In the eighties, it became doubly clear that industry had gone beyond the one-man-shop stage; self-employment had to stand or fall with the cooperative or self-governing workshop. The protagonist of this most interesting and most idealistic striving of American labor was the "Noble Order of the Knights of Labor," which reached its height in the middle of the eighties. The period of the greatest enthusiasm for cooperation was between 1884 and 1887; and by 1888 the cooperative movement had passed the full cycle of life and succumbed. The failure of cooperation proved a turning point in the evolution of the American labor program. Whatever the special causes of failure, the idealistic unionism, for which the ideas of the Declaration of Independence served as a fountain head, suffered in the eyes of labor, a degree of discredit so overwhelming that to regain its old position was no longer possible. The times were ripe for the opportunistic unionism of Gompers and the trade unionists. These latter, having started in the seventies as Marxian socialists, had been made over into opportunistic unionists by their practical contact with American conditions. Their philosophy was narrower than that of the Knights and their concept of labor solidarity narrower still. However, these trade unionists demonstrated that they could win strikes. It was to this practical trade unionism, then, that the American labor movement turned, about 1890, when the idealism of the Knights of Labor had failed. From groping for a cooperative economic order or self-employment, labor turned with the American Federation of Labor to developing bargaining power for use against employers. This trade unionism stood for a strengthened group consciousness. While it continued to avow sympathy with the "anti-monopoly" aspirations of the "producers," who fought for the opportunity of self-employment, it also declared that the interests of democracy will be best served if the wage earners organized by themselves. This opportunist unionism, now at last triumphant over the idealistic unionism induced by America's spiritual tradition, soon was obliged to fight against a revolutionary unionism which, like itself, was an offshoot of the socialism of the seventies. At first, the American Federation of Labor was far from hostile to socialism as a philosophy. Its attitude was rather one of mild contempt for what it considered to be wholly impracticable under American conditions, however necessary or efficacious under other conditions. When, about 1890, the socialists declared their policy of "boring from within," that is, of capturing the Federation for socialism by means of propaganda in Federation ranks, this attitude remained practically unchanged. Only when, dissatisfied with the results of boring from within, the socialists, now led by a more determined leadership, attempted in 1895 to set up a rival to the Federation in the Socialist Trade and Labor Alliance, was there a sharp line drawn between socialist and anti-socialist in the Federation. The issue once having become a fighting issue, the leaders of the Federation experienced the need of a positive and well rounded-out social philosophy capable of meeting socialism all along the front instead of the former self-imposed super-pragmatism. By this time, the Federation had become sufficiently removed in point of time from its foreign origin to turn to the social ideal derived from pioneer America as the philosophy which it hoped would successfully combat an aggressive and arrogant socialism. Thus it came about that the front against socialism was built out from the immediate and practical into the ultimate and spiritual; and that inferences drawn from a reading of Jefferson's Declaration, with its emphasis on individual liberty, were pressed into service against the seductive collectivist forecasts of Marx. CHAPTER 14 WHY THERE IS NOT AN AMERICAN LABOR PARTY The question of a political labor party hinges, in the last analysis, on the benefits which labor expects from government. If, under the constitution, government possesses considerable power to regulate industrial relations and improve labor conditions, political power is worth striving for. If, on the contrary, the power of the government is restricted by a rigid organic law, the matter is reversed. The latter is the situation in the United States. The American constitutions, both Federal and State, contain bills of rights which embody in fullness the eighteenth-century philosophy of economic individualism and governmental _laissez-faire_. The courts, Federal and State, are given the right to override any law enacted by Congress or the State legislatures which may be shown to conflict with constitutional rights. In the exercise of this right, American judges have always inclined to be very conservative in allowing the legislature to invade the province of economic freedom. At present after many years of agitation by humanitarians and trade unionists, the cause of legislative protection of child and woman laborers seems to be won in principle. But this progress has been made because it has been shown conclusively that the protection of these most helpless groups of the wage-earning class clearly falls within the scope of public purpose and is therefore a lawful exercise of the state's police power within the meaning of the constitution. However, adult male labor offers a far different case. Moreover, should the unexpected happen and the courts become converted to a broader view, the legislative standards would be small compared with the standards already enforced by most of the trade unions. Consequently, so far as adult male workers are concerned (and they are of course the great bulk of organized labor), labor in America would scarcely be justified in diverting even a part of its energy from trade unionism to a relatively unprofitable seeking of redress through legislatures and courts.[106] But this is no more than half the story. Granting even that political power may be worth having, its attainment is beset with difficulties and dangers more than sufficient to make responsible leaders pause. The causes reside once more in the form of government, also in the general nature of American politics, and in political history and tradition. To begin with, labor would have to fight not on one front, but on forty-nine different fronts.[107] Congress and the States have power to legislate on labor matters; also, in each, power is divided between an executive and the two houses of the legislature. Decidedly, government in America was built not for strength but for weakness. The splitting up of sovereignty does not especially interfere with the purposes of a conservative party, but to a party of social and industrial reform it offers a disheartening obstacle. A labor party, to be effective, would be obliged to capture all the diffused bits of sovereignty at the same time. A partial gain is of little avail, since it is likely to be lost at the next election even simultaneously with a new gain. But we have assumed here that the labor party had reached the point where its trials are the trials of a party in power or nearing power. In reality, American labor parties are spared this sort of trouble by trials of an anterior order residing in the nature of American politics. The American political party system antedates the formation of modern economic classes, especially the class alignment of labor and capital. Each of the old parties represents, at least in theory, the entire American community regardless of class. Party differences are considered differences of opinion or of judgment on matters of public policy, not differences of class interest. The wage earner in America, who never had to fight for his suffrage but received it as a free gift from the Jeffersonian and Jacksonian democratic movements and who did not therefore develop the political class consciousness which was stamped into the workers in Europe by the feeling of revolt against an upper ruling class, is prone to adopt the same view of politics. Class parties in America have always been effectively countered by the old established parties with the charge that they tend to incite class against class. But the old parties had on numerous occasions, as we saw, an even more effective weapon. No sooner did a labor party gain a foothold, than the old party politician, the "friend of labor," did appear and start a rival attraction by a more or less verbal adherence to one or more planks of the rising party. Had he been, as in Europe, a branded spokesman of a particular economic class or interest, it would not have been difficult to ward him off. But here in America, he said that he too was a workingman and was heart and soul for the workingman. Moreover, the workingman was just as much attached to an old party label as any average American. In a way he considered it an assertion of his social equality with any other group of Americans that he could afford to take the same "disinterested" and tradition-bound view of political struggles as the rest. This is why labor parties generally encountered such disheartening receptions at the hands of workingmen; also why it was difficult to "deliver the labor vote" to any party. This, on the whole, describes the condition of affairs today as it does the situations in the past. In the end, should the workingman be pried loose from his traditional party affiliation by a labor event of transcendent importance for the time being, should he be stirred to political revolt by an oppressive court decision, or the use of troops to break a strike; then, at the next election, when the excitement has had time to subside, he will usually return to his political normality. Moreover, should labor discontent attain depth, it may be safely assumed that either one or the other of the old parties or a faction therein will seek to divert its driving force into its own particular party channel. Should the labor party still persist, the old party politicians, whose bailiwick it will have particularly invaded, will take care to encourage, by means not always ethical but nearly always effective, strife in its ranks. Should that fail, the old parties will in the end "fuse" against the upstart rival. If they are able to stay "fused" during enough elections and also win them, the fidelity of the adherent of the third party is certain to be put to a hard and unsuccessful test. To the outsider these conclusions may appear novel, but labor in America learned these lessons through a long experience, which began when the first workingmen's parties were attempted in 1828-1832. The limited potentialities of labor legislation together with the apparent hopelessness of labor party politics compelled the American labor movement to develop a sort of non-partisan political action with limited objectives thoroughly characteristic of American conditions. Labor needs protection from interference by the courts in the exercise of its economic weapons, the strike and the boycott, upon which it is obviously obliged to place especial reliance. In other words, though labor may refuse to be drawn into the vortex of politics for the sake of positive attainments, or, that is to say, labor legislation, it is compelled to do so for the sake of a _negative_ gain--a judicial _laissez-faire_. That labor does by pursuing a policy of "reward your friends" and "punish your enemies" in the sphere of politics. The method itself is an old one in the labor movement; we saw it practiced by George Henry Evans and the land reformers of the forties as well as by Steward and the advocates of the eight-hour day by law in the sixties. The American Federation of Labor merely puts it to use in connection with a new objective, namely, freedom from court interference. Although the labor vote is largely "undeliverable," still where the parties are more or less evenly matched in strength, that portion of the labor vote which is politically conscious of its economic interests may swing the election to whichever side it turns. Under certain conditions[108] labor has been known even to attain through such indirection in excess of what it might have won had it come to share in power as a labor party. The controversy around labor in politics brings up in the last analysis the whole problem of leadership in labor organizations, or to be specific, the role of the intellectual in the movement. In America his role has been remarkably restricted. For a half century or more the educated classes had no connection with the labor movement, for in the forties and fifties, when the Brook Farm enthusiasts and their associates took up with fervor the social question, they were really alone in the field, since the protracted trade depression had laid all labor organization low. It was in the eighties, with the turmoil of the Knights of Labor and the Anarchist bomb in Chicago, that the "intellectuals" first awakened to the existence of a labor problem. To this awakening no single person contributed more than the economist Professor Richard T. Ely, then of Johns Hopkins University. His pioneer work on the _Labor Movement in America_ published in 1886, and the works of his many capable students gave the labor movement a permanent place in the public mind, besides presenting the cause of labor with scientific precision and with a judicious balance. Among the other pioneers were preachers like Washington Gladden and Lyman Abbott, who conceived their duty as that of mediators between the business class and the wage earning class, exhorting the former to deal with their employes according to the Golden Rule and the latter to moderation in their demands. Together with the economists they helped to break down the prejudice against labor unionism in so far as the latter was non-revolutionary. And though their influence was large, they understood that their maximum usefulness would be realized by remaining sympathetic outsiders and not by seeking to control the course of the labor movement. In recent years a new type of intellectual has come to the front. A product of a more generalized mental environment than his predecessor, he is more daring in his retrospects and his prospects. He is just as ready to advance an "economic interpretation of the constitution" as to advocate a collectivistic panacea for the existing industrial and social ills. Nor did this new intellectual come at an inopportune time for getting a hearing. Confidence in social conservatism has been undermined by an exposure in the press and through legislative investigations of the disreputable doings of some of the staunchest conservatives. At such a juncture "progressivism" and a "new liberalism" were bound to come into their own in the general opinion of the country. But the labor movement resisted. American labor, both during the periods of neglect and of moderate championing by the older generation of intellectuals, has developed a leadership wholly its own. This leadership, of which Samuel Gompers is the most notable example, has given years and years to building up a united fighting _morale_ in the army of labor. And because the _morale_ of an army, as these leaders thought, is strong only when it is united upon one common attainable purpose, the intellectual with his new and unfamiliar issues has been given the cold shoulder by precisely the trade unionists in whom he had anticipated to find most eager disciples. The intellectual might go from success to success in conquering the minds of the middle classes; the labor movement largely remains closed to him. To make matters worse the intellectual has brought with him a psychology which is particularly out of fit with the American labor situation. We noted that the American labor movement became shunted from the political arena into the economic one by virtue of fundamental conditions of American political institutions and political life. However, it is precisely in political activity where the intellectual is most at home. The clear-cut logic and symmetry of political platforms based on general theories, the broad vistas which it may be made to encompass, and lastly the opportunity for eloquent self-expression offered by parliamentary debates, all taken together exert a powerful attraction for the intellectualized mind. Contrast with this the prosaic humdrum work of a trade union leader, the incessant wrangling over "small" details and "petty" grievances, and the case becomes exceedingly clear. The mind of the typical intellectual is too generalized to be lured by any such alternative. He is out of patience with mere amelioration, even though it may mean much in terms of human happiness to the worker and his family. When in 1906, in consequence of the heaping up of legal disabilities upon the trade unions, American labor leaders turned to politics to seek a restraining hand upon the courts,[109] the intellectuals foresaw a political labor party in the not distant future. They predicted that one step would inevitably lead to another, that from a policy of bartering with the old parties for anti-injunction planks in their platforms, labor would turn to a political party of its own. The intellectual critic continues to view the political action of the American Federation of Labor as the first steps of an invalid learning to walk; and hopes that before long he will learn to walk with a firmer step, without feeling tempted to lean upon the only too willing shoulders of old-party politicians. On the contrary, the Federation leaders, as we know, regard their political work as a necessary evil, due to an unfortunate turn of affairs, which forces them from time to time to step out of their own trade union province in order that their natural enemy, the employing class, might get no aid and comfort from an outside ally. Of late a _rapprochement_ between the intellectual and trade unionist has begun to take place. However, it is not founded on the relationship of leader and led, but only on a business relationship, or that of giver and receiver of paid technical advice. The role of the trained economist in handling statistics and preparing "cases" for trade unionists before boards of arbitration is coming to be more and more appreciated. The railway men's organizations were first to put the intellectual to this use, the miners and others followed. From this it is still a far cry to the role of such intellectuals as Sidney and Beatrice Webb, G.D.H. Cole and the Fabian Research group in England, who have really permeated the British labor movement with their views on labor policy. However, there is also a place for the American intellectual as an ally of trade unionism, not only as its paid servant. The American labor movement has committed a grave and costly error because it has not made use of the services of writers, journalists, lecturers, and speakers to popularize its cause with the general public. Some of its recent defeats, notably the steel strike of 1919, were partly due to the neglect to provide a sufficient organization of labor publicity to counteract the anti-union publicity by the employers. FOOTNOTES: [106] This assumes that the legislative program of labor would deal primarily with the regulation of labor conditions in private employment analogous to the legislative program of the British trade unions until recent years. Should labor in America follow the newer program of labor in Britain and demand the taking over of industries by government with compensation, it is not certain that the courts would prove as serious a barrier as in the other case. However, the situation would remain unchanged so far as the difficulties discussed in the remainder of this chapter are concerned. [107] For the control of the national government and of the forty-eight State governments. [108] Such as a state of war; see above, 235-236. [109] See above, 203-204. CHAPTER 15 THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE PROLETARIAT AND TRADE UNIONISM The rise of a political and economic dictatorship by the wage-earning class in revolutionary Russia in 1917 has focussed public opinion on the labor question as no other event ever did. But one will scarcely say that it has tended to clarity of thought. On the one hand, the conservative feels confirmed in his old suspicions that there is something inherently revolutionary in any labor movement. The extreme radical, on the other hand, is as uncritically hopeful for a Bolshevist upheaval in America as the conservative or reactionary is uncritically fearful. Both forget that an effective social revolution is not the product of mere chance and "mob psychology," nor even of propaganda however assiduous, but always of a new preponderance of power as between contending economic classes. To students of the social sciences, it is self-evident that the prolonged rule of the proletariat in Russia in defiance of nearly the whole world must be regarded as a product of Russian life, past and present. In fact, the continued Bolshevist rule seems to be an index of the relative fighting strength of the several classes in Russian society--the industrial proletariat, the landed and industrial propertied class, and the peasantry. It is an irony of fate that the same revolution which purports to enact into life the Marxian social program should belie the truth of Marx's materialistic interpretation of history and demonstrate that history is shaped by both economic and non-economic forces. Marx, as is well known, taught that history is a struggle between classes, in which the landed aristocracy, the capitalist class, and the wage earning class are raised successively to rulership as, with the progress of society's technical equipment, first one and then another class can operate it with the maximum efficiency. Marx assumed that when the time has arrived for a given economic class to take the helm, that class will be found in full possession of all the psychological attributes of a ruling class, namely, an indomitable will to power, no less than the more vulgar desire for the emoluments that come with power. Apparently, Marx took for granted that economic evolution is inevitably accompanied by a corresponding development of an effective will to power in the class destined to rule. Yet, whatever may be the case in the countries of the West, in Russia the ruling classes, the gentry and the capitalists, clearly failed in the psychological test at the critical time. This failure is amply attested by the manner in which they submitted practically without a fight after the Bolshevist coup _d'état_. To get at the secret of this apparent feebleness and want of spunk in Russia's ruling class one must study a peculiarity of her history, namely, the complete dominance of Russia's development by organized government. Where the historian of the Western countries must take account of several independent forces, each standing for a social class, the Russian historian may well afford to station himself on the high peak of government and, from this point of vantage, survey the hills and vales of the society which it so thoroughly dominated. Apolitism runs like a red thread through the pages of Russian history. Even the upper layer of the old noble class, the "Boyars," were but a shadow of the Western contemporary medieval landed aristocracy. When the several principalities became united with the Czardom of Muscovy many centuries ago, the Boyar was in fact no more than a steward of the Czar's estate and a leader of a posse defending his property; the most he dared to do was surreptitiously to obstruct the carrying out of the Czar's intentions; he dared not try to impose the will of his class upon the crown. The other classes were even more apolitical. So little did the several classes aspire to domination that they missed many golden opportunities to seize and hold a share of the political power. In the seventeenth century, when the government was exceptionally weak after what is known as the "period of troubles," it convoked periodical "assemblies of the land" to help administer the country. But, as a matter of fact, these assemblies considered themselves ill used because they were asked to take part in government and not once did they aspire to an independent position in the Russian body politic. Another and perhaps even more striking instance we find a century and a half later. Catherine the Great voluntarily turned over the local administration to the nobles and to that end decreed that the nobility organize themselves into provincial associations. But so little did the nobility care for political power and active class prerogative that, in spite of the broadest possible charters, the associations of nobles were never more than social organizations in the conventional sense of the word. Even less did the commercial class aspire to independence. In the West of Europe mercantilism answered in an equal measure the needs of an expanding state and of a vigorous middle class, the latter being no less ardent in the pursuit of gain than the former in the pursuit of conquest. In Russia, on the other hand, when Peter the Great wanted manufacturing, he had to introduce it by government action. Hence, Russian mercantilism was predominantly a state mercantilism. Even where Peter succeeded in enlisting private initiative by subsidies, instead of building up a class of independent manufacturers, he merely created industrial parasites and bureaucrats without initiative of their own, who forever kept looking to the government. Coming to more recent times, we find that the modern Russian factory system likewise owes its origin to governmental initiative, namely, to the government's railway-building policy. The government built the railways for strategic and fiscal reasons but incidentally created a unified internal market which made mass-production of articles of common consumption profitable for the first time. But, even after Russian capitalism was thus enabled to stand on its own feet, it did not unlearn the habit of leaning on the government for advancement rather than relying on its own efforts. On its part the autocratic government was loath to let industry alone. The government generously dispensed to the capitalists tariff protection and bounties in the form of profitable orders, but insisted on keeping industry under its thumb. And though they might chafe, still the capitalists never neglected to make the best of the situation. For instance, when the sugar producers found themselves running into a hole from cut-throat competition, they appealed to the Minister of Finances, who immediately created a government-enforced "trust" and assured them huge dividends. Since business success was assured by keeping on the proper footing with a generous government rather than by relying on one's own vigor, it stands to reason that, generally speaking, the capitalists and especially the larger capitalists, could develop only into a class of industrial courtiers. And when at last the autocracy fell, the courtiers were not to be turned overnight into stubborn champions of the rights of their class amid the turmoil of a revolution. To be sure, Russia had entered the capitalistic stage as her Marxians had predicted, but nevertheless her capitalists were found to be lacking the indomitable will to power which makes a ruling class. The weakness of the capitalists in the fight on behalf of private property may be explained in part by their want of allies in the other classes in the community. The Russian peasant, reared in the atmosphere of communal land ownership, was far from being a fanatical defender of private property. No Thiers could have rallied a Russian peasant army for the suppression of a communistic industrial wage-earning class by an appeal to their property instinct. To make matters worse for the capitalists, the peasant's strongest craving was for more land, all the land, without compensation! This the capitalists, being capitalists, were unable to grant. Yet it was the only sort of currency which the peasant would accept in payment for his political support. In November, 1917, when the Bolsheviki seized the government, one of their first acts was to satisfy the peasant's land hunger by turning over to his use all the land. The "proletariat" had then a free hand so far as the most numerous class in Russia was concerned. Just as the capitalist class reached the threshold of the revolution psychologically below par, so the wage-earning class in developing the will to rule outran all expectations and beat the Marxian time-schedule. Among the important contributing factors was the unity of the industrial laboring class, a unity broken by no rifts between highly paid skilled groups and an inferior unskilled class, or between a well-organized labor aristocracy and an unorganized helot class. The economic and social oppression under the old régime had seen to it that no group of laborers should possess a stake in the existing order or desire to separate from the rest. Moreover, for several decades, and especially since the memorable days of the revolution of 1905, the laboring class has been filled by socialistic agitators and propagandists with ideas of the great historical role of the proletariat. The writer remembers how in 1905 even newspapers of the moderately liberal stamp used to speak of the "heroic proletariat marching in the van of Russia's progress." No wonder then that, when the revolution came, the industrial wage earners had developed such self-confidence as a class that they were tempted to disregard the dictum of their intellectual mentors that this was merely to be a bourgeois revolution--with the social revolution still remote. Instead they listened to the slogan "All power to the Soviets." The idea of the "dictatorship of the proletariat" reached maturity in the course of the abortive revolution of 1905-1906. After a victory for the people in October, 1905, the bourgeoisie grew frightened over the aggressiveness of the wage-earning class and sought safety in an understanding with the autocracy. An order by the Soviet of Petrograd workmen in November, 1905, decreeing the eight-hour day in all factories sufficed to make the capitalists forego their historical role of champions of popular liberty against autocracy. If the bourgeoisie itself will not fight for a democracy, reasoned the revolutionary socialists, why have such a democracy at all? Have we not seen the democratic form of government lend itself to ill-concealed plutocracy in Europe and America? Why run at all the risk of corruption of the post-revolutionary government at the hands of the capitalists? Why first admit the capitalists into the inner circle and then spend time and effort in preventing them from coming to the top? Therefore, they declined parliamentarism with thanks and would accept nothing less than a government by the representative organ of the workers--the Soviets. If we are right in laying the emphasis on the relative fighting will and fighting strength of the classes struggling for power rather than on the doctrines which they preach and the methods, fair or foul, which they practice, then the American end of the problem, too, appears in a new light. No longer is it in the main a matter of taking sides for or against the desirability of a Bolshevist rule or a dictatorship by the proletariat, but a matter of ascertaining the relative strength and probable behavior of the classes in a given society. It is as futile to "see red" in America because of Bolshevism in Russia as to yearn for Bolshevism's advent in the United States. Either view misses the all-important point that so far as social structure is concerned America is the antipodes of Russia, where the capitalists have shown little fighting spirit, where the tillers of the soil are only first awakening to a conscious desire for private property and are willing to forego their natural share in government for a gift of land, and where the industrial proletariat is the only class ready and unafraid to fight. Bolshevism is unthinkable in America, because, even if by some imaginable accident the government were overthrown and a labor dictatorship declared, it could never "stay put." No one who knows the American business class will even dream that it would under any circumstances surrender to a revolution perpetrated by a minority, or that it would wait for foreign intervention before starting hostilities. A Bolshevist _coup d'état_ in America would mean a civil war to the bitter end, and a war in which the numerous class of farmers would join the capitalists in the defense of the institution of private property.[110] But it is not only because the preponderance of social power in the United States is so decisively with private property that America is proof against a social upheaval like the Russian one. Another and perhaps as important a guarantee of her social stability is found in her four million organized trade unionists. For, however unjustly they may feel to have been treated by the employers or the government; however slow they may find the realization of their ideals of collective bargaining in industry; their stakes in the existing order, both spiritual and material, are too big to reconcile them to revolution. The truth is that the revolutionary labor movement in America looms up much bigger than it actually is. Though in many strikes since the famous textile strike in Lawrence, Massachusetts, in 1911, the leadership was revolutionary, it does not follow that the rank and file was animated by the same purpose. Given an inarticulate mass of grievously exploited workers speaking many foreign tongues and despised alike by the politician, the policeman, and the native American labor organizer; given a group of energetic revolutionary agitators who make the cause of these workers their own and become their spokesmen and leaders; and a situation will clearly arise where thousands of workmen will be apparently marshalled under the flag of revolution while in reality it is the desire for a higher wage and not for a realization of the syndicalist program that reconciles them to starving their wives and children and to shedding their blood on picket duty. If they follow a Haywood or an Ettor, it is precisely because they have been ignored by a Golden or a Gompers. Withal, then, trade unionism, despite an occasional revolutionary facet and despite a revolutionary clamor especially on its fringes, is a conservative social force. Trade unionism seems to have the same moderating effect upon society as a wide diffusion of private property. In fact the gains of trade unionism are to the worker on a par with private property to its owner. The owner regards his property as a protective dyke between himself and a ruthless biological struggle for existence; his property means liberty and opportunity to escape dictation by another man, an employer or "boss," or at least a chance to bide his time until a satisfactory alternative has presented itself for his choice. The French peasants in 1871 who flocked to the army of the government of Versailles to suppress the Commune of Paris (the first attempt in history of a proletarian dictatorship), did so because they felt that were the workingmen to triumph and abolish private property, they, the peasants, would lose a support in their daily struggle for life for the preservation of which it was worth endangering life itself. And having acquired relative protection in their private property, small though it might be, they were unwilling to permit something which were it to succeed would lose them their all. Now with some exceptions every human being is a "protectionist," provided he does possess anything at all which protects him and which is therefore worth being protected by him in turn. The trade unionist, too, is just such a protectionist. When his trade union has had the time and opportunity to win for him decent wages and living conditions, a reasonable security of the job, and at least a partial voice in shop management, he will, on the relatively high and progressive level of material welfare which capitalism has called into being, be chary to raze the existing economic system to the ground on the chance of building up a better one in its place. A reshuffling of the cards, which a revolution means, might conceivably yield him a better card, but then again it might make the entire stack worthless by destroying the stakes for which the game is played. But the revolution might not even succeed in the first round; then the ensuing reaction would probably destroy the trade union and with it would go the chance of a recovery of the original ground, modest though that may have been. In practice, therefore, the trade union movements in nearly all nations[111] have served as brakes upon the respective national socialist movements; and, from the standpoint of society interested in its own preservation against catastrophic change, have played and are playing a role of society's policemen and watch-dogs over the more revolutionary groups in the wage-earning class. These are largely the unorganized and ill-favored groups rendered reckless because, having little to lose from a revolution, whatever the outcome might be, they fear none. In America, too, there is a revolutionary class which, unlike the striking textile workers in 1911-1913, owes its origin neither to chance nor to neglect by trade union leaders. This is the movement of native American or Americanized workers in the outlying districts of the West or South--the typical I.W.W., the migratory workers, the industrial rebels, and the actors in many labor riots and lumber-field strikes. This type of worker has truly broken with America's spiritual past. He has become a revolutionist either because his personal character and habits unfit him for success under the exacting capitalistic system; or because, starting out with the ambitions and rosy expectations of the early pioneer, he found his hopes thwarted by a capitalistic preemptor of the bounty of nature, who dooms to a wage-earner's position all who came too late. In either case he is animated by a genuine passion for revolution, a passion which admits no compromise. Yet his numbers are too few to threaten the existing order. In conclusion, American trade unionism, no matter whether the American Federation of Labor keeps its old leaders or replaces them by "progressives" or socialists, seems in a fair way to continue its conservative function--so long as no overpowering open-shop movement or "trustification" will break up the trade unions or render them sterile. The hope of American Bolshevism will, therefore, continue to rest with the will of employers to rule as autocrats. FOOTNOTES: [110] Though writers and public speakers of either extreme have often overlooked the fundamental consideration of where the preponderance of social power lies in their prognostications of revolutions, this has not escaped the leaders of the American labor movement. The vehemence with which the leaders of the American Federation of Labor have denounced Sovietism and Bolshevism, and which has of late been brought to a high pitch by a fear lest a shift to radicalism should break up the organization, is doubtless sincere. But one cannot help feeling that in part at least it aimed to reassure the great American middle class on the score of labor's intentions. The great majority of organized labor realize that, though at times they may risk engaging in unpopular strikes, it will never do to permit their enemies to tar them with the pitch of subversionism in the eyes of the great American majority--a majority which remains wedded to the régime of private property and individual enterprise despite the many recognized shortcomings of the institution. [111] Notably in Germany since the end of the World War. BIBLIOGRAPHY The first seven chapters of the present work are based on the _History of Labour in the United States_ by John R. Commons and Associates,[112] published in 1918 in two volumes by the Macmillan Company, New York. The major portion of the latter was in turn based on _A Documentary History of the American Industrial Society_, edited by Professor Commons and published in 1910 in ten volumes by Clark and Company, Cleveland. In preparing chapters 8 to 11, dealing with the period since 1897, which is not covered in the _History of Labour_, the author used largely the same sort of material as that in the preparation of the above named works; namely, original sources such as proceedings of trade union conventions, labor and employer papers, government reports, etc. There are, however, many excellent special histories relating to the recent period in the labor movement, especially histories of unionism in individual trades or industries, to which the author wishes to refer the reader for more ample accounts of the several phases of the subject, which he himself was of necessity obliged to treat but briefly. The following is a selected list of such works together with some others relating to earlier periods: BARNETT, GEORGE E., _The Printers--A Study in American Trade Unionism_, American Economic Association, 1909. BING, ALEXANDER M., _War-Time Strikes and their Adjustment_, Dutton and Co., 1921. BONNETT, CLARENCE E., _Employers' Associations in the United States_, Macmillan, 1922. BRISSENDEN, PAUL F., _The I.W.W.--A Study in American Syndicalism_, Columbia University, 1920. BROOKS, JOHN G., _American Syndicalism: The I.W.W._, Macmillan, 1913. BUDISH AND SOULE, _The New Unionism in the Clothing Industry_, Harcourt, 1920. CARLTON, FRANK T., _Economic Influences upon Educational Progress in the United States, 1820-1850_, University of Wisconsin, 1908. DEIBLER, FREDERICK S., _The Amalgamated Wood Workers' International Union of America_, University of Wisconsin, 1912. FITCH, JOHN L., _The Steel Workers_, Russell Sage Foundation, 1911. HOAGLAND, HENRY E., _Wage Bargaining on the Vessels of the Great Lakes_, University of Illinois, 1915. ------, _Collective Bargaining in the Lithographic Industry_, Columbia University, 1917. INTERCHURCH WORLD MOVEMENT, Commission of Inquiry, Report on the Steel Strike of 1919, Harcourt, 1920. LAIDLER, HARRY, _Socialism in Thought and Action_, Macmillan, 1920. ROBBINS, EDWIN C., _Railway Conductors--A Study in Organized Labor_, Columbia University, 1914. SCHL�TER, HERMAN, _The Brewing Industry and the Brewery Workmen's Movement in America_, International Union of Brewery Workmen, 1910. SUFFERN, ARTHUR E., _Conciliation and Arbitration in the Coal Mining Industry in America_, Mifflin, 1915. SYDENSTRICKER, EDGAR, _Collective Bargaining in the Anthracite Coal Industry_, Bulletin No. 191 of the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics, 1916. WOLMAN, LEO, _The Boycott in American Trade Unions_, Johns Hopkins University, 1916. _Labor Encyclopedias_: AMERICAN FEDERATION OF LABOR, _History, Encyclopedia, Reference Book_, American Federation of Labor, 1919. BROWNE, WALDO R., _What's What in the Labor Movement_, Huebsch, 1921. FOOTNOTE: [112] See Author's Preface. 
35275	----	30,000 LOCKED OUT. THE GREAT STRIKE OF THE BUILDING TRADES IN CHICAGO. BY JAMES C. BEEKS. CHICAGO: PRESS OF THE FRANZ GINDELE PRINTING CO. 1887. INTRODUCTION. The attention of the world has been called to the great strike and lockout in the building trades in Chicago because it rested upon the question of individual liberty--a question which is not only vital alike to the employer and the employe, but which affects every industry, every class of people, every city, state and country. It is a principle which antagonizes no motive which has been honestly conceived, but upon which rests--or should rest--the entire social, political and industrial fabric of a nation. It underlies the very foundation of free institutions. To antagonize it is to thrust at the beginning point of that freedom for which brave men have laid down their lives in every land since the formation of society. With this question prominently in the fight, and considering the magnitude of the interests affected, it is not at all surprising that the public has manifested interest in the agitation of questions which have affected the pockets of thirty thousand artisans and laborers, hundreds of employers, scores of manufacturers and dealers in building materials, stopped the erection of thousands of structures of all classes, and driven into the vaults of a great city capital amounting to not less than $20,000,000. The labor problem is not new. Neither is it without its perplexities and its grievances. Its entanglements have puzzled the brightest intellects, and its grievances have, on many occasions, called loudly for changes which have been made for the purpose of removing fetters that have bound men in a system of oppression that resembled the worst form of slavery. These changes have come none too soon. And, no doubt, there yet remain cases in which the oppressed should be speedily relieved of burdens which have been put upon working men and women in every country under the sun. But, because these conditions exist with one class of people, it is no justification for an unreasonable, or exacting demand by another class; or, that they should be permitted to reverse the order of things and inaugurate a system of oppression that partakes of a spirit of revenge, and that one burden after another should be piled up until the exactions of an element of labor become so oppressive that they are unbearable. When this is the case, the individual who has been advocating the cause of freedom--and who has been striving for the release and the elevation of the laboring classes--becomes, in turn, an oppressor of the worst kind. He stamps upon the very foundation on which he first rested his cause. He tramples upon the great cause of individual liberty and becomes a tyrant whose remorseless system of oppression would crush out of existence not only the grand superstructure of freedom, but would bury beneath his iron heel the very germ of his free existence. The laborer is a necessity. If this is true the converse of the proposition is equally true--the employer is a necessity. Without the employer the laborer would be deprived of an opportunity to engage in the avocation to which his faculties may have been directed. Without the laborer the employer would be in no position to carry forward any enterprise of greater or less magnitude. All cannot be employers. All cannot be employes. There must be a directing hand as well as a hand to be directed. In exercising the prerogative of a director the employer would be powerless to carry to a successful termination any enterprise if liberty of action should be entirely cut off, or his directing hand should be so fettered that it could not exercise the necessary freedom of action to direct. At the same time, if the employe should be so burdened that he could not exercise his talents in a manner to compass the line of work directed to be done, it would be unreasonable to expect from him the accomplishment of the task to which he had been assigned. There is a relation between the two around which such safeguards should be thrown as will insure that free action on the part of both that will remove the possibility of oppression, and at the same time retain, in its fullest sense, the relation of employer and employe. The necessity of the one to the other should not be forgotten. That the employer should have the right to direct his business in a manner that will make it successful, and for his interest, none should have the right to question. The successful direction of an enterprise by an employer results, necessarily, in the security of employment by the employe. A business which is unsuccessfully prosecuted, or which is fettered by the employe in a manner which prevents its successful prosecution, must, of necessity, result in displacing the most trusted servant, or the most skilled artisan. An employer, in the direction of his business, should not be denied the right to decide for himself whom he shall employ, or to select those who may be best fitted to accomplish his work. An employe should expect employment according to his ability to perform the work to be done. A skillful artisan should not be expected to accept the reward of one unskilled in the same trade. An unskilled workman should not receive the same wages paid to a skilled workman. Had these rules been recognized by the bricklayers in Chicago there would have been no strike, no lockout. The fight was against the right of the employer to direct his own business. It was originated by a class of men who claimed the right to demand that all bricklayers should be paid the same rate per hour, regardless of their ability; that none should be employed except those who were members of The United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago; and that every edict issued by this union should be obeyed by the Master Masons, including the last one made viz: That the pay day should be changed from Monday, or Tuesday, to Saturday. NATIONAL ORGANIZATION. The National Association of Builders convened in Chicago March 29th, 1887, and continued in session three days. This convention was composed of representatives of the building trades from almost every section of the country. They came together for the purpose of perfecting the organization of a National Association in pursuance of a call which had been made by a committee which met in Boston the previous January. Delegates were present from twenty-seven cities, as follows: Cleveland, Ohio: Thos. Simmons, H. Kickheim, John T. Watterson, S. W. Watterson. Milwaukee, Wis.: Thos. Mason, Garrett Dunck, John Laugenberger, Richard Smith. Charleston, S. C.: D. A. J. Sullivan, Henry Oliver. Nashville, Tenn.: Daniel S. Wright. Detroit, Mich.: Thos. Fairbairn, W. E. Avery, W. J. Stapleton, Jas. Roche, W. G. Vinton. Minneapolis, Minn.: Thos. Downs, F. B. Long, H. N. Leighton, Geo. W. Libby, Herbert Chalker, F. S. Morton. Baltimore Md.: John Trainor, John J. Purcell, Geo. W. Hetzell, Wm. H. Anderson, Wm. Ferguson, Philip Walsh, Geo. Mann. Chicago, Ill.: Geo. Tapper, P. B. Wight, Geo. C. Prussing, W. E. Frost, F. V. Gindele, A. W. Murray, J. B. Sullivan. St. Paul, Minn.: Edward E. Scribner, J. B. Chapman, E. F. Osborne, G. J. Grant, J. H. Donahue, J. S. Burris, J. W. Gregg. Buffalo, N. Y.: Chas. Berrick, John Feist, Chas. A. Rupp. Cincinnati, Ohio: J. Milton Blair, L. H. McCammon, I. Graveson, Jas. Allison, H. L. Thornton, J. C. Harwood, Wm. Schuberth, Jr. Philadelphia, Pa.: John S. Stevens, Chas. H. Reeves, D. A. Woelpper, Geo. Watson, Wm. Harkness, Jr., Geo. W. Roydhouse, Wm. Gray. Columbus, Ohio: Geo. B. Parmelee. St. Louis Mo.: Andrew Kerr, H. C. Lindsley, John R. Ahrens, John H. Dunlap, Anton Wind, Richard Walsh, Wm. Gahl. Indianapolis, Ind.: John Martin, J. C. Adams, Fred Mack, G. Weaver, C. Bender, Wm. P. Jungclaus, Peter Rautier. New Orleans, La.: A. J. Muir, H. Hofield, F. H. West. Boston, Mass.: Leander Greely, Ira G. Hersey, John A. Emery, Wm. Lumb, J. Arthur Jacobs, Francis Hayden, Wm. H. Sayward. New York City: A. J. Campbell, A. G. Bogert, John Byrns, John McGlensey, Marc Eidlitz, John J. Tucker. Troy, N. Y.: C. A. Meeker. Albany, N. Y.: David M. Alexander Worcester, Mass.: E. B. Crane, O. W. Norcross, Henry Mellen, O. S. Kendall, Robt. S. Griffin, Geo. H. Cutting. Grand Rapids, Mich.: John Rawson, James Curtis, H. E. Doren, J. D. Boland, C. H. Pelton, W. C. Weatherly, C. A. Sathren. Sioux City, Iowa.: Fred F. Beck. Pittsburgh and Allegheny City, Pa.: Geo. A. Cochran, Saml. Francis, Alex. Hall, R. C. Miller, Geo. S. Fulmer. Providence, R. I.: Geo. R. Phillips, Richard Hayward. Geo. S. Ross. Rochester, N. Y.: Chas. W. Voshell. Washington, D. C.: Thos. J. King. George C. Prussing, of Chicago, presided, and William H. Sayward, of Boston, was secretary of the convention. Mr. Sayward appointed as his assistants J. Arthur Jacobs, of Boston, and W. Harkness, Jr., of Philadelphia. In adopting a constitution the objects of the organization were set forth in the following article: Article II. The fundamental objects of this association shall be to foster and protect the interests of contractors, manual workmen, and all others concerned in the erection and construction of buildings; to promote mechanical and industrial interests; to acquire, preserve and disseminate valuable information connected with the building trades; to devise and suggest plans for the preservation of mechanical skill through a more complete and practical apprenticeship system, and to establish uniformity and harmony of action among builders throughout the country. The better to accomplish these objects, this association shall encourage the establishment of builders' exchanges in every city or town of importance throughout the country, and shall aid them to organize upon some general system that will not conflict with local customs and interests, in order that through these filial associations the resolutions and recommendations of this National Association may be promulgated and adopted in all localities. Not content with setting out the objects of the association in a short section of a constitution, the convention deemed it advisable that its objects should be defined in a manner that could not be misunderstood. The members were aware of the fact that the convention was being watched by builders everywhere, and that the eye of the public was upon every movement made. But they more fully understood that the artisans and laborers connected with the building trades throughout the country would criticise their every act, and unless their position was definitely and clearly set out they might be misunderstood. To avoid this, and to place the objects fairly before the public, the convention unanimously adopted the following: DECLARATION OF PRINCIPLES. 1. This association affirms that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. While upholding this principle as an essential safeguard for all concerned, this association would appeal to employers in the building trades to recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and while condemning and opposing improper action upon their part, they should aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conferences and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. When such conferences are entered into, care should be taken to state clearly in advance that this fundamental principle must be maintained, and that such conferences should only be competent to report results in the form of resolutions of recommendation to the individuals composing the various organizations participating, avoiding all forms of dictatorial authority. 2. That a uniform system of apprenticeship should be adopted by the various mechanical trades; that manual training schools should be established as a part of the public school system; and, that trade night schools should be organized by the various local trade organizations for the benefit and improvement of apprentices. 3. This association earnestly recommends all its affiliated associations to secure, as soon as possible, the adoption of a system of payment "by the hour" for all labor performed, other than "piece work" or "salary work," and to obtain the co-operation of associations of workmen in this just and equitable arrangement. 4. That all blank forms of contracts for buildings should be uniform throughout the United States. That such forms of contract, with the conditions thereof, should be such as will give the builder, as well as the owner, the protection of his rights, such as justice demands. That whenever a proper form has been approved by this association, after consultation with the American Institute of Architects, and the Western Association of Architects, we recommend its use by every builder and contractor. 5. The legislatures of the various states should be petitioned to formulate and adopt uniform lien laws and every organization represented in this association is recommended to use its best endeavors to secure the passage of the same. 6. Architects and builders should be required to adopt more effectual safeguards in buildings in process of construction, so as to lessen the danger of injury to workmen and others. 7. We recommend the adoption of a system of insurance against injuries by accident to workmen in the employ of builders, wherein the employer may participate in the payment of premiums for the benefit of his employes. Also in securing the payment of annuities to workmen who may become permanently disabled, through injuries received by accident or the infirmities of old age. When this declaration was sent out it set the laborer to thinking, and the public generally to reflecting upon the relation between the employer and the employe, especially in the building trades. The first paragraph affirming "that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed," was regarded as a declaration of right, justice and liberty that ought to be universally accepted. And yet it has not been so accepted. It is utterly rejected in practice, if not in so many words, in almost every case of strike. In one way or another the strikers prevent others from exercising that right to work and to employ, or attempt to do so, thus assuming for themselves superior rights and despotic powers. While the builders emphatically affirmed the fundamental principle of right and liberty, they did not condemn associations of workmen. On the contrary, they recognized the fact that there were "many opportunities for good" in such associations, and appealed to employers in the building trades to assist them in all just and honorable purposes. This was certainly liberal, in view of the fact that labor organizations are continually used as agencies for interfering with men in the exercise of their rights. The convention declared that upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer, or arbitrate. The members did not even stoop to notice the nonsensical notion of compulsory arbitration, or arbitration under the forms of law, which has found expression in one or two state laws and in one or two bills that have been introduced in congress, and which is not arbitration at all. But, while upon fundamental principles they perceived the uselessness of arbitration, yet they declared that there were many points upon which conferences and arbitration were perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it was a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together, to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances might be prevented. They did not, however, lose sight of the fundamental principle first affirmed, but held that the results of conferences should take the form of resolutions of recommendation, and that all forms of dictatorial authority should be avoided. They are evidently willing to meet the men half way when there is really anything to confer about. As a whole, the platform of principles upon which the convention planted itself is unassailable by the most critical objector among the disturbing element of labor. It was to be hoped that they would be fully accepted and thoughtfully regarded by the workmen in the building trades. But, such was not, generally, the case. The leading element in the labor organizations has cultivated an antagonistic spirit that rebels against every proposition or suggestion from any association that is not in strict accord with their own distorted views. This element watched the National Association of Builders very closely, and to them the fact that the constitution and the declaration of principles were eminently just and fair to the workingman, was the greater reason why they should exercise toward the whole a spirit of bitter antagonism. Otherwise, that element of labor which permits others to do their thinking, could not be moulded in the hand of the leader whose leadership depends upon the ability to make every act of the employer to appear in a hideous light. The fairness of the convention, and the justness of the principles enunciated, stimulated the leaders to renewed efforts to widen the breach between the employes and the employers in the building trades. They saw that unless the rebellious, revengeful spirit was nurtured, the thinking better, more reasonable element, might break away and follow the "master." New demands were made upon the employer with a full knowledge that they would not be acceded to, for the purpose of precipitating a general strike, and it came. THE CAUSE OF THE LOCK-OUT. The immediate cause of the great lockout dated to a proposition for Saturday as a pay-day, which was made April 11th, 1887, by the passage of a resolution by the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago, declaring that from and after that date the contracting masons should pay their employes on Saturday. The contractors were not asked to change the time of payment--from Monday or Tuesday, as had been the custom for many years--the union simply resolved that they should do so. No official notice of the passage of the resolution was sent to the Master Masons' association. They were not conferred with to see if it would be convenient, nor were they _requested_ to change the time. The resolution itself proposed to do the work for the employer without consulting him in reference to the change. The first intimation the Master Masons had of the passage of the resolution came in the shape of a demand of the foreman on each job to know if they were to be paid on Saturday. This demand was coupled with a statement that they would not work if they were not paid on that day, _as the union had changed the pay-day_. With some employers such a demand would have been a great surprise. It was not so with the Master Masons of Chicago. They had endured so much of an arbitrary character from the Bricklayers' union that they were not surprised at anything, unless it might have been the absence of a demand upon them for a change of some kind. This demand--had it come in the form of a request, or had a conference been invited to consider the proposition for a change of the pay-day--might have been conceded. But the manner in which it was presented gave notice to the Master Masons that the time had arrived for them to assert a little manhood, and to show to the great public that they had some "rights" which should be recognized. This--apparently minor--proposition dates back to "a long and distinguished line of ancestors," whose exactions have been of a character bordering upon oppression. They had their beginning with the strike of the bricklayers in the spring of 1883, when there was a stoppage of building for nine weeks on account of what were believed to be unreasonable demands of the Bricklayers' union. Jan. 1, 1883, the Union passed a resolution fixing the rate of wages at $4 a day, and another that they would not work with "Scabs." Previous to this the wages had been $3 and $3.50 per day. An attempt was made to put these resolutions in force the first week in April. The contractors had not been considered in arranging these questions, and for this reason they rebelled against what they regarded as arbitrary action. After a struggle which lasted nine weeks, three prominent architects, Messrs. D. Alder, W. W. Boyington and Julius Bauer, addressed communications to the Master Masons and the Union, requesting them to appoint committees to arbitrate their differences. The request was promptly acceded to by both sides, and on the 29th of May, 1883, the joint committee made the following award: In order to end the strike of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago (hereinafter designated as the union), who quit their work on March 31, 1883, and in the belief that, by the establishment of a standing committee of arbitration, all differences may be settled satisfactorily, and strikes and lockouts prevented in the future, and that this will lay the foundation for a better understanding and amicable relations such as should exist between employer and employe; now, therefore, We, the undersigned, Joseph J. Rince, William Ray and Peter Nelson, being a committee appointed for this purpose in special meeting of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons, held on Monday evening, May 28, at Greenebaum's hall, and empowered to act for and in behalf of said organization, and to bind its members by our action, on the one part, and Messrs. George Tapper, George C. Prussing and E. F. Gobel, being the executive committee of the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' Association, and who are fully authorized to act for the said organization in the premises, on the other part, have, and do agree that from and after this 29th day of May, 1883: 1. Foremen shall not be members of the journeymen's union, and when a member is made foreman he shall be suspended from active membership while employed in that capacity. Foremen may work on the wall. 2. Competent journeymen bricklayers and stonemasons working in the city may join the union in the regular way, should they so desire, by paying $10 as an initiation fee, but they shall not be compelled or forced to join in any way until July 1, 1883, and then only as provided in section 3 of article 4 of the by-laws of the union. 3. Former members of the union who returned to their work on or before May 26, 1883, and are for that act expelled, shall be regarded and treated in all respects like other outsiders. The members who returned to their work on and after May 28, 1883, are hereby declared in good standing. 4. The wages of competent journeymen are hereby declared to be 40 cents per hour. To such of the members of the union who can not earn the wages hereby established, their employer shall certify, upon application, this fact and the rate paid them, and the presentation of such certificate at the union shall entitle them to an "instruction card," and they shall be enrolled as "working under instructions" until they produce proof of being full and competent journeymen. 5. In January of each year a joint committee of conference and arbitration, consisting of five members of each--the Union and the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' Association--shall be appointed and serve for one year. To this joint committee shall be referred all questions of wages and any other subject in which both bodies are interested, and all grievances existing between members of one body and members of the other, or between a member of one body and a member of the other. This committee, properly constituted and assembled, shall have full power to decide all questions referred to them, and such decision shall be final and binding on all members of either organization. A majority vote shall decide. In case of a tie vote on any question, which consequently can not be decided by the committee as constituted, a judge of a United States court, or any disinterested person on whom the members thereof may agree, shall be elected umpire, who shall preside at a subsequent meeting of the committee and have the casting vote on the question at issue. All members of the union shall remain at their work continuously while said committee of arbitration is in session, subject to the decision of said committee. 6. Journeymen shall be paid by the hour for work actually rendered, with this exception: From April 1 to Nov. 1 work will be suspended at 5 o'clock on Saturdays, and all employes who have worked up to this hour on that day will receive pay for an extra hour. And we also agree and declare that the article of the constitution and by-laws of the union which refers to apprentices is wrong, and shall be referred to the joint committee of arbitration hereby provided in January next, for amendment, revision, or repeal. In witness whereof we have hereunto set our hands and seals this 29th day of May, 1883. JOSEPH J. RINCE, WILLIAM RAY, PETER NELSON, Committee of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago. GEORGE TAPPER, GEORGE C. PRUSSING, E. F. GOBEL, Committee of the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' Association. The bricklayers met May 31, and repudiated the action of the joint committee. William Ray made the remarkable announcement to the Union that section four--relating to journeymen under "instructions"--was not in the original draft, and that he never would have signed the agreement if it had been. He charged Mr. Prussing with slipping that section in after the agreement had been signed. On motion of Mr. Mulrany the agreement, or award, was referred back to the joint committee. In view of the fact that it was the award of a committee which the Union had created, its repudiation was a startling act. But, under threats of violence to the union members of the committee, this action had to be taken as a precaution of safety. The Master Masons met the same day and unanimously approved the action of the joint committee. While they were in session information was received of the charge made against Mr. Prussing. The charge was not only denied by Mr. Prussing, but he at once procured affidavits from William E. Mortimer and two others, who had heard the original draft of the agreement read, all of whom swore that the document had not been tampered with, but contained section 4 when the committee signed it. Even this did not satisfy the Union. They met again June 1, and again repudiated the action of the joint committee by adopting the following, which they addressed to George Tapper, president of the Master Masons' and Builders' association: In view of the present difficulties which have arisen from the action of a committee appointed May 28 from this Union in acting contrary to their instructions, we offer the following for your consideration: 1. On April 1, this year, we asked $4 per day from April 1, 1883, to Nov. 1, 1883, and 40 cents per hour from Nov. 1, 1883, to April 1, 1884, as the minimum wages for all members of this Union, and this we strictly adhere to. 2. We accept the situation as it is, take back all deserters from our Union, and deal with all strangers according to article 4, section 3, contained in our constitution and by-laws. 3. We believe in arbitration, and will agree to appoint a committee of five for one year to meet a like committee from your association, to which joint committee will be referred all grievances which may hereafter arise, and for the purpose of preventing strikes in the future. Instead of showing a disposition to confer and adjust differences, the Union passed upon all question and notified the employers that the ultimatum must be accepted, as the Union would "strictly adhere to" the action of April 1, notwithstanding the fact that all differences had been adjusted by arbitration. In the face of the act of repudiation the Union made this amendment: "We believe in arbitration" ... "for the purpose of preventing strikes in the future." Two days later, June 3, the Union held another meeting which was enlivened by charging the arbitration committee with treason, and threatening to lynch them. William Ray, one of the committee, made the announcement that he had done right in signing the award, and if it was to do over he would do the same thing again. This statement inflamed the crowd to such an extent that Ray was attacked and severely beaten. The other members of the committee escaped without injury. On June 5, at another meeting of the bricklayers, President Rince was deposed, the open charge being made that he had "sold them out." A resolution was then passed directing the men to go to work at $4 a day wherever they pleased, provided they did not work under a non-union foreman. This section had the effect of settling the strike. It was a drawn battle. The men were only too glad to go to work, and took advantage of the first order made on the subject. They worked by the side of non-union men for a time, but gradually drove them out of the city or took them into the Union for the purpose of increasing their strength. They then cut loose from the International association, made the initiation fee $25, and shut out every bricklayer who would not join their Union. As has been frequently remarked, "they built a wall around the city," and then demanded everything and got it, because the "bosses" were powerless to refuse their demands. While the result of the strike of 1883 was referred to as a drawn battle, it was a defeat for the Master Masons, because they then laid the groundwork for other demands and strikes, the fruits of which they have been forced to eat when they were bitter as gall. The battle should have been won then, and the troubles which have since come might have been unknown. During the strike the International union had assisted the Chicago bricklayers to the extent of $13,000, which had enabled them to hold out longer than they otherwise could have done. After they recovered from the effects of the strike they were assessed $4,600 to aid the Pittsburgh strikers, which sum they repudiated, and then withdrew from the Internationals, claiming that they were independent of any other organization, and would pay tribute to no other trade. Their base ingratitude made them objects of scorn among the honest laborers. Their assessment to aid Pittsburgh was never adjusted. Following the strike of 1883 demands were made from time to time by the union, as follows: That the hours of labor be reduced while the pay remained unchanged. That the wages be increased. Cutting down the number of apprentices. An apprentice over eighteen years of age must be the son of a journeyman. Foremen must be members of the Union, "but shall not work on a wall." No non-union bricklayer shall be employed in Chicago. An acknowledgment of the potency of the "Walking Delegate." Payment of uniform wages to all, irrespective of their qualifications. Full pay for all delays, however unavoidable. Pay for a discharged employe on a job, or for his time while waiting for his pay to be taken to him. Time and a half for all work in excess of eight hours. Double pay for work on Sunday. Establishment of the "Walking Delegate." These are a few of the more important exactions which have been made, and to avoid strikes had been granted. There were many others, and they presented themselves from time to time when least expected. It was supposed that the entire vocabulary of demands had been exhausted, and that the season of 1887 would pass without a strike, when the Saturday pay-day bobbed up as a warning to the contractor that the striker was not without resources, and that there were more to come. The demands of the bricklayers had been met from time to time by the Master Masons, and they were generally met in a weak way. Some were conceded without question, and others were agreed to, after a mild protest, in order to prevent the stoppage of some important work. The striker had always been possessed of the knowledge _when to strike_, and this had been one of the secrets of his success. The rule has been to make a demand at a time when it was believed the employer would make the concession, because he could not afford to do otherwise--that the interest of the pocket of the employer would move him when his sympathy could not be enlisted. In the last strike the strikers were disappointed. They inaugurated their movement upon the contractors at the opening of the building season and went at it in the old way, assuming that the bosses, who had so generally conceded everything, would not dare to refuse a simple proposition like that which contemplated changing the pay-day. But they struck a snag which grew to immense proportions, especially when the manufacturers of and dealers in building material stepped up and said they would quit manufacturing, and would stop selling material until there was a settlement of the trouble and the principle of "individual liberty" was recognized. They became an important and strengthening root to the old snag. They held the key to the situation, and asserted the right to handle it. They turned it and thirty thousand employes were locked out. THE CARPENTERS. The strikes of 1887 originated with the carpenters. In January steps were taken which contemplated getting every carpenter in Chicago into a union. Notice was given by publication that on and after April 4th, 1887, eight hours should constitute a day, and 35 cents an hour should be the minimum wages for a carpenter. When the time came for the new order of things to go into effect the Master Carpenters were expected to meet the demands without objection. They had not been requested to grant the concessions, and no official notice was sent to the Master Carpenters' association of the fact that the carpenters had decided to change the working hours and the rate of pay per hour. On Saturday, April 2d, 1887, the carpenters made individual demands upon their several employers for eight hours a day instead of ten hours, and 35 cents an hour instead of 25 and 30 cents an hour, which had been the rule. Not receiving favorable answers to their demands a meeting was called for Sunday, April 3d, at Battery D. At this meeting four thousand carpenters assembled. Reports were made from one hundred and twenty "bosses," of whom but twenty favored the proposed changes. Seventy-nine had positively refused to grant any concession. After a lengthy discussion of the situation in secret session the question of ordering a general strike was submitted to a vote, and it was carried by what was said to have been an overwhelming majority. This was the manner in which the strike was ordered. After the meeting adjourned the cool announcement was made that if the Master Carpenters had any propositions to submit, or desired to communicate with the striking carpenters, they "would be received" at room 8, No. 76 Fifth avenue. An order was issued to the effect that no carpenter should be allowed to work for any contractor, no matter what wages might be offered, until permission was obtained from the executive board of the Carpenters' Council, or the strike had been declared off. On Monday morning there were six thousand idle carpenters in the city, and the threat was made by the strikers that if the "bosses" did not accede to their demands all workmen engaged in the building trades would be called out, and there would be a general strike. Before 6 o'clock Monday morning, the following notice was sent out to every carpenter in the city, it being the intention to officially notify each one of the action taken before they could reach their work: DEAR SIR: The decision of the executive board of the United Carpenters' Council, ratified by mass-meeting held April 3d, is that no union carpenter be allowed to work on any job whatever until the demand is acceded to by the bosses as a body. The committee is open to conference with the bosses as a body at their earliest convenience. J. M. STERLING, J. BRENNOCK, Committee. There were hundreds who were willing to work, but they were forced to obey the mandate of the union. They were receiving good wages, and were satisfied; but, because every "wood-butcher" would not be paid the wages which a good carpenter could command, they were forced to leave their work and suffer the consequences of idleness. If they attempted to work their lives were in danger. There were three hundred contracting carpenters in the city who employed from fifteen to two hundred men each. The number of carpenters in the city working on buildings was about 7,500, and 5,800 of these belonged to the union. The wages paid ranged from $2.50 to $3.50 a day. Those who were receiving the smaller amounts were not satisfied, and the strike was originated for the ostensible purpose of bringing the so-called "wood-butcher" up to the standard of a carpenter on the question of wages. On Monday, April 7th, the Carpenters' Union met and adopted the following as their ultimatum: These are the conditions upon which we will settle this strike: That contractors conduct their work under the eight-hour system and pay the regular scale of wages--35 cents per hour, subject to discharge for incompetency, said conditions to remain in force until April 1, 1888, subject, however, to arbitration in case of grievances of any kind on either side. EXECUTIVE BOARD, UNITED CARPENTERS' COUNCIL. On the same day the Carpenters and Builders held a mass-meeting at the Builders' and Traders' exchange. The first action taken was to agree to stand together on the questions of wages and hours. A resolution was adopted that eight hours should constitute a day's work, fixing 30 cents an hour as the minimum price, and to grade the wages from that price up, according to the worth of the employe. The executive board of the United Carpenters' Council made the following announcement: In view of the fact that no communication has been received from the bosses, it is ordered that no union carpenter be allowed to go to work until further notified. The board will be in session at 8 A. M., April 7, at room 8, Nos. 76 and 78 Fifth avenue. All carpenters not on committees are requested to report at 10 A. M. The strike of the carpenters had begun to affect labor of all kinds on buildings. Many walls were advanced as far as they could be without the intervention of the carpenter. No man, other than a union carpenter, would be allowed to even set a joist. Any attempt to infringe a union rule was sure to precipitate a strike in another trade. A nervous feeling pervaded the building interests generally. Every other trade was in a state of apprehension. The Master Masons were among these. In order to guard against complications with the bricklayers and stonemasons the Master Masons' association had a meeting April 7th and adopted the following resolution: _Resolved_, That a committee of three be appointed with full power to represent this body in all matters relating to the Bricklayers' union, and with instructions to pave the way for the appointment of a standing committee of arbitration, to which all questions and controversies shall be referred for settlement, in order to prevent pecuniary losses to both sides in the future and foster a friendly feeling among the members of both bodies. There had been a few slight differences between employers and employes which were not readily adjusted, because there seemed to be nobody with whom an adjustment could be made. A copy of this resolution was sent to the Bricklayers' union. April 8th a few boss carpenters called on President Campbell, of the carpenters' union, and asked for men in order to finish a little pressing work. They were refused, the president of the union saying: "Not a man will be allowed to go to work until the bosses recognize the union and the demands that have been made." The announcement was made that two hundred and sixty non-association bosses had signified their willingness to accede to all the union had asked, and that they would meet at 3 o'clock in Greenebaum's hall to organize a new association. None of them arrived until long after the hour, and at 4 o'clock nineteen of the two hundred and sixty got into the large hall and were comparatively lost. They adjourned to a small room where they remained but a few minutes and then dispersed. They acknowledged they had been misled by the strikers, some of whom had arranged the meeting for the purpose of ascertaining how much disaffection there was in the ranks of the employers. The small attendance was a great disappointment to those in charge of the strike. But they determined to secure an organization among the "outside bosses," believing it would weaken the effort of the "bosses" who were standing out against the demands which had been made. The United Carpenters' Council held a meeting and adopted a resolution that no terms should be accepted looking toward a settlement of the difficulty other than a full recognition of the union and every demand that had been made. The Bricklayers met and decided to take a hand in the strike of the carpenters. They adopted a resolution providing that members of their union should set no window frames, handle no joists, nor do similar work on buildings in course of construction until the pending trouble was adjusted. The carpenters were delighted when they were officially notified of this action, and once more reaffirmed their determination to stand out. Similar action was taken by the Hodcarriers' union. Eight union carpenters were arrested for intimidating non-union men employed on a building on Canal street. They became so violent that the patrol wagon was called and they were taken to the Desplaines street station. They were heavily fined. Prominent Knights of Labor were of the opinion that the offer of the Master Carpenters of eight hours and 30 cents an hour should have been accepted. Believing this, they called a meeting of the Knights of Labor at Uhlich's hall for the purpose of ordering the carpenters to return to work. This meeting was held April 10th. The hall was packed by a crowd that was opposed to conceding anything. Those who called the meeting soon discovered that they would be mobbed if they presented any proposition to order the carpenters to go to work. A. Beaudry, who was one of those who called the meeting, and who strongly favored accepting the offer of the bosses, presided at the meeting, but he dared not present such a proposition. Instead of the meeting accomplishing the object for which it had been called, it reversed the expected order and advocated unity of action, expressing its sentiments by adopting the following resolution: _Resolved_, That this meeting sustains the action of the United Carpenters Council and pledges our individual support in their future efforts during the struggle. The result of this attempt to restore harmony was enough to satisfy fair-minded men that the demands were not those of reason, but were backed by an element which was composed of the rule-or-ruin class, and they were satisfied that it was uncontrollable. A feeble attempt was made to hold a meeting of the "consulting" bosses at No. 106 Randolph street for the purpose of settling the strike, but less than a half-dozen appeared on the scene, and the meeting was not held. In the evening the Carpenters' and Builders' association met at the Builders' and Traders' exchange. Vice-President William Hearson presided. A delegation of sixty representatives of the Carpenters council invaded the corridors of the exchange. A committee composed of Messrs. Frost and Woodard, was sent out to see what they wanted, and returned with the statement that the carpenters were very pleasant, but full of fight and disposed to stand out all summer. William Mavor read a communication from the United Carpenters' Council, stating that it would stand by its original proposition for 35 cents an hour, and that the union must be recognized. Mr. Mavor stated that the latter proposition was the sticker, and a great many voices said that they would never consent. They were willing to treat with the men as individuals. The report of the committee was received and laid on the table by a unanimous vote. S. H. Dempsey presented the following resolution, which was adopted by a unanimous vote, followed by loud applause: _Resolved_, That the secretary of this association be instructed to notify through the newspapers all carpenters who are willing to go to work on Monday morning at the rate of wages offered by this association to appear at their respective places of work, and that they will be protected. Otherwise the Master Carpenters will advertise for outside workmen. The following committee was appointed to look after the general interests of the association: Francisco Blair, S. H. Dempsey, J. W. Woodard, Jonathan Clark and John Ramcke. Monday, April 10th. The executive committee met and organized by electing officers as follows: J. W. Woodard, chairman; Jonathan Clark, secretary; John Ramcke, treasurer. The committee issued the following notice to the public: As a notice has been circulated to-day among the master carpenters of this city, calling a meeting of the master carpenters for this afternoon, we would respectfully ask you to publish the fact that this meeting is in no way authorized by the Master Carpenters' association, and we will not in any way voice its sentiments or recognize its action. Also, that this association will hold no meetings, except those authorized by the president or secretary of the executive committee. We would also like to make public the fact that there are now 175 members in this association, and they represent about seven eights of the carpenters in the city. Because incorrect reports are apt to be published, and the public interests will suffer if this occurs, we would be glad to receive reporters at all meetings and place all information in our possession at their disposal. An erroneous idea of the present situation, or cause of disagreement exists, not through the fault of the press, but rather through an inaccuracy in presenting the matter. What we would lay down as our statement of principles is the following, which were formulated as a part of those adopted by the National Association of Builders: This association affirms that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen are equally interested in its defense and preservation. While upholding this principle as an essential safeguard for all concerned, this association would appeal to all employers in the building trades to recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and, while condemning and opposing improper action upon their part, they should aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer and arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conferences and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together, to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. When such conferences are entered into, care should be taken to state clearly in advance that this fundamental principle must be maintained, and that such conferences should only be competent to report results in the form of resolutions of recommendation to the individuals composing the various organizations participating, avoiding all forms of dictatorial authority. The present question is not one of wages or hours, but is solely upon our recognition of the union and our acceptance of the conditions proposed by the letter received from the Carpenters' Union at the meeting of this association Saturday night and printed last week. As our code of principles state, we do not oppose unions, as we affirm the right of all individuals to form associations. This body has received but one communication--that referred to--and that a week after all the carpenters in the union had struck work. This communication purported to be from the executive committee of the Carpenters' Union, but there was neither seal nor letter press on the stationery, and there were no names representing the executive committee. This association means to treat the present disagreement with all fairness, recognizing the entire rights of the journeymen, but claiming that we, as contractors, have rights as well. Very respectfully, JONATHAN CLARK, Secretary Executive Committee Carpenters' and Builders' Association. About thirty carpenters met at No. 106 Randolph street and organized an independent Master Carpenters' Association. Among them were several members of the union who were bosses in a small way. The new association at once agreed to the terms demanded by the carpenters, and a list of the members was sent to the United Carpenters' Council, after which an order was issued by the council, permitting the employes of the members of the new association to return to work. This action, it was claimed, would compel the members of the Carpenters' and Builders' Association to yield every point demanded, but it had no such effect. The agitation was kept up, and a mass-meeting was held by the strikers at No. 311 Larrabee street, at which they were urged to stand out. They were also told they never could win if the bricklayers did not support them. The council expected its action would meet the wishes of the men, but it did not. They saw that only a very few would be given work, and demanded that all remain out until the success of the strike was assured. A mass-meeting was held April 13th, at Twelfth street Turner Hall, at which the action of the council was severely criticised, and a resolution was adopted that all should remain out until their demands were recognized by every master carpenter in Chicago. The members of the new association of bosses were disappointed at the reflex action of the carpenters. They regarded it as a breach of faith, and were on the eve of breaking up their organization, but concluded to obey the mandates of the union and held together a few days longer. In the meantime a number of the carpenters had gone to work. These were immediately taken off by walking delegates, and the little bosses became satisfied that the fight was all on one side. But, as many of their members belonged to the union as well, they were forced to remain in the association and be laughed at. Many of the workmen were incensed at the breaking of the agreement and threatened to leave the union and return to their old employers. Some of them did so, and they took others with them afterwards. They lost confidence in the council and in the leaders of the strike. On Thursday, April 14th, the executive committee of the Carpenters' Council thought to heal all defection by the issuance of the following form of agreement, which, they said, they would require all master carpenters to sign before they would settle the strike: We, the undersigned contracting carpenters, agree to the following terms of settlement, and pledge ourselves to the following propositions, which shall be in force and binding upon us from this date until the 1st day of April, 1888, with the understanding that the carpenters' council pledges that there shall not be another demand for increase of wages or reduction of hours before said date--April 1, 1888. 1. We agree to pay as the minimum rate of wages to carpenters 35 cents per hour. 2. We agree that eight hours shall constitute a day's work. 3. We reserve the right to employ men of our own selection and to discharge anyone for reasons of incompetency, intemperance, or disorderly conduct, and we will co-operate with the carpenters' council in all their efforts to elevate the mechanical and moral standard of the craft. 4. We indorse the principle of arbitration as preferable to strikes, and will co-operate with the carpenters' council for the establishment of a board of arbitration. 5. The probable number of men each of us will require, at once on resumption of work is set opposite our respective names. Two hundred members of the Carpenters' and Builders' association met April 14th. William Hearson presided. Seventy new members were admitted. The executive committee submitted a basis upon which it was proposed to settle the strike. It was unanimously adopted, as follows: _Resolved_, That the Master Carpenters will, as a preliminary to any negotiations with the carpenters now on strike, require that the men now on strike without notice to their employers agree to resume work at the following scale of wages, to be agreed to by employer and employes--viz.: eight hours to constitute a day's labor, the wages to be 30 cents an hour and upward. _Resolved_, That the Master Carpenters lay down the following rules as a declaration of principles as the unquestionable rights of employers and employes, upon which there can be no arbitration or question. These rights to be conceded by both parties before any further action is taken looking toward a final settlement of differences for the future: Rule 1. The right of the employer to employ and discharge employes whether belonging to carpenters' unions or not. Rule 2. The right of the employe to work or not to work with non-union men. Rule 3. The right of the employer to hire unskilled labor that will best suit his purpose at any price at which he can get it. Rule 4: The right of the employe to get the wages he demands or not to work. Rule 5. The right of individuals to associate for all honorable purposes. After the meeting adjourned, the executive committee delivered a copy of the report to the Executive Council of the carpenters. The document was respectfully received, Mr. Parks remarking that the Master Carpenters would have to "come again," but the communication would be carefully considered. The resolutions and rules were also sent to the new carpenters' association. A motion was made to fully endorse them, especially in view of the recent action of the union in repudiating their agreement. The proposition was unanimously voted down. On Friday, April 15th, the Executive Council prepared a lengthy reply to the action of the Carpenters and Builders. It contained an extended statement of the situation, concluding as follows: In conclusion, we will agree with rule No. 1 in your document if the words "the right to discharge rests in and is confined to the individual employer and not the associated employers," were added. And you understand that under your own rule, No. 2, union men would have a right to refuse to work with non-union men, and to quit any job where such were employed, unless they were discharged when the request was made. Rule No. 3 must have the words: "But no unskilled man shall be allowed to do work which properly belongs to the trade of carpentering, or which necessitates the use of carpenter's tools," before we can accept it. The other rules in your document are immaterial and do not need review. Now, for a few words. We will state the terms upon which the journeyman carpenters of this city will return at once to work. There must be an agreement made and signed by the contractors, individually or collectively, through an authorized committee, and signed by the executive committee of the United Carpenters council on the part of the journeymen, and in addition to the two rules given as amended the following: The minimum rate of wages paid to journeymen carpenters shall be 35 cents per hour. Eight hours shall constitute a working day; overtime shall be paid as time and a half and double time for Sunday work. There shall be an arbitration board for the settling of grievances. The agreement shall be in force until the 1st day of April, 1888, and notices of desired changes at that time must be given by the party so desiring to the other party to the agreement on or before March 15, 1888. Hoping you will look at this communication from a business as well as humanitarian standpoint, and that you will keep in mind the fact that we are as desirous as you can possibly be of ending the strike, and that nothing is here set down in malice, every word being uttered in the spirit of harmony and justice. The statement was signed by J. B. Parks, Ed. Bates, Alfred A. Campbell, M. S. Moss, William Kliver, John H. McCune and William Ward, Executive Committee of the United Carpenters' council. The Executive Committee of the Carpenters' and Builders' association carefully considered the document and at once formulated and transmitted to the headquarters of the striking carpenters the following reply: TO THE REPRESENTATIVES OF THE CARPENTERS NOW ON STRIKE-- _Gentlemen_: Your communication has been respectfully received and carefully considered by the executive committee of the Master Carpenters' association. We respectfully inform you that we can not in any manner deviate from the action of the association of Thursday night, which was embraced in the report delivered to you, and there is nothing in your communication which in the opinion of this committee justifies the calling of a meeting of the Master Carpenters' association. Very respectfully yours, J. W. WOODARD, JONATHAN CLARK, FRANCISCO BLAIR, JOHN RAMCKE, S. H. DEMPSEY, Executive Committee Carpenters' and Builders' Association of Chicago. The new association of bosses became exasperated at the action of the Carpenters' Council with regard to their agreement, and sent the council notice that unless the proposition for a settlement of the strike was agreed to by noon of April 16th, the association would not consider itself bound to pay 35 cents an hour, recognize the union, or make eight hours a day's work. They demanded that their employes be directed to return to work on Monday, April 18th. Early Saturday morning, April 16th, the executive committee of the Carpenters' and Builders' Association issued an address, as follows: Believing that the great majority of you are fair and honorable, the executive committee of the master carpenters take this means to address an appeal to you, as we believe you can not be reached in any other way, plainly, calmly, and without a coating of socialistic ideas being spread over by your so-called leaders, whose business it is to be agitators and disturbers of our mutual interests, and whose occupation would be gone if they could not find a constituency gullible enough to listen to and support them. It is impossible to say how much farther we would be advanced in material prosperity in this free country if we were free from the antagonistic feeling caused by this class of agitators, who are really out of their element here, and should be confined to the source of the oppression of labor, on the ground and among the institutions which support class distinction. Now we are all workers with you, our business is not speaking or writing, and we venture to say that nineteen-twentieths of the men who employ you started in from your body, and did not get where they are by listening to or following these imported ideas, but did the work they found to do, made the most of their opportunities, and we hope the same course will be left open to yourselves, and that the same spring will furnish more of the same stock, and that notwithstanding the foothold these perverted maxims (each for all and all for each) have gained among us, in the long run our plain judgment will lead us away from them and each will make his own endeavor to rise as high as his opportunities will allow him, and by doing so will stimulate his brother to follow in his footsteps. Is not this better than "each for all and all for each," which will load you down heavier than you can bear, so that none can rise, and a class will have to be furnished from some source to employ you who will surely not have your interests more at heart, and, in that event, we would be back again to whence we sprung from, or some other, where we can not tell. You surely will not be improved in your condition by wasting your time in contending with your employer for more than there is in existence to give you, for he can not give you what he has not got, nor can he give you wasted time nor the advance he has offered without risking a present loss in the hope of being able in the future to gradually increase the cost of production to cover his outlay. Men, go to work; form associations if you will; better your condition by that means if you can, but do not risk the driving away from this fair city that which supports you, nor listen, except to learn, to those born contenders who have no other gifts than "gab." Think of the $20,000 at least you are losing every day in wages, besides what you are spending, and think of those who are likely to suffer most by it. The wife and children, who have no voice in the matter, and also believe that your employers are not doing any better. Boys, this advice is from a committee of five who got every penny they possess from hard knocks and the work of their own hands and brains. J. W. WOODARD, JONATHAN CLARK, FRANCISCO BLAIR, JOHN RAMCKE, S. H. DEMPSEY, Executive Committee Carpenters' and Builders' Association of Chicago. The firmness of the employers and the disaffection among the carpenters, after two weeks of fruitless agitation, had produced no good results. No agreement was reached between the bosses and the strikers. The strike was simply declared off by what was regarded by the carpenters as competent authority. The edict which settled the strike was as follows: TO ALL ORGANIZED CARPENTERS--_Brothers_: You are ordered to report to your various jobs Monday at 8 A. M., and if your employer accedes to your demands for eight hours a day and 35 cents an hour, go to work, but on no account are you to work if your demands are not granted, neither will you work with scabs. You will make it your duty to see that every man has the working card issued by the United Carpenters' council for the months of April, May and June, and consider as a scab anyone who is not in possession of one. If your employer objects to the conditions do not stop to argue the question, but immediately report to headquarters. Some of you may not work the first nor the second day, but we will without fail win this battle if you follow instructions. Every brother in distress shall be assisted, and we pledge ourselves that not one of you shall want if only brought to our notice. Carefully take note of all jobs working more than eight hours, or employing scabs, and report to your headquarters. Also, any boss who defrauds brothers of their pay, with evidence necessary for prosecution. It shall be the duty of every man, especially foremen, to bring all influence they can to bear on their employers to induce them to join the new Builders' association. Now, brothers, with joy we say to you, go to work. You will get your demands. And we beseech you not to work for less. If you do, you will be found out. There are enough to watch those who will not do their duty, and you must be subject to a call when it is necessary. EXECUTIVE BOARD UNITED CARPENTERS' COUNCIL. When the news of the collapse of the strike reached the executive committee of the contracting carpenters at the Builders' and Traders' exchange it was at first discredited. When it was confirmed Chairman Woodard said he was glad such action had been taken, and that he knew the bosses would put the men to work Monday. "But," said he, "the members of the Carpenters' and Builders' association will not deviate from the action of Saturday night. We recognize eight hours as a day, but reserve the right to employ union or non-union men, and will pay from 30 cents an hour upward. We shall not hesitate to pay 35 cents, or more, to carpenters who are sufficiently skilled to earn such sums, but we must not be expected to employ men who are not able to earn more than 25 or 30 cents an hour. Our association has a membership that employs fully seven-eighths of the working carpenters, and we shall claim the right to employ competent men at fair wages and to discharge incompetent men at any time. I think it will be but a short time until nearly all of the carpenters will be at work, but not at 35 cents an hour." Francisco Blair said it would be unjust to require the bosses to discharge competent non-union men who had stood by them during the strike. He was satisfied that no member of the association would do so. There were plenty of bosses who would pay skilled workmen 35 cents an hour--a few men would receive 40 cents, as they had before the strike. Many of the assemblies of the carpenters met Saturday afternoon and evening and heartily endorsed the order directing them to return to work. They were tired of enforced idleness which had lasted sixteen days, and were ready to go to work on almost any terms. The following Monday--April 18th--four thousand of the striking carpenters returned to work, many of them secretly accepting the terms of the Carpenters and Builders, working for 30 cents an hour and upward, and pushing a plane or a saw by the side of a non-union carpenter who had not seen an idle day. AMALGAMATION. Trade organizations of almost every character had experienced difficulty in securing all they demanded from time to time, because of a want of co-operation--in their semi-tyrannical efforts--from kindred organizations. If the carpenters made a demand which was refused by the bosses, and non-union men should thereafter be employed on a building, they wanted the union employes in all other trades, working on the same job, to lay down their tools and walk out--a boycott must at once be established. If an employer assumed the right to carry on his own business in a manner which was distasteful to one or more employes in one trade, he must be forced to quit business until he was ready to obey the mandate of the trade affected. If he interposed an objection to such interference, he should be taught a severe lesson under the tyrannical, barbarous rule of the boycott. In order to lay the foundation for joint action in the direction indicated, a meeting was held April 10th, at which a plan of organization of the building trades was discussed. It was then deemed advisable to secure the consent of the various trade organizations in the city to the creation of a council for what was called "mutual protection." The proposition met with most hearty approval by ten trade organizations, the members of which saw at once how much more tightly the rein of tyranny could be drawn over a contractor who might be able to successfully vanquish one trade, but would have to accede to anything when employes in ten building trades were arrayed against him. Delegates were appointed to what it was proposed to call "The Amalgamated Council of the Building Trades of Chicago," from the following trade and labor organizations: Carpenters, Painters, Derrickmen, Hod-carriers, Steam-fitters, Lathers, Gas-fitters, Galvanized-iron and Cornice workers, Slaters and Stair-builders. A meeting was held at Greenebaum's hall on Sunday, April 17th. A constitution and by-laws were adopted and officers were elected as follows: President, J. H. Glenn; Vice-President, P. A. Hogan; Secretary, Ed. Bates; Financial Secretary, J. Burns; Treasurer, V. Carroll; Sergeant-at-Arms, J. Woodman. As soon as the organization was perfected it affected dictatorial powers, assuming the right to regulate nearly everything of any consequence for the unions which were represented. The objects of the Council were declared to be "to centralize the efforts and experience of the various organizations engaged in the erection and alteration of buildings, and, with common interest, prevent that which may be injurious, and also to properly perfect and carry into effect that which they deem advantageous to themselves. When any organization represented in the Council is desirous of making a demand for either an advance in wages or an abridgement of the hours of labor, it is required to make a report thereon to the Council, through its delegates, prior to the demand being made, when, if the action is concurred in by a two-thirds vote, it is to be declared binding." In effect, the Council became an offensive and defensive body, the principal business of which was to take advantage of every employer in the building trades. If one should refuse to yield a point demanded by one trade, however unjust the demand might be, it was the business of this boycott Council to "carry into effect that which they deemed advantageous to themselves," which, on ordinary occasions, would result in a stoppage of work of every kind upon a building until the employer should yield. They also expected to be in a position to compel all non-union men to obey the mandates of the organization. At a meeting of the Council, April 23d, the constitution was amended by adding the following section: It shall be the special duty of this Council to use the united strength of the organizations represented therein to compel all non-union men to conform to and obey the laws of the organizations to which they should properly belong. This stroke at personal liberty was strictly in furtherance of the "advantage" sought to be taken of the employer. The same power was to be brought to bear upon the workmen, who assumed the right to be independent, by seeking to "compel" them to "obey laws of the organizations to which they should properly belong." Not content with boycotting the employer, they must arrange a boycott upon a fellow-workman, because he might decline to join one of their unions. As if to "compel" a free man to do that against which his manhood revolts! HODCARRIERS AND LABORERS. There was comparative quiet for a week, during which time the carpenters were pushing their work rapidly. But the smooth order was soon broken. The first week in April the Hodcarriers' union had passed a resolution changing their pay from 25 to 30 cents an hour, and that of laborers from 22 to 25 cents an hour, and demanding recognition of their union. This order--for it was nothing less--was directed to take effect the first Monday in May. On Saturday, April 30th, the Hodcarriers and Laborers were instructed to make their demands, and report to a meeting to be held on Sunday, in order that the union might determine whether a strike should be ordered and the men called off on Monday. The bosses decided that under no circumstances would they recognize the Hodcarriers' union, maintaining that they were fully justified in so doing because the Bricklayers' union had refused to aid any proposition on the part of the Hodcarriers and Laborers to strike. The employers expected nothing less than a strike, as they universally refused the demands, claiming they could at once fill the places made vacant from the ranks of idle men in the city. In order to make their cause appear stronger the laborers claimed that numbers of bosses had acceded to their demands, but this was not true. Laborers in the stone yards took up the cause, concluding it was an opportune time to make some demands. They insisted upon eight hours a day, and two gangs of men when required to work overtime. The Stone-Cutters association met at once and put an end to the proposition for a strike by adopting the eight-hour day, resolving to work overtime and pay one-fourth extra for it--but not work two gangs of men--and at the same time refused to obey the dictation of the union by resolving that they would "employ men whether they belong to a union or not." This prompt action ended the strike of the laborers so far as the Stone-Cutters were concerned. The Bricklayers union met Friday night, April 29th, and discussed the proposed strike of the Hodcarriers and Laborers, and in a very peculiar manner lent assistance to their weak brethren. They passed a magnanimous resolution that "in the event of a strike no bricklayer should consent to do a hodcarrier's work." But further than this no action was taken. On the afternoon of Sunday, May 1st, four thousand hodcarriers and laborers assembled in the vicinity of Taylor street hall, near Canal street. At 3 o'clock the proposed meeting was held, but not more than one-half of those present could gain admission to the hall. The men inside and outside of the hall were discussing their grievances and "rushing the can" in a manner that promised a famine in beer on the following day. Patrick Sharkey presided at the meeting, at which there was a decided sentiment in favor of a strike. Speeches in English, German, Polish, and Bohemian were made to this effect, and a resolution was passed for a committee to wait on the contractors to see what they would do in answer to the demands that had been made. It was decided to allow men to work where the bosses acceded to the union demands, but no union man should work where there was one man employed who was not receiving the full scale of wages. It was decided that no man who could get the union wages should be asked to leave his work, but he would be asked to aid in supporting those who were compelled to take part in the strike. It was claimed, before the close of the meeting, that four thousand of the seven thousand Hodcarriers and Laborers in the city would remain at work, while the other three thousand would "be forced to strike." On Monday morning, May 2d, the promised strike of the Hodcarriers and Laborers began. More than four thousand quit work because their demands for 25 and 30 cents an hour, and recognition of their union, were not met. The men had reported at their respective jobs where they made their demands. When they were refused they were grievously disappointed, and sat and stood around waiting for the arrival of the "Walking Delegate," or for orders from the bosses to go to work at the increased rate of wages. In many instances they had to stand aside and see their places taken by non-union men. This was galling, but they remained, almost universally, quite orderly. What irritated them more than anything else was the fact that union Bricklayers offered no objection to working with non-union laborers. They had confidently expected that one union would support another, but the Bricklayers refused to recognize them as members of a union. They appeared to be too common for an aristocratic Bricklayer. Eight Walking Delegates paraded the city and endeavored to persuade non-union men to quit work and join the union. They were successful in but few instances. Non-union Laborers who had secured a good job were disposed to stick to it, and it seemed to require more than persuasion to draw them away from their work. In the treasury of the Hodcarriers' union there was the sum of $12,000, but that amount would not reach very far in a general lockout of five thousand members, each of whom was entitled to receive $5 a week while unemployed. They could expect no assistance from the Bricklayers, who had snubbed them; or the Carpenters, who had exhausted their treasury while on a strike lasting sixteen days; or the plasterers, who were not strong in numbers or finances, and had business of their own to look after. Their cause was helpless from the start, especially in view of the fact that there were thousands of idle laborers who were only too glad to step into the places made vacant without asking any questions about wages. On Tuesday the places of the four thousand strikers had been so nearly filled that but three hundred vacancies were reported. This was a hard blow to the union, but they stubbornly refused to yield a single point. A special meeting of the Master Masons' and Builders' association was held Tuesday night, May 3d, at the Builders' and Traders' exchange, at which a resolution was unanimously adopted to not accede to the demands of the Hodcarriers' and Laborers' Union for an increase in wages. There were eighty-seven of the members present, only thirty being absent. Expressions were taken from those present in regard to the course that should be pursued in reference to the strike, and there was not a dissenting voice on the proposition to refuse the demands made. The absentees were all heard from, and the president of the association said they were all of the same opinion. It was a quiet, earnest meeting, at which the members exhibited their determination to stand together, no matter what the result might be. On inquiry as to the number of Master Masons who needed laborers it was ascertained that there were but six members of the association who were without laborers, while less than a dozen others needed a few men. It was agreed that the members who had laborers to spare should lend some of them to those who most needed them until they could secure as many as they required. An executive committee was appointed, composed of Joseph Downey, Thomas E. Courtney, and Herman Mueller. This committee was instructed to hold daily sessions at the Builders' and Traders' exchange for the purpose of hearing complaints from members and supplying them with laborers, and to have a general supervision of the labor question pending a final settlement of the strike. They had no difficulty in securing all the men they wanted, the laborers being perfectly satisfied with the wages paid. On Thursday, May 5th, the Master Masons' association learned that a number of cases of intimidation had been attempted with their non-union laborers, but they passed them over because the battle had already been won. A STRIKE CLAUSE. On Friday, May 6th, Joseph Downey, President of the Master Masons' Association, sent the following communication to D. Adler, President of the Illinois Association of Architects. It was sent for the purpose of endeavoring to secure the co-operation of the Architects of the city--in view of a general strike in the building trades, which it was plain to be seen was impending: TO THE ARCHITECTS OF CHICAGO--_Gentlemen_: Owing to incessant and unreasonable demands being made upon us from time to time by our employes, causing incalculable delays, which mean disaster to those signing time contracts, the members of this association have, therefore, unanimously agreed to sign no contracts after May 1, unless the words "except in case of strikes or epidemics" are inserted in the time clause. Very respectfully, JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. PAY ON SATURDAY. The Master Masons' Association unofficially received information that the Bricklayers' union had passed a resolution fixing Saturday as pay-day, instead of Monday, or Tuesday, which had been the rule for many years. This action was not taken by the union because it was believed greater good could be accomplished, or because it was a necessary change; but was for the purpose of further testing the temper of the employers and notifying them that they were subject to the dictation of the union. On Friday Mr. Downey sent the following unofficial communication to A. E. Vorkeller, President of the Bricklayers' union, hoping to secure a rescinding of the Saturday pay-day resolution, and avoid a strike: TO THE UNITED ORDER OF AMERICAN BRICKLAYERS AND STONEMASONS-- _Gentlemen_: It has come to the knowledge of the Master Masons' and Builders' association that at your last meeting you passed a resolution that the members of your union should hereafter be paid on Saturday, instead of Monday and Tuesday, as is now and has been the custom. There has been no official action by the Master Masons' and Builders' association, but I have conferred with a number of them, and am impelled to write this letter to notify you of the fact that while we might prefer to comply with your request, we find it will be impossible to make up our pay-rolls in time to pay on Saturday, especially in the busy season, when some of us have from two hundred to three hundred men employed. We trust, gentlemen, that you will reconsider the action taken which resulted in the adoption of the resolution mentioned, as we are particularly anxious that the good feeling which has prevailed between your union and our association shall be continued without interruption. Very respectfully yours, JOSEPH DOWNEY. A DECLARATION. The evening of the same day a meeting of the Hodcarriers was held at West Twelfth street Turner Hall, at which a resolution was passed declaring it to be the duty of all employes in the building trades to go out in a body in order to support the strike which they had inaugurated, and in which they had been unsuccessful. GOING SLOW. A result of the strikes and unsettled state of affairs was to be seen in the disposition of contractors to go slow in bidding for new work, fearing they might be stopped by a strike and prevented from completing a building after the work had gotten well under way. Similar experience in past years had made them wary. THE BRICKLAYERS' STRIKE. Saturday, May 7th, was the first pay-day after the passage of the resolution by the Bricklayers' union fixing that day for payment. When the hour arrived for quitting work demand was made of the foreman on each job for payment in accordance with the resolution. It was refused, the Master Masons having determined that if the men were to strike because their demand was not conceded, they should be given an opportunity to do so at once. This general demand was taken as official notification that the resolution had passed. There was a universal expression of opinion among the Master Masons that they would refuse the demand--because of the spirit and manner in which it was made--and that they would stand firmly together upon the question. On Monday, May 9th, about two hundred bricklayers quit work because they had not been paid on the previous Saturday, but they were returned to work by President Vorkeller, of the union, because, he said, the rule for Saturday pay-day did not take effect until May 14th. Mr. Vorkeller called on President Downey and asked that a conference be held on the question of Saturday pay-day. In view of the action of the union in first resolving that the pay-day should be changed, this request was looked upon as very strange. But Mr. Downey notified him that he would present the question to the Master Masons' association. In referring to the situation Mr. Thomas Courtney voiced the sentiments of the builders when he said the only way to settle the prevailing uneasiness would be to stop all building at once and let it remain stopped until the strikers were tired of it. This seemed like a harsh measure, but it was the only sure way to success. All were tired of this labor agitation, and as the building of residence property especially was overdone, it was the best time he ever saw for a lockout. The workmen were not only fixing their own hours for work and their own pay, but now they wanted to fix their own pay-day. With so much labor disturbance it was a marvel to him that there was any disposition to erect a building in Chicago. A committee from the Amalgamated Trades Council called at the Builders' and Traders' exchange to see the executive committee of the Master Masons' association for the purpose of talking about the strike of the Hodcarriers. The committee was composed of Messrs. Brennock of the Carpenters, Carroll of the Stonecutters, and McBrearty of the Hodcarriers. They found President Downey, to whom they stated that they had called to see if the differences could be adjusted. Mr. Downey stated that the members of the executive committee were out paying their employes, and that another time would have to be fixed for the conference. He hoped the result of the conference would be satisfactory to all, and that at its conclusion they could say the strike was ended. The committee said that was what they wanted. Mr. Downey wanted to know what authority the committee had in the matter, and was told that they represented twelve of the building trades, and had the power to order every union man in those trades off a building where the union scale of wages was not paid or where non-union men were employed. But, they did not desire to exercise that power, as it was more the business of the Council to arbitrate and effect settlements than to encourage strikes. It was agreed that a conference should be had Tuesday morning, at which time the entire situation with reference to the Hodcarriers would be discussed. In order to exhibit the venomous spirit of some of the strikers an effort was made by the union Hodcarriers and Laborers to make the life of non-union Laborers a burden. A scheme was started for dropping mortar and pouring water on them in order to drive them away from any job where union men were at work. On Tuesday evening, May 10th, the Master Masons' association met. President Downey read a letter from the Bricklayers' Union which contained an unqualified statement that the union would not rescind the resolution making Saturday the pay-day. Mr. George C. Prussing submitted the draft of a communication to be sent to the Bricklayers' Union, and stated that he thought it was highly proper to send it, in the hope that by courteous treatment the differences would be settled with less difficulty. The proposition to send the communication was unanimously adopted. The communication was as follows: TO THE UNITED ORDER OF AMERICAN BRICKLAYERS AND STONEMASONS-- _Gentlemen_: Notice of your resolution fixing pay-day every Saturday two weeks has been laid before this association. We submit to your consideration that a subject of this kind can hardly be "fixed" by a resolution in a meeting of employes, but should be referred to and properly discussed by a joint committee of both employers and employes before action is taken. Thus far the rule has been to pay up to and including Saturday on the following Tuesday among the members of this association, and as far as heard from no complaint of any irregularity in paying workmen has been made. In a city as large as this, covering such immense area, and where it is not infrequent for the same firm to be engaged upon work on the North, South, and West sides at the same time, two days at least are necessary to make up pay-rolls and envelope money properly. If, therefore, the change of pay-day from Tuesday to Saturday should be adopted, it would necessitate the closing of pay-day on Thursday night preceding. This, we submit, would not serve either you or us as well as to pay to the end of the previous week. You have not given us any reasons for your arbitrary demand for a change, and we have failed to find any in our judgment good and sufficient. If any such reasons exist we shall be pleased to know them. Until then we shall continue to pay as before, regularly every second Tuesday, up to the preceding Saturday night. By order of the CHICAGO MASTER MASONS' ASSOCIATION. The communication was at once taken to the Bricklayers' Union by C. P. Wakeman, it having been stated that the union was in session and would receive any communication that should be sent. In about thirty minutes Mr. Wakeman returned from his visit to the Bricklayers, and reported that he had been received in grand shape. The hall was packed full, and when he took his place on the platform to read the communication he was loudly cheered. He asked the Bricklayers to lay the question of pay-day over and appoint a committee to see if the matter could not be settled. He was satisfied that two-thirds of those present were in favor of a compromise. They agreed to telephone the Builders' and Traders' exchange as soon as a conclusion was reached. The telephone was not used, but a committee from the Bricklayers' union called at 10:30 o'clock and notified Mr. Wakeman that the union had unanimously passed a resolution making Saturday the pay-day, and that it would not recede from it, but was willing to allow two days in which to make up the pay-roll, closing it on Thursday night. The report was received, after which a motion was made to lay the report on the table, but it was withdrawn. William O'Brien said the demand for pay on Saturday, if acceded to, would result in another demand for pay at noon on Saturday and give the men the afternoon, and then the contractors would have "blue Monday" in fact. He was in favor of acting like men and standing firmly by their principles, and they would command the respect of everybody. [Applause.] Mr. Charles W. Gindele said if the bricklayers had done the fair thing they would have conferred with the contractors before passing the resolutions, but they had made the demand arbitrarily. The community and the material men were watching the action of the association, and were ready to stand by it if it stood by its members. It was only a matter of time until the strike would have to burst, and he was in favor of bursting it then. If it was not done the community could not be expected to stand by them. If all building was stopped there were enough vacant buildings in the city to house everybody. [Applause.] A motion to not concur in the report of the committee was unanimously adopted, which was equivalent to a refusal to accede to the demands of the bricklayers in regard to making Saturday the pay-day. A resolution was then adopted refusing to comply with the demands of the bricklayers in regard to Saturday as a pay-day, fixing Monday or Tuesday of every other week as the day of payment, and agreeing to shut down all work if the bricklayers should strike on account of this action. There was but one opposing vote. President Downey submitted an agreement which had already been signed by a large majority of the members of the association. It embraced a proposition to stand together upon the question of pay-day, and to all stop work, if it should be necessary, in order to maintain their rights against unjust exactions of the laboring men. After the agreement was read an opportunity was given for members to sign it who had not done so, and twenty names were added to the list. The association then voted to approve the sentiments expressed in the agreement, the vote being unanimous. The Executive Committee submitted a report of the doings of its members in regard to the labor troubles. It was as follows: TO THE CHICAGO MASTER MASONS' ASSOCIATION--_Gentlemen_: Your executive committee does respectfully report that a committee of three, claiming to be appointed by and to represent the Amalgamated Trades council, and to be clothed by it with power to settle the existing laborers' strike, did call by appointment this morning at the exchange and met us, together with a number of members of this association whom we asked to join us for this particular purpose. After quite a lengthy and exhaustive discussion of the situation said committee of three insisted: Firstly, on the establishment of a minimum rate of wages for all masons' laborers at 23½ cents per hour. Secondly, one time and one-half to be granted for all work done over and above eight hours per day, no matter during which hours such work may be performed. Thirdly, for double pay for Sunday work, and, Lastly, on the recognition of their union. The first three propositions are debatable and might have been acceded to by your committee and this body, and if the fourth had been understood to mean an acknowledgement of the fact that a union of masons' laborers more or less numerous has been formed, and is now in existence, your committee would have been ready to go to that length. But the gentlemen wanted more--far more. They informed us that a recognition of their union means that the members of this association pledge themselves to employ henceforth none but laborers belonging to their union, to grant to it the practical control of the labor market, and to drive every laborer now employed from our buildings, and in reality out of the city all who have not now, or do not in near future, join the ranks of their union. In other words, to make ourselves the whippers-in of said union. It means that we sanction and support the aim and object of said union, which is that none shall work in Chicago at their calling except upon surrender of his manhood into its keeping and at its beck and call. It means that we sanction the employment of brute force to coerce men into their ranks. It means that we sanction and approve of the outrages committed daily against men now at work upon terms mutually satisfactory to themselves and their employers. We, the members of this association, must plead guilty, in common with the entire community, to suffering the fundamental principles underlying the very fabric of our government, and guaranteed by our constitution--principles called inalienable rights of man--to be overridden and practically abrogated by lawless bodies throughout the land. Thus far are we equally guilty with all other citizens in neglecting our duty as such. To uphold this government and constitution is the duty of all citizens. We are part of this community, and comparatively a small fraction. This community will awake from its lethargy and to its duty when that time comes, and God speed the coming. The voice of this association will give no uncertain sound. In the meantime, let us never voluntary do or sanction wrong. We may suffer, but we can not cope against it without the active support of the community. But never let it be said that we approved of the methods employed recently by trades-unions. Your committee would not make you liable to such charge by its act, and reports the whole matter to you for final action. Respectfully. JOSEPH DOWNEY, H. MUELLER, Executive Committee. We, the undersigned members, who were present at the committee meeting this morning do join in the report. G. C. PRUSSING, GEORGE TAPPER, C. P. WAKEMAN. The report was adopted by a rising vote, followed by prolonged applause. President Downey stated that he had recently seen a great many of the brick manufacturers and the officers of the stone pool in regard to selling materials in case of a lockout, and they had assured him that they would stand by the contractors in case of a general strike, and not sell a dollars' worth of building material while the strike lasted. The pulse of the manufacturers of and dealers in building materials was felt, and it was ascertained that they fully realized they were standing on a volcano that was likely to burst at any time and stop them. One of them covered the case fully when he said they were practically dependent upon the contractors, and if it became necessary for the Master Masons to shut down, the brick manufacturers and stone men would support them by shutting down their yards and stopping the manufacture of brick and the production of building stone. They were on the eve of a strike among their own employes, instances of discontent cropping out almost every day, and if the producers of building materials should elect to stand by the contractors he was satisfied the strike questions would not only be settled for the season, but for all time. The committee from the Amalgamated Building Trades Council, composed of Messrs. Brennock, Carroll and McBrearty again met the executive committee of the Master Masons' association and made its demand for the Hodcarriers. The Master Masons were asked to recognize the union, pay 25 cents an hour and agree to employ none but union hodcarriers and laborers. The executive committee of the Master Masons, composed of Messrs. Downey, Courtney and Mueller, with Mr. Prussing added, told the council committee that they would not accede to the demand. They insisted that they could not pay 25 cents an hour to laborers, and under no circumstances would they discharge the army of non-union laborers, as it would be an injustice to poor men who were dependent upon their labor for support. Mr. Courtney told them these men were not able, if inclined, to join the union, and it would be almost inhuman to throw them out of employment when they were faithful employes. Mr. Carroll admitted that the Council was not ready to order the union laborers to stop work, as there were too many non-union hodcarriers and laborers in the city, and until these were brought into the union a general strike would not accomplish what was wanted. He also remarked that the Council had decided to call off all union men on jobs where non-union men were employed, but he could not say whether it would carry out the declaration. The hodcarriers had inaugurated the strike, and might conclude to drop it until they were in better shape by having more non-union men in their assemblies. TWO THOUSAND BRICKLAYERS QUIT. On Monday, May 11th, the strike of the Bricklayers materialized. Two thousand members of the union dropped their trowels because the employers refused to recognize their edict in regard to Saturday pay-day. This act threw out of employment an equal number of Hodcarriers and Laborers, many of whom were not in sympathy with the movement of the Bricklayers. President Vorkeller of the Bricklayers' union, insisted that no strike had been ordered, but the men would not work unless the Saturday pay-day was granted. No "strike had been ordered," but the men were striking as fast as they could. Upon being informed that the pay-day would not be changed they stopped at once, all understanding that they must quit. Yet, according to the president of the union, "there was no strike ordered." They were simply "standing by the resolution." Some of the men quit work very reluctantly, remarking that it was the height of nonsense to strike on such a frivolous proposition. But they had to obey orders, and did so with military precision. The Walking Delegate was promptly on hand to see that every man obeyed orders, and the snap of his finger did its work on a great many jobs where the men were in no hurry to quit work. The president of the union claimed that they could endure a long lockout, as they had real estate and cash representing $75,000, and could make it $100,000 by assessments. But the Bricklayers were not Knights of Labor, and were not amalgamated with any other labor organization, and consequently were not in a position to give to or receive assistance from any other labor union. At the Builders' and Traders' exchange there was considerable bustle among the contractors. They realized that the strike for which they had been looking had commenced, and they put their heads together as if they were preparing for a long and hard fight. There was not a dissenting voice to be heard in regard to the question. Everyone who entered the exchange wore an earnest look, and expressed determination to not yield on the question of pay-day if the building business of the city was to stop a whole year. They had wrestled with the strike problem in almost every aspect in which it could be placed, until it had become a burden too heavy to bear. A period had been reached when the trouble could be settled for all time, and they were determined to settle it in a manner that would be effective. They realized that they might lose thousands of dollars while engaged in the effort, but with the co-operation of the material men they could reach a conclusion that would be lasting. It was not a question of hours or wages, as those had been conceded with many other exactions. It had become a question whether the contractor was to allow his employes to domineer over him and dictate everything, or whether he should have a little to do with the management of his own affairs. The building interests had been hampered for years by demand after demand, nearly all of which had been of an arbitrary character. It was more convenient for the contractors, and better for the men, that they should be paid on Monday or Tuesday. A majority of the Bricklayers did not object to the pay-day, but the leaders demanded the change, and they were forced to submit. Labor unions are generally managed by the leaders for their own interests. The Bricklayers were the best organized body in the city. They had no affiliations with other unions. If a Bricklayer entered Chicago with a card from another union in his hand he would not be permitted to work until he paid the Chicago Union $25. The result was that Bricklayers were driven from the city and the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons dictated for years rules, not only for their own government, but for the control of every Master Mason that attempted to fill a contract. Among the contractors the fight had become one for principle, and every element that was in sympathy with the maintenance of the right was invited to unite with the contracting Masons in their effort put forth to attain that object. In furtherance of the movement a committee was appointed by the Master Masons' association to confer with dealers in building materials and procure their signature to an agreement that they would not sell and deliver building material to any one pending a settlement of the labor troubles, except upon the authority of Joseph Downey, president of the Master Masons' associations. The agreement was as follows: _Whereas_, We believe the position taken by the Chicago Master Masons' association in the present building trade strike to be correct; and, _Whereas_, We believe that the more complete the cessation of all building work during the strike can be made, the shorter will be the interference with business. _Now_, _therefore_, Do we, the undersigned, hereby agree with and among one another not to sell or deliver materials to any building in Chicago or suburbs during the continuance of this strike, except as may be allowed or requested by the executive committee appointed by the Chicago Master Masons' association in charge of the strike. The committee was composed of Joseph Downey, president; Thomas Courtney, treasurer, (who went to Europe June 1st, and his place was filled by E. Earnshaw); Herman Mueller, secretary. A sub-committee was appointed, composed of C. W. Gindele, Daniel Freeman and E. S. Moss. The three divisions of the city were created "districts," and were put in charge of the following members: South side, William O'Brien; North side, John Mountain; West side, William Iliff. Visitors were then appointed and the city was thoroughly canvassed and patrolled in order to secure full co-operation of the material dealers, and to protect the interests of the members generally. Dealers in stone, brick, lime, cement, sand, architectural iron, tile, and every other class of building material, flocked to the exchange and appended their signatures to the agreement. They were only too glad to lend their assistance to break the backbone of a species of tyranny under which they had been oppressed for years. The committee reported that nearly every important dealer had signed the agreement. Backed by this element the contractors were relieved. They felt assured of success. There was joy in the camp of the Hodcarriers when it was announced that the Bricklayers had gone out. Their joy was not on account of the strike, but because it would result in throwing out of employment the non-union Hodcarriers and Laborers who had stepped into their places when they struck for an advance in pay, and were locked out. The idle men who were needy drew on the treasury of the Hodcarriers' union and took out of it nearly every dollar it contained. The Amalgamated Building Trades' Council met and attempted to order a general strike of all building trades, but discovered that they were powerless to do so, because the delegates had not been given "power to act" by their respective unions. The desire to order the general strike was present, but the authority was absent. There was no lack of willingness on the part of the leaders. They are always ready and willing to keep their positions at the sacrifice of anything and anybody. The leaders of the striking bricklayers were quietly, but actively engaged in laying plans for the future. They claimed to be ready to meet any emergency that might come. At the same time the contractors claimed to hold the key to the situation, and said they would never give up until they could have a little to say in the management of their own business. The executive committee of the Master Masons' association decided that there should be a general shutting down of all work on which bricklayers and stonemasons were engaged, and in pursuance of this decision the following notice was issued May 10th. Notice.--The members of the Master Masons' association now working men are hereby requested to stop work Friday night, May 13th, and to report to the executive committee. JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. On Friday, May 13th, the idle army was largely increased. Of bricklayers, stonemasons, hodcarriers, laborers, teamsters, helpers, carpenters, and a few in other trades, there were fifteen thousand out of employment. Many of these were willing to work, but they were forced to be idle because of the strike of the bricklayers. The strikers threatened to bring into the city building material from Michigan, thinking by such a proceeding they could force the bosses to give in. The proposition was laughed at. In support of the Master Masons the North and Northwest Brick Manufacturers' association met and resolved that from May 14th no brick should be delivered from any of the yards in the association until the strike was ended, and that the yards would stop manufacturing brick May 18th. The association yards had a capacity of 1,250,000 brick per day, and employed 1,300 men. The bricklayers attempted to hold a meeting at Greenebaum's hall Friday night to discuss what they termed "the bosses' lockout." Every member of the union was on hand, and at least half of them were prepared to express their views on the subject. Over five hundred men were unable to gain entrance to the hall owing to its crowded condition, and finding themselves thus cut off from debate proceeded to interrupt those who were inside, so that it was impossible for anyone to hear what was said. A good many who were on the floor were determined to express disapprobation at the trivial demand that had precipitated the trouble, and to request that something be done to settle the dispute, but finding that the malcontents outside were bent on stopping all discussion it was determined to close the meeting. Upon a motion to this effect another noisy faction began to oppose it, and the shouting and stamping of feet became deafening. The floor quivered under the tumultuous mob, and many left the hall for fear it would give way. President Vorkeller could not control the men, and after two hours' labor to bring order out of chaos he made a proposition that battery D, or the cavalry armory, be secured, and thus obtain room for all. This met with favor, and the meeting adjourned with the understanding that the men assemble at battery D at 10 o'clock Saturday morning, May 14th. REVOLUTIONARY TALK. In order to inflame the strikers and keep them together they were frequently regaled by such poisonous talk as the following: "In a week the men will begin to get uneasy. They will assemble on the streets. The Internationalists [red-flag bandits] will be among them, notwithstanding the fact that they are alleged to have disbanded. Do you suppose that 50,000 or 100,000 men are going to starve and allow their families to die before their eyes without lifting a hand? It is against human nature. I am going to leave Chicago. It is not safe for men of my views to be around in times like these. If the lockout is continued, the people will arise and overthrow a system which permits a few men to starve the vast majority into slavery." It was of little use to point out to angry and ignorant men the absurdity of these revolutionary predictions of their worst enemies. It availed nothing to tell them that Capital had not refused to give them employment; that Capital was ready and more than willing to employ them, and was suffering loss every day and hour of their idleness; that Capital was the best friend they have in the world, a friend that respected their rights and required of them only that they should have equal respect for its rights; and that to maintain its rights against their annoying and persistent attacks was its sole aim in meeting them on their own ground and fighting them in their own fashion. Their blatant demagogues asserted the contrary, and they continued to listen to their blatant demagogues. PECULIAR METHODS. The Bricklayers' union was such a close corporation that it not only failed and refused to affiliate with bricklayers who were members of the International union, but proposed to debar every other mechanic from earning a living and force them to assist in securing a benefit for its own members. It was attempting to oust from employment all other building trades in order to carry a trivial point for its own benefit. A meeting of the Amalgamated Trades' Council was held May 14th, at which the action of the Bricklayers was discussed. Expressions of sympathy were made for the Hodcarriers--who were represented in the Council--and condemnation of the Bricklayers,--who were not represented,--and the following resolution was unanimously adopted: _Resolved_, That the Bricklayers' union be requested to send a delegation to this Council and take part in its work, and failing so to do that this Council consider itself purposely ignored, and at liberty to support such members of the International Union of Bricklayers as may seek work in Chicago, and that the hodcarriers may supply said International men. A committee was appointed to convey the resolution to the president of the Bricklayers' union. When asked if he had received the resolution President Vorkeller at first emphatically denied it. But when James Brennock, Secretary of the Council, exhibited a reply to it from Vorkeller, he changed his manner of expression, and admitted that he had decided to send a committee to meet the members of the Council, but the union would not send delegates. He said he would have nothing to do with amalgamation, as the union was independent, and able to take care of itself. He afterwards changed his mind, however, and the Bricklayers' union, which was so independent, so powerful, so well organized--under a threat by the Hodcarriers to bring International bricklayers to Chicago--sent delegates to the Council and amalgamated. WALLING THE STRIKERS IN. The executive committee of the Master Masons' association busied itself in securing signatures to the agreement to not sell or deliver any building material pending the strike, and they were eminently successful. It divided the city into districts and appointed sub-committees to visit each job to see who were working and if any disposition was shown to violate the agreement. They daily added signatures to the document, fully realizing that by procuring a hearty co-operation from the material men they could build a wall so high that there would be no question of success in combatting the tyrannical acts of the union. The question of individual liberty was brought home to them in such a manner that they could not ignore it. A NEW PROPOSITION. Saturday, May 14th, a large meeting of representatives of the building trades met at the Builders' and Traders' exchange. The spacious rooms were crowded to their full capacity. George Tapper presided. The sentiments of the meeting were fully expressed in the following statement and resolutions, which were unanimously adopted: The members of the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, in special meeting assembled, in their capacity as citizens and as employers of labor, believe the time ripe to protest against the arrogant interference of labor organizations with business and the rights of man as guaranteed by the constitution of the United States. From year to year this evil of foreign importation has grown worse and worse, because the people, whose duty as citizens it is to uphold and enforce the laws, have not taken the time to oppose actively the aggressions and outrages committed in the name and by the instigation of the various labor organizations. We have seen this evil brought to and planted in our soil; we have allowed it to sprout and grow, and put forth new and stronger shoots every year, until now it is plain that it must either be stamped out by the active co-operation of all law-abiding citizens or it will overwhelm and destroy our very form of government. The dividing line between the permissible and objectionable, between right and wrong, should be clearly and unmistakably drawn, and the voice of the community should be heard with proper earnestness and determination, saying to the ignorant as well as the vicious, "thus far shall you go, but go no farther." We believe that the large majority sin from ignorance. Others have seen the wrong exist and tolerated, and wrong-doers prosper, until their moral perceptions are dulled and blunted. Those who know better, whose opportunity and education is superior, have neglected their duty to their misled fellow-citizens full long enough. A crusade must be inaugurated, and should be participated in by each and all who love and desire the perpetuation of this government, founded, in the words of the immortal Lincoln, "of the people, for the people, by the people." Let all unite and stand shoulder to shoulder in solid phalanx for the right and frown down the spirit of anarchy now rampant, and ere long the rights of the individual shall again be respected, and this country shall again and in fact become the "home of the free." _Whereas_, We recognize that the Master Masons' and Builders' association has taken a proper stand in its opposition to the arbitrary dictates of organized labor, and that its battle is our battle, and in the belief that the more complete the cessation of all building work during the present strike the shorter will be the interference with business; now, therefore, be it _Resolved_, That we indorse the action of said Master Masons' association and make its position our own, and will actively aid and assist it in and during this strike. _Resolved_, That while we condemn and oppose improper actions by trades unions, we still recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and shall aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conference and arbitration are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. _Resolved_, That this exchange do, and it does hereby, call upon all contractors and builders, be they members of this exchange or not, for co-operation and active assistance; it calls upon all architects; upon the owners of buildings in course of construction or about to be started; upon the press and pulpit; upon each and every citizen, and particularly upon all mechanics and laborers who believe that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employer and workman should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. Each association in the building trades, and the Illinois State Association of Architects, and the Chicago Real Estate board were requested to appoint three delegates to be present at a conference of building trades on Monday, May 19th. Mr. Prussing was asked to state the position of the Master Masons. In doing so he said: "It is no more walking delegate! [Cheers.] No more interference with the boy who wishes to learn a trade that he may earn an honest living. [Cheers.] But why ask for particulars? We ask that the wrongs and outrages perpetrated by the trades unions be wiped out, and we ask every minister in his pulpit and every editor in his chair to aid us. If we present a solid and united front the victory will soon be won. * * * * The spirit of anarchy is rampant and must be put down, or it will put you down." [Applause.] Just as the meeting adjourned a telegram was received from Boston, signed by William H. Sayward, secretary of the National Association of Builders. The assembly waited to hear it. It read as follows: We are watching your course with great sympathy and interest. Individual liberty must be preserved at any cost. It was received with a burst of applause, followed by three cheers and a "tiger." PRACTICAL WORK. A meeting of the directors of the Chicago stone pool was held, at which there was a full attendance. The building situation was carefully and thoroughly discussed, and without a dissenting voice it was agreed to sustain the Master Masons in the action taken relative to the strike. A resolution was adopted not to sell or deliver stone to anybody pending a settlement of the labor troubles. It was also agreed to stop work at the twenty-two quarries controlled by the pool if it should become necessary. The key to the situation was held by the stone pool, and when this action was taken the cause of the Master Masons was strengthened in a manner that caused a feeling of relief. Without stone building could not go on for any great length of time. PERMITS--ARCHITECTS. There was some work under contract which had to be done in order to protect it, or to avoid violating an agreement, and in such cases President Downey arranged for the issuance of permits for the sale of such material as was needed to complete the work. The Architects met and expressed approval of the course of the Master Masons, and the following resolution, presented by W. L. B. Jenney, was unanimously adopted: _Resolved_, That the secretary be and he is hereby instructed to send to the Builders' and Traders' exchange, through its president, the announcement of our sincere co-operation. WHIPPING THE GERMANS INTO LINE. A mass meeting of the Bricklayers was held on the same day at Battery D, ostensibly for the purpose of discussing the strike, but really for the purpose of anathematizing the employers and forcing into line the dissatisfied and discontented Germans who had been forced to strike against their will. There was a majority of the Germans present, and if they had not been frightened into following the leaders, they could have rescinded the resolution making Saturday the pay-day. But they were timid and unorganized. Mr. Richter spoke in favor of rescinding the resolution, but his own German friends were not brave enough to accord him a cheer, while the opposition howled him down. When the orators thought they had the meeting in proper temper the following resolution was presented by George Childs: _Resolved._ That we strictly abide by the resolution that was passed by our Union as to a Saturday pay-day every two weeks, and refuse to work on any other terms. It was read in six different languages that it might be understood by the "congress of nations." President Vorkeller then requested those who favored its adoption to take a position on the right of the hall. A rush was made and but one man voted against the resolution. The objecting Germans had been intimidated to such an extent on that and previous occasions that they feared to vote against the edict of the leaders. A viva voce vote was then taken and the resolution was adopted without a dissenting voice. When the result of the meeting at Battery D was announced in the committee-room of the Master Masons there was a significant smile on the faces of those present. President Downey stated that a rescinding of the Saturday pay-day resolution by the bricklayers was not expected, and if it had been done it would not have restored the building interests to their normal condition. The contractors had been forced into a fight which they had staved off for years by making concessions, but now that they were in it they would not stop short of a permanent settlement of every grievance which had been borne until they were no longer to be endured. On Monday, May 16th, there were 18,000 mechanics locked out, and 1,100 laborers were being supported by the Hodcarriers' union. Four hundred bricklayers left the city to look for work. A PLATFORM OF PRINCIPLES. Tuesday evening, May 17th, the Master Masons' association met and unanimously adopted the following platform of principles: Your committee does respectfully report in favor of the reaffirmation of the following planks from the platform of the National Association of Builders as fundamental principles upon which must be based any and all efforts at settlement of the now existing lockout in building trades: We affirm that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. We recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and, while condemning and opposing improper action upon their part, we will aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points on which conference and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented; or, in other language, that "the walking delegate must go;" that the laws of the state shall prevail in regard to apprentices and not the dictates of labor organizations; that "stewards" in control of the men employed at buildings will not be recognized, and that "foremen," as the agents of employers, shall not be under the control of the union while serving in that capacity. We report in favor of the above, and believe that no time should be wasted now in the discussion of details which can readily be adjusted by arbitration when an association of workmen shall be in existence which acknowledges the justice of the above principles. With such association, questions of detail or policy, such as minimum rate of wages to be paid, the hours of work per day, or any complaints or grievances now existing or hereafter arising, can readily be settled by a joint committee of arbitration, and we hold ourselves ready and willing to do so. The need of the day is a firm stand upon the question at issue--namely, the constitution-guaranteed rights of the individual. In our efforts to maintain these we have received the unanimous and hearty co-operation of the community, and we are sure of its continued support. All other questions are trivial in comparison, and the consideration thereof may well be postponed. And in this connection we take pleasure in acknowledging the receipt of sympathy and co-operation of the architects of this city, the active support of the manufacturers of and dealers in building materials, the uniform and readily-granted assistance of the building public and the many letters of sympathy with the cause received from people entirely disconnected with building interests, who feel with us that it is the duty of the American people to oppose this form of tyranny and crush it out now and forever. It is time, indeed, that the men in charge of unions should learn that they are not fighting this association, but run counter to the sentiments of the entire people and the institutions of this free country. They must learn to distinguish between liberty and license, between right and wrong. All who aid in this work deserve well by their country. In conclusion, we recommend the appointment of a committee of three by the president to represent this association at a conference to be held by representatives of all building trades at the Builders' Exchange to-morrow, and until the present lockout is finally settled. GEORGE C. PRUSSING, GEORGE TAPPER, GEORGE H. FOX, Committee. When that portion was read stating that the "walking delegate must go" there was loud applause, and every section of the platform was cheered. THE REAL ESTATE BOARD. A special meeting of the Real Estate board was held at which the labor question was fully discussed by Messrs. W. D. Kerfoot, H. L. Turner, M. R. Barnard, E. S. Dreyer, Bryan Lathrop, W. L. Pierce and others. The following resolution was presented by M. R. Barnard and adopted by the board: _Resolved_, That the Chicago Real Estate Board is in full sympathy with the Builders' and Traders' exchange, the contractors, architects, and owners in their efforts to check the evils of the labor troubles, and that the Real Estate Board expresses a willingness to co-operate with them in their efforts to devise such means as will result in an equitable and final settlement of the question. SOMEBODY WAS HURT. The Amalgamated Trades' Council held a meeting--which was attended by delegates from the Bricklayers' union--at which threats were made to prosecute Messrs. Downey, Prussing and other builders for "conspiracy" because they had been prominent in securing the co-operation of the dealers in building material, and a refusal to sell and deliver pending the strike. This movement had struck its mark. It hurt. In the meantime the poor Hodcarriers and Laborers were lost sight of. They had exhausted their treasury and were assessing members at work $1 a week to partially defray expenses of those who were idle. Very few were engaged in building, but were shoving lumber, working in ditches and sewers, and performing labor of any kind they could find to do. Their cause was lost. AN IMPORTANT MOVEMENT. The conference of Building Trades, which had been called by the Builders' and Traders' exchange, met Wednesday, May 18th. The various organizations were represented as follows: Architectural Iron-Work--Robert Vierling, A. Vanderkloof, M. Benner. Plumbers--Robert Griffith, William Sims, J. J. Wade. Steam-Fitters--H. G. Savage, L. H. Prentice, P. S. Hudson. Stone-Cutters--F. V. Gindele, T. C. Diener, John Rawle. Plasterers--J. N. Glover, A. Zander, John Sutton. Roofers--M. W. Powell. Master Masons--George C. Prussing, George Tapper, George H. Fox. Painters--J. B. Sullivan, H. J. Milligan, J. G. McCarthy. Galvanized-Iron-Work--Edward Kirk, Jr., F. A. E. Wolcott, W. B. Maypole. Carpenters--William Hearson, William Mavor, W. T. Waddell. North Side Brick Manufacturers--A. J. Weckler, F. Zapell, A. Hahne. Non-Union Stone-Cutters--C. B. Kimbell. Real Estate Board--Henry L. Turner, W. L. Pierce, E. S. Dreyer. Builders' and Traders' Exchange--F. E. Spooner, H. C. Hoyt, B. J. Moore. Architects--F. Bauman, J. W. Root, M. Pierce. Hollow-Tile Manufacturers--P. B. Wight. George Tapper was made president and F. C. Schoenthaler secretary. The members discussed the situation, all agreeing that it was necessary to stand together, and that prompt action should be taken to settle the strike. On motion of F. E. Spooner the two sections of the platform of the Master Masons, which were taken from the declaration of principles of the National Association of Builders, were read and adopted without a dissenting voice. The following committee was appointed to submit a plan for future action: George C. Prussing, Henry L. Turner, William Hearson, J. B. Sullivan and Edward Kirk, Jr. BRICK YARDS SHUT DOWN. Wednesday, May 18th, nearly all of the brick manufacturers in and adjacent to the city shut down their yards to not resume the manufacture of brick until there was a settlement of the labor troubles. Their action threw out of employment six thousand brickmakers, helpers, yardmen, and teamsters. This action was precipitated by the fact that there was a supply of brick on hand which could not be delivered until building operations were resumed, and the manufacturers saw nothing in the situation that made it necessary for them to make brick when their product could not find a market. They did not desire to invest large sums of money in making brick to store at a large expense, and few of them had an outside demand for their product. In nearly every yard in the vicinity of Chicago there had been strikes, and others were threatened. The feeling of uncertainty and insecurity was so prevalent that the brick manufacturers were more ready than ever to co-operate with the movement of the Master Masons in order to be placed in a position to begin anew on whatever basis might be adopted for a settlement of the labor question. They wanted to run full time when they did run, and not be regulated by the "gang" rule as to what should constitute a day's work for a machine and the attendant man. When a machine was guaranteed to make 50,000 brick in a day they objected to shutting it off at 35,000, and calling that number a day's work. Such rules were regarded as too arbitrary, and as the brickmaking season was limited to from 120 to 150 days it necessarily shortened the crop and prevented a fair income on the capital invested in machinery and grounds. A PLATFORM APPROVED. Thursday, May 19th, the conference of the Building Trades held a second meeting, and the committee on platform submitted a report which was discussed by the members and slightly amended. As adopted it was as follows: In order to carry into effect the platform adopted by us, your committee recommend: 1. That from this time forth the signature to the following code of principles by the employe be made a universal condition of employment by all building interests of Chicago, viz: I recognize the right of every man to decide for himself, without dictation or interference, when he shall work or cease to work, where he shall work, for whom he shall work, how many hours he shall work, and for what wages he shall work. I recognize the absolute right of the employer to decide for himself, without interference from any source, whom he shall employ or cease to employ; to regulate and manage his business with perfect independence and freedom, provided, only, that he deal lawfully, justly and honorable with all men. I recognize the right of every father to have his son taught, and of every son to learn, any lawful trade as on a plane with his right to a knowledge of reading, writing, or any other branch of learning, and should be subject to regulation only by the laws of the land. I hereby pledge myself, in all my relations and intercourse with my employers and fellow-workmen, to maintain and live up to these principles. Your committee recommend, second, that the same code of principles be presented for signature to every employer with the pledge therein changed as follows: I hereby pledge myself to maintain and live up to these principles in the prosecution of my business, and to lend my aid to the full extent of my influence and power for their maintenance and protection among my fellow employers. I further pledge myself not to employ any workmen except upon his signature of this code of principles. Your committee recommend, third, that this conference recommend to our respective organizations to request of each of its members to employ such workmen only who recognize the inalienable rights as above set forth, and evidence their position by subscribing their names thereto. Your committee recommend, fourth, that public announcement be made at once that business will be resumed on or before June 1, with this code of principles as a basis. Your committee recommend, fifth, that a standing committee of one member from each of the building trades, Real-Estate Board, and the Illinois State Association of Architects, to be known as the central council of the building interests of Chicago be appointed, whose duty it shall be to see to the carrying out of these principles; that it shall have a sub-committee of safety, whose province it shall be to see that ample protection to all is afforded; with sub-committees on grievances, strikes, arbitrations, and such as may be found necessary, but that it work always and solely for the maintenance and protection of the principles herein laid down. Your committee recommend, sixth, that an address to the workingmen of the building trades and to the general public be prepared, setting forth your action and your reasons therefor; that fifty thousand copies be printed and immediately distributed. Your committee recommend, seventh, that the declaration of principles be printed at once and circulated for signatures. Your committee recommend, eighth, that a fund be created to defray the expenses of this central council, and that we request each association here represented to transmit to the order of George Tapper, chairman, the sum of 25 cents for each of their members, and that individual contributions of people interested in this work be accepted. The committee was instructed to have the report printed in six different languages for general distribution. A meeting of the Master Masons' association was held the same day at which objections were made to that portion of the platform which require the employe to _sign_ an agreement to abide by what had been laid down as the principles of the employers. It was regarded as impracticable and the association refused to approve it, deferring action until there was a full meeting. The Carpenters' and Builders' association met in the evening and unanimously approved the platform presented by the Conference of Builders, although some objection was offered to the clause requiring the employe to sign his name. SOME OBJECTIONS. At the rooms of the Builders' and Traders' exchange the members congregated in large number and earnestly discussed the situation and platform of principles adopted by the conference committee of the building trades. Everyone seemed to be loaded with an opinion which he wanted to shoot off at everybody else. The burden of the discussion was upon the proposition to require employers and employes to append their signatures to the declaration of principles. There was no disagreement as to the correctness of the principles, but a great many questioned the ability of the employers to put the first section into practice-- requiring the employe to sign before going to work. It was generally stated that this proposition was impracticable with the building trades, because many of the men were constantly moving about from one job to another, and unless they were known to have previously signed a new signature would be required on each job, to which the men would object. Masons generally favored a proposition to require the employes to assent to the principles enunciated, and if they did not want to work then they could remain idle. Some of the bosses, however, insisted that they would not only vote against the signing clause, but would refuse to put it into execution if it should be indorsed by a full meeting. It was suggested that an arrangement could be made for opening the doors and inviting the men to go to work. Each applicant for a job could be asked if he knew the principles which had been adopted, and under which work was to be resumed. If not, he could have a copy delivered to him to read, or have them read to him, and if he was then willing to resume work, all right. If not, he could reconsign himself to idleness. It was thought this would not antagonize the unions, and that a large majority of the men would return to work within a week. AN OFFICIAL VISIT. Notice having been received by the president of the Builders' and Traders' exchange that the officers of the National Association of Builders were to be in Chicago, the board of directors of the exchange met and appointed the following committee to receive them: George Tapper, Joseph Downey, George II. Fox, James John, M. Benner, Charles A. Moses, William E. Frost, F. C. Schoenthaler, and James C. Beeks. The officials were met and were fully informed by the committee of what had occurred in Chicago from the inception of the labor trouble which had paralyzed the building trades, and were furnished with a copy of the platform of principles adopted by the Conference committee of the building trades. The situation was informally discussed by the officers of the National Association and the reception committee, in order to put the visitors in a position to fully understand the ground upon which action had been taken. They were apprised of the demands which had been made from time to time for years, and of the fact that these demands had been generally acceded to until they had become almost unbearable, and that the builders of Chicago thought the time had arrived when decisive action should be taken in order to insure a permanent settlement of the troubles which had disrupted the employers and the employes. Referring to the situation William H. Sayward said it was not alone Chicago builders who were affected by the movement, but the whole country was interested in it. The builders of Chicago and those of other cities could see the benefits which were expected to be derived from a national association. Before that, when there had been a strike of any magnitude in any city, the builders engaged in the complications received not even a word of sympathy from their associates in other parts of the country. In their troubles the Chicago builders had received messages of sympathy and approval from almost every part of the country, because all felt and had a common interest in the questions at issue. A LITTLE SYMPATHY. The Central Labor union men met Sunday, May 22d, and compassed the situation by the passage of the following sympathetic resolution: _Resolved_, That the present lockout of the bosses is in every way unjustified; that the Central Labor union declares that it is a conspiracy against the rights of the working people, and extends to the locked out workmen hearty sympathy and financial as well as moral aid. ANOTHER THREAT. The Trade and Labor assembly met the same day and threatened to prosecute the Master Masons for "conspiracy" and agreed that they should be boycotted. The proposition to prosecute the bosses did not materialize, as wiser counsel prevailed, and showed that there was no foundation upon which to build the charge. OVER THE WIRE. Telegrams were received as follows: BOSTON, Mass., May 19, 1887. GEORGE TAPPER, President Builders' and Traders' exchange--The executive board of the National Association of Builders to Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, Greeting: We have carefully examined the position you have taken, and the conditions which have led to your action, and hereby extend to you our most hearty approval and indorsement. Your position is entirely in accord with the principles of the National association. Opportunity should always be given for amicable settlement of differences that come within the rightful province of associations on either side. But when the line of right and justice is crossed, the prerogative of employers disregarded, and attempts made to coerce and force them from the exercise of their rights in the conduct of their business, then all lovers of law and order, all believers in individual liberty, will stand together with unbroken ranks until the recognition of this fundamental principle is thoroughly acknowledged. J. MILTON BLAIR, President. WILLIAM H. SAYWARD, Secretary. BOSTON, Mass., May 19, 1887. GEORGE TAPPER, President of the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago: The Master Builders' association of Boston, in convention assembled, have unanimously adopted the following resolutions, and have ordered them sent to the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, as follows: While we acknowledge that in Boston the situation is fortunately harmonious between the employers and employes in the building trades, owing to the fact that reason has prevailed, the proper rights of the workmen having been recognized and the distinctive rights of the employers recognized by the workmen, and as a result thereof no organized attempt has been made in this city to overstep the bounds of proper jurisdiction by either party, we can not ignore the fact that our brother builders in Chicago have had forced upon them a problem which can only be solved by a firm denial of the assumed right of voluntary associations to disregard the rights of others, trample upon individual liberty, and blockade the progress of business thereby. We therefore hereby approve of the course taken by the Builders' and Traders' exchange, and assure them of our constant support upon that line. Let the principles for which we are all fighting be clearly defined, then stand. We are with you in behalf of right and justice for all and for the untrammeled liberty of every American citizen. WILLIAM H. SAYWARD, Secretary. CINCINNATI, May 19, 1887. GEORGE TAPPER, President Builders' and Traders' exchange: The Cincinnati Builders' exchange has just passed strong resolutions heartily commending your action and guaranteeing practical support. Stand by your colors. JAMES H. FINNEGAN, President. CINCINNATI, O., May 20. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: The Builders' exchange of Cincinnati again indorse you, and if necessary will follow suit. Stand by your colors. Your cause is right. J. H. FINNEGAN, President. PHILADELPHIA, May 20. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: At a special meeting of the corporation held this day at noon the preamble and resolution adopted by the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, together with the code of principles, was unanimously approved. WILLIAM HARKINS, JR., GEORGE WATSON, F. M. HARRIS, Committee. NEW YORK, May 20. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: At a special meeting of the Mechanics' and Traders' exchange it was resolved that we tender you our sympathy in your present difficulties and assure you of our cordial support in the position assumed. D. C. WEEKS, President. E. A. VAUGHAN, Secretary. WORCESTER, Mass., May 20. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: We heartily indorse your efforts to crush out unwarrantable dictation and exalt labor to that position of dignity to which it belongs and which is truly expressed only in individual and personal liberty. E. B. CRANE, President Worcester Mechanics' Exchange. PROVIDENCE, R. I., May 20. TO BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: The Mechanics' exchange heartily approve your action, and are in full sympathy with you. WILLIAM F. CADY, Secretary. ST. PAUL, Minn., May 20. MR. F. C. SCHOENTHALER, Secretary Builders' and Traders' Exchange, Chicago: At a meeting of the board, held yesterday, the following resolution was unanimously adopted: _Resolved_, That the Contractors' and Builders' Board of Trade of St. Paul, Minn., heartily and unreservedly approve of the stand taken by the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago in determining to transact their business in their own way and time. Respectfully, J. H. HANSON, Secretary. ALBANY, N. Y., May 21, 1887.--BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: The Master Builders' exchange, of Albany, N. Y., in meeting assembled, heartily endorse the action taken by you and trust you will manfully stand together. EDWARD A. WALSH, DAVID M. ALEXANDER, MORTON HAVENS, Committee. BALTIMORE, Md., May 21, 1887.--GEORGE C. PRUSSING: Maryland Trades exchange express their formal approval of your position in present labor troubles, and wish you success. WILLIAM F. BEVAN, Secretary. INDIANAPOLIS, Ind., May 21. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: The Builders' exchange of Indianapolis at its meeting to-night endorses and approves of the action of the Chicago Builders' and Traders' exchange in their existing difficulty. WILLIAM JUNGCLAUS, Secretary. CINCINNATI, Ohio, May 21. GEORGE TAPPER, President Builders' and Traders' exchange, Chicago: Every true American will indorse the sentiments promulgated in your code of principles. JAMES ALLISON, President National Association Master Plumbers. MILWAUKEE, Wis., May 23. GEORGE C. PRUSSING: The Milwaukee association wishes to convey to the Chicago exchange the fact of its full concurrent sympathy in the position it has assumed, as it believes the battle must be fought just on this line. O. H. ULBRICHT, Secretary. These telegrams were read in the exchange and were received with rounds of applause. THE PLATFORM MODIFIED. On Monday, May 23d, the Conference of the Building Trades met and modified the platform of principles which had been adopted May 19th. The principle change was in eliminating the clause requiring employes to _sign_ the code of principles, and making it necessary only for them to "_assent to_" them. The platform as amended was as follows: 1. From this time forth the assent to the following code of principles by the employe be made a universal condition of employment by all building interests of Chicago--viz.: I recognize the right of every man to decide for himself, when he shall work or cease to work, where he shall work, for whom he shall work, how many hours he shall work, and for what wages he shall work. I recognize the right of every employer to decide for himself, whom he shall employ or cease to employ; to regulate and manage his business with perfect independence, provided only that he deal lawfully, justly and honorably with all men. I recognize the right of every father to have his son taught, and of every son to learn, any lawful trade, to be the same as his right to a knowledge of reading, writing, or any other branch of learning, which should be subject to regulation only by the laws of the land. By accepting of employment I agree in all my relations and intercourse with my employers and fellow workmen, to maintain and live up to these principles. 2. That this conference recommend to our respective organizations to request each of its members to employ such workmen only who recognize the inalienable rights as above set forth. 3. That public announcement be made at once that business will be resumed on or before June 1, 1887, with this code of principles as a basis. 4. That a standing committee of one member from each of the building trades, the Chicago Real Estate board, and the Illinois State Association of Architects, to be known as the Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago, be appointed, whose duty it shall be to see to the carrying out of these principles; that it shall have a sub-committee of safety, whose province it shall be to see that ample protection to all is afforded; with sub-committees on grievances, strikes, arbitrations and such as may be found necessary, but that it work always and solely for the maintenance and protection of the principles herein laid down. 5. That an address to the working men of the building trades and to the general public be prepared, setting forth your action and your reasons therefor; that fifty thousand copies be printed and immediately distributed. 6. That a fund be created to defray the expenses of this Central Council, and that we request each association here represented to transmit to the order of George Tapper, chairman, the sum of 25 cents for each of their members, and that individual contributions of people interested in this work be accepted. The officers of the National Association of Builders were present, and through Mr. Sayward congratulated the builders of Chicago for the noble stand that had been taken in the cause of individual liberty, adding that the whole country was looking to Chicago for a solution of the question of labor. NINE HOURS FOR BRICKLAYERS. In the evening the Master Masons met and by a rising vote unanimously adopted the amended code of principles. Working rules were adopted as follows: The following shall be the working rules for workmen employed by members of this association: Nine hours to constitute a day's work, except on Saturdays, when all work shall be suspended at 12 o'clock noon. Work to start at 7 o'clock A. M. Minimum wages for bricklayers and stonemasons to be 45 cents per hour. Pay-day to be regularly every two weeks on either Monday or Tuesday. OFFICIAL ACTION. The officers of the National Association of Builders invited the Bricklayers to meet them and to state their grievances. The invitation was accepted, and on Monday, May 23d, A. E. Vorkeller, president, and William Householder, C. J. Lindgren, James Sedlak and John Pierson, called upon the officials. After a session of three hours, during which the committee ventilated its opinions on almost every subject of grievance known to mortar-spreading humanity, the issue was finally reduced to the vexed question of a Saturday pay-day. Interrogated upon all subjects, the protesting committee acknowledged itself perfectly satisfied with every existing condition except that of being paid on Monday or Tuesday, instead of Saturday. This the committee claimed was an encroachment upon their Sabbatarian rights which no honest and industrious bricklayer would submit to with obedience or patient humility. Bankers, merchants, architects, builders, and all classes of citizens responded to an invitation to confer with the officers of the National Association, and offered suggestions in regard to the troubles which were prostrating business and unnecessarily causing losses to employer and employe which could never be recovered. After carefully considering the situation the Executive Board of the National Association made a comprehensive report, which is as follows: CHICAGO, May 24th, 1887. _To the Builders' and Traders' Exchange of Chicago and all filial bodies of the National Association of Builders, and to the general public_:-- In view of the serious disturbance to building interests in the City of Chicago, and the widespread influence likely to flow from it to other localities, affecting not only the building trades, but all branches of industry in the United States, it has been thought wise to call the Executive Board of the National Association of Builders to this city, to carefully examine the situation, investigate the causes which have produced the existing conditions, and report thereon to all filial bodies for their information, together with such suggestions for their future action as may seem wise and best. All interested parties (and every business has interests more or less directly involved in this question) should thoroughly understand that the National Association of Builders assumes no powers of a dictatorial character; it simply acts as an advisory body, and communicates its conclusions only in the form of recommendations, which its affiliated associations may or may not adopt or follow, as the circumstances by which they are surrounded demand. But it should also be borne in mind that the National Association endeavors to confine its expressions of advice and recommendation to the general principles that underlie and affect conditions in all localities, and in this especial issue and crisis which has arrived in one of the most important business centers in this country, the Executive Board intends to be particularly careful, while considering the facts that exist in this city, to avoid as much as possible in its advice or recommendations, all local or superficial issues, and deal largely with the problem that is rapidly demanding solution in every city and town in the land. It is one of the purposes of the National Association to keep watchful guard over the interests of builders everywhere throughout the country, giving its advice and assistance to all its members when difficulties arise, using its influence with them to secure and maintain just relations either in their contact with each other or in their relations to owners, architects or workmen, and prevent the encroachment of other interests upon ground that belongs to them. The exact circumstances that have brought about the present blockade of business in Chicago may not be absolutely identical with the issues that have caused similar disturbances in other cities, and they may not be exactly reproduced in the future in any other locality; but the root from which they spring has been planted everywhere, and while the plant may be good and worthy, it is a matter of the greatest concern to all that the growth from it be carefully watched and held in check, lest it assume such rank and oppressive proportions that other interests, equally valuable and necessary, be overgrown and choked. It is sometimes necessary to prune a vine of rank and unhealthy growth, in order that it may bear good fruit. We apprehend that the experience of the builders of Chicago in this crisis will be of great importance to builders in other cities, and we hope to utilize their experience in such a way that general business interests will be better protected and preserved in the future, the proper purposes, opportunities and interests of organizations of workmen maintained and encouraged, and that the individual workman himself, whether he be connected with organizations or independent of them, may be placed in a position where he may exercise unquestioned his rights as an American citizen. In this endeavor we ask the co-operation of all business men, particularly those whose affairs bring them into direct contact with the difficult and perplexing questions incident to the employment of labor, and the community generally, for the public as a whole has an immense stake in this question of individual liberty. We have endeavored to make our inquiries in a disinterested spirit, and, in pursuance of this purpose, have given hearings to the employing builders, the Bricklayers' Union, non-union workmen, manufacturers, merchants, bankers, architects and business men generally, believing that we could only consider the question fairly by listening to all sides and opinions. The result of our investigation leads us to report as follows: The demand for pay-day on Saturday by the Bricklayers' Union, which precipitated the present blockade of business in the building trades in Chicago, was in itself inconsequent and trivial, and a concession or denial of it, on its merits, would have been immaterial; but it was presented in such a manner, at a time when the hodcarriers' strike, in progress, had been supported by the Amalgamated Building Trades, and had been preceded by such concessions on the part of the employers, that they felt this to be the "last straw," and that their duty to themselves and others compelled them to make a stand and demand a surrender of the rights which had been previously abrogated. In this course, and in the manner in which the builders have presented their convictions and method of future action, we believe that nothing has been done beyond what the situation imperatively demanded, and the safe and proper conduct of business required; we are only astonished that the crisis has not been sooner reached. It seems to us that this strike or lockout was not caused by a demand that it was impossible to grant, but was the direct result of the assumption by organizations of workmen, for a number of years, of rights not properly within their jurisdiction, and the demand coming, as it did, under such aggravating circumstances, occasion was properly taken, in our opinion, for a complete cessation of business, in order that it might finally be decided and settled whether the employer should for the future be free from further encroachments, and that he might recover those rights and prerogatives which properly belong to him. It is worthy of note that this issue or demand was not made in the dull season, when it might have been more easily arranged, or at least considered, but after the busy season was reached, and in addition to and in support of existing strikes. The Union making it did not seek to consult the employers in regard to its feasibility, although after it was promulgated (the employers requesting a re-consideration), a slight alteration was made in one of the details. It appears, according to the testimony of the Bricklayers' Union, that there has been no general strike in their trade for the last four years, but they admit that during that period they have been successful in enforcing certain rules and regulations in regard to control of journeyman and apprentices (which are set forth in their printed Constitution and By-laws), and that the enforcement of these rules has caused strikes or stoppages of work in many cases, upon certain jobs. It is in the rules or regulations referred to that conditions are imposed which the builders claim are an encroachment on their peculiar rights as well as the rights of independent workmen, and that in submitting to them they have made concessions which they can no longer endure. In this opinion we entirely and heartily concur. We will cite a few of these rules, calling attention to the fact that although the employers have at least an equal interest in the matters treated, they have never been even consulted in their formulation, but have been expected to comply with them as presented, and have so complied, for the reason, as they claim, that they could not help themselves. The first rule, or regulation, or custom, which demands notice is that which prevents workmen, not members of the Union, from obtaining work. This is excused by the declaration of the Union that they do not claim that the non-union man shall not work--they simply will not work with him; but this explanation is purely a clever evasion of the point at issue, for the workman is by force of circumstances deprived of opportunity to labor, and the position taken by the Union is manifestly a conspiracy against the rights of the individual. It may truly be considered the first step towards setting up an oligarchy in the midst of a free people. This assumed right is most tenaciously held and is one of the most dangerous expedients ever adopted by a voluntary association. We believe it to be a direct attack upon individual liberty, and an evil that will re-act upon those who attempt to establish it. We also believe it to be entirely unnecessary for the welfare of Unions--that all the ends they wish to gain can be secured by legitimate measures, and that not until they cut out this cancer will harmony be restored and reforms established. This custom should be constantly and absolutely denied. The next rule which we wish to consider is that establishing a "walking delegate." Some of the functions of this officer (if he may be so designated), as explained by members of the Union, are perfectly harmless, and possibly quite a convenience; but if proper relations were permitted to exist between employer and workman these functions could be equally well sustained by the foreman on the job. There are other powers, however, with which he is invested, which are so arbitrary in their character, which deprive the employer so completely of that control of workmen necessary to the prosecution of his work, that it is simply ridiculous to submit to it. For instance, "He shall be empowered to use his personal judgment on all points of disagreement between employer and employe, between regular meetings."--ARTICLE V., SEC 4. The simplest mind can readily see how little control the employer has left him, when a man not in his employ is permitted to come upon his work and "use his personal judgment" in questions of disagreement, the workman being obliged to then obey his orders. The employer seems to be a mere cipher under this arrangement, and can only fold his hands and wait till the "regular meeting" (at which he has no opportunity to be heard) settles whether the "personal judgment" exercised be just and fair. The result can be imagined. In the hands of an exceptionally honest and discreet person such a power would be dangerous enough, but in the control of a man who may not possess these qualities, or possess one of them without the other, the chances of stoppage of work under his orders, the constant annoyances to which employers, architects and owners may be subjected, makes this infliction too grievous to be borne. The thousands of unnecessary strikes, stoppages and obstructions to work for every conceivable cause, or no cause, which have occurred in all parts of the country in the name of justice and the walking delegate, are evidence enough that to owner, architect, employer and workman, he is an abomination not to be tolerated. As an adjunct to the walking delegate comes the "steward," who, like him, has some functions perfectly unobjectionable, but who in other ways is empowered to assume certain direction and control which surely is not consistent with the duties of a workman, that is, if the workman is considered to have any duty to his employer. It is noticeable that in the description of the duties of these two gentlemen, it is the "interests of the Union" only that they are directed to observe; it is true that the walking delegate is not an employe, but he is to have free access to the work, can interfere and obstruct as he pleases, but the interest of the employer seems to have been omitted in the recital of his duties. When it is considered how much is taken off the hands of the employer by these two persons, it is somewhat a matter of surprise that owner and architect burden themselves with the useless middle man, the nominal employer, when they can have the whole matter handled by the Union and its agents. The rules in relation to apprentices are peculiarly restrictive and leave nothing whatever that is worth possessing in the hands of the employer. We cannot imagine why any contractor would care to have apprentices at all, if their direction and control is to be so completely out of his hands. These rules declare that "no contractor shall be allowed to have more than two apprentices at a time;" "he will not be allowed to have any more until their time is completed;" "he may then replace them." The contractor must sign such indentures as are prepared by the Union without consultation with him. "No contractor will be allowed to have an apprentice over eighteen years of age unless he be the son of a journeyman who is a member of the Union." Apprentices must also be members. The contractor is thus debarred from putting his own son at apprenticeship if he happens to be eighteen years of age. This appears to be most emphatic special legislation. In fact the whole management and control of apprentices is virtually in the hands of the Union, and we submit again that such action as this is most indefensive and pernicious. It has already caused a tremendous reduction in the number of young men learning the trade, and, if practiced in other branches of business, would create a state of revolt among the people, and would be denounced throughout the length and breadth of the land as a violation of rights heretofore supposed to be secured when this country became a Republic. Foremen upon the work must be members of the Union. Inspectors upon public buildings must be practical bricklayers in the opinion of the Union, and members of it; in fact there are so many points that demonstrate the development of this one-sided power of the Union, and showing abuse of their place and mission that we cannot take time or space to enlarge upon them. To our mind the Constitution of this Union, and many others, is framed upon the assumption that all employers are dishonest and bad men, so all are to suffer alike. The Union seem to have come to the conclusion that the laws of the land are not sufficient, and they propose to be not only a law unto themselves but a law unto all others who come in contact with them. This assumption, if permitted to stand and grow, will tend to disintegrate the whole social and political fabric upon which citizens of this country depend for protection; and we believe it to be our duty to call upon all good citizens to deny it in unequivocal terms. We submit that these "rules" which we have quoted, and other customs which have naturally grown from such development of power (which are neither written or admitted by the Union, but which nevertheless exist), are distinctly an encroachment upon the province of the employer; that under them he is robbed of that control and authority absolutely essential to the proper conduct of his business. Submission to such dictation as this simply opens the door wider for interference, and the employer is not secure from day to day from new and harassing demands, so that eventually he will have practically nothing left to him but the "privilege" of paying the bills. The crisis here in Chicago is of tremendous importance and significance to every builder and every business man, not alone in this great and rapidly growing city, but in every city of the country, for here is seen a demonstration of the tyranny which becomes possible when improper methods are submitted to; a tyranny which holds the workman in its grasp quite as surely as the employer, and this experience and demonstration should be a timely warning to all. Labor Unions have gone too far. They have mistaken their functions and over-stepped their boundaries. The time has come to "call a halt," and to demand a surrender of that which has been improperly obtained. To do this will require some patience and some sacrifice, but the end to be gained is but justice and right, and worth all that it may cost. Better that not another brick be laid or another nail be driven in Chicago for a year than this opportunity be lost to regain the rights and prerogatives which make it possible for employer and workman to be independent and successful. Let nothing be done to injure the Union in the prosecution of their rightful purposes; they have a most important mission and a great field for usefulness. Aid and assist them in these things by every means in your power, but for their own good, as well as your own safety, stand constantly and steadfastly opposed to any and every attempt to take away that which makes you an employer, or from the workman himself the right to work. Trade Unionism in theory, and as it may be consistently and intelligently carried out, can be a most useful aid to all concerned; but, as at present managed, clinging fast as it does to the cardinal principle of the right to prevent any and every man from working who does not happen to belong to the order, it is a bane to society and a curse to its members. We approve of the position taken by the builders of Chicago in this emergency, and we congratulate them that other branches of business, whose interests are so closely interwoven with theirs, have had the courage and willingness to make common cause with them, recognizing, as they evidently do, that if this sort of dictation is permitted to grow, that their own position will become undermined and security vanish. We congratulate them also that general business interests have given them such hearty co-operation and support, and we feel assured that will continue until the victory is won. We recommend all filial associations of this body to assume the same attitude in the event of an issue being forced upon them by further encroachments, and we suggest to them, as well as to the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, that, in order to encourage all workmen who wish to have an opportunity to freely work, untrammelled by the improper requirements and rules of voluntary associations (membership in which, as far as most workmen are concerned, have become involuntary), and be protected in their work, it will be wise to create and establish at once a Bureau of Record in connection with their associations, where any and all workmen may put themselves on record as assenting to the principles of individual liberty, announced here in Chicago, and by and through which the workmen so assenting will be kept at work, and protected in it, in preference to those who deny these principles. Let steps be taken, after a certain time given to develop the honest purpose, good character, skill and ability of the workmen, to make them members of your own associations, and so institute, for the first time, a union wherein employer and employe shall be joined, and their interests considered in common, as they properly should be. We believe this would be a step in the right direction, and the dawn of the day when the two branches of workmen--the directing workman and the manual workman--will not be arrayed against each other, but will consider and act in concert for their mutual benefit. Closing now our report to filial associations, we wish to address a few words to the public at large, whose servants we are. We believe that the builders of this country stand to-day in a position which commands the attention of all kinds and classes of business men everywhere. We wish to do only that which is right and in accordance with the principles upon which this Republic was founded. Individual liberty is the dearest possession of the American people; we intend to stand by it and protect it in every emergency, and, to our mind, there has never been before presented an occasion more significant and decisive than the present, and in doing all we can to sustain it we feel that we are fighting not for our selfish ends alone, but for the welfare and protection of every individual in the land. Individual liberty is not incompatible with associations, and associations are not incompatible with individual liberty; on the contrary, they should go hand in hand. We call upon all to sustain us in maintaining all that is good and in defeating all that is bad in this difficult problem of labor. Liberty is our watchword, and this struggle is but a continuation of that endeavor which began a hundred years ago, when a little band of patriots, at Concord Bridge, "fired that shot heard round the world," which was the first blow in establishing American independence. Signed, J. M. BLAIR, JOHN S. STEVENS, EDWARD E. SCRIBNER, WM. H. SAYWARD, JOHN J. TUCKER, Executive Board of the National Association of Builders. PERMISSION TO RESUME. It having been decided by the conference of building trades that work might be resumed by any contractor on or before June 1st, and the Master Masons' association having approved of the platform of principles and adopted rules for the government of its members, the executive committee of the Master Masons' association adopted the following form of notification for its members of their readiness to resume work and their willingness to adhere to the principles approved by the association at its last meeting: JOSEPH DOWNEY, President Master Masons' Association --_Sir:_ We are ready to start work, and hereby agree on our honor to abide by the rules and platform adopted by the Master Masons' association. ____________________________ In pursuance of this action a number of contracting masons notified President Downey of their readiness to resume work, and they were given permits for the purchase of building material, the following form being used: PERMIT, No. ______ | PERMIT. | | EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE, _Granted_ ______________ | | Master Masons' and Builders' Association, _to deliver_ ___________ |______________________ | _to_ ___________________ | _You are hereby requested_ | _to deliver to_ ____________________ _at No._ _______________ | ____________________________________ | _Purpose_ ______________ | _No_ ________________ | _________________________| _for the purpose of_ _______________ | ______________________ This form of permit was continued in use to contractors who were not members of the Master Masons' association. A different course was pursued with members, who were required to sign a request for a general permit, the form of the request being as follows: Chicago, May 24th, 1887. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE MASTER MASONS' ASSOCIATION. _Gents_:--I hereby make application for permit to resume work, and I agree on my honor to adopt the rules and platform as passed by the Master Masons' and Builders' Association, May 23d, 1887. HERMANN MUELLER. Upon the presentation of such an application to the executive committee a general permit was issued, which was in form as follows: MASTER MASONS' AND BUILDERS' ASSOCIATION. Chicago, May 24th, 1887. HERMANN MUELLER.--In consideration of your signing an agreement to adhere to the Platform and Code of Working Principles adopted by the Master Masons' and Builders' Association May 23d, 1887, you are hereby granted a permit to resume work. JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. In attempting to resume work the mason contractors were disposed to give preference to such bricklayers and stonemasons as had been working in Chicago, and who evinced a willingness to return to work under the code of principles and the rules of the association which had been adopted. A few workmen took advantage of the proposition at once, and went to work, but fear of fines by the union and assaults from the members of the union, deterred a great many from going to work who were perfectly willing to subscribe to the principles enunciated. The leaders of the strikers announced that under no conditions would the union accept the offer of 45 cents an hour and nine hours a day. By May 25th more than one thousand of the union bricklayers had left the city and were working in outside towns ten hours a day for $2.50 to $3 pay, rather than accept the offer of the Master Masons. Not being able to secure a large number of the home workmen the Master Masons' caused to be published in important towns in Illinois, Indiana, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio and Missouri, a notice that there were wanted in Chicago one thousand bricklayers who would be given steady work at 45 cents an hour and would be guaranteed protection. They did not expect that the whole number would be secured, as it was the busy season for building everywhere, but they looked for a sufficient number of responses to meet the immediate demand. In this they were disappointed. The experience of outside bricklayers in Chicago had been of an unsavory character, and they respectfully declined to advance upon the city in a body. A few bold fellows made their appearance, but they numbered less than one hundred. Many of those who went to work were put under police protection in order to keep the strikers from committing depredations. DISCONTENTED LABORERS. The Hodcarriers became disgusted. Their feeling against the Bricklayers was very strong, and they said if the Bricklayers were possessed of more sense all the employes in the building trades would be at work at good wages and the Hodcarriers would be getting all they asked for. They were out of work and out of means, and the funds of the union were so low that little or no relief could be obtained from that source. The union funds had been exhausted for some time, and the weekly assessments upon men employed did not average over $200, while there was a demand for more than $10,000 per week to pay the $5 weekly, which was guaranteed to every member of the Hodcarriers' union who was on strike and in need. The outcome to the most of the men looked bad, and serious trouble was expected. Men with starving families and no prospect of getting work were not likely to long keep quiet. Only a few men showed themselves at headquarters, but there was an undercurrent of discontent that could not be kept down. Fears were entertained that it might lead to riot, and efforts were put forth to keep the rougher element out of the way. There were good grounds for apprehension, and it required careful manipulation to keep the dangerous element subdued. LISTING THE JOBS. On Friday, May 27th, the executive committee of the Master Masons' association appointed a sub-committee to make a list of jobs in the city giving the names of all the contractors, the location of the work, the number of bricklayers, stonemasons and laborers required, and the number at work, and this sub-committee rapidly got its work in shape. It also kept a memoranda of the character of material needed, and the quantity supplied from time to time, with the names of the dealers from whom it was procured. It was empowered to designate members of the association to visit jobs as often as necessary for the purpose of rendering any service that would facilitate the work, and contractors who were resuming business were requested to report to the committee what progress was being made. The executive committee realized that it would take no little time to get the business in good running order, and the organization was put in such shape as to make it effective in a long or short campaign. FALSE STATEMENTS. In order to create a break in the ranks of the material dealers, who were bravely supporting the Master Masons, the strikers circulated a report that permits for the purchase of building materials would only be issued to members of the Master Masons' association. When the attention of President Downey was called to the fact he said with considerable earnestness: "It is not so. I can not understand how such an impression got out, as there has been no thought of making or enforcing such a rule. There is no disposition on the part of the executive committee to take such action and there never has been. The fact is that more permits for material have been issued to builders who are not members of the Master Masons' association than have been issued to members. All that is required of an applicant for a permit is that he will agree to abide by the code of principles and the rules adopted and sign the card which has been prepared setting forth these facts." The only discrimination made by the executive committee was in its positive refusal to issue permits to small contractors or jobbers who were members of the Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' union. They were told that when they resigned from the union and brought evidence of the fact, and agreed to the code of principles and the rules, they could have all the material they wanted. ANOTHER TELEGRAM. The following telegram was received at the Builders' and Traders' exchange: ROCHESTER, N. Y., May 27. JOSEPH DOWNEY, President Master Masons' Association, Chicago: On behalf of the New York State Masons' association I wish you Godspeed in your code of principles. H. GORSLINE, President. BLACKMAIL. On Saturday, May 29th, the Master Masons' association met and talked over the situation, congratulating each other on the promised success of their movement for freedom. At the request of Mr. Tapper Mr. Victor Falkenau made a statement to show the corrupt methods of the walking delegate. He said that in October, 1886, he was erecting a building on Astor street for Mr. Post, when Walking Delegate Healy appeared on the scene and objected to some pressed brick being put into arches that had been cut at the manufactory, insisting that they should be cut on the job. Healy insisted on calling the men off the job, but in consideration of $5, which was then paid to him, he let the work proceed. A committee from the Bricklayers' union had called on him to ascertain what had been done, and he had put it in possession of the facts in the case. The money was paid to Healy Oct. 21st. In the face of this statement, which was backed by ample proof, the walking delegate was not removed from his high position. Other members referred to similar cases in which walking delegates had shown themselves to be walking blackmailers. When Delegate Healy heard of the statement of Mr. Falkenau he threatened to bring suit against him for $10,000 damages. Mr. Falkenau remarked that he was glad he was to be sued as a hearing of the cause in a court would bring out the facts under oath in a manner that would satisfy anyone as to the truth or falsity of the charge. A contractor who was familiar with the facts in the case said the statement of Mr. Falkenau would be supported by other testimony when the time came, but he was satisfied there would be no libel suit. And there was none. METAL WORKERS. The Association of Manufacturers in Metals met Saturday, May 28th, and unanimously adopted the following resolutions: _Whereas_, We know there are organizations existing which deny the rights of the individual as guaranteed by the constitution of the United States; and _Whereas_, We believe it our duty as citizens to range ourselves with others in the assertion and defense of the rights of man, be he employer or workman; now, therefore, We affirm that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. We recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and we will aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conferences and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to avail ourselves of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. We recognize that permanent harmony between employer and workman can only exist when both agree on the justice and right of the principles set forth. Now, therefore, be it _Resolved_, That all members of the Association of Manufacturers in Metals be, and they are hereby requested to display in office and workshop, the above declaration and the following code of principles: "I recognize the right of every man to decide for himself, with employers, without dictation or interference, when he shall work or cease to work, where he shall work, how many hours he shall work, and for what wages he shall work. "I recognize the right of the employer to decide for himself whom he shall employ or cease to employ, and regulate and manage his business with perfect independence, provided only that he deal lawfully, justly and honorably with all men. "I recognize the right of every father to have his son taught, and of every son to learn any lawful trade, to be the same as his right to a knowledge of reading and writing, or any other branch of learning, which should be subject to regulations only by the laws of the land. "By accepting employment I agree in all my relations and intercourse with my employers and fellow-workmen to maintain and live up to these principles." _Resolved_, That full powers be and they are hereby granted to the executive committee to take all steps by them deemed necessary to carry into effect the principles heretofore set forth and to express the concurrence of this association with the position taken by the Master Masons' and Builders' Association. This action, it was stated during the discussion of the resolutions, was not the outgrowth of sympathy only, but caused by the fact that Metal men were suffering just as much as anybody under the then existing trouble in the building trades. There were not cast seventy-five tons of building ironwork a day in the city when there ought to have been three hundred tons at least. The depression of trade was so marked that two foundries shut down, throwing 250 men out of work, and all the establishments were glad to have a pretext for closing. DARK WAYS. At the headquarters of the Bricklayers the statement was made that there had been an important meeting of the dealers in Building material, May 30th, at the Builders' and Traders' exchange, at which it was agreed that the material men would not wait longer than June 1st for the Master Masons to get to work, as their agreement to not sell and deliver building material only extended to that date. When asked about the meeting, Mr. Mulrany, of the Union, could not say how many attended, or give the names of any who were present. He insisted that the Bricklayers would break the backs of the Master Masons, and would make them give up for good. He was sure the lockout would not last long, because there was so much disaffection among the bosses. Diligent inquiry was made at the Exchange to learn if such a meeting had been held as the one mentioned by Mr. Mulrany, but assurance was given that none had been. A dozen dealers in building material protested that such a meeting had not been held and would not be. The agreement to not sell or deliver material was limited only by the duration of the strike. The statement was on a par with many that emanated from the strikers. A LOST CAUSE. The Hodcarriers' Union, as a body, seemed to have entirely collapsed. The funds of the Union having entirely run out, the men found no attraction to the headquarters on West Taylor street. A great portion of the men found work in other quarters, and those still out were ready to go to work at the first opportunity which might offer, regardless of the demands which were made when the men struck six weeks previously. THE PLUMBERS. May 31st the Chicago Master Plumbers' association met and adopted the following resolution, which was sent to the Council of Building Interests: _Resolved_, That we, the Chicago Master Plumbers' association of Chicago, recognizing the right of employers heretofore jeopardized by the arbitrary interference of trades unions, do hereby tender our hearty sympathy and support to the Master Masons in their present struggle for the individual rights of employers. ROBERT GRIFFITH, President. J. R. ALCOCK, Secretary. THE BRICK YARDS. The Chicago Brickmakers' association, which represents all brick yards in the South and West Divisions of the city, met May 31st and adopted the following rules: We the brick manufacturers of the South and West divisions, believe the adoption of the following rules will tend to establish a system that strikes may be avoided in the manufacturing of brick in our divisions of the city: 1. By the appointment of a committee of three members from the Brick Manufacturers' association and three from the Brick Laborers' union, with full power to act in all matters pertaining to the interests of those they represent. 2. To hold regular meetings on the second and fourth Tuesdays of each month for the transaction of any business that may come before them. 3. No member of the organization represented shall strike or cease operation of their work for any individual grievance pending a meeting of any committee. 4. Any question said committee fails to agree upon they shall call in outside assistance and use all honorable means for a settlement before ordering a strike or lockout. 5. When said committee, after due care, fails to agree, they shall, before ordering a strike or lockout, give one week's notice. 6. All brick manufactured up to date of said strike or lockout shall be cared for by the men before abandoning their work. 7. The committee shall in no way interfere in any difficulty arising between the brick manufacturers and any other organization other than the one from which they were appointed. AN ADDRESS. June 1st. The executive committee of the Master Masons' association issued an address to their former employes, as follows: TO THE BRICKLAYERS AND STONEMASONS OF CHICAGO--_Gentlemen_: To those of you who have families to support; who, by frugal saving, have laid by a store for rainy days; who, perhaps, have invested surplus earnings in a house and lot or made partial payments on a piece of land for a future homestead, and thereby have acquired an interest in Chicago--to you we speak. To those of you who have joined the now existing union under compulsion, and are to-day afraid of personal injury, should you in any way assert your independence; to those of you who feel the abuses practiced, who are not in accord with the ruling clique, who have informed us time and again that you are not granted a hearing when your opinion is not in harmony with that of "the gang," and that you consequently do not attend the meeting of said "union"--to you we appeal. To those of you who believe in arbitration as a better mode of redressing grievances or adjusting differences than the strike or lockout; to those of you who are old enough to remember that the members of our organization have all been journeymen bricklayers and stonemasons, that there are none among us who may not be compelled to take up tools again, nor any among you who may not at any time become employers, and that, consequently, there are no questions concerning one branch which are not of interest to the other--to you we address ourselves. This association, together with other associations of builders, has issued a platform affirming our adherence to the fundamental principle of individual liberty. Read it, discuss it, digest it. It is right. It is guaranteed by the constitution of the United States, and he who denies the rights of man is not an American citizen, and by his denial affirms that he does not intend to become such, although he may have gone through the form of acquiring citizenship. We are not opposed to all unions. In the second paragraph of our platform we recognize the right of organization among workmen for all just and honorable purposes. But we are opposed to the methods employed by the present union. Brute force is used in all directions to compel fellow-workmen to join and keep them in line in support of any action taken, no matter how unreasonable; to enforce the assumed control of the business of employers; to arbitrarily keep boys from learning the trade; to deny the right of mechanics to support their families by working at their trade in this city, etc. In all directions brute force is the foundation of the present union. This is wrong. Brute force can only be opposed by brute force, the strike on the one hand opposed by the lockout on the other, resulting in loss and suffering to both, and without any permanent results, for no matter which side is successful, the only thing proven is that it had the strongest organization, not that its position is right. Strikes and lockouts, with all the train of resulting evils, can only be prevented by organizations among both workmen and employers, both recognizing the same fundamental principles and agreeing to refer any question of temporary policy, such as the amount of wages to be paid, number of hours to be worked, pay-day, and others, or any grievances or differences arising in the future, to a joint committee of arbitration--work to continue without interruption, and questions at issue to be decided definitely by the committee. The "walking delegate" has proved himself an unmitigated nuisance. To give into the hands of one man power so absolute will always be dangerous and sure to be abused. Nor will the necessity exist for a "walking delegate." His place will be filled by the arbitration committee. That the laws of the state shall prevail in regard to apprentices, as well as on other subjects by them covered, needs no argument. All must recognize that foremen are hired to be the agents and representatives of the employer for the faithful and economic performance of the work, and, as such, should be under his exclusive control. Of "stewards" we not treat here. Acting for an organization which acknowledges as right and just the principles contained in our platform, their duties can not interfere with the proper prosecution of the work. To sum up, form a union on the same platform we uphold and men will join it because of the benefits to be derived--brute force will not be necessary in any direction,--and whenever one hundred, yes, fifty, members shall have enrolled themselves we will gladly recognize it and appoint members to serve on a joint committee of arbitration to have charge of all matters of mutual interests. We mean what we say. Fault has been found with the "working rules" adopted. These will be subject to joint discussion and adjustment when a joint committee of arbitration shall be in existence. Until then we have agreed to nine hours as a working day, because that is the rule adopted by other large cities, and Chicago should not be at a disadvantage as a point for investment in comparison with them. We believe the Saturday half-holiday has come to stay with us as one of the recognized institutions of the country, and we have adopted it freely and voluntarily. By agreeing to 45 cents per hour as a minimum rate of wages we trust to have proved that we do not desire to lower rates. A regular fortnightly pay-day has been guaranteed. These are our conditions. Discuss them as to their fairness, and if you find them just come to work, and we shall be glad to employ you as far as still in our power, for it is true that each day of continued strike does lessen the chance for a busy season. The situation in brief is as follows: The general public recognizes the present necessity of coming to a fair understanding between employer and workman--and thereby laying the foundation for future harmonious action--by refusing to build under present circumstances. Some work must be done, no matter what the conditions. But there is not one-fourth of the work on hand now there was last year at this time. For its future growth and prosperity Chicago needs manufacturing enterprises. In the selection of a site for such people with money to invest look for security from violent and arbitrary interruption to their business. Abolish the "walking delegates;" show that you have profited by the lessons of the past, and establish arbitration; lay the foundation for peace and harmony between employer and workmen, and Chicago will be the place selected; business, now dull and dragging, will revive, and steady employment will reward both you and us for sense and moderation shown. Fraternally yours, THE CHICAGO MASTER MASONS' ASSOCIATION. By Executive Committee. THE CONFERENCE ADJOURNED. A final meeting of the Conference Committee of the Building Trades was held June 1st. Reports were made showing that every organization represented had unqualifiedly endorsed the platform of principles which had been enunciated. The cut-stone contractors, through Mr. T. C. Diener, made the following report, premising it by saying that the members of the association were in accord with the principles which had been enunciated by the conference committee: TO THE CONFERENCE OF THE BUILDING TRADES: The Cut-Stone Contractors' association has carefully considered the code of principles adopted by your committee, and, although approving of the principles laid down, we could not adopt them as a whole, and therefore deem it not advisable to ask the assent of our employes as a condition of further employment after June 1st for the reasons hereafter mentioned: Fully endorsing the right of an employe to work for whom he chooses, we do not concede that individually he can regulate the number of hours he desires to work, but in that respect must comply with the established rule of number of hours per day. In our trade eight hours per day for stone-cutters has been the system for the last twenty years. It has been a success in every respect, for to-day, with improved machinery, cut-stone is fully 50 to 100 per cent cheaper than during the ten hour time. Conceding the right to each man for what wages he will work--we maintain that it is to the interest of the building trade generally that a rate of wages be adopted at the opening of the season, thus making it a standard basis for contractors to estimate by. In the matter of apprenticeship we also maintain that it is to the interest of the boy and the employer of the same. For by employing too many boys in our trade a foreman would not have the opportunity to train the boy, and he would turn out a poor mechanic. It is a rule and regulation similar to educational institutions. To make these rules has been the motive which has prompted employes and employers to organize. In the cut-stone trade we have an association of stone-cutters and an association of cut-stone contractors. These two bodies recognize each other, and at the beginning of the season, as has been done heretofore for years, they have agreed on a rate of wages, number of hours per day, and number of apprentices to a yard (which is about one to six men), and, therefore, we are in duty bound to abide by the same. We have, furthermore, a written agreement between our two organizations, of which article 1 is as follows: "All disputes or misunderstandings of any kind that may arise shall be submitted to committees, who shall report to their respective associations before final action shall be taken." And article 6 is as follows: "These rules not to be changed or altered except by the consent of each association, and in that case a thirty days' notice to be given by the party desiring to terminate said agreement." In our discussions and conclusions we have also been guided to a certain extent by the press, to avoid, if possible, a general lockout, and by that part of the platform of the National Association of Builders, "that good may be derived from proper organizations," and it is our aim that our associations shall not only be a benefit to themselves, but to the general public. Respectfully submitted. T. C. DIENER, Secretary. The conference then adjourned sine die. CENTRAL COUNCIL OF BUILDERS. Immediately after the adjournment of the Conference Committee the Central Council of Builders--which had been recommended by the Conference Committee--met, the various interests being represented as follows: Metal-Workers, Robert Vierling. Steam-Fitters, H. G. Savage. Cut-Stone Contractors, T. C. Diener. Master Plasterers, John Sutton. Gravel Roofers, M. W. Powell. Master Masons, George Tapper. Master Painters, J. B. Sullivan. Galvanized-Iron Cornice, Edward Kirk, Jr. Carpenters and Builders, William Hearson. North-Side Brick Manufacturers, A. J. Weckler. Fire-Proofers, P. B. Wight. Non-Union Stone-Cutters, C. B. Kimbell. Builders' and Traders' Exchange, F. C. Schoenthaler. Real Estate Board, Henry L. Turner. A delegate from the Master Plumbers was not present, because none had yet been appointed. On motion of William Hearson, George Tapper was elected chairman and F. C. Schoenthaler secretary. At the suggestion of Mr. Vierling a committee of three was appointed to prepare a plan of organization, with instructions to report at the next meeting. The committee was as follows: H. G. Savage, Edward Kirk, Jr., William Hearson. A DOLLAR A BRICK. A union bricklayer appeared in the corridor of the exchange and was boasting that he could buy all the brick he wanted of A. J. Weckler, a north-side manufacturer. The statement was denied by a contractor. About that time Mr. Weckler appeared on the scene and was informed of the statement that had been made. His reply was: "The only price I have had brick at my yard since the strike began was $1 a brick, and I think Mr. Downey would give a permit for me to sell every brick in the yard at that price. But, if a man thinks he can get any brick from me at the regular price, or for less than $1 a brick at present, he is very much mistaken." The bricklayer subsided and had no more statements to make. "WE'LL NEVER GIVE IN." Groups of idle bricklayers gathered in and around their headquarters, at Greenebaum's Hall, discussing the situation, and sometimes branching off into earnest conversation on the natural outcome of the labor movement. They claimed that they were a conservative body, seeking all reforms through the ballot, and all demands by legal and peaceful organization; yet it was plain that socialistic ideas were not uncommon to many of the talkers. All of them were determined to hold to their position to the end, and seemed confident that the bosses would have to give way, and that their combination was weakening and disintegrating. When it became known among them that the union had been called in to complete a large building at the corner of Chicago and Milwaukee avenues, and a four-story structure near the corner of Madison and Union streets, they became very jubilant and pointed them out as evidences that contractors were powerless. "They must come to our terms," was the general comment, "for they can not get men from abroad to fill our places." The opinion prevailed among them that they were the only bricklayers in the country that could work on a Chicago building. NINE HOURS FOR CARPENTERS. The Carpenters' and Builders' association met June 2d and adopted the following working rules: We agree to begin on the 13th day of June to work nine hours in each working day, beginning at 7 o'clock A. M. and ending at 5 o'clock P. M., with the usual hour at noon for dinner; under payment by the hour. All work done before 7 o'clock A. M. and after 5 o'clock P. M. to be paid for as overtime at such price as may be agreed upon by the workman and employer. The above number of working hours per day applies only to workmen engaged at buildings in course of construction or repair. THE DIFFERENCE. The consistency of the union bricklayers was exhibited in a case where a building was taken from a contractor and given to bricklayers to complete. The moment they became "bosses" they showed their regard for union principles by employing non-union hodcarriers and laborers. This action incensed the hodcarriers, and they forced the "union" bosses to discharge their non-union helpers and employ members of the laborers' union. STUBBORN BRICKLAYERS. June 3d the Bricklayers' union met at Berry's hall. An attempt was made to read a proposition to return to work, leaving the question of pay-day and hours to arbitration; but the proposition was howled down, and not even permitted to be read. The following resolutions were adopted: _Whereas_, The Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' union of Chicago, on May 11th, in special meeting assembled, adopted Saturday as their regular pay-day, and _Whereas_, The so-called Master Masons' union of this city have refused to grant our reasonable request, and have entered into a conspiracy with the Builders' and Traders' exchange, the object of which is to disrupt our organization; therefore, be it _Resolved_, That we, United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons, in regular meeting assembled, pledge our honor to stand firmly by the resolutions adopted May 11th. _Resolved_, That we condemn the Builders' and Traders' exchange for their cowardly action in locking up the building materials and forcing a lockout, thereby paralyzing the business interests of this city, and causing loss and suffering among thousands of our citizens who are in no way responsible for the differences existing between our organization and the master masons, so-called. THE CENTRAL COUNCIL ORGANIZED. The Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago met Friday, June 3d, for the purpose of hearing a report from the committee appointed to prepare a working plan for the Council. Mr. H. G. Savage, of the committee, submitted the report, which was considered by sections and adopted as follows: 1. This body shall be known as the Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago. 2. The object of this Council shall be to promote the building interests of Chicago, harmonize the different branches, and adopt such measures as from time to time may be found beneficial, carrying out the following platform of principles, which has been adopted by the various associations herein represented: We affirm that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. We recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and, while condemning and opposing improper action on their part, we will aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conferences and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together, to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. 3. All associations of building-trade employers, the Real Estate board, the Illinois Association of Architects, and the Builders' and Traders' exchange shall be entitled to one representative each. 4. The officers shall be elected at the annual meeting, and shall consist of a president, vice-president, and financial secretary, to hold office for one year, or until their successors are duly qualified. 5. Regular meetings shall be held the first Friday of each month at 2 o'clock P. M. The first regular meeting in June shall be the annual meeting. Special meetings may be called by the president or any three members of the Council. 6. The following standing committees, consisting of three members each, shall be appointed by the president at the annual meeting, to hold office for one year, or until their successors are appointed: Credentials--To whom shall be referred all applications for membership. Safety--Whose duty it shall be to see that ample protection to all is afforded against unlawful interference. Strikes and Grievances--Whose duty it shall be to investigate all strikes and grievances and to report to the Council fully in regard to the same, with such recommendations as they may deem necessary. Arbitration--To whom shall be referred all questions of differences between employers and employes. 7. Annual dues shall be 25 cents for each member of the various associations belonging to the Council, and assessments may be made upon the same basis of representation. Officers were elected as follows: President, George Tapper; Vice President, H. G. Savage; Financial Secretary, F. C. Schoenthaler. Standing committees were appointed by the president as follows: Credentials--J. B. Sullivan, T. C. Diener, A. J. Weckler. Safety--H. L. Turner, C. B. Kimbell, Robert Vierling. Strikes and Grievances--P. B. Wight, H. G. Savage, M. W. Powell. Arbitration--Edward Kirk, Jr., William Hearson, John Sutton. AID FROM THE ARCHITECTS. Saturday, June 4th, the Illinois State Association of Architects met. In calling the meeting to order President D. Adler read a letter from the executive committee of the Builders' and Traders' exchange thanking the Association for the stand it had taken upon the labor troubles. He said that those present knew the demoralized condition of the building trades and the low character that they were drifting to in regard to the workmanship of mechanics engaged therein. It was becoming almost impossible to replace good men, because the trades-unions arbitrarily prevented the education of a sufficient number of apprentices to replace the good and competent mechanics, who appeared to be rapidly dying out. The difficulty was staring them in the face that soon they would not be able to secure competent mechanical skill at all. It was the architects' duty to assert the right of every American citizen to work at any trade he pleased, without interference from the walking delegate. It was the architects' duty to assist every young man who desired to learn a trade. There was more at stake in the contest than their own immediate interest as architects--more than the mere stoppage of work. The architects should strengthen the hands of those who were battling for the freedom of American citizens. Mr. John W. Root offered the following resolution, which was adopted: _Resolved_, That the Illinois State Association of Architects heartily indorse the general principles set forth in the recently published "platform and code of principles" adopted by the Builders' association and the Real Estate board of Chicago, and that we will use our utmost endeavors to see that these principles prevail in all building operations in Chicago. PROTECTION GUARANTEED. The committee of safety of the Central Council of Building Interests met June 4th and issued the following document: The Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago having appointed, among other committees, a committee of safety, whose duty it is to "see that ample protection to all is afforded against unlawful interference," the committee desires to announce to all concerned in the building interests of the city that they are prepared to follow up and prosecute all offenders unlawfully interfering with or intimidating any workman or employer in the legitimate performance of his business. This announcement is hastened by the publication in the morning papers of an unlawful and unprovoked attack upon peaceable workmen at a job at the corner of Harrison street and Western avenue on Friday, June 3d. The committee will promptly investigate any such case when reported to Secretary Schoenthaler at the Builders' and Traders' exchange, where the committee will be in daily session at 2 o'clock P. M. MASS MEETING OF CARPENTERS. Monday, June 6th, a mass meeting of carpenters was held to receive P. J. McGuire, of Philadelphia, grand secretary of the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America. Mr. McGuire made an inflammatory speech, in which he said he came to Chicago to throw down the gauntlet to the master builders and was ready to make Chicago the battle ground for the fight on the nine-hour question. He came to stand by the carpenters. J. Milton Blair, of Cincinnati; William H. Sayward, of Boston; George C. Prussing, of Chicago, and other leaders in the Carpenters' and Builders' association were attempting to stamp out the carpenters' organizations, but they would find they had a bigger job on hand than any contractor in this country ever undertook. The master builders combined for mutual protection, and yet they denied the carpenters the same right. The speaker then took occasion to abuse the master builders for assuming the title of "masters." The contractors, he asserted, had not brains enough to carry out their work without the assistance of the foreman, who did the actual work, and yet the master builders assumed to dictate to their employes in such a manner as to place them on the same level with the slaves who were freed by Abraham Lincoln. Workingmen in 1887 ought to receive some of the benefits which machinery had brought. They did not believe in socialistic theories, or that the property of railroad companies, for instance, should be divided up and each man given a tie; but workingmen wanted to be given some of the benefits which they produced but which were appropriated entirely by the employers. Every carpenter who applied for work in Chicago after Monday, June 13th, should ask for 35 cents an hour and an eight-hour day, and if that was refused he ought not to go to work. STRIKES DEFINED. Tuesday, June 7th, the Central Council of the Building Interests met, and the committee on strikes and grievances, through P. B. Wight, its chairman, submitted a lengthy report. It defined strikes of two kinds--general and special. The general strike, which was more frequent, was a demand by a number of employes, acting in concert, for an increase in wages, or a change in working rules, or methods of conducting business, followed by a united refusal to work. A special strike was concerted refusal to work on a particular job, or for a particular employer, based on the assumption of a contract between employer and employe which never existed, and a pretense of a violation of a contract. A general strike was legitimate, in a business sense. A special was based on false premises, and was practically an attempt to regulate an employer's way of doing business by visiting upon him embarrassment in a temporary stoppage of his business. It was often settled by the employers paying a "fine" to the offended "union" as a condition of the men returning to work in a body. This was nothing less than blackmail, and a receipt of the fine was a criminal act. It was in the nature of conspiracy. It might be an attempt on the part of the strikers to obtain some advantage, which might occasion great annoyance or damage to the employers. Such was the demand of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons on the 29th of April last for a Saturday pay-day, which was resisted and refused by many employers. The report then gave a detailed account of the immediate and consequent results of the strike, with a statement of action taken by all building organizations to date, showing the manner in which the question affected all building trades, and resulting in locking out thousands of well-trained and well-behaved artisans, who obeyed the dictates of the handful of officials, committeemen, and a small army of walking delegates, who were to be seen daily at the union headquarters and who were paid by contributions from men whose dues were really filched from their wives and children. The report concluded as follows: We believe that the Master Masons' association has acted with the purest motives toward their employes, and in the spirit of self-sacrifice with regard to their own interest. They have gone so far as to encourage their men to form a union devoted to higher principles than the rule-or-ruin policy which actuates the present organization. This may all be well in the future, but it does not help to do away with the objection of the men to taking up their tools. A contract for labor differs from a contract for anything else only in that the confidence of him who disposes of his labor must be unqualified to the last degree. If the employer appeals to the man as an individual he must inspire him with confidence in his representations. If the Master Masons' association intends never again to recognize the union rules, let it say so in terms so unqualified that no one can misunderstand it. If the individual workman fully believes it, he will be only too glad to come out like a man, and there will be a scramble to see who gets there first. If the master mason intends to live up to his profession, let him guarantee his employe work for a stated time--long enough to convince him that it is more to his interest to go to work than to cling to his union and stand still. If no one mason feels confident that he can guarantee steady work, say, for six months, let the master masons agree among themselves to provide work, so that, if a man is laid off on one job he can be sure of work on another where he will not meet with any interference. If the employer expects his men to work he must guarantee them full protection in case of interference. But more than all things he must guarantee his employe that he will never be displaced in consequence of any future compromise with any labor organization. If the master masons have faith in the stand they have taken, and mean to maintain it at all hazards, they will get all the help they want. If they have any idea that a strike is on their hands to be settled by compromise with any body of men, they may as well surrender to the union at once. We do not believe that this weakness exists among them, but the public and their unemployed mechanics must be convinced by their acts that they are thoroughly in earnest--as we believe they are--and that guarantees, such as have been suggested, will be carried out in good faith to the very letter, and at all hazards. The public, which must sustain us or we fall, will then be convinced that there is no strike, except a strike for right and justice. And if needs be that the employers must be responsible for it, let them glory in it as our forefathers did. There was a strike, as we admit. A strike did we say, for a Saturday pay-day? It was so called. It was resisted, and the men who were expected to pay on Saturday have not done so. It was a strike aimed at the Master Masons' association. It was not for any great benefit that Saturday pay-day should confer. It was a strike to show the power of the striker. It was an exhibition of strength from those whose strength has not been resisted or questioned for four years; a power which knew no resistance, but which must be periodically exhibited to make its presence felt. It is that same power which is still so strong that it makes your mechanics blind to all your heaven-born principles and deaf to all your promises. You, gentlemen of the Master Masons' association, and all you who have nailed our banner of liberty upon your walls, have strength also. In a battle of endurance you can win, but if you do win by extermination, then your sin will be greater than the fruit of your victory. But remember that those who live by the sword, if they die so living, shall also die by the sword. Your weapon is the olive branch. Your principles are just. Let your faith be strong, and in the end you will find your best friends in the camp of your enemy. The report was signed by P. B. Wight, H. G. Savage and M. W. Powell, who composed the committee. It was unanimously approved, and a copy was directed to be sent to the Master Masons' association. A NATIONAL CONVENTION CALLED. The Amalgamated Building Trades Council decided to call a national convention to form a federation of journeymen builders in the United States. An "Important Call" was issued which recited the fact that there was a national organization of employers in the building industry which proposed to regulate all matters relative to that interest, and that to successfully defend their rights the wage-workers in the building industry must be thoroughly organized and ever on the alert. The following two reasons were given why a national federation of the building trades should be at once perfected: 1. It has been proved beyond all doubt that the interests of a craft can be best protected by the complete unification of those engaged therein; and so we have formed our unions and trades-assemblies of Knights of Labor. It is also an undeviating fact that the closer those whose interests are identical are drawn together the easier and more satisfactory is the management of those interests. And realizing the identity of the interests of the building trades we, therefore, necessarily believe in their thorough federation upon such basis as will not interfere with the complete autonomy of each distinctive trade. [There are scores of reasons why such a move would be beneficial, which are apparent to all men of experience in labor organizations, and they need not be enumerated here.] 2. Because it being a recognized idea that all large industries shall be regulated by organizations of the employers on the one hand and the employes upon the other hand, and there already being in existence a national organization of the employers, or contractors, under the name of the National Builders' association, we believe that further delay in perfecting a national organization upon our side would be suicidal to the best interests of the men of the building trades, and fraught with danger to our separate trade organizations. We believe that steps should at once be taken to bring about this greatly-desired amalgamation, and that a convention looking to that end should be called together in this city as soon as practicable. The date for the convention was fixed upon Tuesday, June 28th. A CARPENTERS' COMMITTEE. June 9th the Carpenters' and Builders' association appointed a committee to take charge of all matters of the association, to furnish men, protect them, and look after the interests of the members. The chairman appointed the following on the committee: North side, Messrs. J. L. Diez, John Ramcke and M. Bender; South side, Messrs. Wm. Goldie, Wm. Jackson and S. H. Dempsey; West side, Messrs. M. Campbell, J. F. Tregay and Peter Kauff. The committee retired and elected Mr. Goldie chairman, and agreed to meet daily at the Builders' and Traders' exchange. A SCHEME THAT FAILED. June 9th a special meeting of the Bricklayers union, was held, at which an attempt was again made to have the code of principles of the Master Masons approved, but it was unsuccessful. The most that could be done was to secure the appointment of a committee to take steps looking to a settlement of the strike. This committee was composed of A. E. Vorkeller, John Pierson, C. J. Lindgren, P. J. Miniter and Fred Rebush. On Friday, June 10th, this committee met, after which Mr. Vorkeller, president of the union, called upon Mr. Downey, president of the Master Masons' association, and asked him when he would have a committee ready to meet his committee. Mr. Downey notified him that if he had any communication to make it should be presented in writing, in order that he might be able to submit it to his association. Mr. Vorkeller returned to his office and prepared a letter, which he delivered in person to Mr. Downey in the afternoon. Shortly after the delivery of the letter the Master Masons' association met in special session, with George Tapper in the chair. Five new members were admitted, which occasioned a remark from a member that it did not look like the association was falling to pieces, or that the members were weakening. The report of the committee on strikes and grievances of the Central Council of the Building Interests, adopted on Tuesday, June 7th, was read. It was received with applause. Mr. Downey then announced that he had received a letter from the president of the Bricklayers' Union, but before it was read he desired to make a statement in order that his position and the letter might be better understood. He said that on Monday evening, June 6th, Mr. A. E. Vorkeller, president of the Union, had called at his house, where they had a friendly chat. Mr. Vorkeller had then asked him how the strike could be settled, and he had informed Mr. Vorkeller that when the Union indorsed the platform of principles adopted by the builders they could arbitrate all questions of difference that were subjects of arbitration. On the following morning Mr. Vorkeller had called on him and suggested that he would bring with him four Union men to meet a like number of the Master Masons at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, to have an unofficial talk on the subject, it being agreed that no members of either executive committee should be present. Finding that he could not have one person present at that hour he had sent Mr. Vorkeller the following note: FRIEND VORKELLER: It will be impossible for me to meet you before 3:30, owing to one of the men I appointed not being able to meet before that time. I trust this will not inconvenience you in any way. Yours, respectfully, JOSEPH DOWNEY. They met at 3:30 o'clock Tuesday afternoon, there being present the following representatives: Master Masons--Joseph Downey, George Tapper, George H. Fox, C. W. Hellman, William O'Brien and Charles W. Gindele. Bricklayers--A. E. Vorkeller and Messrs. Taylor, Charles, Householder and Kraus. At the conference it was distinctly understood that the code of principles was to be first adopted and then they would arbitrate other questions. The whole talk was agreed and understood to be unofficial. Mr. Vorkeller then stated that he would call a special meeting of the union and see what could be done. Mr. Downey then read the following letter, which he had received from President Vorkeller: CHICAGO, June 10, 1887. MR. JOSEPH DOWNEY, President Master Masons' Association--_Dear Sir_: In accordance with interview with you on the 7th inst. in relation to appointing a committee with power to act, for the purpose of arbitration, and, if possible, end the differences which exist between our associations, and which are causing increased uneasiness, not only to those on both sides who are immediately concerned, but also to the public at large, who have been patient witnesses to this uncalled for and unnecessary lockout, so far as we are concerned we court the fullest investigation from the public of our side of the case without having the least fear of the result; but we are willing, and have agreed in special meeting, to send a committee to settle this difficulty honorably to ourselves as well as to you, according to the aforesaid interview. If this suits your convenience you will please notify us immediately, if possible, and oblige yours respectfully, A. E. VORKELLER, President. Mr. Charles W. Gindele remarked that when he entered the room where the meeting was held he made the announcement that the talk should be unofficial, which all acceded to. After a long conference they were led to conclude that the bricklayers would concede nearly everything but nine hours a day. The bricklayers were informed that they must adopt the platform of principles before there could be any arbitration. Mr. George H. Fox said Mr. Gindele's statement was correct, and it was distinctly understood that the representatives of the bricklayers should go before their own people and adopt the platform of principles. Mr. George Tapper, who was also at the meeting, said his impression of the conference was decidedly unfavorable. He had then called the attention of Mr. Vorkeller to the clause in the constitution of the Union in regard to apprentices, and told him that if he (Tapper) had a son who did not get his schooling before he was 18 years of age he would be debarred from learning the trade of a bricklayer. In reply to this Vorkeller had made the astounding statement that there was no trouble in such a case. All the boy had to do was to say he was 18 years old and he was all right, as they had boys come to them with long mustaches and had fixed them all right. Mr. Tapper said he replied by saying that was teaching boys to lie, and gave them the first steps toward the penitentiary, and if that was their way of doing business he wanted nothing more to do with them. He also said that Vorkeller had agreed that the section of the platform of principles providing for the free right to employ or to work was right, but when asked if his men would work alongside a non-union man he had said: "No; they would quit and carry off their tools." Mr. Tapper said he was disgusted with the whole business. Mr. C. P. Wakeman thought it would be no harm to appoint a committee to confer with the Union committee. He thought also that the appointment of the committee by the Union was an acknowledgment of the code of principles. If the Master Masons demanded more than partial justice they would lose. Mr. A. J. Hageman said if the Bricklayers' Union had not acknowledged the principles of the Master Masons there was nothing yet to arbitrate. Mr. C. W. Gindele said he understood the Bricklayers were to submit what they wanted to arbitrate, but they had not done so. Mr. E. Earnshaw said from the reading of the letter the Union had nothing to concede. It was endeavoring to lead the Masons into a trap in order to make capital out of it. By saying they "court the fullest investigation" the unionists emphatically claimed that they were right and the Master Masons were all wrong. Mr. Downey stated that Mr. Vorkeller had frequently stated to him that he was in favor of the code of principles, but would have to "shin around" to induce the union to recognize them, fearing he would not be successful. Mr. George C. Prussing said the arbitration movement had been instituted to keep the Union men together, as many of them were leaving, and an effort was being made to make these men understand that if a settlement should be reached they would be shut out. No arbitration should be had which meant only partial justice. There were principles that could not be arbitrated. When the Union amended its constitution so as to conform to their principles the Builders would be ready to join hands with them. Or, if a new Union should be organized on such a basis, it would be met with open hands. Compromise they would not. It would be stultification. The vote on the motion to appoint the committee was lost, only eight voting in favor of it. A motion was made to lay the communication on the table, which prevailed, only ten voting against it. Mr. G. C. Prussing submitted the following, which was adopted as the sense of the meeting, with but one dissenting vote: The position of this Association can hardly be misunderstood at this late day. It has been laid down in our platform in unmistakable language, and is further contained in an address to the Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago and published by the public press. We have addressed them as individuals, and shall continue to treat them as individuals, not an organization. Principles can never be subject to arbitration. And such matters as can properly be arbitrated--such as hours of work, wages, or other working rules--can not be discussed with any committee until an organization is in existence which has adopted the principle of individual liberty freely and fully, and is governed by constitution and by-laws based thereon. This community has suffered too often and too long, and the sacrifices brought have been too great to listen to any hint of a possible arbitration or compromise. We owe it to ourselves; to the other building trades who have taken the position held by us, we owe it to the entire community to settle the present troubles right. That is, on a basis that promises security against future arbitrary interruptions of business. To individuals we are ready to give work; we guarantee them steady employment as far as in our power, and will protect them in every way, and if the men who now take up their tools should choose to form an organization for mutual protection and any other honorable and lawful purposes, based on the principles we acknowledge, we will aid and assist them in perfecting such organization, and will treat with them, and arbitrate any and all questions properly subject to arbitration. After the meeting adjourned Mr. Downey sent a communication to Mr. Vorkeller in reply to his letter, of which the following is a copy: A. E. VORKELLER, President, etc.--_Dear Sir_: Your letter of this day contained more than a surprise for me. Any and all interviews held with you by me and other members of our Association were at your seeking and request, and with the distinct understanding that we were acting in our own individual capacity, without any authority from any organized body, and that I, as president of the Master Masons' association, have no authority to appoint any committee for purposes set forth in your communication. Nor is your letter written in the spirit you proposed, or your position as given by yourself in interviews with me. You certainly must have understood, for it was repeated over and over again, that I would not consent to any effort at arbitration until your body shall have adopted, plainly and fairly, the principles held by us as an Association. I refer to principles as stated in our platform. Nor can such agreement be expressed by a simple vote, but must be shown by eliminating all sections of your constitution and by-laws in conflict therewith. Your letter has been placed before our Association, and by it was laid on the table. Our position is again outlined by resolution adopted, and will be found in the daily papers. Very respectfully yours, JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. IT WORKED WELL. Monday, June 13th, the rule of the Carpenter bosses for a nine-hour day was put into effect. It occasioned no such break with the men as had been promised. Nearly all acceded to the rule, and those who quit had their places filled at once by non-union men who were only too anxious to get a job. OUT OF FUNDS. Tuesday evening, June 14th, a special meeting of the Bricklayers' Union was held, at which the depleted condition of the treasury was made known. The men working were asked to divide their earnings with the idle men, which they flatly refused to do. A resolution was passed requiring the men to work alternate weeks. This occasioned trouble, the men refusing to obey the order. They were willing to pay the regular assessment of $1 a week, but no more. The executive committee was authorized to sell a lot owned by the Union at the corner of Monroe and Peoria streets, to raise funds to meet the demands of the idlers. In order to keep up a show with the men the officers continued to claim that money was plenty, and more could be had; yet their demands for a few dollars were not met in cash--only promises. INFLUENCE. The following invitation was sent to fifty prominent citizens of Chicago: UNION LEAGUE CLUB, CHICAGO, June 11th, 1887. _Dear Sir_:--You are requested to meet a number of gentlemen in the parlors of the Union League club, next Monday evening, June 13th, at 8 o'clock, P. M., sharp, to consider the present labor troubles, in our city and elsewhere, and to discuss the propriety of inaugurating a movement, the object and aim of which will be to harmonize existing and imaginary differences between employers and employes, and to restore and re-establish every and all rights of citizenship guaranteed by the constitution of the United States, and to maintain the supremacy of the law throughout the length and breadth of the land. The vital questions of the day must be met, calmly considered and settled. You are earnestly invited to respond to this call. By order of COMMITTEE ON POLITICAL ACTION. The guests assembled in the parlors of the club and were escorted to the library, where Mr. G. F. Bissell presided during a lengthy discussion of the labor question. At the close of the meeting resolutions were adopted for the appointment of a committee of seven whose duty it was to procure signatures of citizens to a paper endorsing the action of the Master Masons and Builders in the stand they had taken against the tyranny of the unions, and to request the press to keep the subject before the public. On Tuesday the committee met and prepared a heading for signatures, which contained extracts from the code of principles of the builders, in regard to the right of every man to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, and the right of every boy to learn a trade. To these extracts were appended the following: We, the undersigned, endorse the action of the Master Masons and other organizations of Builders and agree to use our best endeavors to bring about a resumption of building operations based on the Code of Principles at the head of this paper. Signatures were procured to these papers in large numbers and were presented to the Master Masons' association. They had a good effect, as some of the weaker members needed just such endorsement to make them strong. ANGRY BRICKLAYERS. Applications for the small stipend promised by the Union to men out of employment grew to be more frequent. The demands were not met with the promptitude which the idle men thought should characterize the occasion, and some of them became loud and emphatic in their protestations against what they said was unfair treatment. They became so earnest in their expressions that they were called to one side and cautioned to not be so bold as to give the Union away. Many of them heeded the caution for the time being, but as they filed out of the office they were very angry because they got no money, claiming that they were needy and had as much right to assistance as anybody. One of them boldly and rather roughly asserted that "the whole thing was bursted," and the managers were "making a play to keep the men together," but he thought it would play out in a few days. One of them who was well posted on some historical facts, made the following statement: "In 1883, at the time of the strike, the Bricklayers of Chicago got $13,000 from the International union in aid of the strikers. During the same year the Chicago union was assessed $4,600 to assist the strikers in Pittsburgh, but the assessment was never paid. The union then withdrew from the International union and became an independent organization. The cash in the treasury of the union has been exhausted, and if the lot is sold there will not be enough money to pay up the claims for relief to date. The International union has refused financial aid to the Chicago union until the Pittsburgh assessment is paid, and all other assessments made since then, amounting to about $17,000. President Darrow, of the International union, has written a letter to the Chicago union notifying the officers that if they will join the International union again and agree to make good all back assessments, he will send the Chicago union $5,000. If they do not accept this proposition and join now he will establish a branch of the International union in Chicago as soon as the present strike is over, if not sooner. The Chicago union will not accept the offer, and where is it to get assistance from? If it kept faith with the idle men it would require $10,000 a week to sustain itself. Under such pressure the union can not be expected to hold out very long." A BID FOR SYMPATHY. A mass meeting was called at Battery D by the Bricklayers' union for the purpose of eliciting sympathy from the public. It was held Thursday evening, June 16th, there being three thousand workingmen present. Revs. Lorimer and Goss and Gen. Beem were invited to be present, but they were not there. Persons who favored the builders' side of the question were conspicuous by their absence. One builder who was bold enough to get as far as the door was knocked down and driven away. Edward Mulrany, of the Bricklayers' union, presided, and the exercises were conducted by members of the union. The following lengthy preamble and resolutions were read and adopted unanimously, followed by great applause and loud cheers: The United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of the city of Chicago, in mass-meeting assembled at the armory of battery D, June 16, 1887, do adopt and declare the following preamble and resolutions: _Whereas_, Certain questions and matters of difference have arisen between us and the Master Masons' and Builders' association of Chicago, and the controversy over the same has resulted in a widespread suspension of building operations in this city, to the immense injury of both the employers and the employed, and to the great damage of the community at large; and _Whereas_, There is no adequate remedy for any such case under any existing law; and _Whereas_, The working people have often been admonished through the public press and otherwise that they should not resort to a strike or boycott to obtain their rights, but should appeal to the law for protection and relief, and in case the existing laws are insufficient to the lawmaking power for new and better enactments; and _Whereas_, In pursuance of such admonitions they earnestly appealed to the legislature at the last session to provide an adequate remedy for conflicts of employers and the employed; and _Whereas_, The legislature nevertheless wholly neglected and refused to provide any such remedy, or even to consider and discuss the subject in any open and public manner; and _Whereas_, There is now no other mode in which relief can be sought than retaliation by strike or boycott on the one hand, or by voluntary arbitration on the other; and _Whereas_, The same legislature that refused to provide any remedy for such cases, has sought to make every participant in any strike or boycott punishable as a criminal, without extending the same penalties to the corresponding offense of a lockout, so far as we are yet informed; and _Whereas_, We have heretofore offered and proposed, and do now again and openly and publicly offer and propose, to submit to the full and final decision of arbitrators, to be chosen in the usual manner, every question and matter of difference or controversy pending between us and said Master Masons' and Builders' association, and to abide by and perform such decision, and would be willing to have one of the judges of Cook county chosen to act as umpire in case of disagreement of the arbitrators; and _Whereas_, The power of public opinion is the only force by which we can compel such submission to arbitration; and _Whereas_, The public at large are deeply interested in the matter, and would be greatly benefited by an early resumption of the suspended building operations; and _Whereas_, We are willing and desire that a decision by arbitration should extend over and include the entire residue of the building season of the present year, that any future difficulty may be avoided; now, therefore, be it _Resolved_, As follows: 1. That we condemn in strong terms the neglect of the legislature to provide any adequate legal remedy by a state board of labor and capital, or otherwise, for conflicts between employers and the employed, and that we will continue the agitation of this subject till proper laws have been enacted providing such a remedy. 2. That we condemn in equally strong terms the refusal of said Master Masons' and Builders' association to submit to arbitration whatever claims, charges, questions, controversies, or differences they may have with or against us; and we appeal to the mighty power of public opinion to uphold our cause, and to compel the submission to the arbitration we desire. 3. That we purposely abstain from attempting to argue in the present preamble and resolutions the justice of the points for which we contend with the Master Masons' and Builders' association, because that is the matter which should be discussed before and determined by the arbitrators whose appointment we desire. 4. That we appeal to the two great organs of public opinion, the pulpit and the public press, to advocate the righteousness of our demands, or to point out to us if they can wherein the same are contrary to justice or offensive to law and order; and in that case to show us some other lawful way, if any exists, by which justice may be secured. When Drs. Lorimer and Goss and Gen. Beem could not be found in the assembly, the venerable Judge Booth, who has attended nearly every public meeting in Chicago for half a century, delivered a brief address in which he expressed himself in favor of arbitration. Other speeches of the evening were made by M. L. Crawford, of the typographical union; George Lang, a bricklayer; William Kliver, president of the trades assembly; John Pierson, ex-president, and A. E. Vorkeller, president of the Bricklayers' union; William Davidson and C. R. Temple. TO MAKE BRICK. Friday, June 17th, the Chicago brick manufacturers met and agreed to resume work in their yards Monday, June 20th, and to continue to work until they made enough brick to fill their sheds. If by that time the strike was not settled they were to close their yards for the season. AN ADDRESS TO THE PUBLIC. June 18th the Central Council of the Building Interests issued the following address to the public: The Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago, which now addresses you, was organized June 1st, 1887, under the following circumstances: When, on the 29th of April last, the United Order of Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago decided, without consultation with their employers, that they would only receive their pay every two weeks on Saturdays, the Master Masons' association refused to comply with the demand, and the union men struck on their work wherever it was refused. The Master Masons' association then resolved to suspend all work on and after the 13th of May, and did so unanimously. The fire-proofing companies which employed men of the same union took the same action. The strike was made inoperative for the time being by the lockout of the employers. The Builders' and Traders' exchange met on the following day, resolved to sustain the Master Masons, and called upon each trade represented to send three representatives to a general conference to consider the situation. The conference was organized with a full representation, and on the 25th of May adopted the following platform and code of principles to be submitted and be ratified by all the building organizations: We affirm that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. We recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and while condemning and opposing improper action upon their part, we will aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conference and arbitration are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances maybe prevented. Code of principles by the employe to be made a universal condition of employment by all building interests of Chicago, viz: I recognize the right of every man to decide for himself, without dictation or interference, when he shall work or cease to work, where he shall work, how many hours he shall work, and for what wages he shall work. I recognize the right of the employer to decide for himself whom he shall employ or cease to employ, and to regulate and manage his business with perfect independence, provided, only, that he deal lawfully, justly and honorably with all men. I recognize the right of every father to have his son taught, and of every son to learn any lawful trade, to be the same as his right to a knowledge of reading and writing, or any other branch of learning, which should be subject to regulation only by the laws of the land. By accepting employment I agree in all my relations and intercourse with my employers and fellow-workmen to maintain and live up to these principles. The conference also asked each organization to nominate one member to a Central Council of the Building Interests. The platform was adopted by the several organizations, and representatives were appointed to this body, which is now recognized by the trades as the representative of all the building interests collectively, and is permanently organized. At the same time the Master Masons' association resolved to resume business on or before June 1, and adopted a uniform set of working rules, defining the hours of labor and other conditions necessary to the prosecution of their business, etc., in accordance with the platform that had been adopted. The fire-proofing companies did the same thing. The action of these bodies broke the lockout, which was of but brief existence. It is naturally asked, therefore: Why this continued stoppage and stagnation in the building business? It may be briefly said, in reply, that the men have in large numbers refused the work offered to them in accordance with the dictates of the United Order of Bricklayers and Stonemasons, and upon that body rests the responsibility entirely. Whatever dispute the Master Masons have had with their employes' union, has been taken up by the whole body of trades here represented, while the employers of the associations of master masons, fire-proofers, and carpenters have officially decided to treat no more with unions as unions, but with men as reasoning beings. With these facts before us it behooves us to look the question squarely in the face and see how we stand to-day. Some of the masons have small forces of bricklayers and stonemasons at work and all the laborers they want, for there is practically no strike among the laborers. The fire-proofers are well supplied and have practically resumed business. There are a few buildings in progress, on which we are informed that the owners have employed foremen and journeymen appointed by the union. There are others again, the contractors for which are "union bosses," or members of the union, who have become employers without severing their membership, and hence are strictly bound to all union rules. But we still see many deserted buildings where the sound of the trowel is not heard. Thousands of well-trained and to their credit, be it said, well-behaved artisans may be seen in the streets and about their homes. Many are Bricklayers, obeying the dictates of the handful of officials and committeemen and small army of walking delegates who may be seen daily at the union headquarters, placed there by their votes, or, at least, allowed to be there by their indifference, and certainly well paid by their contributions. The time of these officials is partly devoted to receiving contributions from men whose dues are now really filched from their wives and children, partly to having their vanity flattered by the obsequious prayers of so-called capitalists for help to satisfy their greed and avarice in getting their own buildings finished before their neighbors, and partly to giving out fulsome accounts of their victories over the bosses, in a supposed contest that really does not exist. In consequence of this we see the public misled by the daily press into a belief that nothing is going on but a strike between the boss Masons and the Bricklayers' union on the senseless question of a Saturday pay-day, characterized by nothing but the obstinacy on both sides, while in reality the united employers in all the building trades are contending simply for the natural rights of a man whether he be employer or employe, against a score of professional agitators who temporarily control the skilled mechanics of this country. Now, last of all, what do we see at the Master Masons' headquarters? A united body of men with large interests at stake, and great responsibilities, who have not attempted to enforce a long and exhausting lockout for bringing their misguided employes to terms through poverty and distress, but calmly and deliberately leaving to us, the representatives of the sister building trades, the arbitrament of their own interests. The principles that they have adopted are those which we formulated, and they have agreed to the broad doctrine of freedom and justice. They did not seek to prolong the contest with their employes which had arisen from such a slight pretext. But as soon as the conference advised they acted (and so have the Carpenters). They have offered immediate employment on a fair basis. Is it their fault that their employes do not all come back to them? They have used every means that they can with due regards to their own dignity and self-respect to bring their men back. If they do not come it is simply because of the authority which the Union holds over its members. They are more devoted to their Union, which says "no," restraining their individual acts, than to their employers, who say "come"--more even than to their wives and families. In other words, while individually they believe in the principles which we have enunciated, they hope for a reconciliation between the union and the bosses. From all past experience many of them believe that there will be a reconciliation or compromise, and they think their own safety is in waiting. We should remember that these men stand in a dilemma. Each one of them is in a state of mental perplexity trying to decide in his own mind which course to take for his own interest. Heretofore he has not exercised his own mind on these subjects. He has left all the details of the contract for his labor to the officials of his Union. It has become a second nature to him to look to his Union for protection in all things. He has voluntarily ceased to be a free agent. There has been much talk of late on the subject of arbitration. A proper understanding of the situation will show how impossible such a course is at present. The responsibility for the prevention of the men from working has been fixed where it belongs. It is useless to talk now of a settlement. There will be no solution until the idle men take up their tools and renounce their allegiance to the present Union. There will be no yielding until that is the case. The sister trades have and will continue to sustain the Masons and other trades affected by the encroachments of labor organizations until then. In the following resolutions, passed at the regular meeting held June 10, the Central Council thus expressed its views upon the importance of uniform working hours: _Whereas_, In the opening of this Council it is of the greatest interest to all of the trades here represented that the hours of work on buildings in course of erection should be uniform in all the trades. _Resolved_, That while we recognize the right of every trade to establish its own working hours, we think those established by a large majority, not only in Chicago but in other cities, should be considered as a precedent for others to follow. At the same meeting the stand taken by the Master Masons was thus indorsed: _Resolved_, That the Association of Master Masons and Builders has the heartiest support of the building trades here represented in its battle against exactions of an unscrupulous and tyrannical trade union, which is the enemy alike to the building trades and the interests of its own members. The position they have taken under the principles adopted by the conference is a just one, they have held out the olive branch to their former employes, and it only remains to inspire them with confidence in its representations to the end that work may speedily be resumed. GEORGE TAPPER, President. F. C. SCHOENTHALER, Secretary. THE BRICKLAYERS' UNION DESPISED. Organized labor in Chicago had no sympathy for the Bricklayers' union. Members of other unions entertained for it a feeling of bitterness which was constantly being manifested. This was fully illustrated at a meeting of the Amalgamated Building Trades Council held Saturday evening, June 18th, at which delegates stated that the Bricklayers' union had taken contracts from Master Masons for the erection of buildings, and had then hired non-union hod-carriers, carpenters, cornice-makers, lathers and laborers of all classes. The Bricklayers' union was characterized as "the meanest organization on God's green footstool," and it was remarked that it would be a good thing for Chicago if it was wiped out of existence. The union was bitterly denounced for its selfish, mercenary, unjust, tyrannical conduct toward other labor organizations. On Sunday, June 19th, at a meeting of the Trade and Labor Assembly, Edward Mulrany, of the Bricklayers' union, made a vicious attack upon James Brennock, of the Building Trades council, on account of the action of the previous evening. Mr. Brennock, an old man, attempted to explain the true situation, but his voice was drowned by Mulrany, who fairly yelled: "Lies! lies! you're a liar!" and heaped abuse upon the old man to such an extent that he was forced to subside. The Bricklayers' union had for so long had everything its own way that the leaders assumed the right to not only dictate to the bosses and other unions, but they usurped the prerogative of trampling upon anything and everything that attempted to question a single act of the union. They had made servile tools of the members of every other organization until all had grievances of such a character that they were in a position to sympathize with even an employer, in a fight against the oppression of the Bricklayers' union. The Hodcarriers went so far as to threaten to take up trowels and lay brick for members of the Master Masons' association in order to aid in breaking up the Union that had been so abusive to all other labor organizations. Under these circumstances it was but reasonable to expect that the tide of the strike would turn in favor of the Master Masons. A NEW UNION. A proposition was made for the organization of a new Union of the Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' which should recognize the principles of right and justice laid down in the platform of the National Association of Builders, and approved by every organization of builders in Chicago. Blanks were printed and placed in the hands of the members of the Master Masons' association upon which to procure the signatures of their respective employes. The blanks were in the following form: We believe in the right of workmen to organize for mutual protection and all just and honorable purposes, and assert our right. We recognize the right of every man to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ. We recognize the right of every boy to learn any lawful trade. We recognize that strikes and lockouts are baneful and may be prevented by arbitration. We believe that all matters of joint interest to employers and workmen should be discussed and acted on by joint committees, representing organizations of both employers and workmen. We believe that by organizing upon the principles set forth the foundation to future harmony is laid and the best interests of all conserved. Now, therefore, do we, the undersigned, agree to attend a meeting to be called at an early day, to form ourselves into the "Chicago Union of Bricklayers and Stonemasons." This paper was circulated among the bricklayers and stonemasons who were working under the rules of the Master Masons' association, and in three days the signatures of two hundred and fifty men were procured. On Tuesday, June 21st, a committee issued a call for a meeting for the organization of a new union, which was as follows: MR. ............................ _Dear Sir_: Wednesday evening has been set for forming the Chicago Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' Union. Meeting will be held at the Builders' and Traders' Exchange at 7:30 P. M. Your presence is desired, with all the bricklayers and stonemasons in your employ, and if your men have any friends who wish to join said Union, bring them with you, for the purpose of taking your first step for liberty. THE COMMITTEE. The call had been signed by 284 bricklayers and stonemasons, 225 of which met and took the first steps necessary to an organization. All but 30 of those present were ex-members of the old union. A committee was appointed to draft a constitution and by-laws. Another meeting was held on Friday evening, at which a number of new members were received. On Wednesday, June 30th, the new union met and adopted a constitution which embraced as its basis the code of principles of the Master Masons' association and declared the objects to be as follows: The object of this Union is to carry into living effect the principles set forth; to do away with labor disturbances, such as strikes, lockouts, and boycotts; and to institute a practical mode of arbitration; to give all moral and material aid in its power to its members and those dependent upon them; to educate and elevate its members socially, morally, and intellectually; to establish and administer a fund for the relief of sick and distressed members, and for mortuary benefit. Other provisions were as follows: "Members shall consist of active, passive, and honorary members. Any bricklayer or stonemason who has worked in Chicago one week at the minimum rate of wages for competent journeymen may become an active member, or any journeyman who presents evidence of membership in any other union in the United States or Canada, which is founded on the same principles, may be enrolled as a member." "Members employed as foremen shall not be subject to the union during such employment." The initiation fee was fixed at $5 and the annual dues at the same amount. Provision was made for committees on arbitration, house and finance. The powers of the committee on arbitration were defined as follows: The arbitration committee shall have full power to adjust all grievances and make a written award after a joint meeting with the arbitration committee of the Master Masons' association. This committee shall have power to determine for the year all working rules, including the minimum rate of wages per hour for all competent mechanics, and for all overtime and Sunday work. The constitution also provided for rules for running the union, and for benefits for injuries received, and for the payment of funeral expenses of deceased members. Officers were elected as follows: President, Lewis Meyer; secretary, T. D. Price; treasurer, T. J. Fellows; sentinel, Henry Annes. The officers were directed to procure a charter. NATIONAL BUILDING TRADES COUNCIL. On Tuesday, June 28th, the first national convention of the Amalgamated Building Trades was held in Chicago. There were sixty-eight delegates present, of whom fifty were from Chicago. The others were from Detroit, 3; Washington, 1; Cincinnati, 2; New York, 3; Pennsylvania, 1; Bay City, 1; Brooklyn, 1; Denver, 1; Milwaukee, 1; Philadelphia, 2; Sioux City, 1; Pittsburgh, 1. P. W. Birk, of Brooklyn, presided during the session which lasted three days. The objects of the council were defined as follows: The objects of the Council are to assist in the organization of the journeymen workers of the building trades, and the federation of such trade organizations into building trade councils and central bodies in each locality of the United States; to create a bond of unity between the wage-working builders, and to aid by counsel and support all legitimate efforts made for the betterment of the condition of members of the building trades. The following appeal to the building trade organizations was adopted and directed to be sent all over the country: TO ALL COUNCILS, FEDERATIONS, AND ORGANIZATIONS OF THE BUILDING TRADES IN THE UNITED STATES--_Greeting_: The time has come in the wisdom of the soundest thinkers and most experienced workers in the ranks of labor when it is not only proper, but necessary, that the journeymen workers of the building industry in the United States should be thoroughly organized and federated under a national council. Such an organization, by the conservative exercise of the control delegated to it by a constitution upon which all local organizations can unite, could do a great work in looking after the interests of the various crafts and callings engaged in the building industry; and, by a timely and wise supervision in cases of wage or other difficulties, exercise an incalculable influence in directing the course of events to a solution favorable to the workers, by keeping the craftsmen of the whole country fully informed of the situation and the necessities of the case. The contractors, or "Master Builders," have formed and are endeavoring to perfect a National Association with the declared purpose of opposing the efforts of the labor organizations to regulate wages and the hours of labor. Pursuant to a call issued by the Amalgamated Building Trades' Council of Chicago, a convention of delegates from building trades organizations of the country met in this city on Tuesday June 28, and in a three days' convention perfected a national organization with the objects as set forth in the preceding paragraph. Notwithstanding the short notice given, there were in the convention delegates from fourteen of the principal cities of the union, representing one-half million journeymen builders. The result is that the National Building Trades' Council of the United States is now an established fact, working under a temporary constitution, copies of which accompany this circular. We submit the action of the convention and the constitution to the building trades organizations of the United States, and ask their prompt and active support of the movement. The convention, after due deliberation, decided, as it was hardly more than preliminary, that the first regular session of the national council should be held as soon as possible; that the delay in bringing all the building organizations under one head should not be greater than the time necessary to disseminate the work of the convention and to allow sufficient time for the many organizations to act; it was therefore decided to name the third Tuesday in September, 1887, as the date for holding such session. The place selected for the next convention is Chicago. All organizations receiving a copy of this circular are urged to take action in accordance with the constitution, and at once to open correspondence with the general secretary of the council, who will furnish information to those desiring it. Brothers, in conclusion, we urge you to give your support at once to this movement and to aid in perfecting an organization which may be made a power second to nothing of its character in the world, as its field is as broad as this great land, and its opportunities as limitless as humanity. On the last day the following resolutions were adopted: _Resolved_, That, in the event that the committee of the Chicago bricklayers do not succeed in making a satisfactory settlement with the Master Builders' association, the council declare the Chicago difficulty a national cause and appoint a committee on arbitration to meet the bosses, the power to appoint such committee resting in the hands of the president, in session or after adjournment. _Resolved_, That, in the event of failure of such committee to settle satisfactorily the trouble, the president, with the concurrence of the executive board, make an appeal to the building trades organizations of the United States, asking support--financial and moral--for the building-trades organizations of Chicago. Officers were elected as follows: President, J. S. Robinson, Cincinnati; Vice Presidents, George Keithly, Washington; William F. Abrams, Detroit; Louis Hartman, Milwaukee; Secretary, Peter A. Hogan, Chicago; Treasurer, L. C. Hutchinson, Detroit; Executive Board, W. H. Thomas, Philadelphia; Edward Farrell, New York; George E. Gray, Denver. ARBITRATION. On Tuesday, June 21st, three members of the old union met three Master Masons and told them they were ready to concede anything to preserve their union. They were advised to adopt the code of principles of the Master Masons, and agreed to have the union do so. A special meeting of the Bricklayers' union was called and held Thursday night for the purpose of endeavoring to induce the members to take a sensible view of the situation by adopting the code of principles. When the subject was proposed it met with howls of disgust, and had to be withdrawn. The members were not in proper temper to overturn their Union, even at the request of one who had been a leader. Being unable to keep their agreement in full with the contractors, the committee finally concluded to accomplish something. They introduced the following resolution: _Resolved_, That we withdraw our demand for Saturday pay-day, and declare the strike off. Even this ingenious little paper caused a bitter fight, the claim being made that there was trickery in it, and that it meant a complete "backdown" of the Union. But, with many assurances that the resolution was a "square deal" it was finally adopted by a bare majority. After the meeting it was stated that the stone pool--which held the key to the lockout--would have no excuse for refusing to deliver building material, as the strike was "declared off"; and that owners could compel them to "come to time." The action of the Bricklayers' union in rescinding the resolution in regard to Saturday pay-day, and "declaring the strike off," did not result in settling the differences between the two elements which had been at variance for nearly two months. Among the contractors this action was looked upon as a step taken toward a final settlement of the existing differences, and it inspired them with a belief that more would be done as soon as the arbitrary leaders of the union could be gotten in a proper temper. More was intended to be done, but the conservative, reasonable men in the union were not permitted to accomplish their whole purpose at once, and were forced to accept that which the union was willing at the time to concede. It was intended to fully recognize the code of principles of the Master Masons and accept the situation for the purpose of maintaining their union intact, but the temper of the men who made the most noise prevented any such action being taken. The feeling among the contractors generally was one of confidence in their ultimate success, and they expressed themselves in a manner that showed that they were as united as they had been at any time on the questions at issue. They said there had been no union bricklayers applying for work in consequence of the action rescinding the resolution in regard to Saturday pay-day, and that the adoption of such a resolution meant nothing unless the Bricklayers followed it up by going to work under the scale which had been adopted by the Master Masons' association. The executive committee of the Master Masons' association met Friday, June 24th, and decided to issue the following document, which, they said, might lead to an adjustment of the differences which had occasioned and prolonged the strike and lockout in the building trades: TO THE PUBLIC: In order to permanently settle the differences existing between employers and employes in the building trades and to show to the public that the Master Masons' association is willing to go on record as ready to do what is fair and reasonable in the present difficulty, we, the executive committee of the Master Masons' association, hereby offer to submit the platform and code of principles adopted by our association--the Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' union to submit their constitution and by-laws--to four business men and a judge of the United States court, said judge to select the four business men, who shall have full power to act as a board of arbitration as between the Master Masons' association and the bricklayers and stonemasons, and we hereby agree to abide by the decision of a majority of said board of arbitration. JOSEPH DOWNEY, HERMANN MUELLER, E. EARNSHAW, Executive Committee Master Masons' Association. When a copy of this paper was shown to some members of the executive committee of the Bricklayers' union, they grasped it eagerly, but suggested that they were afraid the four business men might not do them justice. One of them suggested that they might go so far as to agree to let the Master Masons select two and the Union two, and have a judge of the United States court for the fifth member, and then submit their constitution and by-laws and the code of principles of the Masons to them as proposed, and authorize the arbitrators to decide just what should be done by each party to settle the whole trouble. Saturday, June 25th, a committee from the Bricklayers' union, composed of A. E. Vorkeller, C. C. Scouller and C. J. Lindgren, met a committee of Master Masons, composed of C. A. Moses, Thomas Nicholson and E. S. Moss. The Union committee asked for and received an official copy of the proposition to allow a judge of the United States court to select four business men to arbitrate the case. They objected to the manner of selecting the arbitrators, and suggested that they be permitted to select their representatives, and the Master Masons do the same, and then select a judge as umpire. This action of the two committees was entirely unofficial, but the Union committeemen said they would officially present a proposition to the Master Masons on the subject. Monday, June 27th, the executive committee of the Bricklayers' union replied to the communication of President Downey, as follows: JOSEPH DOWNEY, President--_Dear Sir_: In reply to your communication of the 25th inst., submitting a proposition to settle permanently the differences existing between our union and your association, we beg leave to say that said proposition does not meet with our approval for the following reasons, viz: There is a want of confidence on the part of workingmen in such high officials as United States judges from the fact that they are not brought in close contact with workingmen in the settlement of their difficulties. Further, we believe a board of arbitration selected in the manner suggested by your committee would not be satisfactory to either side. Neither do we believe they would be as competent as a board selected from the employers and employes directly interested. We, therefore, take this opportunity to remind your association that we, on the 9th inst., appointed a committee of five from our organization to meet a like committee from your association (the joint committee to select an umpire) with full power to permanently settle the differences existing between our union and your association. By order of the executive committee of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons. A. E. VORKELLER, CHARLES J. LINDGREN, [Seal.] FRED RECKLING, JAMES SIDLAK, JOHN PEARSON. The objection to the United States judge was amusing to those who fully understood the situation. If he had been a judge whom they had helped to elect, or was a politician, there might have been no objection on the part of the executive committee of the union. But they would not submit to a United States judge because, they said, he did not come in "contact" with the laboring men. They wanted some one who did or had come in "contact" with them, because they believed such a judge or person would be afraid, for political reasons, to decide against the power of the union. The union was also afraid to submit to fair-minded men its constitution and by-laws in comparison with the code of principles of the Master Masons, because its rulers well knew that a decision would be against them, and their union would fall. It was well known that if President Vorkeller could have had his way, or could have controlled the union, a settlement would have been reached that would have been satisfactory to every builder in the city. But he was powerless, because every proposition he had made to adopt the code of principles of the builders had been howled down, and he had been threatened with violence if he persisted in his efforts to reach a settlement in that way. On one occasion, when Mr. Vorkeller insisted upon such a course, he was assaulted by an enthusiastic striker and was "struck like a dog." Wednesday, June 29th, the Master Masons' association held a meeting, and by a vote of 41 to 30 decided to appoint a committee of arbitration, and named George C. Prussing, Joseph Downey, George Tapper, William O'Brien and Charles W. Gindele. After the committee was created it was instructed to stand firmly by the code of principles of the Association and to require their recognition by the Bricklayers before proceeding to a settlement of differences. The action of the meeting did not meet the views of all the members of the Association, some of whom were fully determined that it was impolitic to appoint an arbitration committee, even when its powers were abridged by a demand for full recognition of the code of principles upon which they had been standing for weeks. The committee did not suit the Bricklayers. A dozen of them were standing outside the Exchange to hear the decision of the meeting. When they were informed that Mr. Prussing was on the committee they swore they would never arbitrate anything with a committee of which he was a member. What objection they had to Mr. Prussing they would not explain, but insisted that "it was of no use to talk of such a thing as arbitration with George C. Prussing." Some cooler heads among the party finally concluded that it would be time enough to object to the composition of the committee after they had received a communication from President Downey, and knew what they were expected to arbitrate. When it was suggested to them that they would be expected to subscribe to the code of principles of the Master Masons' Association, one of them said it made little difference who was on the committee, as that would never be done by the Union Bricklayers. Other members of the Union said this would make no difference, as the code of principles was just, but it would be very difficult to get the Union to adopt them. The conservative element on both sides of the question were encouraged by the action of the Master Masons, and said a settlement would be reached that would be satisfactory to everybody. President Downey prepared and caused to be sent to President Vorkeller official notification of the action of the association, as follows: A. E. VORKELLER, President United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons. _Sir_:--Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' Association has this day appointed a standing committee of arbitration of five of its members with full power to act for and in behalf of this organization in settlement of any and all differences existing. You have been informed of the platform and code of principles adopted by this body. On these it stands. All other questions may properly be arbitrated. Please inform this body whether your committee has been appointed with full power to bind your organization by joint action with us. If so, our committee is ready and shall be pleased to meet your committee at the earliest time convenient for the selection of an umpire and arrangement of preliminaries. The arbitration committee appointed by this association consists of Messrs. George C. Prussing, George Tapper, William O'Brien, Charles W. Gindele and Joseph Downey. Respectfully, JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. H. MUELLER, Secretary. In reply to this communication President Vorkeller sent to President Downey an acceptance of the proposition, as follows: JOSEPH DOWNEY, President--_Dear Sir_: Your communication notifying me that your Association has appointed a committee of five to meet a like committee from our organization for the purpose of settling, if possible, the present lockout, is at hand. In reply will say that we await your convenience and will hold ourselves in readiness to meet your committee at any time and place you may appoint. Yours respectfully, A. E. VORKELLER, President. The time and place of meeting was fixed by President Downey in a note to President Vorkeller, as follows: A. E. VORKELLER, President.--_Sir_: Your communication received, and would say in reply that our committee will meet your committee at 10 o'clock to-morrow morning at the Grand Pacific hotel. Respectfully, JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. Friday morning, July 1st, the joint arbitration met. The members were on hand in full force, the opposing elements being represented as follows: Master Masons' association--Joseph Downey, George Tapper, George C. Prussing, Charles W. Gindele, William O'Brien. Bricklayers' union--Albert E. Vorkeller, P. J. Miniter, John Pearson, C. J. Lindgren, Fred Rebush. They pretended to be very glad to see each other, and smiles were exchanged freely. When they entered the committee room, President Downey introduced Mr. Prussing to President Vorkeller, and requested him to introduce him to the other members of the committee from the Union. This appeared to be an assumption that Mr. Prussing was a comparative stranger to the members of the committee, but he had been so well known that the bricklayers had repeatedly asserted that they would not arbitrate if he was on the committee. It was amusing to witness the cordiality with which John Pearson grasped Mr. Prussing's hand, and to hear him say he was glad to see him, when the bitter words of denunciation of the previous day had hardly got cold on Mr. Pearson's lips. Mr. Prussing was introduced all around, after which he suggested that they at once proceed to select a chairman and get down to the business of adjusting their differences in a manner that would insure a permanent settlement of their troubles and an assurance that for all time the friendliest relations might be maintained between employer and employe. "The first thing to do," said Mr. Prussing, "is to select a chairman." Mr. Vorkeller, president of the Union, half elevated his wiry form, and, looking toward four reporters in the room, said: "The first thing to do is to put these outsiders on the outside." The reporters retired. They had previously been advised that the Master Masons were in favor of an open meeting, but a secret session having been demanded by the bricklayers it was conceded by the masons. It was apparent that the bricklayers had determined that the public should know nothing of their deliberations, and as little as possible of the result. At the morning session George Tapper was selected chairman. An effort was then made to agree upon the eleventh member of the committee. The bricklayers insisted upon the appointment of Richard Prendergast, Judge of the County court of Cook county, and the master masons urged that Walter Q. Gresham, Judge of the U. S. circuit court, should be the man. The bricklayers strenuously opposed any United States officer, and the names of both judges were dropped. An umpire was parleyed over for an hour, and a general discussion of the situation occupied the remainder of the morning session without reaching a conclusion upon anything except a chairman. The afternoon session lasted three hours. When the committee adjourned it was announced that the members had done nothing for the public, and had agreed to not make known their work until it was completed. However, the deliberations of the afternoon were of a progressive character. Many questions were discussed and some rules were agreed to, which meant that there was a strong probability that the contending elements would get close enough together to agree upon an award. During the afternoon the names of many prominent citizens were suggested for the position of umpire, but no selection was made. It seemed to be the desire of both factions to secure someone who would not be prejudiced in favor of "the other fellow." The sessions of the day were "perfectly harmonious," and as the members of the committee became "better acquainted" with each other, they gave stronger assurances of a permanent friendship, if nothing else. The members of the committee slept over the list of names of prominent citizens, who had been suggested for the position of umpire, and on Saturday when they got together Judge Tuley, of the Superior court of Cook county, was unanimously chosen umpire. The judge was officially notified of the action taken, advised of the questions at issue between the contestants, and asked if he would accept the responsibility which was sought to be put upon him. A reply was received stating that from a sense of duty he would accept. A short session of the committee was held in the afternoon to receive the reply, and an adjournment was then taken until 9 o'clock Monday morning. The Fourth of July was celebrated by the joint committee sticking right to business. They believed the questions at issue were more momentous than a remembrance of the anniversary of the birth of the nation by a display of fireworks. According to agreement the joint committee met at 9 o'clock, and Judge Tuley assumed the chair as umpire. The work began by acquainting the umpire with the situation as it was viewed from both sides, the differences and grievances being rehearsed in such a graphic manner that the judge was profoundly impressed with the importance of the questions which he had been called upon to settle, and he announced his readiness to proceed to such a conclusion as would forever put at rest all contention over the labor problem in Chicago, as far as it related to the building interests. The entire morning session was taken up in debates and the umpire discovered that he would be required to call into requisition not only his knowledge of the law, but all the parliamentary tactics with which he was familiar, with a possibility that he would have to occasionally invent a ruling to suit the special occasion. The code of principles of the Master Masons was submitted and discussed at length. The code was not adopted as a whole, but was held in abeyance in order that other questions should be submitted to ascertain what bearing the code might have upon them. It was decided that the real issue should be narrowed down to facts which directly bore upon the foundation for differences between the contestants. At the afternoon session the order of business was first defined and then the struggle began over the items of difference, which were taken up in the order agreed upon and discussed. These points embraced the many hard questions which had occasioned strikes and lockouts for five years. They included the various demands of the bricklayers, which had been objected to or conceded from time to time, from the demand for an increase of wages in 1883 to the unsatisfied insistence upon a Saturday pay-day. A sub-committee, composed of Messrs. Prussing, of the Master Masons, and Miniter, of the Bricklayers, prepared a statement showing all points upon which the contestants agreed and disagreed. Every disputed point was then so thoroughly argued by both sides that Judge Tuley was fairly saturated with facts and eloquence. The umpire was very cautious, and asked a great many leading questions of both sides. He evinced a disposition to become fully advised and enlightened, not only as to the points of difference, but as to their effect upon the contestants. He wanted to know it all, but he expressed few opinions, and made very few decisions. His idea seemed to be to endeavor to lead the contestants up to points at which they might possibly be able to agree without the necessity for his casting a vote upon a disputed question, and in this course he was upheld by both sides, because it had a strong tendency to promote and preserve harmony between the two. In fact, the umpire endeavored to show them how they could reach a conclusion without the use of an umpire. As the time for making the award drew near, the members of both organizations, and in fact, of all trades, became very anxious to know the result. They used every means within their power to obtain some information from the committeemen in regard to the manner in which points of difference had been or would be adjusted, but the mouths of the arbitrators remained sealed. They simply said: "Wait for the verdict, and you will be satisfied." On Friday, July 8th, at 6 o'clock in the evening, the joint committee concluded its labors and adjourned, after having adjusted the differences between the Master Masons and the Bricklayers which had caused a strike and lockout in the building trades lasting nine weeks. The award was made and signed by the ten arbitrators and the umpire. After the committee adjourned both factions acknowledged themselves perfectly satisfied with the award, and congratulated each other upon a result which, they said, they hoped and believed would forever settle their differences, and in the future prevent strikes and lockouts in the building trades represented by the Master Masons on the one part and he Bricklayers and Stonemasons on the other part. The members of the committee parted as friends, and seemed to understand each other so well that if they could control the destinies of the two factions there would never be an occasion for an arbitration committee between the two to settle a strike. It was agreed that the award should be submitted to the Bricklayers' union and the Master Masons' association for ratification, and that building should be resumed on Monday, July 11th. The award of the committee was as follows: TO THE UNION OF THE UNITED ORDER OF AMERICAN BRICKLAYERS AND STONEMASONS AND TO THE MASTER MASONS' AND BUILDERS' ASSOCIATION OF CHICAGO: The joint committee of arbitration, composed of an arbitration committee of five from each of your organizations, with Judge M. F. Tuley unanimously selected as umpire, have concluded their labors and respectfully report: That, recognizing the fact that organizations of employes and employers, like these from which this committee originated, do exist and have become important factors in our industrial society, and that they will, in all probability, continue to exist, we do not attempt to determine whether the motive or basis of either organization was right or wrong. They appear to be a necessity arising out of the present conditions of society, and while such combinations keep "from violence or show of violence" no great danger need be apprehended. Nor did we attempt to determine which organization was to blame for the present paralyzed condition of the building industry of this great city. We recognized the fact that the two organizations between which there should be many "bonds of sympathy and good feeling" were carrying on a bitter war with each other, by which many thousands of men were deprived of work, much suffering and privation brought upon innocent parties, and immense pecuniary losses daily sustained; and we determined, if possible, to reconcile the differences and place the relations of the two organizations upon a basis by which strikes, lookouts, and other like disturbances might in future be avoided. We discussed the relations of the contractor and the workmen, and found much in which they had a common or joint interest, and were mutually concerned. We endeavored to discuss and settle each trouble and grievance in a conciliatory spirit, not in way of compromise, to give and take, but in a spirit of fair play and upon just and equitable principles. We found that the main cause of trouble was in the separate organizations endeavoring to lay down arbitrary rules for the regulation of matters which were of joint interest and concern, and which should be regulated only by both organizations by some species of joint action. We, therefore, determined upon and submit herewith a project for the institution of a joint standing committee for that purpose. The article herewith submitted, providing for such a joint standing committee, to be elected annually in the month of January, defining its powers and duties, we request shall be incorporated into the constitution of each association. This joint committee will be constructed of an arbitration committee of five members from each organization (the president of each being one of the five) and an umpire who is neither a working mechanic nor an employer of mechanics, to be chosen by the two committees. This joint committee is given power to hear and determine all grievances of the members of one organization against members of the other, and of one organization against the other. To determine and fix all working rules governing employer and employes, such as: 1 The minimum rate of wages per hour. 2 The number of hours of work per day. 3. Uniform pay-day. 4. The time of starting and quitting work. 5. The rate to be paid for night and Sunday work, and questions of like nature. And it is also given power to determine what number of apprentices should be enrolled so as to afford all boys desiring to learn the trade an opportunity to do so without overcrowding, so as not to cause the coming workmen to be unskilled in his art or the supply of labor to grossly exceed the demand therefor. It is also given exclusive power to determine all subjects in which both organizations may be interested, and which may be brought before it by the action of either organization or the president thereof. It becomes necessary, in order that all questions and grievances which the committee has settled, and to make the constitution and by-laws of the organizations conform thereto, and to the powers given to future joint arbitration committees, that some changes should be made in such constitution and by-laws. The adoption by the Master Masons' and Builders' association of the article for the joint committee, as recommended, together with some slight changes in their constitution, will be sufficient. The United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons will be necessitated to make changes in its constitution and by-laws to make the same consistent with and to conform to the spirit and intent of the powers and duties conferred on the joint committee; and among other things the officer heretofore known as the walking delegate is to be known hereafter as the collector, and all the objectionable duties and powers of the office have been done away with. The steward will remain guardian of the men's interests and mediator for them; his arbitrary powers are taken away. The interests of the members of the union are protected by the foreman being required to be a member of the union, but he is restored to his position as the employe of the contractor, and, while so employed, is not subject to the rules of the union. The eight-hour day has been conceded to the workmen. It is in accordance with the state and, we believe, in accord with the spirit and progress of the age. The question of pay-day, whether on Saturday or on Tuesday, was not considered a question of vital importance, but, it being one of the questions left to the umpire, he decided that inasmuch as Tuesday has been the pay-day with the principal contractors in the trade of this city for more than twenty years last past, and, as experience in other trades and occupations has demonstrated that the pay-day of Monday or Tuesday has worked more beneficially to the workmen and their families than the Saturday pay-day, and, inasmuch as contractors ought not to be required to change the pay-day in the midst of the working season, having presumably made their pecuniary arrangements to meet the Tuesday pay-day, he would name Tuesday as the regular pay-day until the same should, if desired hereafter, be changed by the joint committee on arbitration. We have settled the differences between the two organizations. While every inch of the ground has been fought over, yet, having the task assigned us, we in good faith determined to do everything that was fair, just and honorable to accomplish our object. We feel we have succeeded without compromising the honor, the rights, or the dignity of either organisation, and hope that we have succeeded in establishing a basis upon which all future troubles may be settled and probably be prevented. We respectfully ask your adoption of this report and the article as to the joint arbitration committee, by immediate action, to the end that work may be commenced on Monday, July 11th, it being agreed that neither organization shall be bound by its action if the other should refuse to take similar action. A. E. VORKELLER, P. J MINNITER, JOHN PEARSON, THEODORE REBUSH, CHARLES J. LINDGREN, Arbitration Committee for the U. O. A. B. and S. M. Association. GEORGE C. PRUSSING, JOSEPH DOWNEY, GEORGE TAPPER, WILLIAM O'BRIEN, CHARLES W. GINDELE, Arbitration Committee for the Master Masons' and Builders' Association. M. F. TULEY, Umpire. One of the troublesome questions which was considered by the arbitrators was the one in relation to apprentices. On this question there was no agreement by the joint committee, but Judge Tuley made the following statement and recommendations, all of which met the approval of both organizations: A limitation upon the number of apprentices in a craft has always existed either by legislative action or by custom of the craft, and the number that should be taken must be affected to a large extent by the general principles of the demand and supply of labor. In France, in the seventeenth century, masters were limited to one apprentice. In England, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, apprentices became so numerous, and because of their numbers--when they became workmen--were so unskilled, that some crafts were for a time utterly ruined. Laws were passed from time to time limiting the number of apprentices in the trades and crafts; some to two apprentices, some to sons of master workmen and employes, and some to the sons of persons who had a £3 annual rental. It is a law of self-preservation to the craft, and also of equal interest to the responsible Master Mason, that there should be some limitation on the number of apprentices. If the number is unlimited, unscrupulous contractors may secure a large number of apprentices, and, with the help of a few journeymen, underbid all contractors who employ journeymen skilled in their craft, and also necessarily throw upon the journeymen large additions of unskilled workmen, thereby making the supply of labor largely in excess of the demand, and destroying the standard of the craft for good work. It is not a question whether everybody shall have the right to learn a trade, but whether the craft will teach every boy a trade, to its own destruction. It is a matter, however, that neither the journeymen nor the Master Masons' organizations should arbitrarily undertake to decide. It is a matter of joint interest, and should be decided from time to time by the joint arbitration committee in such a manner that the number of apprentices shall be sufficient to furnish the requisite number of journeymen to supply the demand, and also so as to prevent an abuse of the apprentice system and an injury to both employer and employe by a too large number of apprentices being secured to do work that should be done by the skilled journeymen. Three years, by common consent, is the period fixed for apprenticeship in these trades, and the Master Masons should be allowed, and if necessary required, to take one new apprentice each year. The number of apprentices can be increased from time to time as the interests of the crafts and their obligations to the youth of the country should demand. The apprentice should be allowed to join any organization of his craft, but in all respects be subject to the laws of the state and the contracts made in pursuance thereof. The joint committee also agreed upon working rules, which were established by being adopted by both organizations interested. They are as follows: SECTION 1. The minimum rate of wages shall be 40 cents per hour. SEC. 2. Eight hours shall constitute a day's work throughout the year, work to begin at 8 A. M. and end at 5 P. M., but the noon hour may be curtailed by special agreement between the foreman and the majority of the workmen, but not in such a way as to permit more than eight hours' work between the hours named. No member will be allowed to work overtime except in case of actual necessity. For such overtime time and one-half shall be allowed. SEC. 3. Eight hours shall constitute a night's work. Night work shall not commence until 7 P. M., and shall be paid for at time and a half. Sunday work shall be paid for at double time. SEC 4. Any member of this Union working for a Mason Contractor shall be paid every two weeks on Tuesday before 5 P. M. _Resolved_, That all members of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons who have, from actual necessity, taken up their work during the present strike, or lockout, and have thereby violated any rule of said organization, shall be reinstated within two weeks of the execution of the award of this arbitration committee, and shall not be fined or suffer any penalty for said violation of rules; and further _Resolved_, That all members of the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' association who have, from actual necessity, started to work with union men, and in opposition to a resolution of such organization, shall not be fined or suffer any penalty for infraction of the rules, and shall be considered in good standing. The working rules were signed by the joint committee and the umpire. The following amendments to the constitution of the two organizations were adopted, fixing a permanent board of arbitration: SECTION 1. This organization shall elect, at its annual meeting in January, a standing committee of arbitration, consisting of five members, to serve one year. The present standing committee shall continue in office until the election of its successor, in January, 1888. SEC. 2. The president shall be, ex-officio, one of said five members. He shall be chairman of committee, and in his absence the committee may designate one of its members to act in his place. SEC. 3. Within one week after the election the president of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons shall certify to the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' association, and the president of the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' association shall certify to the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons, the fact that said committee has been regularly elected, and give the names of members thereof. SEC. 4. When notice of the selection of a committee of arbitration by the other association shall be received, or as soon thereafter as practicable, and within the month of January, the two committees shall meet and proceed to organize themselves in a joint committee of arbitration by electing an umpire, who is neither a working mechanic nor an employer of mechanics. The umpire, when present, shall preside at meetings of the joint committee, and have the casting vote on all questions. SEC. 5. Seven members, exclusive of the umpire, shall constitute a quorum of the joint arbitration committee, and in case of the absence of any member, the chairman of his committee shall cast the vote for such absent members. A majority vote shall decide all questions. SEC. 6. The joint committee of arbitration shall have all evidence in complaints and grievances of a member or members of one body against a member or members of the other, or of one organization against the other, referred to it by the president of either association, and shall finally decide all questions submitted, and shall certify by the umpire such decisions to the respective organizations. Work shall go on continuously, and all parties interested shall be governed by award made, or decisions rendered, provided, however, that work may be stopped by the joint order of the presidents of the respective associations until the decision of the joint committee is had. SEC. 7. The joint committee shall have exclusive power to determine and fix definitely from year to year all working rules. It shall also have all exclusive authority to discuss and determine all other subjects in which both organizations, or members of both organizations, may be jointly interested and concerned, which may be brought before the committee by either organization or the president thereof. SEC. 8. Working rules are rules governing employers and workmen at work, such as the establishment of a minimum rate of wages to be paid practical bricklayers and stonemasons per hour, and of a uniform pay-day, to determine the number of hours to be worked per day, the time of starting and quitting work, the remuneration to be paid for work done overtime and Sundays, and other questions of like nature. SEC. 9. The subject of apprentices being a matter of joint interest, and concern to both the union and the Master Masons' and Builders' association, the joint committee shall have power to decide from time to time the number of apprentices which master masons may take in service. Until further action by said committee all master masons shall be allowed a new apprentice each year, and the term of apprenticeship shall be three years, but any minor taken as apprentice shall be under 19 years of age. All apprentices shall be allowed to join any organization of their craft, but to be subject to the laws of this state and the contract of apprenticeship made in pursuance of such laws. SEC 10. This article having been agreed upon by the union of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons, and the Master Masons' and Builders' association shall not be repealed or amended by either organization except upon six months' previous notice given to the other organization, and such notice shall not be given until after all honest efforts to settle the grievance or difficulty shall have been made. In addition to the provisions for changing the constitutions of the two organizations it was necessary for the Bricklayers' union to make a number of changes in its constitution in relation to the walking delegate, stewards, foremen, etc., but these could not be made at once, as there was a provision in the constitution of the union by which it could not be amended, except after two weeks' notice. This notice was given, and the amendments were made at the proper time. In the meantime the proposed changes were recognized and put into practice. The Bricklayers' union and the Master Masons' association met and ratified the action of the joint arbitration committee by unanimously indorsing the award and all accompanying recommendations. This ended the great strike and lockout. In the settlement which was made the greatest accomplishment was the securing of a standing committee on arbitration to adjust all grievances before the employes are permitted to strike, or be locked out by the employers. This is a hard blow to the agitators, whose thrift largely depended upon their ability to create strife and contention between capital and labor. The establishment of a joint council of employers and workmen secures and protects free labor. Instead of the pernicious strike, it was agreed that arbitration should be recognized as the first move in the settlement of differences, and that it was the only true solution of all misunderstandings. As nations never take up arms against each other until they have exhausted the experiments of diplomacy, so the workmen, or their leaders, were made to understand that arbitration was the true course in the adjustment of differences between employer and employe. Associations of employers, as well as associations of employes, may well profit by the experience of the building trades in Chicago. It was a hot struggle, which, after all, was brought to an end by arbitration--an experiment which, however unsatisfactory to the hot-heads, might as easily have been resorted to at the beginning. The employer, and not the Walking Delegate of the union, was given control over the employment of his own workmen. The declaration made at the first meeting of the Master Masons' association, that "the Walking Delegate must go," was put into force and effect by the award made. He has walked his last walk, and his finger has snapped its last snap in calling men off a job in Chicago. The tyrant's power was taken away. The foreman was made the servant of the contractor, who pays his wages, and is no longer the servant of the union, to which he pays taxes. The rights of the employer were recognized and harmony was secured. OUT OF POCKET. The losses to thirty thousand employes and seven hundred contractors during the lockout aggregated more than $4,000,000. They are fairly shown by the following statement: 4,000 Carpenters, 16 days, @ $2.50 $160,000 2,000 Carpenters, 30 days, @ $2.50 150,000 4,000 Hodcarriers and Laborers, 60 days, @ $2.00 480,000 3,000 Bricklayers, 54 days, @ $3.60 583,200 1,000 Brick Makers, 54 days, @ $5.00 270,000 8,000 Brick Laborers, 54 days, @ $1.75 756,000 1,000 Brick Teamsters, 54 days, @ $4.00 216,000 1,000 Stonecutters, 30 days, @ $4.00 120,000 500 Cornice men, 30 days, @ $3.00 45,000 500 Gravel Roofers, 30 days, @ $2.50 37,500 700 Plasterers, 30 days, @ $4.00 84,000 250 Lathers, 30 days, @ $2.50 18,750 600 Painters, 30 days, @ $2.50 45,000 1,000 Mill men, 30 days, @ $2.50 75,000 Iron men 10,000 Slate Roofers 5,000 Stair Builders 5,000 Lumber Yard Employes 5,000 Teamsters 5,000 Boatmen 5,000 _________ Total $3,075,450 The actual loss of the seven hundred contractors would average not less than $25 per day for sixty days, which would make their loss--exclusive of percentage on work delayed--$1,050,000. This sum, added to the loss of the idle man, makes a total loss in the building trades alone of $4,125,450. And this resulted from a demand for Saturday pay-day. This calculation does not include the percentage of losses to the builders upon work which was in hand, and which could have been pushed to completion during the pendency of the strike. They would have amounted at least to $1,000,000. These figures should be a warning to projectors of strikes in the future, but when a strike is determined upon, the results, in a financial way, are never considered. Nothing is looked to but the present imaginary wrong, which reckless leaders insist must be righted without reference to the effect upon their own pockets or those of the employer upon whom their demands are made. It is about time for the strike and boycott days to end, in order that prosperity may be assured to both the employer and the employe--at least in the building trades of this country. CONCLUSION. From the beginning to the close of the strike there were many difficulties to contend with, one of the most prominent of which was the timidity of some contractors, who were constantly exhibiting their weakness, and on the slightest pretext would have given up the battle and sacrificed principle for the sake of making a few dollars. These men were a constant care to the more earnest workers, who were compelled to put forth efforts at all times to strengthen the weak brethren and keep them in line. They believed in the correctness of the principles involved, but were ever ready to say they could not be enforced against the striking element, the strength of which at all times was made to appear in the unanimity with which the workmen seemed to stand together. If the strikers were weak they were so well drilled that they would not admit it, or show it to the contractors, while the few weak members of the Master Masons' association and material dealers who were disposed to give up, were constantly parading their cowardice to not only their associates, but to the strikers and to the public. But they were few in number. Another source of annoyance was the exhibition of selfishness by a few owners of buildings which had been projected. They would not consider the principle involved; but, looking at the dollar in sight, took their contracts from members of the Association and gave them into the hands of the strikers, thus furnishing aid and comfort to the enemy of liberty, and creating a feeling of discouragement in the ranks of the builders. All honor to the brave men who stood firm in the fight from the beginning to the end; who sacrificed everything but principle to sustain the proposition of individual liberty; who were early and late in the front to do battle alike for the strong and weak; who shirked no duty, no responsibility, but floated the banner of freedom on all occasions. Their names are enrolled on the books of the haters of free labor for a boycott in the future, but they are also enrolled in the deepest recesses of the memory of every good and true citizen, and their manly efforts for the establishment of the principle of individual liberty will never be forgotten. THE CARPENTERS AGAIN. When the Master Masons adopted the nine-hour day the Carpenters' and Builders' Association promptly backed them up by receding from the eight-hour rule and making their hours of work correspond with those of the Master Masons. The award of the arbitrators having restored to the masons the eight-hour day, the carpenters considered themselves absolved from any obligations to back up the masons, and said they would fix the hours to suit themselves. The satisfactory settlement of the strike of the bricklayers caused the working carpenters to move in the direction of arbitration. An uneasy feeling prevailed for some time among the employers and the workmen. On several occasions agitators tried to induce the men to order a strike for eight hours and 35 cents an hour as the minimum rate of wages, and the conservative element had great difficulty in preventing it. They succeeded in securing the appointment of an arbitration committee by the workmen, which was composed of Messrs. W. White, H. T. Castle, R. L. Hassell, Roscoe Palmer and A. S. F. Ballantine. This committee made several attempts to secure recognition at the hands of the Carpenters' and Builders' Association, but without success. The association met Saturday evening, July 23rd, and laid on the table three communications from the carpenters, all of which were in the direction of arbitration. The association then passed a resolution authorizing its members to work as they pleased during the remainder of the year, without reference to any rule in regard to the number of hours which should constitute a day's work, and almost universally work proceeded on the eight-hour basis. NATIONAL ORGANIZATIONS. NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF BUILDERS. J. Milton Blair, President, Cincinnati, O. John S. Stevens, First Vice President, Philadelphia, Pa. E. E. Scribner, Second Vice President, St. Paul, Minn. Wm. H. Sayward, Secretary, Boston, Mass. John J. Tucker, Treasurer, New York, N. Y. DIRECTORS. David M. Alexander, Albany, N. Y. Wm. Ferguson, Baltimore, Md. Leander Greely, Boston, Mass. Charles Berrick, Buffalo, N. Y. Henry Oliver, Charleston, S. C. George C. Prussing, Chicago, Ills. James Allison, Cincinnati, O. Thomas Simmons, Cleveland, O. Thomas Kanauss, Columbus, O. W. G. Vinton, Detroit, Mich. W. C. Weatherly, Grand Rapids, Mich. W. P. Jungclaus, Indianapolis, Ind. Thomas Mason, Milwaukee, Wis. H. N. Leighton, Minneapolis, Minn. J. N. Phillips, Nashville, Tenn. F. H. West, New Orleans, La. Mark Eidlitz, New York, N. Y. Wm. Harkness, Jr., Philadelphia, Pa. Samuel Francis, Pittsburgh, Pa. George R. Phillips, Providence, R. I. Charles W. Voshall, Rochester, N. Y. E. F. Osborne, St. Paul, Minn. F. F. Beck, Sioux City, Iowa. C. A. Meeker, Troy, N. Y. E. B. Crane, Worcester, Mass. NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF MASTER PLUMBERS. John Byrns, President, New York, N. Y. John Trainor, First Vice President, Baltimore, Md. H. G. Gabay, Recording Secretary, New York, N. Y. Walter T. Hudson, Corresponding Secretary, Brooklyn, N. Y. Enoch Remick, Financial Secretary, Philadelphia, Pa. M. J. Lyons, Treasurer, Brooklyn, N. Y. D. J. Collins, Sergeant at Arms, St. Louis, Mo. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. George D. Scott, New York, N. Y. E. J. Hannon, Washington, D. C. J. J. Sheehan, St. Louis, Mo. Wm. Harkness, Jr., Philadelphia, Pa. Rupert Coleman, Chicago, Ills. STATE VICE PRESIDENTS. Alex. W. Murray, Chicago, Ills. D. G. Finerty, Boston, Mass. D. O. McEwan, Omaha, Neb. Joseph C. Mitchell, Baltimore, Md. Richard Murphy, Cincinnati, O. T. J. White, Denver, Col. John Cameron, Detroit, Mich. John Madden, Fort Wayne, Ind. Michael J. Moran, Jersey City, N. J. Henry Goss, Kansas City, Mo. John E. Ford, Newton, Kas. Simon Shulbafer, Louisville, Ky. Wm. E. Goodwin, Milwaukee, Wis. John Shea, St. Paul, Minn. Robert Morgan, New Haven, Conn. W. E. Foster, Norfolk, Va. James E. Weldon, Pittsburgh, Pa. J. L. Park, Nashville, Tenn. Wm. Whipple, Providence, R. I. R. G. Campbell, Washington, D. C. J. L. Furman, San Francisco, Cal. Wm. Young, New York, N. Y. MASTER PAINTERS ASSOCIATION OF THE UNITED STATES. Titus Berger, President, Pittsburgh, Pa. Jesse Cornelius, Vice-President, St. Louis, Mo. J. G. McCarthy, Secretary, Chicago, Ills. Maurice Joy, Treasurer, Philadelphia, Pa. EXECUTIVE BOARD. Titus Berger, Chairman, Pittsburgh, Pa. J. B. Sullivan, Chicago, Ills. George B. Elmore, Brooklyn, N. Y. John Patterson, Philadelphia, Pa. J. B. Atkinson, Louisville, Ky. M. H. Godfrey, Detroit, Mich. George Howlett, Cleveland, Ohio. Charles H. Sefton, Boston, Mass. E. M. Gallagher, San Francisco, Cal. B. T. Collingbourne, Milwaukee, Wis. J. F. Van Brandt, Dubuque, Iowa. R. L. Hutchins, Wilmington, N. C. James S. Dowling, St. Louis, Mo. B. C. Bushell, Martinsburg, W. Va. James Marks, Bayonne, N. J. F. P. Martin, Atchinson, Kas. P. Coughlin, Bridgeport, Conn. Thomas A. Brown, Washington, D. C. A. T. Davis, Memphis, Tenn. E. W. Pyle, Wilmington, Del. NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF MASTER COMPOSITION ROOFERS. J. Wilkes Ford, President, Chicago, Ill. Samuel D. Warren, First Vice President, St. Louis, Mo. H. M. Reynolds, Second Vice President, Grand Rapids, Mich. William K. Thomas, Secretary, Chicago, Ills. H. R. Shaffer, Treasurer, Chicago, Ills. DIRECTORS. M. W. Powell, Chicago, Ills. John M. Sellers, St. Louis, Mo. E. S. Bortel, Philadelphia, Pa. J. L. Jones, Chicago, Ills. G. W. Getchell, Chicago, Ills. WESTERN ASSOCIATION OF ARCHITECTS. John W. Root, President, Chicago, Ills. J. F. Alexander, Secretary, LaFayette, Ind. Samuel A. Treat, Treasurer, Chicago, Ills. W. L. B. Jenney, Secretary Foreign Correspondence, Chicago, Ills. VICE PRESIDENTS. D. W. Millard, St. Paul, Minn. H. S. Josseyline, Cedar Rapids, Iowa. D. Adler, Chicago, Ills. J. J. McGrath, St. Louis, Mo. J. G. Haskel, Topeka, Kan. J. F. Alexander, LaFayette, Ind. George W. Rapp, Cincinnati, O. J. J. Kane, Fort Worth, Texas. BOARD OF DIRECTORS. Dankmar Adler, Chairman, Chicago, Ills. G. W. Rapp, Cincinnati, O. Charles Crapsey, Cincinnati, O. C. A. Curtin, Louisville, Ky. G. M. Goodwin, St. Paul, Minn. ILLINOIS STATE ASSOCIATION OF ARCHITECTS. D. Adler, President. S. A. Treat, } Vice-Presidents. M. S. Patton, } S. M. Randolph, Treasurer. C. L. Stiles, Secretary. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. L. D. Cleveland, C. M. Palmer, John W. Root, Wm. Halabird. CHICAGO ORGANIZATIONS. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE. George Tapper, President. Mat. Benner, First Vice-President. Alex. W. Murray, Second Vice-President. F. C. Schoenthaler, Secretary. Joseph Downey, Treasurer. DIRECTORS. Oliver Sollitt, D. V. Purington, Murdock Campbell, E. A. Thomas, F. W. H. Sundmacher, Ph. Henne, James John, S. S. Kimbell, Wm. Kinsella, George H. Fox. CENTRAL COUNCIL OF BUILDERS. George Tapper, President H. G. Savage, Vice-President. F. C. Schoenthaler, Secretary. STANDING COMMITTEES. Credentials--J. B. Sullivan, T. C. Diener, A. J. Weckler. Safety--H. L. Turner, C. B. Kimbell, Robert Vierling. Strikes and Grievances--P. B. Wight, H. G. Savage, M. W. Powell. Arbitration--Edward Kirk, Jr., William Hearson, John Sutton. CHICAGO MASTER MASONS' AND BUILDERS' ASSOCIATION. Joseph Downey, President. Thomas E. Courtney, Treasurer. Hermann Mueller, Secretary. THE CARPENTERS' AND BUILDERS' ASSOCIATION OF CHICAGO. William Grace, President. William Hearson, Vice-President. F. C. Schoenthaler, Secretary. Peter Kauff, Treasurer. DIRECTORS. C. G. Dixon, William Mavor, J. W. Woodard, W. E. Frost, John Ramcke, J. W. Cassell. THE CHICAGO BUILDING STONE COMPANY. B. J. Moore, President. H. A. Sanger, Vice-President. D. E. Corneau, Secretary. E. F. Singer, Treasurer. J. A. Pettigrew, Manager. DIRECTORS. D. E. Corneau, J. G. Bodenschatz, B. J. Moore, H. A. Sanger, E. T. Singer, H. L. Holland, G. H. Monroe. QUARRY OWNERS' ASSOCIATION OF CHICAGO. Gen. John McArthur, President. John Rawle, Vice-President. E. E. Worthington, Secretary. C. B. McGenness, Treasurer. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. E. T. Singer, John Worthy, M. B. Madden, P. G. Hale, W. Johnson. CUT-STONE CONTRACTORS' ASSOCIATION. F. V. Gindele, President. T. C. Diener, Secretary and Treasurer. TRUSTEES. John Tomlinson, John Tait, Henry Fürst. THE ASSOCIATION OF MANUFACTURERS IN METALS. R. T. Crane, President. J. McGregor Adams, First Vice-President. John T. Raffen, Second Vice President. W. J. Chalmers, Third Vice President. Robert Vierling, Secretary and Treasurer. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. R. T. Crane, W. J. Chalmers, M. C. Bullock, George Mason, J. McGregor Adams, Frank I. Pearce, Louis Wolff, John T. Raffen, A. Plamondon. CHICAGO MASTER PLUMBERS' ASSOCIATION. H. Griffith, President. J. J. Wade, First Vice President. Wm. Sims, Second Vice President. M. H. Reilly, Third Vice President. Frank E. Rush, Fourth Vice President. Wm. Wilson, Fifth Vice President. J. R. Alcock, Recording Secretary. Charles S. Wallace, Corresponding Secretary. William Sims, Finance Secretary. J. J. Hamblin, Treasurer. P. L. O'Hara, Sergeant-at-Arms. MASTER PAINTERS' ASSOCIATION OF CHICAGO. President, J. G. McCarthy. Vice-President, H. J. Milligan. Secretary, B. S. Mills. Treasurer, N. S. Lepperr. TRUSTEES. Henry G. Emmel, Wm. H. Emerson, James C. Burns. THE GRAVEL ROOFERS' EXCHANGE. H. R. Shaffer, President. D. W. C. Gooding, Vice-President. John L. Jones, Secretary. S. E. Barrett, Treasurer. DIRECTORS. M. W. Powell, G. W. Getchell, W. K. Thomas. THE GRAVEL ROOFERS' PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION. M. W. Powell, President. A. L. Barsley, Vice-President. J. J. Wheeler, Secretary. S. E. Barrett, Treasurer. DIRECTORS. C. W. Randolph, J. W. Ford, D. W. C. Gooding, A. Burke, L. Daley. NORTH AND NORTHWEST BRICK MANUFACTURERS' ASSOCIATION. A. J. Weckler, President. August Wehrheim, Vice-President. F. W. Sundmacher, Secretary. George Lill, Treasurer. TRUSTEES. Thomas Moulding, Fred. Zapell, A. J. Weckler, August Wehrheim, John Labahn. CHICAGO BRICK MAKERS' ASSOCIATION. P. Lichtenstadt, President. John McKenna, Secretary. L. H. Harland, Treasurer. CONTRACTING PLASTERERS' ASSOCIATION. William Piggott, President. A. Zander, Vice President. James John, Treasurer. Andrew Corcoran, Secretary. GALVANIZED IRON CORNICE MANUFACTURERS. Edward Kirk, Jr., President. James A. Miller, Secretary and Treasurer. CHICAGO REAL ESTATE BOARD. William D. Kerfoot, President. M. R. Barnard, Vice President. George P. Bay, Treasurer. Edward F. Getchell, Secretary. W. J. Gallup, Assistant Secretary. 
3038	----	University, Alev Akman, David Widger, and Robert Homa. The Armies of Labor By Samuel P. Orth A Chronicle of the Organized Wage-Earners Volume 40 of the Chronicles of America Series ? Allen Johnson, Editor Assistant Editors Gerhard R. Lomer Charles W. Jefferys Textbook Edition New Haven: Yale University Press Toronto: Glasgow, Brook & Co. London: Humphrey Milford Oxford University Press Copyright, 1919 by Yale University Press Printed in the United States of America Contents The Armies of Labor Chapter Chapter Title Page I. The Background 1 II. Formative Years 19 III. Transition Years 40 IV. Amalgamation 65 V. Federation 87 VI. The Trade Union 112 VII. The Railway Brotherhoods 133 VIII. Issues and Warfare 168 IX. The New Terrorism: The I. W. W. 188 X. Labor and Politics 220 Bibliographical Note 261 Index 265 THE ARMIES OF LABOR ? CHAPTER I THE BACKGROUND Three momentous things symbolize the era that begins its cycle with the memorable year of 1776: the Declaration of Independence, the steam engine, and Adam Smith's book, The Wealth of Nations. The Declaration gave birth to a new nation, whose millions of acres of free land were to shift the economic equilibrium of the world; the engine multiplied man's productivity a thousandfold and uprooted in a generation the customs of centuries; the book gave to statesmen a new view of economic affairs and profoundly influenced the course of international trade relations. The American people, as they faced the approaching age with the experiences of the race behind them, fashioned many of their institutions and laws on British models. This is true to such an extent that the subject of this book, the rise of labor in America, cannot be understood without a preliminary survey of the British industrial system nor even without some reference to the feudal system, of which English society for many centuries bore the marks and to which many relics of tenure and of class and governmental responsibility may be traced. Feudalism was a society in which the status of an individual was fixed: he was underman or overman in a rigid social scale according as he considered his relation to his superiors or to his inferiors. Whatever movement there was took place horizontally, in the same class or on the same social level. The movement was not vertical, as it so frequently is today, and men did not ordinarily rise above the social level of their birth, never by design, and only perhaps by rare accident or genius. It was a little world of lords and serfs: of knights who graced court and castle, jousted at tournaments, or fought upon the field of battle; and of serfs who toiled in the fields, served in the castle, or, as the retainers of the knight, formed the crude soldiery of medieval days. For their labor and allegiance they were clothed and housed and fed. Yet though there were feast days gay with the color of pageantry and procession, the worker was always in a servile state, an underman dependent upon his master, and sometimes looking upon his condition as little better than slavery. With the break-up of this rigid system came in England the emancipation of the serf, the rise of the artisan class, and the beginnings of peasant agriculture. That personal gravitation which always draws together men of similar ambitions and tasks now began to work significant changes in the economic order. The peasantry, more or less scattered in the country, found it difficult to unite their powers for redressing their grievances, although there were some peasant revolts of no mean proportions. But the artisans of the towns were soon grouped into powerful organizations, called guilds, so carefully managed and so well disciplined that they dominated every craft and controlled every detail in every trade. The relation of master to journeyman and apprentice, the wages, hours, quantity, and quality of the output, were all minutely regulated. Merchant guilds, similarly constituted, also prospered. The magnificent guild halls that remain in our day are monuments of the power and splendor of these organizations that made the towns of the later Middle Ages flourishing centers of trade, of handicrafts, and of art. As towns developed, they dealt the final blow to an agricultural system based on feudalism: they became cities of refuge for the runaway serfs, and their charters, insuring political and economic freedom, gave them superior advantages for trading. The guild system of manufacture was gradually replaced by the domestic system. The workman's cottage, standing in its garden, housed the loom and the spinning wheel, and the entire family was engaged in labor at home. But the workman, thus apparently independent, was not the owner of either the raw material or the finished product. A middleman or agent brought him the wool, carried away the cloth, and paid him his hire. Daniel Defoe, who made a tour of Britain in 1724-6, left a picture of rural England in this period, often called the golden age of labor. The land, he says, "was divided into small inclosures from two acres to six or seven each, seldom more: every three or four pieces of land had an house belonging to them, . . . hardly an house standing out of a speaking distance from another. . . . We could see at every house a tenter, and on almost every tenter a piece of cloth or kersie or shalloon. . . . At every considerable house was a manufactory. . . . Every clothier keeps one horse, at least, to carry his manufactures to the market and every one generally keeps a cow or two or more for his family. By this means the small pieces of inclosed land about each house are occupied, for they scarce sow corn enough to feed their poultry. . . . The houses are full of lusty fellows, some at the dye vat, some at the looms, others dressing the clothes; the women or children carding or spinning, being all employed, from the youngest to the oldest." But more significant than these changes was the rise of the so-called mercantile system, in which the state took under its care industrial details that were formerly regulated by the town or guild. This system, beginning in the sixteenth century and lasting through the eighteenth, had for its prime object the upbuilding of national trade. The state, in order to insure the homogeneous development of trade and industry, dictated the prices of commodities. It prescribed the laws of apprenticeship and the rules of master and servant. It provided inspectors for passing on the quality of goods offered for sale. It weighed the loaves, measured the cloth, and tested the silverware. It prescribed wages, rural and urban, and bade the local justice act as a sort of guardian over the laborers in his district. To relieve poverty poor laws were passed; to prevent the decline of productivity corn laws were passed fixing arbitrary prices for grain. For a time monopolies creating artificial prosperity were granted to individuals and to corporations for the manufacture, sale, or exploitation of certain articles, such as matches, gunpowder, and playing-cards. This highly artificial and paternalistic state was not content with regulating all these internal matters but spread its protection over foreign commerce. Navigation acts attempted to monopolize the trade of the colonies and especially the trade in the products needed by the mother country. England encouraged shipping and during this period achieved that dominance of the sea which has been the mainstay of her vast empire. She fostered plantations and colonies not for their own sake but that they might be tributaries to the wealth of the nation. An absurd importance was attached to the possession of gold and silver, and the ingenuity of statesmen was exhausted in designing lures to entice these metals to London. Banking and insurance began to assume prime importance. By 1750 England had sent ships into every sea and had planted colonies around the globe. But while the mechanism of trade and of government made surprising progress during the mercantile period, the mechanism of production remained in the slow handicraft stage. This was now to change. In 1738 Kay invented the flying shuttle, multiplying the capacity of the loom. In 1767 Hargreaves completed the spinning-jenny, and in 1771 Arkwright perfected his roller spinning machine. A few years later Crompton combined the roller and the jenny, and after the application of steam to spinning in 1785 the power loom replaced the hand loom. The manufacture of woolen cloth being the principal industry of England, it was natural that machinery should first be invented for the spinning and weaving of wool. New processes in the manufacture of iron and steel and the development of steam transportation soon followed. Within the course of a few decades the whole economic order was changed. Whereas many centuries had been required for the slow development of the medieval system of feudalism, the guild system, and the handicrafts, now, like a series of earthquake shocks, came changes so sudden and profound that even today society has not yet learned to adjust itself to the myriads of needs and possibilities which the union of man's mind with nature's forces has produced. The industrial revolution took the workman from the land and crowded him into the towns. It took the loom from his cottage and placed it in the factory. It took the tool from his hand and harnessed it to a shaft. It robbed him of his personal skill and joined his arm of flesh to an arm of iron. It reduced him from a craftsman to a specialist, from a maker of shoes to a mere stitcher of soles. It took from him, at a single blow, his interest in the workmanship of his task, his ownership of the tools, his garden, his wholesome environment, and even his family. All were swallowed by the black maw of the ugly new mill town. The hardships of the old days were soon forgotten in the horrors of the new. For the transition was rapid enough to make the contrast striking. Indeed it was so rapid that the new class of employers, the capitalists, found little time to think of anything but increasing their profits, and the new class of employees, now merely wage-earners, found that their long hours of monotonous toil gave them little leisure and no interest. The transition from the age of handicrafts to the era of machines presents a picture of greed that tempts one to bitter invective. Its details are dispassionately catalogued by the Royal Commissions that finally towards the middle of the nineteenth century inquired into industrial conditions. From these reports Karl Marx drew inspiration for his social philosophy, and in them his friend Engles found the facts that he retold so vividly, for the purpose of arousing his fellow workmen. And Carlyle and Ruskin, reading this official record of selfishness, and knowing its truth, drew their powerful indictments against a society which would permit its eight-year-old daughters, its mothers, and its grandmothers, to be locked up for fourteen hours a day in dirty, ill-smelling factories, to release them at night only to find more misery in the hovels they pitifully called home. The introduction of machinery into manufacturing wrought vast changes also in the organization of business. The unit of industry greatly increased in size. The economies of organized wholesale production were soon made apparent; and the tendency to increase the size of the factory and to amalgamate the various branches of industry under corporate control has continued to the present. The complexity of business operations also increased with the development of transportation and the expansion of the empire of trade. A world market took the place of the old town market, and the world market necessitated credit on a new and infinitely larger scale. No less important than the revolution in industry was the revolution in economic theory which accompanied it. Unlimited competition replaced the state paternalism of the mercantilists. Adam Smith in 1776 espoused the cause of economic liberty, believing that if business and industry were unhampered by artificial restrictions they would work out their own salvation. His pronouncement was scarcely uttered before it became the shibboleth of statesmen and business men. The revolt of the American colonies hastened the general acceptance of this doctrine, and England soon found herself committed to the practice of every man looking after his own interests. Freedom of contract, freedom of trade, and freedom of thought were vigorous and inspiring but often misleading phrases. The processes of specialization and centralization that were at work portended the growing power of those who possessed the means to build factories and ships and railways but not necessarily the freedom of the many. The doctrine of laissez faire assumed that power would bring with it a sense of responsibility. For centuries, the old-country gentry and governing class of England had shown an appreciation of their duties, as a class, to those dependent upon them. But now another class with no benevolent traditions of responsibility came into power--the capitalist, a parvenu whose ambition was profit, not equity, and whose dealings with other men were not tempered by the amenities of the gentleman but were sharpened by the necessities of gain. It was upon such a class, new in the economic world and endowed with astounding power, that Adam Smith's new formularies of freedom were let loose. During all these changes in the economic order, the interest of the laborer centered in one question: What return would he receive for his toil? With the increasing complexity of society, many other problems presented themselves to the worker, but for the most part they were subsidiary to the main question of wages. As long as man's place was fixed by law or custom, a customary wage left small margin for controversy. But when fixed status gave way to voluntary contract, when payment was made in money, when workmen were free to journey from town to town, labor became both free and fluid, bargaining took the place of custom, and the wage controversy began to assume definite proportions. As early as 1348 the great plague became a landmark in the field of wage disputes. So scarce had laborers become through the ravages of the Black Death, that wages rose rapidly, to the alarm of the employers, who prevailed upon King Edward III to issue the historic proclamation of 1349, directing that no laborer should demand and no employer should pay greater wages than those customary before the plague. This early attempt to outmaneuver an economic law by a legal device was only the prelude to a long series of labor laws which may be said to have culminated in the great Statute of Laborers of 1562, regulating the relations of wage-earner and employer and empowering justices of the peace to fix the wages in their districts. Wages steadily decreased during the two hundred years in which this statute remained in force, and poor laws were passed to bring the succor which artificial wages made necessary. Thus two rules of arbitrary government were meant to neutralize each other. It is the usual verdict of historians that the estate of labor in England declined from a flourishing condition in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to one of great distress by the time of the Industrial Revolution. This unhappy decline was probably due to several causes, among which the most important were the arbitrary and artificial attempts of the Government to keep down wages, the heavy taxation caused by wars of expansion, and the want of coercive power on the part of labor. From the decline of the guild system, which had placed labor and its products so completely in the hands of the master craftsman, the workman had assumed no controlling part in the labor bargain. Such guilds and such journeyman's fraternities as may have survived were practically helpless against parliamentary rigor and state benevolence. In the domestic stage of production, cohesion among workers was not so necessary. But when the factory system was substituted for the handicraft system and workers with common interests were thrown together in the towns, they had every impulsion towards organization. They not only felt the need of sociability after long hours spent in spiritless toil but they were impelled by a new consciousness--the realization that an inevitable and profound change had come over their condition. They had ceased to be journeymen controlling in some measure their activities: they were now merely wage-earners. As the realization of this adverse change came over them, they began to resent the unsanitary and burdensome conditions under which they were compelled to live and to work. So actual grievances were added to fear of what might happen, and in their common cause experience soon taught them unity of action. Parliament was petitioned, agitations were organized, sick-benefits were inaugurated, and when these methods failed, machinery was destroyed, factories were burned, and the strike became a common weapon of self-defense. Though a few labor organizations can be traced as far back as 1700, their growth during the eighteenth century was slow and irregular. There was no unity in their methods, and they were known by many names, such as associations, unions, union societies, trade clubs, and trade societies. These societies had no legal status and their meetings were usually held in secret. And the Webbs in their History of Trade Unionism allude to the traditions of "the midnight meeting of patriots in the corner of the field, the buried box of records, the secret oath, the long terms of imprisonment of the leading officials." Some of these tales were unquestionably apocryphal, others were exaggerated by feverish repetition. But they indicate the aversion with which the authorities looked upon these combinations. There were two legal doctrines long invoked by the English courts against combined action--doctrines that became a heritage of the United States and have had a profound effect upon the labor movements in America. The first of these was the doctrine of conspiracy, a doctrine so ancient that its sources are obscure. It was the natural product of a government and of a time that looked askance at all combined action, fearing sedition, intrigue, and revolution. As far back as 1305 there was enacted a statute defining conspiracy and outlining the offense. It did not aim at any definite social class but embraced all persons who combined for a "malicious enterprise." Such an enterprise was the breaking of a law. So when Parliament passed acts regulating wages, conditions of employment, or prices of commodities, those who combined secretly or openly to circumvent the act, to raise wages or lower them, or to raise prices and curtail markets, at once fell under the ban of conspiracy. The law operated alike on conspiring employers and conniving employees. The new class of employers during the early years of the machine age eagerly embraced the doctrine of conspiracy. They readily brought under the legal definition the secret connivings of the wage-earners. Political conditions now also worked against the laboring class. The unrest in the colonies that culminated in the independence of America and the fury of the French Revolution combined to make kings and aristocracies wary of all organizations and associations of plain folk. And when we add to this the favor which the new employing class, the industrial masters, were able to extort from the governing class, because of their power over foreign trade and domestic finance, we can understand the compulsory laws at length declaring against all combinations of working men. The second legal doctrine which Americans have inherited from England and which has played a leading role in labor controversies is the doctrine that declares unlawful all combinations in restraint of trade. Like its twin doctrine of conspiracy, it is of remote historical origin. One of the earliest uses, perhaps the first use, of the term by Parliament was in the statute of 1436 forbidding guilds and trading companies from adopting by-laws "in restraint of trade," and forbidding practices in price manipulations "for their own profit and to the common hurt of the people." This doctrine thus early invoked, and repeatedly reasserted against combinations of traders and masters, was incorporated in the general statute of 1800 which declared all combinations of journeymen illegal. But in spite of legal doctrines, of innumerable laws and court decisions, strikes and combinations multiplied, and devices were found for evading statutory wages. In 1824 an act of Parliament removed the general prohibition of combinations and accorded to workingmen the right to bargain collectively. Three men were responsible for this noteworthy reform, each one a new type in British politics. The first was Francis Place, a tailor who had taken active part in various strikes. He was secretary of the London Corresponding Society, a powerful labor union, which in 1795 had twenty branches in London. Most of the officers of this organization were at one time or another arrested, and some were kept in prison three years without a trial. Place, schooled in such experience, became a radical politician of great influence, a friend of Bentham, Owen, and the elder Mill. The second type of new reformer was represented by Joseph Hume, a physician who had accumulated wealth in the India Service, who had returned home to enter public life, and who was converted from Toryism to Radicalism by a careful study of financial, political, and industrial problems. A great number of reform laws can be traced directly to his incredible activity during his thirty years in Parliament. The third leader was John R. McCulloch, an orthodox economist, a disciple of Adam Smith, for some years editor of The Scotsman, which was then a violently radical journal coöperating with the newly established Edinburgh Review in advocating sociological and political reforms. Thus Great Britain, the mother country from which Americans have inherited so many institutions, laws, and traditions, passed in turn through the periods of extreme paternalism, glorified competition, and governmental antagonism to labor combinations, into what may be called the age of conciliation. And today the Labour Party in the House of Commons has shown itself strong enough to impose its programme upon the Liberals and, through this radical coalition, has achieved a power for the working man greater than even Francis Place or Thomas Carlyle ever hoped for. CHAPTER II FORMATIVE YEARS America did not become a cisatlantic Britain, as some of the colonial adventurers had hoped. A wider destiny awaited her. Here were economic conditions which upset all notions of the fixity of class distinctions. Here was a continent of free land, luring the disaffected or disappointed artisan and enabling him to achieve economic independence. Hither streamed ceaselessly hordes of immigrants from Europe, constantly shifting the social equilibrium. Here the demand for labor was constant, except during the rare intervals of financial stagnation, and here the door of opportunity swung wide to the energetic and able artisan. The records of American industry are replete with names of prominent leaders who began at the apprentice's bench. The old class distinctions brought from the home country, however, had survived for many years in the primeval forests of Virginia and Maryland and even among the hills of New England. Indeed, until the Revolution and for some time thereafter, a man's clothes were the badge of his calling. The gentleman wore powdered queue and ruffled shirt; the workman, coarse buckskin breeches, ponderous shoes with brass buckles, and usually a leather apron, well greased to keep it pliable. Just before the Revolution the lot of the common laborer was not an enviable one. His house was rude and barren of comforts; his fare was coarse and without variety. His wage was two shillings a day, and prison--usually an indescribably filthy hole--awaited him the moment he ran into debt. The artisan fared somewhat better. He had spent, as a rule, seven years learning his trade, and his skill and energy demanded and generally received a reasonable return. The account books that have come down to us from colonial days show that his handiwork earned him a fair living. This, however, was before machinery had made inroads upon the product of cabinetmaker, tailor, shoemaker, locksmith, and silversmith, and when the main street of every village was picturesque with the signs of the crafts that maintained the decent independence of the community. Such labor organizations as existed before the Revolution were limited to the skilled trades. In 1648 the coopers and the shoemakers of Boston were granted permission to organize guilds, which embraced both master and journeyman, and there were a few similar organizations in New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. But these were not unions like those of today. "There are," says Richard T. Ely, "no traces of anything like a modern trades union in the colonial period of American history, and it is evident on reflection that there was little need, if any, of organization on the part of labor, at that time." ¹ ¹ The Labor Movement in America, by Richard T. Ely (1905), p. 36. A new epoch for labor came in with the Revolution. Within a decade wages rose fifty per cent, and John Jay in 1784 writes of the "wages of mechanics and laborers" as "very extravagant." Though the industries were small and depended on a local market within a circumscribed area of communication, they grew rapidly. The period following the Revolution is marked by considerable industrial restiveness and by the formation of many labor organizations, which were, however, benevolent or friendly societies rather than unions and were often incorporated by an act of the legislature. In New York, between 1800 and 1810, twenty-four such societies were incorporated. Only in the larger cities were they composed of artisans of one trade, such as the New York Masons Society (1807) or the New York Society of Journeymen Shipwrights (1807). Elsewhere they included artisans of many trades, such as the Albany Mechanical Society (1801). In Philadelphia the cordwainers, printers, and hatters had societies. In Baltimore the tailors were the first to organize, and they conducted in 1795 one of the first strikes in America. Ten years later they struck again, and succeeded in raising their pay from seven shillings sixpence the job to eight shillings ninepence and "extras." At the same time the pay of unskilled labor was rising rapidly, for workers were scarce owing to the call of the merchant marine in those years of the rising splendor of the American sailing ship, and the lure of western lands. The wages of common laborers rose to a dollar and more a day. There occurred in 1805 an important strike of the Philadelphia cordwainers. Theirs was one of the oldest labor organizations in the country, and it had conducted several successful strikes. This particular occasion, however, is significant, because the strikers were tried for conspiracy in the mayor's court, with the result that they were found guilty and fined eight dollars each, with costs. As the court permitted both sides to tell their story in detail, a full report of the proceedings survives to give us, as it were, a photograph of the labor conditions of that time. The trial kindled a great deal of local animosity. A newspaper called the Aurora contained inflammatory accounts of the proceedings, and a pamphlet giving the records of the court was widely circulated. This pamphlet bore the significant legend, "It is better that the law be known and certain, than that it be right," and was dedicated to the Governor and General Assembly "with the hope of attracting their particular attention, at the next meeting of the legislature." Another early instance of a strike occurred in New York City in 1809, when the cordwainers struck for higher wages and were hauled before the mayor's court on the charge of conspiracy. The trial was postponed by Mayor DeWitt Clinton until after the pending municipal elections to avoid the risk of offending either side. When at length the strikers were brought to trial, the court-house was crowded with spectators, showing how keen was the public interest in the case. The jury's verdict of "guilty," and the imposition of a fine of one dollar each and costs upon the defendants served but as a stimulus to the friends of the strikers to gather in a great mass meeting and protest against the verdict and the law that made it possible. In 1821 the New York Typographical Society, which had been organized four years earlier by Peter Force, a labor leader of unusual energy, set a precedent for the vigorous and fearless career of its modern successor by calling a strike in the printing office of Thurlow Weed, the powerful politician, himself a member of the society, because he employed a "rat," as a nonunion worker was called. It should be noted, however, that the organizations of this early period were of a loose structure and scarcely comparable to the labor unions of today. Sidney Smith, the brilliant contributor to the Edinburgh Review, propounded in 1820 certain questions which sum up the general conditions of American industry and art after nearly a half century of independence: "In the four quarters of the globe," he asked, "who reads an American book? or goes to an American play? or looks at an American picture or statue? What does the world yet owe to American physicians or surgeons? What new substances have their chemists discovered? or what old ones have they analyzed? What new constellations have been discovered by the telescopes of Americans? What have they done in mathematics? Who drinks out of American glasses? or eats from American plates? or wears American coats or gowns? or sleeps in American blankets?" These questions, which were quite pertinent, though conceived in an impertinent spirit, were being answered in America even while the witty Englishman was framing them. The water power of New England was being harnessed to cotton mills, woolen mills, and tanneries. Massachusetts in 1820 reported one hundred and sixty-one factories. New York had begun that marvelous growth which made the city, in the course of a few decades, the financial capital of a hemisphere. So rapidly were people flocking to New York, that houses had tenants long before they had windows and doors, and streets were lined with buildings before they had sewers, sidewalks, or pavements. New Jersey had well under way those manufactories of glassware, porcelains, carpets, and textiles which have since brought her great prosperity. Philadelphia was the country's greatest weaving center, boasting four thousand craftsmen engaged in that industry. Even on the frontier, Pittsburgh and Cincinnati were emerging from "settlements" into manufacturing towns of importance. McMaster concludes his graphic summary of these years as follows: "In 1820 it was estimated that 200,000 persons and a capital of $75,000,000 were employed in manufacturing. In 1825 the capital used had been expanded to $160,000,000 and the number of workers to 2,000,000." ¹ ¹ History of the People of the United States (1901), vol. V, p. 230. The Industrial Revolution had set in. These new millions who hastened to answer the call of industry in the new land were largely composed of the poor of other lands. Thousands of them were paupers when they landed in America, their passage having been paid by those at home who wanted to get rid of them. Vast numbers settled down in the cities, in spite of the lure of the land. It was at this period that universal manhood suffrage was written into the constitutions of the older States, and a new electorate assumed the reins of power. Now the first labor representatives were sent to the legislatures and to Congress, and the older parties began eagerly bidding for the votes of the humble. The decision of great questions fell to this new electorate. With the rise of industry came the demand for a protective tariff and for better transportation. State governments vied with each other, in thoughtless haste, in lending their credit to new turnpike and canal construction. And above all political issues loomed the Bank, the monopoly that became the laborer's bugaboo and Andrew Jackson's opportunity to rally to his side the newly enfranchised mechanics. So the old days of semi-colonial composure were succeeded by the thrilling experiences that a new industrial prosperity thrusts upon a really democratic electorate. Little wonder that the labor union movement took the political by-path, seeking salvation in the promise of the politician and in the panacea of fatuous laws. Now there were to be discerned the beginnings of class solidarity among the working people. But the individual's chances to improve his situation were still very great and opportunity was still a golden word. The harsh facts of the hour, however, soon began to call for united action. The cities were expanding with such eager haste that proper housing conditions were overlooked. Workingmen were obliged to live in wretched structures. Moreover, human beings were still levied on for debt and imprisoned for default of payment. Children of less than sixteen years of age were working twelve or more hours a day, and if they received an education at all, it was usually in schools charitably called "ragged schools" or "poor schools," or "pauper schools." There was no adequate redress for the mechanic if his wages were in default, for lien laws had not yet found their way into the statute books. Militia service was oppressive, permitting only the rich to buy exemption. It was still considered an unlawful conspiracy to act in unison for an increase in pay or a lessening of working hours. By 1840 the pay of unskilled labor had dropped to about seventy-five cents a day in the overcrowded cities, and in the winter, in either city or country, many unskilled workers were glad to work for merely their board. The lot of women workers was especially pitiful. A seamstress by hard toil, working fifteen hours a day might stitch enough shirts to earn from seventy-two cents to a dollar and twelve cents a week. Skilled labor, while faring better in wages, shared with the unskilled in the universal working day which lasted from sun to sun. Such in brief were the conditions that brought home to the laboring masses that homogeneous consciousness which alone makes a group powerful in a democracy. The movement can most clearly be discerned in the cities. Philadelphia claims precedence as the home of the first Trades' Union. The master cordwainers had organized a society in 1792, and their journeymen had followed suit two years later. The experiences and vicissitudes of these shoemakers furnished a useful lesson to other tradesmen, many of whom were organized into unions. But they were isolated organizations, each one fighting its own battles. In 1827 the Mechanics' Union of Trade Associations was formed. Of its significance John R. Commons says: England is considered the home of trade-unionism, but the distinction belongs to Philadelphia. . . . The first trades' union in England was that of Manchester, organized in 1829, although there seems to have been an attempt to organize one in 1824. But the first one in America was the "Mechanics' Union of Trade Associations," organized in Philadelphia in 1827, two years earlier. The name came from Manchester, but the thing from Philadelphia. Neither union lasted long. The Manchester union lived two years, and the Philadelphia union one year. But the Manchester union died and the Philadelphia union metamorphosed into politics. Here again Philadelphia was the pioneer, for it called into being the first labor party. Not only this, but through the Mechanics' Union Philadelphia started probably the first wage-earners' paper ever published--the Mechanics Free Press--antedating, in January, 1828, the first similar journal in England by two years. ¹ ¹ Labor Organization and Labor Politics, 1827-37; in the Quarterly Journal of Economics, February, 1907. The union had its inception in the first general building strike called in America. In the summer of 1827 the carpenters struck for a ten-hour day. They were soon joined by the bricklayers, painters, and glaziers, and members of other trades. But the strike failed of its immediate object. A second effort to combine the various trades into one organization was made in 1833, when the Trades' Union of the City and County of Philadelphia, was formed. Three years later this union embraced some fifty societies with over ten thousand members. In June, 1835, this organization undertook what was probably the first successful general strike in America. It began among the cordwainers, spread to the workers in the building trades, and was presently joined in by cigarmakers, carters, saddlers and harness makers, smiths, plumbers, bakers, printers, and even by the unskilled workers on the docks. The strikers' demand for a ten-hour day received a great deal of support from the influential men in the community. After a mass meeting of citizens had adopted resolutions endorsing the demands of the union, the city council agreed to a ten-hour day for all municipal employees. In 1833 the carpenters of New York City struck for an increase in wages. They were receiving a dollar thirty-seven and a half cents a day; they asked for a dollar and a half. They obtained the support of other workers, notably the tailors, printers, brushmakers, tobacconists, and masons, and succeeded in winning their strike in one month. The printers, who have always been alert and active in New York City, elated by the success of this coördinate effort, sent out a circular calling for a general convention of all the trades societies of the city. After a preliminary meeting in July, a mass meeting was held in December, at which there were present about four thousand persons representing twenty-one societies. The outcome of the meeting was the organization of the General Trades' Union of New York City. It happened in the following year that Ely Moore of the Typographical Association and the first president of the new union, a powerful orator and a sagacious organizer, was elected to Congress on the Jackson ticket. He was backed by Tammany Hall, always on the alert for winners, and was supported by the mechanics, artisans, and workingmen. He was the first man to take his seat in Washington as the avowed representative of labor. The movement for a ten-hour day was now in full swing, and the years 1834-7 were full of strikes. The most spectacular of these struggles was the strike of the tailors of New York in 1836, in the course of which twenty strikers were arrested for conspiracy. After a spirited trial attended by throngs of spectators, the men were found guilty by a jury which took only thirty minutes for deliberation. The strikers were fined $50 each, except the president of the society, who was fined $150. After the trial there was held a mass meeting which was attended, according to the Evening Post, by twenty-seven thousand persons. Resolutions were passed declaring that "to all acts of tyranny and injustice, resistance is just and therefore necessary," and "that the construction given to the law in the case of the journeymen tailors is not only ridiculous and weak in practice but unjust in principle and subversive of the rights and liberties of American citizens." The town was placarded with "coffin" handbills, a practice not uncommon in those days. Enclosed in a device representing a coffin were these words: The Rich Against the Poor! Twenty of your brethren have been found guilty for presuming to resist a reduction in their wages! . . . Judge Edwards has charged . . . the Rich are the only judges of the wants of the poor. On Monday, June 6, 1836, the Freemen are to receive their sentence, to gratify the hellish appetites of aristocracy! . . . Go! Go! Go! Every Freeman, every Workingman, and hear the melancholy sound of the earth on the Coffin of Equality. Let the Court Room, the City-hall--yea, the whole Park, be filled with mourners! But remember, offer no violence to Judge Edwards! Bend meekly and receive the chains wherewith you are to be bound! Keep the peace! Above all things, keep the peace! The Evening Post concludes a long account of the affair by calling attention to the fact that the Trades Union was not composed of "only foreigners." "It is a low calculation when we estimate that two-thirds of the workingmen of the city, numbering several thousand persons, belong to it," and that "it is controlled and supported by the great majority of our native born." The Boston Trades Union was organized in 1834 and started out with a great labor parade on the Fourth of July, followed by a dinner served to a thousand persons in Faneuil Hall. This union was formed primarily to fight for the ten-hour day, and the leading crusaders were the house carpenters, the ship carpenters, and the masons. Similar unions presently sprang up in other cities, including Baltimore, Albany, Troy, Washington, Newark, Schenectady, New Brunswick, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and St. Louis. By 1835 all the larger centers of industry were familiar with the idea, and most of them with the practice, of the trades organizations of a community uniting for action. The local unions were not unmindful of the need for wider action, either through a national union of all the organizations of a single trade, or through a union of all the different trades unions. Both courses of action were attempted. In 1834 the National Trades Union came into being and from that date held annual national conventions of all the trades until the panic of 1837 obliterated the movement. When the first convention was called, it was estimated that there were some 26,250 members of trades unions then in the United States. Of these 11,500 were in New York and its vicinity, 6000 in Philadelphia, 4000 in Boston, and 3500 in Baltimore. Meanwhile a movement was under way to federate the unions of a single trade. In 1835 the cordwainers attending the National Trades Union formed a preliminary organization and called a national cordwainers' convention. This met in New York in March, 1836, and included forty-five delegates from New York, New Jersey, Delaware, and Connecticut. In the fall of 1836 the comb-makers, the carpenters, the hand-loom weavers, and the printers likewise organized separate national unions or alliances, and several other trades made tentative efforts by correspondence to organize themselves in the same manner. Before the dire year of 1837, there are, then, to be found the beginnings of most of the elements of modern labor organizations--benevolent societies and militant orders; political activities and trades activities; amalgamations of local societies of the same trades and of all trades; attempts at national organization on the part of both the local trades unions and of the local trade unions; a labor press to keep alive the interest of the workman; mass meetings, circulars, conventions, and appeals to arouse the interest of the public in the issues of the hour. The persistent demand of the workingmen was for a ten-hour day. Harriet Martineau, who traveled extensively through the United States, remarked that all the strikes she heard of were on the question of hours, not wages. But there were nevertheless abundant strikes either to raise wages or to maintain them. There were, also, other fundamental questions in controversy which could not be settled by strikes, such as imprisonment for debt, lien and exemption and homestead laws, convict labor and slave labor, and universal education. Most of these issues have since that time been decided in favor of labor, and a new series of demands takes their place today. Yet as one reads the records of the early conspiracy cases or thumbs through the files of old periodicals, he learns that there is indeed nothing new under the sun and that, while perhaps the particular issues have changed, the general methods and the spirit of the contest remain the same. The laborer believed then, as he does now, that his organization must be all-embracing. In those days also there were "scabs," often called "rats" or "dung." Places under ban were systematically picketed, and warnings like the following were sent out: "We would caution all strangers and others who profess the art of horseshoeing, that if they go to work for any employer under the above prices, they must abide by the consequences." Usually the consequences were a fine imposed by the union, but sometimes they were more severe. Coercion by the union did not cease with the strike. Journeymen who were not members were pursued with assiduity and energy as soon as they entered a town and found work. The boycott was a method early used against prison labor. New York stonecutters agreed that they would not "either collectively or individually purchase any goods manufactured" by convicts and that they would not "countenance" any merchants who dealt in them; and employers who incurred the displeasure of organized labor were "nullified." The use of the militia during strikes presented the same difficulties then as now. During the general strike in Philadelphia in 1835 there was considerable rowdyism, and Michel Chevalier, a keen observer of American life, wrote that "the militia looks on; the sheriff stands with folded hands." Nor was there any difference in the attitude of the laboring man towards unfavorable court decisions. In the tailors' strike in New York in 1836, for instance, twenty-seven thousand sympathizers assembled with bands and banners to protest against the jury's verdict, and after sentence had been imposed upon the defendants, the lusty throng burned the judge in effigy. Sabotage is a new word, but the practice itself is old. In 1835 the striking cabinet-makers in New York smashed thousands of dollars' worth of chairs, tables, and sofas that had been imported from France, and the newspapers observed the significant fact that the destroyers boasted in a foreign language that only American-made furniture should be sold in America. Houses were burned in Philadelphia because the contractors erecting them refused to grant the wages that were demanded. Vengeance was sometimes sought against new machinery that displaced hand labor. In June, 1835, a New York paper remarked that "it is well known that many of the most obstinate turn-outs among workingmen and many of the most violent and lawless proceedings have been excited for the purpose of destroying newly invented machinery." Such acts of wantonness, however, were few, even in those first tumultuous days of the thirties. Striking became in those days a sort of mania, and not a town that had a mill or shop was exempt. Men struck for "grog or death," for "Liberty, Equality, and the Rights of Man," and even for the right to smoke their pipes at work. Strike benefits, too, were known in this early period. Strikers in New York received assistance from Philadelphia, and Boston strikers were similarly aided by both New York and Philadelphia. When the high cost of living threatened to deprive the wage-earner of half his income, bread riots occurred in the cities, and handbills circulated in New York bore the legend: Bread, Meat, Rent, Fuel Their Prices Must Come Down CHAPTER III TRANSITION YEARS With the panic of 1837 the mills were closed, thousands of unemployed workers were thrown upon private charity, and, in the long years of depression which followed, trade unionism suffered a temporary eclipse. It was a period of social unrest in which all sorts of philanthropic reforms were suggested and tried out. Measured by later events, it was a period of transition, of social awakening, of aspiration tempered by the bitter experience of failure. In the previous decade Robert Owen, the distinguished English social reformer and philanthropist, had visited America and had begun in 1826 his famous colony at New Harmony, Indiana. His experiments at New Lanark, in England, had already made him known to working people the world over. Whatever may be said of his quaint attempts to reduce society to a common denominator, it is certain that his arrival in America, at a time when people's minds were open to all sorts of economic suggestions, had a stimulating effect upon labor reforms and led, in the course of time, to the founding of some forty communistic colonies, most of them in New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. "We are all a little wild here with numberless projects of social reform," wrote Emerson to Thomas Carlyle; "not a reading man but has the draft of a new community in his waistcoat pocket." One of these experiments, at Red Bank, New Jersey, lasted for thirteen years, and another, in Wisconsin, for six years. But most of them after a year or two gave up the struggle. Of these failures, the best known is Brook Farm, an intellectual community founded in 1841 by George Ripley at West Roxbury, Massachusetts. Six years later the project was abandoned and is now remembered as an example of the futility of trying to leaven a world of realism by means of an atom of transcendental idealism. In a sense, however, Brook Farm typifies this period of transition. It was a time of vagaries and longings. People seemed to be conscious of the fact that a new social solidarity was dawning. It is not strange, therefore, that--while the railroads were feeling their way from town to town and across the prairies, while water-power and steam-power were multiplying man's productivity, indicating that the old days were gone forever--many curious dreams of a new order of things should be dreamed, nor that among them some should be ridiculous, some fantastic, and some unworthy, nor that, as the futility of a universal social reform forced itself upon the dreamers, they merged the greater in the lesser, the general in the particular, and sought an outlet in espousing some specific cause or attacking some particular evil. Those movements which had their inspiration in a genuine humanitarianism achieved great good. Now for the first time the blind, the deaf, the dumb, and the insane were made the object of social solicitude and communal care. The criminal, too, and the jail in which he was confined remained no longer utterly neglected. Men of the debtor class were freed from that medieval barbarism which gave the creditor the right to levy on the person of his debtor. Even the public schools were dragged out of their lethargy. When Horace Mann was appointed secretary of the newly created Massachusetts Board of Education in 1837, a new day dawned for American public schools. While these and other substantial improvements were under way, the charlatan and the faddist were not without their opportunities or their votaries. Spirit rappings beguiled or awed the villagers; thousands of religious zealots in 1844 abandoned their vocations and, drawing on white robes, awaited expectantly the second coming of Christ: every cult from free love to celibate austerity found zealous followers; the "new woman" declared her independence in short hair and bloomers; people sought social salvation in new health codes, in vegetarian boarding-houses, and in physical culture clubs; and some pursued the way to perfection through sensual religious exercises. In this seething milieu, this medley of practical humanitarianism and social fantasies, the labor movement was revived. In the forties, Thomas Mooney, an observant Irish traveler who had spent several years in the United States wrote as follows ¹: The average value of a common uneducated labourer is eighty cents a day. Of educated or mechanical labour, one hundred twenty-five and two hundred cents a day; of female labour forty cents a day. Against meat, flour, vegetables, and groceries at one-third less than they rate in Great Britain and Ireland; against clothing, house rent and fuel at about equal; against public taxes at about three-fourths less; and a certainty of employment, and a facility of acquiring homes and lands, and education for children, a hundred to one greater. The further you penetrate into the country, Patrick, the higher in general will you find the value of labour, and the cheaper the price of all kinds of living. . . . The food of the American farmer, mechanic or labourer is the best I believe enjoyed by any similar classes in the whole world. At every meal there is meat or fish or both; indeed I think the women, children, and sedentary classes eat too much meat for their own good health. ¹ Nine Years in America (1850), p. 22. This highly optimistic picture, written by a sanguine observer from the land of greatest agrarian oppression, must be shaded by contrasting details. The truck system of payment, prevalent in mining regions and many factory towns, reduced the actual wage by almost one-half. In the cities, unskilled immigrants had so overcrowded the common labor market that competition had reduced them to a pitiable state. Hours of labor were generally long in the factories. As a rule only the skilled artisan had achieved the ten-hour day, and then only in isolated instances. Woman's labor was the poorest paid, and her condition was the most neglected. A visitor to Lowell in 1846 thus describes the conditions in an average factory of that town: In Lowell live between seven and eight thousand young women, who are generally daughters of farmers of the different States of New England. Some of them are members of families that were rich the generation before. . . . The operatives work thirteen hours a day in the summer time, and from daylight to dark in the winter. At half-past four in the morning the factory bell rings and at five the girls must be in the mills. A clerk, placed as a watch, observes those who are a few minutes behind the time, and effectual means are taken to stimulate punctuality. . . . At seven the girls are allowed thirty minutes for breakfast, and at noon thirty minutes more for dinner, except during the first quarter of the year, when the time is extended to forty-five minutes. But within this time they must hurry to their boarding-houses and return to the factory. . . . At seven o'clock in the evening the factory bell sounds the close of the day's work. It was under these conditions that the coöperative movement had its brief day of experiment. As early as 1828 the workmen of Philadelphia and Cincinnati had begun coöperative stores. The Philadelphia group were "fully persuaded," according to their constitution, "that nothing short of an entire change in the present regulation of trade and commerce will ever be permanently beneficial to the productive part of the community." But their little shop survived competition for only a few months. The Cincinnati "Coöperative Magazine" was a sort of combination of store and shop, where various trades were taught, but it also soon disappeared. In 1845 the New England Workingmen's Association organized a protective union for the purpose of obtaining for its members "steady and profitable employment" and of saving the retailer's profit for the purchaser. This movement had a high moral flavor. "The dollar was to us of minor importance; humanitary and not mercenary were our motives," reported their committee on organization of industry. "We must proceed from combined stores to combined shops, from combined shops to combined homes, to joint ownership in God's earth, the foundation that our edifice must stand upon." In this ambitious spirit "they commenced business with a box of soap and half a chest of tea." In 1852 they had 167 branches, a capital of $241,712.66, and a business of nearly $2,000,000 a year. In the meantime similar coöperative movements began elsewhere. The tailors of Boston struck for higher wages in 1850 and, after fourteen weeks of futile struggle, decided that their salvation lay in coöperation rather than in trade unionism, which at best afforded only temporary relief. About seventy of them raised $700 as a coöperative nest egg and netted a profit of $510.60 the first year. In the same year the Philadelphia printers, disappointed at their failure to force a higher wage, organized a coöperative printing press. The movement spread to New York, where a strike of the tailors was in progress. The strikers were addressed at a great mass meeting by Albert Brisbane, an ardent disciple of Fourier, the French social economist, and were told that they must do away with servitude to capital. "What we want to know," said Brisbane, "is how to change, peacefully, the system of today. The first great principle is combination." Another meeting was addressed by a German, a follower of Karl Marx, who uttered in his native tongue these words that sound like a modern I. W. W. prophet: "Many of us have fought for liberty in the fatherland. We came here because we were opposed, and what have we gained? Nothing but misery, hunger, and treading down. But we are in a free country and it is our fault if we do not get our rights. . . . Let those who strike eat; the rest starve. Butchers and bakers must withhold supplies. Yes, they must all strike, and then the aristocrat will starve. We must have a revolution. We cannot submit any longer." The cry of "Revolution! Revolution!" was taken up by the throng. In the midst of this agitation a New York branch of the New England Protective Union was organized as an attempt at peaceful revolution by coöperation. The New York Protective Union went a step farther than the New England Union. Its members established their own shops and so became their own employers. And in many other cities striking workmen and eager reformers joined hands in modest endeavors to change the face of things. The revolutionary movements of Europe at this period were having a seismic effect upon American labor. But all these attempts of the workingmen to tourney a rough world with a needle were foredoomed to failure. Lacking the essential business experience and the ability to coöperate, they were soon undone, and after a few years little more was heard of coöperation. In the meantime another economic movement gained momentum under the leadership of George Henry Evans, who was a land reformer and may be called a precursor of Henry George. Evans inaugurated a campaign for free farms to entice to the land the unprosperous toilers of the city. In spite of the vast areas of the public domain still unoccupied, the cities were growing denser and larger and filthier by reason of the multitudes from Ireland and other countries who preferred to cast themselves into the eager maw of factory towns rather than go out as agrarian pioneers. To such Evans and other agrarian reformers made their appeal. For example, a handbill distributed everywhere in 1846 asked: Are you an American citizen? Then you are a joint owner of the public lands. Why not take enough of your property to provide yourself a home? Why not vote yourself a farm? Are you a party follower? Then you have long enough employed your vote to benefit scheming office seekers. Use it for once to benefit yourself: Vote yourself a farm. Are you tired of slavery--of drudging for others--of poverty and its attendant miseries? Then, vote yourself a farm. Would you free your country and the sons of toil everywhere from the heartless, irresponsible mastery of the aristocracy of avarice? . . . Then join with your neighbors to form a true American party . . . whose chief measures will be first to limit the quantity of land that any one may henceforth monopolize or inherit: and second to make the public lands free to actual settlers only, each having the right to sell his improvements to any man not possessed of other lands. "Vote yourself a farm" became a popular shibboleth and a part of the standard programme of organized labor. The donation of public lands to heads of families, on condition of occupancy and cultivation for a term of years, was proposed in bills repeatedly introduced in Congress. But the cry of opposition went up from the older States that they would be bled for the sake of the newer, that giving land to the landless was encouraging idleness and wantonness and spreading demoralization, and that Congress had no more power to give away land than it had to give away money. These arguments had their effect at the Capitol, and it was not until the new Republican party came into power pledged to "a complete and satisfactory homestead measure" that the Homestead Act of 1862 was placed on the statute books. A characteristic manifestation of the humanitarian impulse of the forties was the support given to labor in its renewed demand for a ten-hour day. It has already been indicated how this movement started in the thirties, how its object was achieved by a few highly organized trades, and how it was interrupted in its progress by the panic of 1837. The agitation, however, to make the ten-hour day customary throughout the country was not long in coming back to life. In March, 1840, an executive order of President Van Buren declaring ten hours to be the working day for laborers and mechanics in government employ forced the issue upon private employers. The earliest concerted action, it would seem, arose in New England, where the New England Workingmen's Association, later called the Labor Reform League, carried on the crusade. In 1845 a committee appointed by the Massachusetts Legislature to investigate labor conditions affords the first instance on record of an American legislature concerning itself with the affairs of the labor world to the extent of ordering an official investigation. The committee examined a number of factory operatives, both men and women, visited a few of the mills, gathered some statistics, and made certain neutral and specious suggestions. They believed the remedy for such evils as they discovered lay not in legislation but "in the progressive improvement in art and science, in a higher appreciation of man's destiny, in a less love for money, and a more ardent love for social happiness and intellectual superiority." The first ten-hour law was passed in 1847 by the New Hampshire Legislature. It provided that "ten hours of actual labor shall be taken to be a day's work, unless otherwise agreed to by the parties," and that no minor under fifteen years of age should be employed more than ten hours a day without the consent of parent or guardian. This was the unassuming beginning of a movement to have the hours of toil fixed by society rather than by contract. This law of New Hampshire, which was destined to have a widespread influence, was hailed by the workmen everywhere with delight; mass meetings and processions proclaimed it as a great victory; and only the conservatives prophesied the worthlessness of such legislation. Horace Greeley sympathetically dissected the bill. He had little faith, it is true, in legislative interference with private contracts. "But," he asks, "who can seriously doubt that it is the duty of the Commonwealth to see that the tender frames of its youth are not shattered by excessively protracted toil? . . . Will any one pretend that ten hours per day, especially at confining and monotonous avocations which tax at once the brain and the sinews are not quite enough for any child to labor statedly and steadily?" The consent of guardian or parent he thought a fraud against the child that could be averted only by the positive command of the State specifically limiting the hours of child labor. In the following year Pennsylvania enacted a law declaring ten hours a legal day in certain industries and forbidding children under twelve from working in cotton, woolen, silk, or flax mills. Children over fourteen, however, could, by special arrangement with parents or guardians, be compelled to work more than ten hours a day. "This act is very much of a humbug," commented Greeley, "but it will serve a good end. Those whom it was intended to put asleep will come back again before long, and, like Oliver Twist, 'want some more.'" The ten-hour movement had thus achieved social recognition. It had the staunch support of such men as Wendell Phillips, Edward Everett, Horace Greeley, and other distinguished publicists and philanthropists. Public opinion was becoming so strong that both the Whigs and Democrats in their party platforms declared themselves in favor of the ten-hour day. When, in the summer of 1847, the British Parliament passed a ten-hour law, American unions sent congratulatory messages to the British workmen. Gradually the various States followed the example of New Hampshire and Pennsylvania--New Jersey in 1851, Ohio in 1852, and Rhode Island in 1853--and the "ten-hour system" was legally established. But it was one thing to write a statute and another to enforce it. American laws were, after all, based upon the ancient Anglo-Saxon principle of private contract. A man could agree to work for as many hours as he chose, and each employer could drive his own bargain. The cotton mill owners of Allegheny City, for example, declared that they would be compelled to run their mills twelve hours a day. They would not, of course, employ children under twelve, although they felt deeply concerned for the widows who would thereby lose the wages of their children. But they must run on a twelve-hour schedule to meet competition from other States. So they attempted to make special contracts with each employee. The workmen objected to this and struck. Finally they compromised on a ten-hour day and a sixteen per cent reduction in wages. Such an arrangement became a common occurrence in the industrial world of the middle of the century. In the meantime the factory system was rapidly recruiting women workers, especially in the New England textile mills. Indeed, as early as 1825 "tailoresses" of New York and other cities had formed protective societies. In 1829 the mill girls of Dover, New Hampshire, caused a sensation by striking. Several hundred of them paraded the streets and, according to accounts, "fired off a lot of gunpowder." In 1836 the women workers in the Lowell factories struck for higher wages and later organized a Factory Girls' Association which included more than 2,500 members. It was aimed against the strict regimen of the boarding houses, which were owned and managed by the mills. "As our fathers resisted unto blood the lordly avarice of the British Ministry," cried the strikers, "so we, their daughters, never will wear the yoke which has been prepared for us." In this vibrant atmosphere was born the powerful woman's labor union, the Female Labor Reform Association, later called the Lowell Female Industrial Reform and Mutual Aid Society. Lowell became the center of a far-reaching propaganda characterized by energy and a definite conception of what was wanted. The women joined in strikes, carried banners, sent delegates to the labor conventions, and were zealous in propaganda. It was the women workers of Massachusetts who first forced the legislature to investigate labor conditions and who aroused public sentiment to a pitch that finally compelled the enactment of laws for the bettering of their conditions. When the mill owners in Massachusetts demanded in 1846 that their weavers tend four looms instead of three, the women promptly resolved that "we will not tend a fourth loom unless we receive the same pay per piece as on three. . . . This we most solemnly pledge ourselves to obtain." In New York, in 1845, the Female Industry Association was organized at a large meeting held in the court house. It included "tailoresses, plain and coarse sewing, shirt makers, book-folders and stickers, capmakers, straw-workers, dressmakers, crimpers, fringe and lacemakers," and other trades open to women "who were like oppressed." The New York Herald reported "about 700 females generally of the most interesting age and appearance" in attendance. The president of the meeting unfolded a pitiable condition of affairs. She mentioned several employers by name who paid only from ten to eighteen cents a day, and she stated that, after acquiring skill in some of the trades and by working twelve to fourteen hours a day, a woman might earn twenty-five cents a day! "How is it possible," she exclaimed, "that at such an income we can support ourselves decently and honestly?" So we come to the fifties, when the rapid rise in the cost of living due to the influx of gold from the newly discovered California mines created new economic conditions. By 1853, the cost of living had risen so high that the length of the working day was quite forgotten because of the utter inadequacy of the wage to meet the new altitude of prices. Hotels issued statements that they were compelled to raise their rates for board from a dollar and a half to two dollars a day. Newspapers raised their advertising rates. Drinks went up from six cents to ten and twelve and a half cents. In Baltimore, the men in the Baltimore and Ohio Railway shops struck. They were followed by all the conductors, brakemen, and locomotive engineers. Machinists employed in other shops soon joined them, and the city's industries were virtually paralyzed. In New York nearly every industry was stopped by strikes. In Philadelphia, Boston, Pittsburgh, in cities large and small, the striking workmen made their demands known. By this time thoughtful laborers had learned the futility of programmes that attempted to reform society. They had watched the birth and death of many experiments. They had participated in short-lived coöperative stores and shops; they had listened to Owen's alluring words and had seen his World Convention meet and adjourn; had witnessed national reform associations, leagues, and industrial congresses issue their high-pitched resolutions; and had united on legislative candidates. And yet the old world wagged on in the old way. Wages and hours and working conditions could be changed, they had learned, only by coercion. This coercion could be applied, in general reforms, only by society, by stress of public opinion. But in concrete cases, in their own personal environment, the coercion had to be first applied by themselves. They had learned the lesson of letting the world in general go its way while they attended to their own business. In the early fifties, then, a new species of union appears. It discards lofty phraseology and the attempt at world-reform and it becomes simply a trade union. It restricts its house-cleaning to its own shop, limits its demands to its trade, asks for a minimum wage and minimum hours, and lays out with considerable detail the conditions under which its members will work. The weapons in its arsenal are not new--the strike and the boycott. Now that he has learned to distinguish essentials, the new trade unionist can bargain with his employer, and as a result trade agreements stipulating hours, wages, and conditions, take the place of the desultory and ineffective settlements which had hitherto issued from labor disputes. But it was not without foreboding that this development was witnessed by the adherents of the status quo. According to a magazine writer of 1853: After prescribing the rate of remuneration many of the Trades' Unions go to enact laws for the government of the respective departments, to all of which the employer must assent. . . . The result even thus far is that there is found no limit to this species of encroachment. If workmen may dictate the hours and mode of service, and the number and description of hands to be employed, they may also regulate other items of the business with which their labor is connected. Thus we find that within a few days, in the city of New York, the longshoremen have taken by force from their several stations the horses and labor-saving gear used for delivering cargoes, it being part of their regulations not to allow of such competition. The gravitation towards common action was felt over a wide area during this period. Some trades met in national convention to lay down rules for their craft. One of the earliest national meetings was that of the carpet-weavers (1846) in New York City, when thirty-four delegates, representing over a thousand operatives, adopted rules and took steps to prevent a reduction in wages. The National Convention of Journeymen Printers met in 1850, and out of this emerged two years later an organization called the National Typographical Union, which ten years later still, on the admission of some Canadian unions, became the International Typographical Union of North America; and as such it flourishes today. In 1855 the Journeymen Stone Cutters' Association of North America was organized and in the following year the National Trade Association of Hat Finishers, the forerunner of the United Hatters of North America. In 1859 the Iron Molders' Union of North America began its aggressive career. The conception of a national trade unity was now well formed; compactly organized national and local trade unions with very definite industrial aims were soon to take the place of ephemeral, loose-jointed associations with vast and vague ambitions. Early in this period a new impetus was given to organized labor by the historic decision of Chief Justice Shaw of Massachusetts in a case ¹ brought against seven bootmakers charged with conspiracy. Their offense consisted in attempting to induce all the workmen of a given shop to join the union and compel the master to employ only union men. The trial court found them guilty; but the Chief Justice decided that he did not "perceive that it is criminal for men to agree together to exercise their own acknowledged rights in such a manner as best to subserve their own interests." In order to show criminal conspiracy, therefore, on the part of a labor union, it was necessary to prove that either the intent or the method was criminal, for it was not a criminal offense to combine for the purpose of raising wages or bettering conditions or seeking to have all laborers join the union. The liberalizing influence of this decision upon labor law can hardly be over-estimated. ¹ Commonwealth vs. Hunt. The period closed amidst general disturbances and forebodings, political and economic. In 1857 occurred a panic which thrust the problem of unemployment, on a vast scale, before the American consciousness. Instead of demanding higher wages, multitudes now cried for work. The marching masses, in New York, carried banners asking for bread, while soldiers from Governor's Island and marines from the Navy Yard guarded the Custom House and the Sub-Treasury. From Philadelphia to New Orleans, from Boston to Chicago, came the same story of banks failing, railroads in bankruptcy, factories closing, idle and hungry throngs moving restlessly through the streets. In New York 40,000, in Lawrence 3500, in Philadelphia 20,000, were estimated to be out of work. Labor learned anew that its prosperity was inalienably identified with the well-being of industry and commerce; and society learned that hunger and idleness are the golden opportunity of the demagogue and agitator. The word "socialism" now appears more and more frequently in the daily press and always a synonym of destruction or of something to be feared. No sooner had business revived than the great shadow of internal strife was cast over the land, and for the duration of the Civil War the peril of the nation absorbed all the energies of the people. CHAPTER IV AMALGAMATION After Appomattox, every one seemed bent on finding a short cut to opulence. To foreign observers, the United States was then simply a scrambling mass of selfish units, for there seemed to be among the American people no disinterested group to balance accounts between the competing elements--no leisure class, living on secured incomes, mellowed by generations of travel, education, and reflection; no bureaucracy arbitrarily guiding the details of governmental routine; no aristocracy, born umpires of the doings of their underlings. All the manifold currents of life seemed swallowed up in the commercial maelstrom. By the standards of what happened in this season of exuberance and intense materialism, the American people were hastily judged by critics who failed to see that the period was but the prelude to a maturer national life. It was a period of a remarkable industrial expansion. Then "plant" became a new word in the phraseology of the market place, denoting the enlarged factory or mill and suggesting the hardy perennial, each succeeding year putting forth new shoots from its side. The products of this seedtime are seen in the colossal industrial growths of today. Then it was that short railway lines began to be welded into "systems," that the railway builders began to strike out into the prairies and mountains of the West, and that partnerships began to be merged into corporations and corporations into trusts, ever reaching out for the greater markets. Meanwhile the inventive genius of America was responding to the call of the time. In 1877 Bell telephoned from Boston to Salem; two years later, Brush lighted by electricity the streets of San Francisco. In 1882 Edison was making incandescent electric lights for New York and operating his first electric car in Menlo Park, New Jersey. All these developments created a new demand for capital. Where formerly a manufacturer had made products to order or for a small number of known customers, now he made on speculation, for a great number of unknown customers, taking his risks in distant markets. Where formerly the banker had lent money on local security, now he gave credit to vast enterprises far away. New inventions or industrial processes brought on new speculations. This new demand for capital made necessary a new system of credits, which was erected at first, as the recurring panics disclosed, on sand, but gradually, through costly experience, on a more stable foundation. The economic and industrial development of the time demanded not only new money and credit but new men. A new type of executive was wanted, and he soon appeared to satisfy the need. Neither a capitalist nor a merchant, he combined in some degree the functions of both, added to them the greater function of industrial manager, and received from great business concerns a high premium for his talent and foresight. This Captain of Industry, as he has been called, is the foremost figure of the period, the hero of the industrial drama. But much of what is admirable in that generation of nation builders is obscured by the industrial anarchy which prevailed. Everybody was for himself--and the devil was busy harvesting the hindmost. There were "rate-wars," "cut-rate sales," secret intrigues, and rebates; and there were subterranean passages--some, indeed, scarcely under the surface--to council chambers, executive mansions, and Congress. There were extreme fluctuations of industry: prosperity was either at a very high level or depression at a very low one. Prosperity would bring on an expansion of credits, a rise in prices, higher cost of living, strikes and boycotts for higher wages; then depression would follow with the shutdown and that most distressing of social diseases, unemployment. During the panic of 1873-74 many thousands of men marched the streets crying earnestly for work. Between the panics, strikes became a part of the economic routine of the country. They were expected, just as pay days and legal holidays are expected. Now for the first time came strikes that can only be characterized as stupendous. They were not mere slight economic disturbances; they were veritable industrial earthquakes. In 1873 the coal miners of Pennsylvania, resenting the truck system and the miserable housing which the mine owners forced upon them, struck by the tens of thousands. In Illinois, Indiana, Missouri, Maryland, Ohio, and New York strikes occurred in all sorts of industries. There were the usual parades and banners, some appealing, some insulting, and all the while the militia guarded property. In July, 1877, the men of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad refused to submit to a fourth reduction in wages in seven years and struck. From Baltimore the resentment spread to Pennsylvania and culminated with riots in Pittsburgh. All the anthracite coal miners struck, followed by most of the bituminous miners of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. The militia were impotent to subdue the mobs; Federal troops had to be sent by President Hayes into many of the States; and a proclamation by the President commanded all citizens to keep the peace. Thus was Federal authority introduced to bolster up the administrative weakness of the States, and the first step was taken on the road to industrial nationalization. The turmoil had hardly subsided when, in 1880, new strikes broke out. In the long catalogue of the strikers of that year are found the ribbon weavers of Philadelphia, Paterson, and New York, the stablemen of New York, New Jersey, and San Francisco, the cotton yard workers of New Orleans, the cotton weavers of New England and New York, the stockyard employees of Chicago and Omaha, the potters of Green Point, Long Island, the puddlers of Johnstown and Columbia, Pennsylvania, the machinists of Buffalo, the tailors of New York, and the shoemakers of Indiana. The year 1882 was scarcely less restive. But 1886 is marked in labor annals as "the year of the great uprising," when twice as many strikes as in any previous year were reported by the United States Commissioner of Labor, and when these strikes reached a tragic climax in the Chicago Haymarket riots. It was during this feverish epoch that organized labor first entered the arena of national politics. When the policy as to the national currency became an issue, the lure of cheap money drew labor into an alliance in 1880 with the Greenbackers, whose mad cry added to the general unrest. In this, as in other fatuous pursuits, labor was only responding to the forces and the spirit of the hour. These have been called the years of amalgamation, but they were also the years of tumult, for, while amalgamation was achieved, discipline was not. Authority imposed from within was not sufficient to overcome the decentralizing forces, and just as big business had yet to learn by self-imposed discipline how to overcome the extremely individualistic tendencies which resulted in trade anarchy, so labor had yet to learn through discipline the lessons of self-restraint. Moreover, in the sudden expansion and great enterprises of these days, labor even more than capital lost in stability. One great steadying influence, the old personal relation between master and servant, which prevailed during the days of handicraft and even of the small factory, had disappeared almost completely. Now labor was put up on the market--a heartless term descriptive of a condition from which human beings might be expected to react violently--and they did, for human nature refused to be an inert, marketable thing. The labor market must expand with the trader's market. In 1860 there were about one and a third million wage-earners in the United States; in 1870 well over two million; in 1880 nearly two and three-quarters million; and in 1890 over four and a quarter million. The city sucked them in from the country; but by far the larger augmentation came from Europe; and the immigrant, normally optimistic, often untaught, sometimes sullen and filled with a destructive resentment, and always accustomed to low standards of living, added to the armies of labor his vast and complex bulk. There were two paramount issues--wages and the hours of labor--to which all other issues were and always have been secondary. Wages tend constantly to become inadequate when the standard of living is steadily rising, and they consequently require periodical readjustment. Hours of labor, of course, are not subject in the same degree to external conditions. But the tendency has always been toward a shorter day. In a previous chapter, the inception of the ten-hour movement was outlined. Presently there began the eight-hour movement. As early as 1842 the carpenters and caulkers of the Charleston Navy Yard achieved an eight-hour day; but 1863 may more properly be taken as the beginning of the movement. In this year societies were organized in Boston and its vicinity for the precise purpose of winning the eight-hour day, and soon afterwards a national Eight-Hour League was established with local leagues extending from New England to San Francisco and New Orleans. This movement received an intelligible philosophy, and so a new vitality, from Ira Steward, a member of the Boston Machinists' and Blacksmiths' Union. Writing as a workingman for workingmen, Steward found in the standard of living the true reason for a shorter workday. With beautiful simplicity he pointed out to the laboring man that the shorter period of labor would not mean smaller pay, and to the employer that it would not mean a diminished output. On the contrary, it would be mutually beneficial, for the unwearied workman could produce as much in the shorter day as the wearied workman in the longer. "As long," Steward wrote, "as tired human hands do most of the world's hard work, the sentimental pretense of honoring and respecting the horny-handed toiler is as false and absurd as the idea that a solid foundation for a house can be made out of soap bubbles." In 1865 Steward's pamphlet, A Reduction of Hours and Increase of Wages, was widely circulated by the Boston Labor Reform Association. It emphasized the value of leisure and its beneficial reflex effect upon both production and consumption. Gradually these well reasoned and conservatively expressed doctrines found champions such as Wendell Phillips, Henry Ward Beecher, and Horace Greeley to give them wider publicity and to impress them upon the public consciousness. In 1867 Illinois, Missouri, and New York passed eight-hour laws and Wisconsin declared eight hours a day's work for women and children. In 1868 Congress established an eight-hour day for public work. These were promising signs, though the battle was still far from being won. The eight-hour day has at last received "the sanction of society"--to use the words of President Wilson in his message to Congress in 1916, when he called for action to avert a great railway strike. But to win that sanction required over half a century of popular agitation, discussion, and economic and political evolution. Such, in brief, were the general business conditions of the country and the issues which engaged the energies of labor reformers during the period following the Civil War. Meanwhile great changes were made in labor organizations. Many of the old unions were reorganized, and numerous local amalgamations took place. Most of the organizations now took the form of secret societies whose initiations were marked with naïve formalism and whose routines were directed by a group of officers with royal titles and fortified by signs, passwords, and ritual. Some of these orders decorated the faithful with high-sounding degrees. The societies adopted fantastic names such as "The Supreme Mechanical Order of the Sun," "The Knights of St. Crispin," and "The Noble Order of the Knights of Labor," of which more presently. Meanwhile, too, there was a growing desire to unify the workers of the country by some sort of national organization. The outcome was a notable Labor Congress held at Baltimore in August, 1866, which included all kinds of labor organizations and was attended by seventy-seven delegates from thirteen States. In the light of subsequent events its resolutions now seem conservative and constructive. This Congress believed that, "all reforms in the labor movement can only be effected by an intelligent, systematic effort of the industrial classes . . . through the trades organizations." Of strikes it declared that "they have been injudicious and ill-advised, the result of impulse rather than principle, . . . and we would therefore discountenance them except as a dernier ressort, and when all means for an amicable and honorable adjustment has been abandoned." It issued a cautious and carefully phrased Address to the Workmen throughout the Country, urging them to organize and assuring them that "the first thing to be accomplished before we can hope for any great results is the thorough organization of all the departments of labor." The National Labor Union which resulted from this convention held seven Annual Congresses, and its proceedings show a statesmanlike conservatism and avoid extreme radicalism. This organization, which at its high tide represented a membership of 640,000, in its brief existence was influential in three important matters: first, it pointed the way to national amalgamation and was thus a forerunner of more lasting efforts in this direction; secondly, it had a powerful influence in the eight-hour movement; and, thirdly, it was largely instrumental in establishing labor bureaus and in gathering statistics for the scientific study of labor questions. But the National Labor Union unfortunately went into politics; and politics proved its undoing. Upon affiliating with the Labor Reform party it dwindled rapidly, and after 1871 it disappeared entirely. One of the typical organizations of the time was the Order of the Knights of St. Crispin, so named after the patron saint of the shoemakers, and accessible only to members of that craft. It was first conceived in 1864 by Newell Daniels, a shoemaker in Milford, Massachusetts, but no organization was effected until 1867, when the founder had moved to Milwaukee. The ritual and constitution he had prepared was accepted then by a group of seven shoemakers, and in four years this insignificant mustard seed had grown into a great tree. The story is told by Frank K. Foster, ¹ who says, speaking of the order in 1868: "It made and unmade politicians; it established a monthly journal; it started coöperative stores; it fought, often successfully, against threatened reductions of wages . . .; it became the undoubted foremost trade organization of the world." But within five years the order was rent by factionalism and in 1878 was acknowledged to be dead. It perished from various causes--partly because it failed to assimilate or imbue with its doctrines the thousands of workmen who subscribed to its rules and ritual, partly because of the jealousy and treachery which is the fruitage of sudden prosperity, partly because of failure to fulfill the fervent hopes of thousands who joined it as a prelude to the industrial millennium; but especially it failed to endure because it was founded on an economic principle which could not be imposed upon society. The rule which embraced this principle reads as follows: "No member of this Order shall teach, or aid in teaching, any fact or facts of boot or shoemaking, unless the lodge shall give permission by a three-fourths vote . . . provided that this article shall not be so construed as to prevent a father from teaching his own son. Provided also, that this article shall not be so construed as to hinder any member of this organization from learning any or all parts of the trade." The medieval craft guild could not so easily be revived in these days of rapid changes, when a new stitching machine replaced in a day a hundred workmen. And so the Knights of St. Crispin fell a victim to their own greed. ¹ The Labor Movement, the Problem of Today, edited by George E. McNeill, Chapter VIII. The Noble Order of the Knights of Labor, another of those societies of workingmen, was organized in November, 1869, by Uriah S. Stephens, a Philadelphia garment cutter, with the assistance of six fellow craftsmen. It has been said of Stephens that he was "a man of great force of character, a skilled mechanic, with the love of books which enabled him to pursue his studies during his apprenticeship, and feeling withal a strong affection for secret organizations, having been for many years connected with the Masonic Order." He was to have been educated for the ministry but, owing to financial reverses in his family, was obliged instead to learn a trade. Later he taught school for a few years, traveled extensively in the West Indies, South America, and California, and became an accomplished public speaker and a diligent observer of social conditions. Stephens and his six associates had witnessed the dissolution of the local garment cutters' union. They resolved that the new society should not be limited by the lines of their own trade but should embrace "all branches of honorable toil." Subsequently a rule was adopted stipulating that at least three-fourths of the membership of lodges must be wage-earners eighteen years of age. Moreover, "no one who either sells or makes a living, or any part of it, by the sale of intoxicating drinks either as manufacturer, dealer, or agent, or through any member of his family, can be admitted to membership in this order; and no lawyer, banker, professional gambler, or stock broker can be admitted." They chose their motto from Solon, the wisest of lawgivers: "That is the most perfect government in which an injury to one is the concern of all"; and they took their preamble from Burke, the most philosophical of statesmen: "When bad men combine, the good must associate, else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle." The order was a secret society and for years kept its name from the public. It was generally known as the "Five Stars," because of the five asterisks that represented its name in all public notices. While mysterious initials and secret ceremonies gratified the members, they aroused a corresponding antagonism, even fear, among the public, especially as the order grew to giant size. What were the potencies of a secret organization that had only to post a few mysterious words and symbols to gather hundreds of workingmen in their halls? And what plottings went on behind those locked and guarded doors? To allay public hostility secrecy was gradually removed and in 1881 was entirely abolished--not, however, without serious opposition from the older members. The atmosphere of high idealism in which the order had been conceived continued to be fostered by Stephens, its founder and its first Grand Master Workman. He extolled justice, discountenanced violence, and pleaded for "the mutual development and moral elevation of mankind." His exhortations were free from that narrow class antagonism which frequently characterizes the utterances of labor. One of his associates, too, invoked the spirit of chivalry, of true knighthood, when he said that the old trade union had failed because "it had failed to recognize the rights of man and looked only to the rights of tradesmen," that the labor movement needed "something that will develop more of charity, less of selfishness, more of generosity, less of stinginess and nearness, than the average society has yet disclosed to its members." Nor were these ideas and principles betrayed by Stephens's successor, Terence V. Powderly, who became Grand Master in 1879 and served during the years when the order attained its greatest power. Powderly, also, was a conservative idealist. His career may be regarded as a good example of the rise of many an American labor leader. He had been a poor boy. At thirteen he began work as a switchtender; at seventeen he was apprenticed as machinist; at nineteen he was active in a machinists' and blacksmiths' union. After working at his trade in various places, he at length settled in Scranton, Pennsylvania, and became one of the organizers of the Greenback Labor party. He was twice elected mayor of Scranton, and might have been elected for a third term had he not declined to serve, preferring to devote all his time to the society of which he was Grand Master. The obligations laid upon every member of the Knights of Labor were impressive: Labor is noble and holy. To defend it from degradation; to divest it of the evils to body, mind and estate which ignorance and greed have imposed; to rescue the toiler from the grasp of the selfish--is a work worthy of the noblest and best of our race. In all the multifarious branches of trade capital has its combinations; and, whether intended or not, it crushes the manly hopes of labor and tramples poor humanity in the dust. We mean no conflict with legitimate enterprise, no antagonism to necessary capital; but men in their haste and greed, blinded by self-interests, overlook the interests of others and sometimes violate the rights of those they deem helpless. We mean to uphold the dignity of labor, to affirm the nobility of all who earn their bread by the sweat of their brows. We mean to create a healthy public opinion on the subject of labor (the only creator of values or capital) and the justice of its receiving a full, just share of the values or capital it has created. We shall, with all our strength, support laws made to harmonize the interests of labor and capital, for labor alone gives life and value to capital, and also those laws which tend to lighten the exhaustiveness of toil. To pause in his toil, to devote himself to his own interests, to gather a knowledge of the world's commerce, to unite, combine and coöperate in the great army of peace and industry, to nourish and cherish, build and develop the temple he lives in is the highest and noblest duty of man to himself, to his fellow men and to his Creator. The phenomenal growth and collapse of the Knights of Labor is one of the outstanding events in American economic history. The membership in 1869 consisted of eleven tailors. This small beginning grew into the famous Assembly No. 1. Soon the ship carpenters wanted to join, and Assembly No. 2 was organized. The shawl-weavers formed another assembly, the carpet-weavers another, and so on, until over twenty assemblies, covering almost every trade, had been organized in Philadelphia alone. By 1875 there were eighty assemblies in the city and its vicinity. As the number of lodges multiplied, it became necessary to establish a common agency or authority, and a Committee on the Good of the Order was constituted to represent all the local units, but this committee was soon superseded by a delegate body known as the District Assembly. As the movement spread from city to city and from State to State, a General Assembly was created in 1878 to hold annual conventions and to be the supreme authority of the order. In 1883 the membership of the order was 52,000; within three years, it had mounted to over 700,000; and at the climax of its career the society boasted over 1,000,000 workmen in the United States and Canada who had vowed fealty to its knighthood. It is not to be imagined that every member of this vast horde so suddenly brought together understood the obligations of the workman's chivalry. The selfish and the lawless rushed in with the prudent and sincere. But a resolution of the executive board to stop the initiation of new members came too late. The undesirable and radical element in many communities gained control of local assemblies, and the conservatism and intelligence of the national leaders became merely a shield for the rowdy and the ignorant who brought the entire order into popular disfavor. The crisis came in 1886. In the early months of this turbulent year there were nearly five hundred labor disputes, most of them involving an advance in wages. An epidemic of strikes then spread over the country, many of them actually conducted by the Knights of Labor and all of them associated in the public mind with that order. One of the most important of these occurred on the Southwestern Railroad. In the preceding year, the Knights had increased their lodges in St. Louis from five to thirty, and these were under the domination of a coarse and ruthless district leader. When in February, 1886, a mechanic, working in the shops of the Texas and Pacific Railroad at Marshall, Texas, was discharged for cause and the road refused to reinstate him, a strike ensued which spread over the entire six thousand miles of the Gould system; and St. Louis became the center of the tumult. After nearly two months of violence, the outbreak ended in the complete collapse of the strikers. This result was doubly damaging to the Knights of Labor, for they had officially taken charge of the strike and were censured on the one hand for their conduct of the struggle and on the other for the defeat which they had sustained. In the same year, against the earnest advice of the national leaders of the Knights of Labor, the employees of the Third Avenue Railway in New York began a strike which lasted many months and which was characterized by such violence that policemen were detailed to guard every car leaving the barns. In Chicago the freight handlers struck, and some 60,000 workmen stopped work in sympathy. On the 3d of May, at the McCormick Harvester Works, several strikers were wounded in a tussle with the police. On the following day a mass meeting held in Haymarket Square, Chicago, was harangued by a number of anarchists. When the police attempted to disperse the mob, guns were fired at the officers of the law and a bomb was hurled into their throng, killing seven and wounding sixty. For this crime seven anarchists were indicted, found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged. The Knights of Labor passed resolutions asking clemency for these murderers and thereby grossly offended public opinion, and that at a time when public opinion was frightened by these outrages, angered by the disclosures of brazen plotting, and upset by the sudden consciousness that the immunity of the United States from the red terror of Europe was at an end. Powderly and the more conservative national officers who were opposed to these radical machinations were strong enough in the Grand Lodge in the following year to suppress a vote of sympathy for the condemned anarchists. The radicals thereupon seceded from the organization. This outcome, however, did not restore the order to the confidence of the public, and its strength now rapidly declined. A loss of 300,000 members for the year 1888 was reported. Early in the nineties, financial troubles compelled the sale of the Philadelphia headquarters of the Knights of Labor and the removal to more modest quarters in Washington. A remnant of members still retain an organization, but it is barely a shadow of the vast army of Knights who at one time so hopefully carried on a crusade in every center of industry. It was not merely the excesses of the lawless but the multiplicity of strikes which alienated public sympathy. Powderly's repeated warnings that strikes, in and of themselves, were destructive of the stable position of labor were shown to be prophetic. These excesses, however, were forcing upon the public the idea that it too had not only an interest but a right and a duty in labor disputes. Methods of arbitration and conciliation were now discussed in every legislature. In 1883 the House of Representatives established a standing committee on labor. In 1884 a national Bureau of Labor was created to gather statistical information. In 1886 President Cleveland sent to Congress a message which has become historic as the first presidential message devoted to labor. In this he proposed the creation of a board of labor commissioners who should act as official arbiters in labor disputes, but Congress was unwilling at that time to take so advanced a step. In 1888, however, it enacted a law providing for the settlement of railway labor disputes by arbitration, upon agreement of both parties. Arbitration signifies a judicial attitude of mind, a judgment based on facts. These facts are derived from specific conditions and do not grow out of broad generalizations. Arbitral tribunals are created to decide points in dispute, not philosophies of human action. The businesslike organization of the new trade union could as readily adapt itself to arbitration as it had already adapted itself, in isolated instances, to collective bargaining. A new stage had therefore been reached in the labor movement. CHAPTER V FEDERATION Experience and events had now paved the way for that vast centralization of industry which characterizes the business world of the present era. The terms sugar, coffee, steel, tobacco, oil, acquire on the stock exchange a new and precise meaning. Seventy-five per cent of steel, eighty-three per cent of petroleum, ninety per cent of sugar production are brought under the control of industrial combinations. Nearly one-fourth of the wage-earners of America are employed by great corporations. But while financiers are talking only in terms of millions, while super-organization is reaching its eager fingers into every industry, and while the units of business are becoming national in scope, the workingman himself is being taught at last to rely more and more upon group action in his endeavor to obtain better wages and working conditions. He is taught also to widen the area of his organization and to intensify its efforts. So, while the public reads in the daily and periodical press about the oil trust and the coffee trust, it is also being admonished against a labor trust and against two personages, both symbols of colossal economic unrest--the promoter, or the stalking horse of financial enterprise, and the walking delegate, or the labor union representative and only too frequently the advance agent of bitterness and revenge. In response to the call of the hour there appeared the American Federation of Labor, frequently called in these later days the labor trust. The Federation was first suggested at Terre Haute, Indiana, on August 2, 1881, at a convention called by the Knights of Industry and the Amalgamated Labor Union, two secret societies patterned after the model common at that period. The Amalgamated Union was composed largely of disaffected Knights of Labor, and the avowed purpose of the Convention was to organize a new secret society to supplant the Knights. But the trades union element predominated and held up the British Trades Union and its powerful annual congress as a model. At this meeting the needs of intensive local organization, of trades autonomy, and of comprehensive team work were foreseen, and from the discussion there grew a plan for a second convention. With this meeting, which was held at Pittsburgh in November, 1881, the actual work of the new association began under the name, "The Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions of the United States of America and Canada." When this Federation learned that a convention representing independent trade unions was called to meet in Columbus, Ohio, in December, 1886, it promptly altered its arrangements for its own annual session so that it, too, met at the same time and place. Thereupon the Federation effected a union with this independent body, which represented twenty-five organizations. The new organization was called the American Federation of Labor. Until 1889, this was considered as the first annual meeting of the new organization, but in that year the Federation resolved that its "continuity . . . be recognized and dated from the year 1881." For some years the membership increased slowly; but in 1889 over 70,000 new members were reported, in 1900 over 200,000, and from that time the Federation has given evidence of such growth and prosperity that it easily is the most powerful labor organization America has known, and it takes its place by the side of the British Trades Union Congress as "the sovereign organization in the trade union world." In 1917 its membership reached 2,371,434, with 110 affiliated national unions, representing virtually every element of American industry excepting the railway brotherhoods and a dissenting group of electrical workers. The foundation of this vast organization was the interest of particular trades rather than the interests of labor in general. Its membership is made up "of such Trade and Labor Unions as shall conform to its rules and regulations." The preamble of the Constitution states: "We therefore declare ourselves in favor of the formation of a thorough federation, embracing every trade and labor organization in America under the Trade Union System of organization." The Knights of Labor had endeavored to subordinate the parts to the whole; the American Federation is willing to bend the whole to the needs of the unit. It zealously sends out its organizers to form local unions and has made provision that "any seven wage workers of good character following any trade or calling" can establish a local union with federal affiliations. This vast and potent organization is based upon the principle of trade homogeneity--namely, that each trade is primarily interested in its own particular affairs but that all trades are interested in those general matters which affect all laboring men as a class. To combine effectually these dual interests, the Federation espouses the principle of home rule in purely local matters and of federal supervision in all general matters. It combines, with a great singleness of purpose, so diverse a variety of details that it touches the minutiæ of every trade and places at the disposal of the humblest craftsman or laborer the tremendous powers of its national influence. While highly centralized in organization, it is nevertheless democratic in operation, depending generally upon the referendum for its sanctions. It is flexible in its parts and can mobilize both its heavy artillery and its cavalry with equal readiness. It has from the first been managed with skill, energy, and great adroitness. The supreme authority of the American Federation is its Annual Convention composed of delegates chosen from national and international unions, from state, central, and local trade unions, and from fraternal organizations. Experience has evolved a few simple rules by which the convention is safeguarded against political and factional debate and against the interruptions of "soreheads." Besides attending to the necessary routine, the Convention elects the eleven national officers who form the executive council which guides the administrative details of the organization. The funds of the Federation are derived from a per capita tax on the membership. The official organ is the American Federationist. It is interesting to note in passing that over two hundred and forty labor periodicals together with a continual stream of circulars and pamphlets issue from the trades union press. The Federation is divided into five departments, representing the most important groups of labor: the Building Trades, the Metal Trades, Mining, Railroad Employees, and the Union Label Trades. ¹ Each of these departments has its own autonomous sphere of action, its own set of officers, its own financial arrangements, its own administrative details. Each holds an annual convention, in the same place and week, as the Federation. Each is made up of affiliated unions only and confines itself solely to the interest of its own trades. This suborganization serves as an admirable clearing house and shock-absorber and succeeds in eliminating much of the friction which occurs between the several unions. ¹ There is in the Federation, however, a group of unions not affiliated with any of these departments. There are also forty-three state branches of the Federation, each with its own separate organization. There are annual state conventions whose membership, however, is not always restricted to unions affiliated with the American Federation. Some of these state organizations antedate the Federation. There remain the local unions, into personal touch with which each member comes. There were in 1916 as many as 647 "city centrals," the term used to designate the affiliation of the unions of a city. The city centrals are smaller replicas of the state federations and are made up of delegates elected by the individual unions. They meet at stated intervals and freely discuss questions relating to the welfare of organized labor in general as well as to local labor conditions in every trade. Indeed, vigilance seems to be the watchword of the Central. Organization, wages, trade agreements, and the attitude of public officials and city councils which even remotely might affect labor rarely escape their scrutiny. This oldest of all the groups of labor organizations remains the most vital part of the Federation. The success of the American Federation of Labor is due in large measure to the crafty generalship of its President, Samuel Gompers, one of the most astute labor leaders developed by American economic conditions. He helped organize the Federation, carefully nursed it through its tender years, and boldly and unhesitatingly used its great power in the days of its maturity. In fact, in a very real sense the Federation is Gompers, and Gompers is the Federation. Born in London of Dutch-Jewish lineage, on January 27, 1850, the son of a cigar-maker, Samuel Gompers was early apprenticed to that craft. At the age of thirteen he went to New York City, where in the following year he joined the first cigar-makers' union organized in that city. He enlisted all his boyish ardor in the cause of the trade union and, after he arrived at maturity, was elected successively secretary and president of his union. The local unions were, at that time, gingerly feeling their way towards state and national organization, and in these early attempts young Gompers was active. In 1887, he was one of the delegates to a national meeting which constituted the nucleus of what is now the Cigar-makers' International Union. The local cigar-makers' union in which Gompers received his necessary preliminary training was one of the most enlightened and compactly organized groups of American labor. It was one of the first American Unions to adopt in an efficient manner the British system of benefits in the case of sickness, death, or unemployment. It is one of the few American unions that persistently encourages skill in its craft and intelligence in its membership. It has been a pioneer in collective bargaining and in arbitration. It has been conservatively and yet enthusiastically led and has generally succeeded in enlisting the respect and coöperation of employers. This union has been the kindergarten and preparatory school of Samuel Gompers, who, during all the years of his wide activities as the head of the Federation of Labor, has retained his membership in his old local and has acted as first vice-president of the Cigar-makers' International. These early experiences, precedents, and enthusiasms Gompers carried with him into the Federation of Labor. He was one of the original group of trade union representatives who organized the Federation in 1881. In the following year he was its President. Since 1885 he has, with the exception of a single year, been annually chosen as President. During the first years the Federation was very weak, and it was even doubtful if the organization could survive the bitter hostility of the powerful Knights of Labor. It could pay its President no salary and could barely meet his expense account. ¹ Gompers played a large part in the complete reorganization of the Federation in 1886. He subsequently received a yearly salary of $1000 so that he could devote all of his time to the cause. From this year forward the growth of the Federation was steady and healthy. In the last decade it has been phenomenal. The earlier policy of caution has, however, not been discarded--for caution is the word that most aptly describes the methods of Gompers. From the first, he tested every step carefully, like a wary mountaineer, before he urged his organization to follow. From the beginning Gompers has followed three general lines of policy. First, he has built the imposing structure of his Federation upon the autonomy of the constituent unions. This is the secret of the united enthusiasm of the Federation. It is the Anglo-Saxon instinct for home rule applied to trade union politics. In the tentative years of its early struggles, the Federation could hope for survival only upon the suffrance of the trade union, and today, when the Federation has become powerful, its potencies rest upon the same foundation. ¹ In one of the early years this was $13. Secondly, Gompers has always advocated frugality in money matters. His Federation is powerful but not rich. Its demands upon the resources of the trade unions have always been moderate, and the salaries paid have been modest. ² When the Federation erected a new building for its headquarters in Washington a few years ago, it symbolized in its architecture and equipment this modest yet adequate and substantial financial policy. American labor unions have not yet achieved the opulence, ambitions, and splendors of the guilds of the Middle Ages and do not yet direct their activities from splendid guild halls. ² Before 1899 the annual income of the Federation was less than $25,000; in 1901 it reached the $100,000 mark; and since 1903 it has exceeded $200,000. In the third place, Gompers has always insisted upon the democratic methods of debate and referendum in reaching important decisions. However arbitrary and intolerant his impulses may have been, and however dogmatic and narrow his conclusions in regard to the relation of labor to society and towards the employer (and his Dutch inheritance gives him great obstinacy), he has astutely refrained from too obviously bossing his own organization. With this sagacity of leadership Gompers has combined a fearlessness that sometimes verges on brazenness. He has never hesitated to enter a contest when it seemed prudent to him to do so. He crossed swords with Theodore Roosevelt on more than one occasion and with President Eliot of Harvard in a historic newspaper controversy over trade union exclusiveness. He has not been daunted by conventions, commissions, courts, congresses, or public opinion. During the long term of his Federation presidency, which is unparalleled in labor history and alone is conclusive evidence of his executive skill, scarcely a year has passed without some dramatic incident to cast the searchlight of publicity upon him--a court decision, a congressional inquiry, a grand jury inquisition, a great strike, a nation-wide boycott, a debate with noted public men, a political maneuver, or a foreign pilgrimage. Whenever a constituent union in the Federation has been the object of attack, he has jumped into the fray and has rarely emerged humiliated from the encounter. This is the more surprising when one recalls that he possesses the limitations of the zealot and the dogmatism of the partisan. One of the most important functions of Gompers has been that of national lobbyist for the Federation. He was one of the earliest champions of the eight-hour day and the Saturday half-holiday. He has energetically espoused Federal child labor legislation, the restriction of immigration, alien contract labor laws, and employers' liability laws. He advocated the creation of a Federal Department of Labor which has recently developed into a cabinet secretariat. His legal bête noire, however, was the Sherman Anti-Trust Law as applied to labor unions. For many years he fought vehemently for an amending act exempting the laboring class from the rigors of that famous statute. President Roosevelt with characteristic candor told a delegation of Federation officials who called on him to enlist his sympathy in their attempt, that he would enforce the law impartially against lawbreakers, rich and poor alike. Roosevelt recommended to Congress the passage of an amendment exempting "combinations existing for and engaged in the promotion of innocent and proper purposes." An exempting bill was passed by Congress but was vetoed by President Taft on the ground that it was class legislation. Finally, during President Wilson's administration, the Federation accomplished its purpose, first indirectly by a rider on an appropriation bill, then directly by the Clayton Act, which specifically declared labor combinations, instituted for the "purpose of mutual help and . . . not conducted for profit," not to be in restraint of trade. Both measures were signed by the President. Encouraged by their success, the Federation leaders have moved with a renewed energy against the other legal citadel of their antagonists, the use of the injunction in strike cases. Gompers has thus been the political watchman of the labor interests. Nothing pertaining, even remotely, to labor conditions escapes the vigilance of his Washington office. During President Wilson's administration, Gompers's influence achieved a power second to none in the political field, owing partly to the political power of the labor vote which he ingeniously marshalled, partly to the natural inclination of the dominant political party, and partly to the strategic position of labor in the war industries. The Great War put an unprecedented strain upon the American Federation of Labor. In every center of industry laborers of foreign birth early showed their racial sympathies, and under the stimuli of the intriguing German and Austrian ambassadors sinister plots for crippling munitions plants and the shipping industries were hatched everywhere. Moreover, workingmen became restive under the burden of increasing prices, and strikes for higher wages occurred almost daily. At the beginning of the War, the officers of the Federation maintained a calm and neutral attitude which increased in vigilance as the strain upon American patience and credulity increased. As soon as the United States declared war, the whole energies of the officials of the Federation were cast into the national cause. In 1917, under the leadership of Gompers, and as a practical antidote to the I. W. W. and the foreign labor and pacifist organization known as The People's Council, there was organized The American Alliance for Labor and Democracy in order "to Americanize the labor movement." Its campaign at once became nation wide. Enthusiastic meetings were held in the great manufacturing centers, stimulated to enthusiasm by the incisive eloquence of Gompers. At the annual convention of the Federation held in Buffalo in November, 1917, full endorsement was given to the Alliance by a vote of 21,602 to 402. In its formal statement the Alliance declared: "It is our purpose to try, by educational methods, to bring about a more American spirit in the labor movement, so that what is now the clear expression of the vast majority may become the conviction of all. Where we find ignorance, we shall educate. Where we find something worse, we shall have to deal as the situation demands. But we are going to leave no stone unturned to put a stop to anti-American activities among workers." And in this patriotic effort the Alliance was successful. This was the first great step taken by Gompers and the Federation. The second was equally important. With characteristic energy the organization put forward a programme for the readjustment of labor to war conditions. "This is labor's war" declared the manifesto issued by the Federation. "It must be won by labor, and every stage in the fighting and the final victory must be made to count for humanity." These aims were embodied in constructive suggestions adopted by the Council of National Defense appointed by President Wilson. This programme was in a large measure the work of Gompers, who was a member of the Council. The following outline shows the comprehensive nature of the view which the laborer took of the relation between task and the War. The plan embraced: 1. Means for furnishing an adequate supply of labor to war industries. This included: (a) A system of labor exchanges. (b) The training of workers. (c) Agencies for determining priorities in labor demands. (d) Agencies for the dilution of skilled labor. 2. Machinery for adjusting disputes between capital and labor, without stoppage of work. 3. Machinery for safeguarding conditions of labor, including industrial hygiene, safety appliances, etc. 4. Machinery for safeguarding conditions of living, including housing, etc. 5. Machinery for gathering data necessary for effective executive action. 6. Machinery for developing sound public sentiment and an exchange of information between the various departments of labor administration, the numerous industrial plants, and the public, so as to facilitate the carrying out of a national labor programme. Having thus first laid the foundations of a national labor policy and having, in the second place, developed an effective means of Americanizing, as far as possible, the various labor groups, the Federation took another step. As a third essential element in uniting labor to help to win the war, it turned its attention to the inter-allied solidarity of workingmen. In the late summer and autumn of 1917, Gompers headed an American labor mission to Europe and visited England, Belgium, France, and Italy. His frequent public utterances in numerous cities received particular attention in the leading European newspapers and were eagerly read in the allied countries. The pacifist group of the British Labour Party did not relish his outspokenness on the necessity of completely defeating the Teutons before peace overtures could be made. On the other hand, some of the ultraconservative papers misconstrued his sentiments on the terms which should be exacted from the enemy when victory was assured. This misunderstanding led to an acrid international newspaper controversy, to which Gompers finally replied: "I uttered no sentence or word which by the wildest imagination could be interpreted as advocating the formula 'no annexations, and no indemnities.' On the contrary, I have declared, both in the United States and in conferences and public meetings while abroad, that the German forces must be driven back from the invaded territory before even peace terms could be discussed, that Alsace-Lorraine should be returned to France, that the 'Irredente' should be returned to Italy, and that the imperialistic militarist machine which has so outraged the conscience of the world must be made to feel the indignation and righteous wrath of all liberty and peace loving peoples." This mission had a deep effect in uniting the labor populations of the allied countries and especially in cheering the over-wrought workers of Britain and France, and it succeeded in laying the foundation for a more lasting international labor solidarity. This considerable achievement was recognized when the Peace Conference at Paris formed a Commission on International Labor Legislation. Gompers was selected as one of the American representatives and was chosen chairman. While the Commission was busy with its tasks, an international labor conference was held at Berne. Gompers and his colleagues, however, refused to attend this conference. They gave as their reasons for this aloofness the facts that delegates from the Central powers, with whom the United States was still at war, were in attendance; that the meeting was held "for the purpose of arranging socialist procedure of an international character"; and that the convention was irregularly called, for it had been announced as an inter-allied conference but had been surreptitiously converted into an international pacifist gathering, conniving with German and Austrian socialists. Probably the most far-reaching achievement of Gompers is the by no means inconsiderable contribution he has made to that portion of the treaty of peace with Germany relating to the international organization of labor. This is an entirely new departure in the history of labor, for it attempts to provide international machinery for stabilizing conditions of labor in the various signatory countries. On the ground that "the well-being, physical and moral, of the industrial wage-earners is of supreme international importance," the treaty lays down guiding principles to be followed by the various countries, subject to such changes as variations in climate, customs, and economic conditions dictate. These principles are as follows: labor shall not be regarded merely as a commodity or an article of commerce; employers and employees shall have the right of forming associations; a wage adequate to maintain a reasonable standard of living shall be paid; an eight-hour day shall be adopted; a weekly day of rest shall be allowed; child labor shall be abolished and provision shall be made for the education of youth; men and women shall receive equal pay for equal work; equitable treatment shall be accorded to all workers, including aliens resident in foreign lands; and an adequate system of inspection shall be provided in which women should take part. While these international adjustments were taking place, the American Federation began to anticipate the problems of the inevitable national labor readjustment after the war. Through a committee appointed for that purpose, it prepared an ample programme of reconstruction in which the basic features are the greater participation of labor in shaping its environment, both in the factory and in the community, the development of coöperative enterprise, public ownership or regulation of public utilities, strict supervision of corporations, restriction of immigration, and the development of public education. The programme ends by declaring that "the trade union movement is unalterably and emphatically opposed . . . to a large standing army." During the entire period of the war, both at home and abroad, Gompers fought the pacifist and the socialist elements in the labor movement. At the same time he was ever vigilant in pushing forward the claims of trade unionism and was always beforehand in constructive suggestions. His life has spanned the period of great industrial expansion in America. He has had the satisfaction of seeing his Federation grow under his leadership at first into a national and then into an international force. Gompers is an orthodox trade unionist of the British School. Bolshevism is to him a synonym for social ruin. He believes that capital and labor should coöperate but that capital should cease to be the predominant factor in the equation. In order to secure this balance he believes labor must unite and fight, and to this end he has devoted himself to the federation of American trade unions and to their battle. He has steadfastly refused political preferment and has declined many alluring offers to enter private business. In action he is an opportunist--a shrewd, calculating captain, whose knowledge of human frailties stands him in good stead, and whose personal acquaintance with hundreds of leaders of labor, of finance, and of politics, all over the country, has given him an unusual opportunity to use his influence for the advancement of the cause of labor in the turbulent field of economic warfare. The American Federation of Labor has been forced by the increasing complexity of modern industrial life to recede somewhat from its early trade union isolation. This broadening point of view is shown first in the recognition of the man of no trade, the unskilled worker. For years the skilled trades monopolized the Federation and would not condescend to interest themselves in their humble brethren. The whole mechanism of the Federation in the earlier period revolved around the organization of the skilled laborers. In England the great dockers' strike of 1889 and in America the lurid flare of the I. W. W. activities forced the labor aristocrat to abandon his pharisaic attitude and to take an interest in the welfare of the unskilled. The future will test the stability of the Federation, for it is among the unskilled that radical and revolutionary movements find their first recruits. A further change in the internal policy of the Federation is indicated by the present tendency towards amalgamating the various allied trades into one union. For instance, the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and the Amalgamated Wood Workers' Association, composed largely of furniture makers and machine wood workers, combined a few years ago and then proceeded to absorb the Wooden Box Makers, and the Wood Workers in the shipbuilding industry. The general secretary of the new amalgamation said that the organization looked "forward with pleasurable anticipations to the day when it can truly be said that all men of the wood-working craft on this continent hold allegiance to the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America." A similar unification has taken place in the lumbering industry. When the shingle weavers formed an international union some fifteen years ago, they limited the membership "to the men employed in skilled departments of the shingle trade." In 1912 the American Federation of Labor sanctioned a plan for including in one organization all the workers in the lumber industry, both skilled and unskilled. This is a far cry from the minute trade autocracy taught by the orthodox unionist thirty years ago. Today the Federation of Labor is one of the most imposing organizations in the social system of America. It reaches the workers in every trade. Every contributor to the physical necessities of our materialistic civilization has felt the far-reaching influence of confederated power. A sense of its strength pervades the Federation. Like a healthy, self-conscious giant, it stalks apace among our national organizations. Through its cautious yet pronounced policy, through its seeking after definite results and excluding all economic vagaries, it bids fair to overcome the disputes that disturb it from within and the onslaughts of Socialism and of Bolshevism that threaten it from without. CHAPTER VI THE TRADE UNION The trade union ¹ forms the foundation upon which the whole edifice of the American Federation of Labor is built. Like the Federation, each particular trade union has a tripartite structure: there is first the national body called the Union, the International, the General Union, or the Grand Lodge; there is secondly the district division or council, which is merely a convenient general union in miniature; and finally there is the local individual union, usually called "the local." Some unions, such as the United Mine Workers, have a fourth division or subdistrict, but this is not the general practice. ¹ The term "trade union" is used here in its popular sense, embracing labor, trade, and industrial unions, unless otherwise specified. The sovereign authority of a trade union is its general convention, a delegate body meeting at stated times. Some unions meet annually, some biennially, some triennially, and a few determine by referendum when the convention is to meet. Sometimes a long interval elapses: the granite cutters, for instance, held no convention between 1880 and 1912, and the cigar-makers, after a convention in 1896, did not meet for sixteen years. The initiative and referendum are, in some of the more compact unions, taking the place of the general convention, while the small executive council insures promptness of administrative action. The convention elects the general officers. Of these the president is the most conspicuous, for he is the field marshal of the forces and fills a large place in the public eye when a great strike is called. It was in this capacity that John Mitchell rose to sudden eminence during the historic anthracite strike in 1902, and George W. Perkins of the cigar-makers' union achieved his remarkable hold upon the laboring people. As the duties of the president of a union have increased, it has become the custom to elect numerous vice-presidents to relieve him. Each of these has certain specific functions to perform, but all remain the president's aides. One, for instance, may be the financier, another the strike agent, another the organizer, another the agitator. With such a group of virtual specialists around a chieftain, a union has the immense advantage of centralized command and of highly organized leadership. The tendency, especially among the more conservative unions, is to reëlect these officers year after year. The president of the Carpenters' Union held his office for twenty years, and John Mitchell served the miners as president ten years. Under the immediate supervision of the president, an executive board composed of all the officers guides the destinies of the union. When this board is not occupied with the relations of the men to their employers, it gives its judicial consideration to the more delicate and more difficult questions of inter-union comity and of local differences. The local union is the oldest labor organization, and a few existing locals can trace their origin as far back as the decade preceding the Civil War. Many more antedate the organization of the Federation. Not a few of these almost historic local unions have refused to surrender their complete independence by affiliating with those of recent origin, but they have remained merely isolated independent locals with very little general influence. The vast majority of local unions are members of the national trades union and of the Federation. The local union is the place where the laborer comes into direct personal contact with this powerful entity that has become such a factor in his daily life. Here he can satisfy that longing for the recognition of his point of view denied him in the great factory and here he can meet men of similar condition, on terms of equality, to discuss freely and without fear the topics that interest him most. There is an immense psychic potency in this intimate association of fellow workers, especially in some of the older unions which have accumulated a tradition. It is in the local union that the real life of the labor organization must be nourished, and the statesmanship of the national leaders is directed to maintaining the greatest degree of local autonomy consistent with the interests of national homogeneity. The individual laborer thus finds himself a member of a group of his fellows with whom he is personally acquainted, who elect their own officers, to a large measure fix their own dues, transact their own routine business, discipline their own members, and whenever possible make their own terms of employment with their employers. The local unions are obliged to pay their tithe into the greater treasury, to make stated reports, to appoint a certain roster of committees, and in certain small matters to conform to the requirements of the national union. On the whole, however, they are independent little democracies confederated, with others of their kind, by means of district and national organizations. The unions representing the different trades vary in structure and spirit. There is an immense difference between the temper of the tumultuous structural iron workers and the contemplative cigar-makers, who often hire one of their number to read to them while engaged in their work, the favorite authors being in many instances Ruskin and Carlyle. Some unions are more successful than others in collective bargaining. Martin Fox, the able leader of the iron moulders, signed one of the first trade agreements in America and fixed the tradition for his union; and the shoemakers, as well as most of the older unions are fairly well accustomed to collective bargaining. In matters of discipline, too, the unions vary. Printers and certain of the more skilled trades find it easier to enforce their regulations than do the longshoremen and unions composed of casual foreign laborers. In size also the unions of the different trades vary. In 1910 three had a membership of over 100,000 each. Of these the United Mine Workers reached a total of 370,800, probably the largest trades union in the world. The majority of the unions have a membership between 1000 and 10,000, the average for the entire number being 5000; but the membership fluctuates from year to year, according to the conditions of labor, and is usually larger in seasons of contest. Fluctuation in membership is most evident in the newer unions and in the unskilled trades. The various unions differ also in resources. In some, especially those composed largely of foreigners, the treasury is chronically empty; yet at the other extreme the mine workers distributed $1,890,000 in strike benefits in 1902 and had $750,000 left when the board of arbitration sent the workers back into the mines. The efforts of the unions to adjust themselves to the quickly changing conditions of modern industry are not always successful. Old trade lines are instantly shifting, creating the most perplexing problem of inter-union amity. Over two score jurisdictional controversies appear for settlement at each annual convention of the American Federation. The Association of Longshoremen and the Seamen's Union, for example, both claim jurisdiction over employees in marine warehouses. The cigar-makers and the stogie-makers have also long been at swords' points. Who shall have control over the coopers who work in breweries--the Brewery Workers or the Coopers' Union? Who shall adjust the machinery in elevators--the Machinists or Elevator Constructors? Is the operator of a linotype machine a typesetter? So plasterers and carpenters, blacksmiths and structural iron workers, printing pressmen and plate engravers, hod carriers and cement workers, are at loggerheads; the electrification of a railway creates a jurisdictional problem between the electrical railway employees and the locomotive engineers; and the marble workers and the plasterers quarrel as to the setting of imitation marble. These quarrels regarding the claims of rival unions reveal the weakness of the Federation as an arbitral body. There is no centralized authority to impose a standard or principle which could lead to the settlement of such disputes. Trade jealousy has overcome the suggestions of the peacemakers that either the nature of the tools used, or the nature of the operation, or the character of the establishment be taken as the basis of settlement. When the Federation itself fails as a peacemaker, it cannot be expected that locals will escape these controversies. There are many examples, often ludicrous, of petty jealousies and trade rivalries. The man who tried to build a brick house, employing union bricklayers to lay the brick and union painters to paint the brick walls, found to his loss that such painting was considered a bricklayer's job by the bricklayers' union, who charged a higher wage than the painters would have done. It would have relieved him to have the two unions amalgamate. And this in general has become a real way out of the difficulty. For instance, a dispute between the Steam and Hot Water Fitters and the Plumbers was settled by an amalgamation called the United Association of Journeymen Plumbers, Gas Fitters, Steam Fitters, and Steam Fitters' Helpers, which is now affiliated with the Federation. But the International Association of Steam, Hot Water, and Power Pipe Fitters and Helpers is not affiliated, and inter-union war results. The older unions, however, have a stabilizing influence upon the newer, and a genuine conservatism such as characterizes the British unions is becoming more apparent as age solidifies custom and lends respect to by-laws and constitutions. But even time cannot obviate the seismic effects of new inventions, and shifts in jurisdictional matters are always imminent. The dominant policy of the trade union is to keep its feet on the earth, no matter where its head may be, to take one step at a time, and not to trouble about the future of society. This purpose, which has from the first been the prompter of union activity, was clearly enunciated in the testimony of Adolph Strasser, a converted socialist, one of the leading trade unionists, and president of the Cigar-makers' Union, before a Senate Committee in 1883: Chairman: You are seeking to improve home matters first? Witness: Yes sir, I look first to the trade I represent: I look first to cigars, to the interests of men, who employ me to represent their interests. Chairman: I was only asking you in regard to your ultimate ends. Witness: We have no ultimate ends. We are going on from day to day. We are fighting only for immediate objects--objects that can be realized in a few years. Chairman: You want something better to eat and to wear, and better houses to live in? Witness: Yes, we want to dress better and to live better, and become better citizens generally. Chairman: I see that you are a little sensitive lest it should be thought that you are a mere theorizer. I do not look upon you in that light at all. Witness: Well, we say in our constitution that we are opposed to theorists, and I have to represent the organization here. We are all practical men. This remains substantially the trade union platform today. Trade unionists all aim to be "practical men." The trade union has been the training school for the labor leader, that comparatively new and increasingly important personage who is a product of modern industrial society. Possessed of natural aptitudes, he usually passes by a process of logical evolution, through the important committees and offices of his local into the wider sphere of the national union, where as president or secretary, he assumes the leadership of his group. Circumstances and conditions impose a heavy burden upon him, and his tasks call for a variety of gifts. Because some particular leader lacked tact or a sense of justice or some similar quality, many a labor maneuver has failed, and many a labor organization has suffered in the public esteem. No other class relies so much upon wise leadership as does the laboring class. The average wage-earner is without experience in confronting a new situation or trained and superior minds. From his tasks he has learned only the routine of his craft. When he is faced with the necessity of prompt action, he is therefore obliged to depend upon his chosen captains for results. In America these leaders have risen from the rank and file of labor. Their education is limited. The great majority have only a primary schooling. Many have supplemented this meager stock of learning by rather wide but desultory reading and by keen observation. A few have read law, and some have attended night schools. But all have graduated from the University of Life. Many of them have passed through the bitterest poverty, and all have been raised among toilers and from infancy have learned to sympathize with the toiler's point of view. ¹ They are therefore by training and origin distinctly leaders of a class, with the outlook upon life, the prejudices, the limitations, and the fervent hopes of that class. ¹ A well-known labor leader once said to the writer: "No matter how much you go around among laboring people, you will never really understand us unless you were brought up among us. There is a real gulf between your way of looking on life and ours. You can be only an investigator or an intellectual sympathizer with my people. But you cannot really understand our viewpoint." Whatever of misconception there may be in this attitude, it nevertheless marks the actual temper of the average wage-earner, in spite of the fact that in America many employers have risen from the ranks of labor. In a very real sense the American labor leader is the counterpart of the American business man--intensively trained, averse to vagaries, knowing thoroughly one thing and only one thing, and caring very little for anything else. This comparative restriction of outlook marks a sharp distinction between American and British labor leaders. In Britain such leadership is a distinct career for which a young man prepares himself. He is usually fairly well educated, for not infrequently he started out to study for the law or the ministry and was sidetracked by hard necessity. A few have come into the field from journalism. As a result, the British labor leader has a certain veneer of learning and puts on a more impressive front than the American. For example, Britain has produced Ramsey MacDonald, who writes books and makes speeches with a rare grace: John Burns, who quotes Shakespeare or recites history with wonderful fluency: Keir Hardie, a miner from the ranks, who was possessed of a charming poetic fancy: Philip Snowden, who displays the spiritual qualities of a seer; and John Henderson, who combines philosophical power with skill in dialectics. On the other hand, the rank and file of American labor is more intelligent and alert than that of British labor, and the American labor leader possesses a greater capacity for intensive growth and is perhaps a better specialist at rough and tumble fighting and bargaining than his British colleague. ¹ ¹ The writer recalls spending a day in one of the Midland manufacturing towns with the secretary of a local coöperative society, a man who was steeped in Bergson's philosophy and talked on local botany and geology as fluently as on local labor conditions. It would be difficult to duplicate this experience in America. In a very real sense every trade union is typified by some aggressive personality. The Granite Cutters' National Union was brought into active being in 1877 largely through the instrumentality of James Duncan, a rugged fighter who, having federated the locals, set out to establish an eight-hour day through collective bargaining and to settle disputes by arbitration. He succeeded in forming a well-disciplined force out of the members of his craft, and even the employers did not escape the touch of his rod. The Glassblowers' Union was saved from disruption by Dennis Hayes, who, as president of the national union, reorganized the entire force in the years 1896-99, unionized a dozen of the largest glass producing plants in the United States and succeeded in raising the wages fifteen per cent. He introduced methods of arbitration and collective agreements and established a successful system of insurance. James O'Connell, the president of the International Association of Machinists, led his organization safely through the panic of 1893, reorganized it upon a broader basis, and introduced sick benefits. In 1901 after a long and wearisome dickering with the National Metal Trades Association, a shorter day was agreed upon, but, as the employers would not agree to a ten-hour wage for a nine-hour day, O'Connell led his men out on a general strike and won. Thomas Kidd, secretary of the Wood-Workers' International Union, was largely responsible for the agreement made with the manufacturers in 1897 for the establishment of a minimum wage of fifteen cents an hour for a ten-hour day, a considerable advance over the average wage paid up to that time. Kidd was the object of severe attacks in various localities, and in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, where labor riots took place for the enforcement of the Union demands, he was arrested for conspiracy but acquitted by the trial jury. When the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers lost their strike at Homestead, Pennsylvania, in 1892, the union was thought to be dead. It was quietly regalvanized into activity, however, by Theodore Schaffer, who has displayed adroitness in managing its affairs in the face of tremendous opposition from the great steel manufacturers who refuse to permit their shops to be unionized. The International Typographical Union, composed of an unusually intelligent body of men, owes its singular success in collective contracting largely to James M. Lynch, its national president. The great newspapers did not give in to the demands of the union without a series of struggles in which Lynch manipulated his forces with skill and tact. Today this is one of the most powerful unions in the country. Entirely different was the material out of which D. J. Keefe formed his Union of Longshoremen, Marine and Transport Workers. His was a mass of unskilled workers, composed of many nationalities accustomed to rough conditions, and not easily led. Keefe, as president of their International Union, has had more difficulty in restraining his men and in teaching them the obligations of a contract than any other leader. At least on one occasion he employed non-union men to carry out the agreement which his recalcitrant following had made and broken. The evolution of an American labor leader is shown at its best in the career of John Mitchell, easily the most influential trade unionist of this generation. He was born on February 4, 1870, on an Illinois farm, but at two years of age he lost his mother and at four his father. With other lads of his neighborhood he shared the meager privileges of the school terms that did not interfere with farm work. At thirteen he was in the coal mines in Braidwood, Illinois, and at sixteen he was the outer doorkeeper in the local lodge of the Knights of Labor. Eager to see the world, he now began a period of wandering, working his way from State to State. So he traversed the Far West and the Southwest, alert in observing social conditions and coming in contact with many types of men. These wanderings stood him in lieu of an academic course, and when he returned to the coal fields of Illinois he was ready to settle down. From his Irish parentage he inherited a genial personality and a gift of speech. These traits, combined with his continual reading on economic and sociological subjects, soon lifted him into local leadership. He became president of the village school board and of the local lodge of the Knights of Labor. He joined the United Mine Workers of America upon its organization in 1890. He rose rapidly in its ranks, was a delegate to the district and sub-district conventions, secretary-treasurer of the Illinois district, chairman of the Illinois legislative committee, member of the executive board, and national organizer. In January, 1898, he was elected national vice-president, and in the following autumn, upon the resignation of the president, he became acting president. The national convention in 1899 chose him as president, a position which he held for ten years. He has served as one of the vice-presidents of the American Federation of Labor since 1898, was for some years chairman of the Trade Agreement Department of the National Civic Federation and has held the position of Chairman of the New York State Industrial Commission. When he rose to the leadership of the United Mine Workers, this union had only 43,000 members, confined almost exclusively to the bituminous regions of the West. ¹ Within the decade of his presidency he brought virtually all the miners of the United States under his leadership. Wherever his union went, there followed sooner or later the eight-hour day, raises in wages of from thirteen to twenty-five per cent, periodical joint conventions with the operators for settling wage scales and other points in dispute, and a spirit of prosperity that theretofore was unknown among the miners. ¹ Less than 10,000 out of 140,000 anthracite miners were members of the union. In unionizing the anthracite miners, Mitchell had his historic fight with the group of powerful corporations that owned the mines and the railways which fed them. This great strike, one of the most significant in our history, attracted universal attention because of the issues involved, because a coal shortage threatened many Eastern cities, and because of the direct intervention of President Roosevelt. The central figure of this gigantic struggle was the miners' young leader, barely thirty years old, with the features of a scholar and the demeanor of an ascetic, marshaling his forces with the strategic skill of a veteran general. At the beginning of the strike Mitchell, as president of the Union, announced that the miners were eager to submit all their grievances to an impartial arbitral tribunal and to abide by its decisions. The ruthless and prompt refusal of the mine owners to consider this proposal reacted powerfully in the strikers' favor among the public. As the long weeks of the struggle wore on, increasing daily in bitterness, multiplying the apprehension of the strikers and the restiveness of the coal consumers, Mitchell bore the increasing strain with his customary calmness and self-control. After the parties had been deadlocked for many weeks, President Roosevelt called the mine owners and the union leaders to a conference in the White House. Of Mitchell's bearing, the President afterwards remarked: "There was only one man in the room who behaved like a gentleman, and that man was not I." The Board of Arbitration eventually laid the blame on both sides but gave the miners the bulk of their demands. The public regarded the victory as a Mitchell victory, and the unions adored the leader who had won their first strike in a quarter of a century, and who had won universal confidence by his ability and demeanor in the midst of the most harassing tensions of a class war. ¹ ¹ Mitchell was cross-examined for three days when he was testifying before the Anthracite Coal Strike Commission. Every weapon which craft, prejudice, and skill could marshal against him failed to rule his temper or to lead him into damaging admissions or contradictions. John Mitchell's powerful hold upon public opinion today is not alone due to his superior intelligence, his self-possession, his business skill, nor his Irish gift of human accommodation, but to the greater facts that he was always aware of the grave responsibilities of leadership, that he realized the stern obligation of a business contract, and that he always followed the trade union policy of asking only for that which was attainable. Soon after the Anthracite strike he wrote: I am opposed to strikes as I am opposed to war. As yet, however, the world with all its progress has not made war impossible: neither, I fear, considering the nature of men and their institutions, will the strike entirely disappear for years to come. . . . This strike has taught both capital and labor that they owe certain obligations to society and that their obligations must be discharged in good faith. If both are fair and conciliatory, if both recognize the moral restraint of the state of society by which they are surrounded, there need be few strikes. They can, and it is better that they should, settle their differences between themselves. . . . Since labor organizations are here, and here to stay, the managers of employing corporations must choose what they are to do with them. They may have the union as a present, active, and unrecognized force, possessing influence for good or evil, but without direct responsibility; or they may deal with it, give it responsibility as well as power, define and regulate that power, and make the union an auxiliary in the promotion of stability and discipline and the amicable adjustment of all local disputes. CHAPTER VII THE RAILWAY BROTHERHOODS The solidarity and statesmanship of the trade unions reached perfection in the railway "Brotherhoods." Of these the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers ¹ is the oldest and most powerful. It grew out of the union of several early associations; one of these was the National Protective Association formed after the great Baltimore and Ohio strike in 1854; another was the Brotherhood of the Footboard, organized in Detroit after the bitter strike on the Michigan Central in 1862. Though born thus of industrial strife, this railroad union has nevertheless developed a poise and a conservatism which have been its greatest assets in the numerous controversies engaging its energies. No other union has had a more continuous and hardheaded leadership, and no other has won more universal respect both from the public and from the employer. ¹ Up to this time the Brotherhoods have not affiliated with the Knights of Labor nor with the American Federation of Labor. After the passage of the eight-hour law by Congress in 1916, definite steps were taken towards affiliating the Railway Brotherhoods with the Federation, and at its annual convention in 1919 the Federation voted to grant them a charter. This high position is largely due, no doubt, to the fact that the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers is composed of a very select and intelligent class of men. Every engineer must first serve an apprenticeship as a fireman, which usually lasts from four to twelve years. Very few are advanced to the rank of engineer in less than four years. The firemen themselves are selected men who must pass several physical examinations and then submit to the test of as arduous an apprenticeship as modern industrialism affords. In the course of an eight- to twelve-hour run firemen must shovel from fifteen to twenty-five tons of coal into the blazing fire box of a locomotive. In winter they are constantly subjected to hot blasts from the furnace and freezing drafts from the wind. Records show that out of every hundred who begin as firemen only seventeen become engineers and of these only six ever become passenger engineers. The mere strain on the eyes caused by looking into the coal blaze eliminates 17 per cent. Those who eventually become engineers are therefore a select group as far as physique is concerned. The constant dangers accompanying their daily work require railroad engineers to be no less dependable from the moral point of view. The history of railroading is as replete with heroism as is the story of any war. A coward cannot long survive at the throttle. The process of natural selection which the daily labor of an engineer involves the Brotherhood has supplemented by most rigid moral tests. The character of every applicant for membership is thoroughly scrutinized and must be vouched for by three members. He must demonstrate his skill and prove his character by a year's probation before his application is finally voted upon. Once within the fold, the rules governing his conduct are inexorable. If he shuns his financial obligations or is guilty of a moral lapse, he is summarily expelled. In 1909, thirty-six members were expelled for "unbecoming conduct." Drunkards are particularly dangerous in railroading. When the order was only five years old and still struggling for its life, it nevertheless expelled 172 members for drunkenness. In proven cases of this sort the railway authorities are notified, the offending engineer is dismissed from the service, and the shame of these culprits is published to the world in the Locomotive Engineers' Journal, which reaches every member of the order. There is probably no other club or professional organization so exacting in its demands that its members be self-respecting, faithful, law-abiding, and capable; and surely no other is so summary and far-reaching in its punishments. Today ninety per cent of all the locomotive engineers in the United States and Canada belong to this union. But the Brotherhood early learned the lesson of exclusion. In 1864 after very annoying experiences with firemen and other railway employees on the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne and Chicago Railroad, it amended its constitution and excluded firemen and machinists from the order. This exclusive policy, however, is based upon the stern requirements of professional excellence and is not displayed towards engineers who are not members of the Brotherhood. Towards them there is displayed the greatest toleration and none of the narrow spirit of the "closed shop." The nonunion engineer is not only tolerated but is even on occasion made the beneficiary of the activities of the union. He shares, for example, in the rise of wages and readjustment of runs. There are even cases on record where the railroad unions have taken up a specific grievance between a nonunion man and his employer and have attempted a readjustment. From the inception of the Brotherhood, the policy of the order towards the employing railroad company has been one of business and not of sentiment. The Brotherhood has held that the relation between the employer and employee concerning wages, hours, conditions of labor, and settlement of difficulties should be on the basis of a written contract; that the engineer as an individual was at a manifest disadvantage in making such a contract with a railway company; that he therefore had a right to join with his fellow engineers in pressing his demands and therefore had the right to a collective contract. Though for over a decade the railways fought stubbornly against this policy, in the end every important railroad of this country and Canada gave way. It is doubtful, indeed, if any of them would today be willing to go back to the old method of individual bargaining, for the brotherhood has insisted upon the inviolability of a contract once entered into. It has consistently held that "a bargain is a bargain, even if it is a poor bargain." Members who violate an agreement are expelled, and any local lodge which is guilty of such an offense has its charter revoked. ¹ ¹ In 1905 in New York City 393 members were expelled and their charter was revoked for violation of their contract of employment by taking part in a sympathetic strike of the subway and elevated roads. Once the practice of collective contract was fixed, it naturally followed that some mechanism for adjusting differences would be devised. The Brotherhood and the various roads now maintain a general board of adjustment for each railway system. The Brotherhood is strict in insisting that the action of this board is binding on all its members. This method of bargaining and of settling disputes has been so successful that since 1888 the Brotherhood has not engaged in an important strike. There have been minor disturbances, it is true, and several nation-wide threats, but no serious strikes inaugurated by the engineers. This great achievement of the Brotherhood could not have been possible without keen ability in the leaders and splendid solidarity among the men. The individual is carefully looked after by the Brotherhood. The Locomotive Engineers' Mutual Life and Accident Insurance Association is an integral part of the Brotherhood, though it maintains a separate legal existence in order to comply with the statutory requirements of many States. ¹ Every member must carry an insurance policy in this Association for not less than $1500, though he cannot take more than $4500. The policy is carried by the order if the engineer becomes sick or is otherwise disabled, but if he fails to pay assessments when he is in full health, he gives grounds for expulsion. There is a pension roll of three hundred disabled engineers, each of whom receives $25 a month; and the four railroad brotherhoods together maintain a Home for Disabled Railroad Men at Highland Park, Illinois. ¹ The following figures show the status of the Insurance Association in 1918. The total amount of life insurance in force was $161,205,500.00. The total amount of claims paid from 1868 to 1918 was $41,085,123.04. The claims paid in 1918 amounted to $3,014,540.22. The total amount of indemnity insurance in force in 1918 was $12,486,397.50. The total claims paid up to 1918 were $1,624,537.61; and during 1918, $241,780.08. The technical side of engine driving is emphasized by the Locomotive Engineers' Journal, which goes to every member, and in discussions in the stated meetings of the Brotherhood. Intellectual and social interests are maintained also by lecture courses, study clubs, and women's auxiliaries. Attendance upon the lodge meetings has been made compulsory with the intention of insuring the order from falling prey to a designing minority--a condition which has proved the cause of the downfall of more than one labor union. The Brotherhood of Engineers is virtually a large and prosperous business concern. Its management has been enterprising and provident; its treasury is full; its insurance policies aggregate many millions; it owns a modern skyscraper in Cleveland which cost $1,250,000 and which yields a substantial revenue besides housing the Brotherhood offices. The engineers have, indeed, succeeded in forming a real Brotherhood--a "feudal" brotherhood an opposing lawyer once called them--reëstablishing the medieval guild-paternalism so that each member is responsible for every other and all are responsible for each. They therefore merge themselves through self-discipline into a powerful unity for enforcing their demands and fulfilling their obligations. The supreme authority of the Brotherhood is the Convention, which is composed of delegates from the local subdivisions. In the interim between conventions, the authorized leader of the organization is the Grand Chief Engineer, whose decrees are final unless reversed by the Convention. This authority places a heavy responsibility upon him, but the Brotherhood has been singularly fortunate in its choice of chiefs. Since 1873 there have been only two. The first of these was P. M. Arthur, a sturdy Scot, born in 1831 and brought to America in boyhood. He learned the blacksmith and machinist trades but soon took to railroading, in which he rose rapidly from the humblest place to the position of engineer on the New York Central lines. He became one of the charter members of the Brotherhood in 1863 and was active in its affairs from the first. In 1873 the union became involved in a bitter dispute with the Pennsylvania Railroad, and Arthur, whose prompt and energetic action had already designated him as the natural leader of the Brotherhood, was elected to the chieftainship. For thirty years he maintained his prestige and became a national figure in the labor world. He died suddenly at Winnipeg in 1903 while speaking at the dinner which closed the general convention of the Brotherhood. When P. M. Arthur joined the engineers' union, the condition of locomotive engineers was unsatisfactory. Wages were unstable; working conditions were hard and, in the freight service, intolerable. For the first decade of the existence of the Brotherhood, strike after strike took place in the effort to establish the right of organizing and the principle of the collective contract. Arthur became head of the order at the beginning of the period of great financial depression which followed the first Civil War boom and which for six years threatened wages in all trades. But Arthur succeeded, by shrewd and careful bargaining, in keeping the pay of engineers from slipping down and in some instances he even advanced them. Gradually strikes became more and more infrequent; and the railways learned to rely upon his integrity, and the engineers to respect his skill as a negotiator. He proved to the first that he was not a labor agitator and to the others that he was not a visionary. Year by year, Arthur accumulated prestige and power for his union by practical methods and by being content with a step at a time. This success, however, cost him the enmity of virtually all the other trades unionists. To them the men of his order were aristocrats, and he was lord over the aristocrats. He is said to have "had rare skill in formulating reasonable demands, and by consistently putting moderate demands strongly instead of immoderate demands weakly he kept the good will of railroad managers, while steadily obtaining better terms for his men." In this practice, he could not succeed without the solid good will of the members of the Brotherhood; and this good will was possible only in an order which insisted upon that high standard of personal skill and integrity essential to a first-class engineer. Arthur possessed a genial, fatherly personality. His Scotch shrewdness was seen in his own real estate investments, which formed the foundation of an independent fortune. He lived in an imposing stone mansion in Cleveland; he was a director in a leading bank; and he identified himself with the public affairs of the city. When Chief Arthur died, the Assistant Grand Chief Engineer, A. B. Youngson, who would otherwise have assumed the leadership for the unexpired term, was mortally ill and recommended the advisory board to telegraph Warren S. Stone an offer of the chieftainship. Thus events brought to the fore a man of marked executive talent who had hitherto been unknown but who was to play a tremendous rôle in later labor politics. Stone was little known east of the Mississippi. He had spent most of his life on the Rock Island system, had visited the East only once, and had attended but one meeting of the General Convention. In the West, however, he had a wide reputation for sound sense, and, as chairman of the general committee of adjustment of the Rock Island system, he had made a deep impression on his union and his employers. Born in Ainsworth, Iowa, in 1860, Stone had received a high school education and had begun his railroading career as fireman on the Rock Island when he was nineteen years old. At twenty-four he became an engineer. In this capacity he spent the following nineteen years on the Rock Island road and then accepted the chieftainship of the Brotherhood. Stone followed the general policy of his predecessor, and brought to his tasks the energy of youth and the optimism of the West. When he assumed the leadership, the cost of living was rising rapidly and he addressed himself to the adjustment of wages. He divided the country into three sections in which conditions were similar. He began in the Western section, as he was most familiar with that field, and asked all the general managers of that section to meet the Brotherhood for a wage conference. The roads did not accept his invitation until it was reënforced by the threat of a Western strike. The conference was a memorable one. For nearly three weeks the grand officers of the Brotherhood wrangled and wrought with the managers of the Western roads, who yielded ground slowly, a few pennies' increase at a time, until a satisfactory wage scale was reached. Similarly the Southern section was conquered by the inexorable hard sense and perseverance of this new chieftain. The dispute with the fifty-two leading roads in the so-called Eastern District, east of the Mississippi and north of the Norfolk and Western Railroad, came to a head in 1912. The engineers demanded that their wages should be "standardized" on a basis that one hundred miles or less, or ten hours or less, constitute a day's work; that is, the inequalities among the different roads should be leveled and similar service on the various roads be similarly rewarded. They also asked that their wages be made equal to the wages on the Western roads and presented several minor demands. All the roads concerned flatly refused to grant the demand for a standardized and increased wage, on the ground that it would involve an increased expenditure of $7,000,000 a year. This amount could be made up only by increased rates, which the Interstate Commerce Commission must sanction, or by decreased dividends, which would bring a real hardship to thousands of stockholders. The unions were fully prepared for a strike which would paralyze the essential traffic supplying approximately 38,000,000 people. Through the agency of Judge Knapp of the United States Commerce Court and Dr. Neill of the United States Department of Labor, and under the authority of the Erdman Act, there was appointed a board of arbitration composed of men whose distinction commanded national attention. P. H. Morrissey, a former chief of the Conductors' and Trainmen's Union, was named by the engineers. President Daniel Willard of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, known for his fair treatment of his employees, was chosen by the roads. The Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, the Commissioner of Labor, and the presiding judge of the United States Commerce Court designated the following members of the tribunal: Oscar S. Straus, former Secretary of Commerce and Labor, chairman; Albert Shaw, editor of the Review of Reviews; Otto M. Eidlitz, former president of the Building Trades Association; Charles R. Van Hise, president of the University of Wisconsin; and Frederick N. Judson, of the St. Louis bar. After five months of hearing testimony and deliberation, this distinguished board brought in a report that marked, it was hoped, a new epoch in railway labor disputes, for it recognized the rights of the public, the great third party to such disputes. It granted the principle of standardization and minimum wage asked for by the engineers, but it allowed an increase in pay which was less by one-half than that demanded. In order to prevent similar discord in the future, the board recommended the establishment of Federal and state wage commissions with functions pertaining to wage disputes analogous to those of the public service commissions in regard to rates and capitalization. The report stated that, "while the railway employees feel that they cannot surrender their right to strike, if there were a wage commission which would secure them just wages the necessity would no longer exist for the exercise of their power. It is believed that, in the last analysis, the only solution--unless we are to rely solely upon the restraining power of public opinion--is to qualify the principle of free contract in the railroad service." ¹ ¹ The board recognized the great obstacles in the way of such a solution but went on to say: "The suggestion, however, grows out of a profound conviction that the food and clothing of our people, the industries and the general welfare of our nation, cannot be permitted to depend upon the policies and dictates of any particular group of men, whether employers or employees." And this conviction has grown apace with the years until it stands today as the most potent check to aggression by either trade unions or capital. While yielding to the wage findings of the board, P. H. Morrissey vigorously dissented from the principle of the supremacy of public interest in these matters. He made clear his position in an able minority report: "I wish to emphasize my dissent from that recommendation of the board which in its effect virtually means compulsory arbitration for the railroads and their employees. Regardless of any probable constitutional prohibition which might operate against its being adopted, it is wholly impracticable. The progress towards the settlement of disputes between the railways and their employees without recourse to industrial warfare has been marked. There is nothing under present conditions to prevent its continuance. We will never be perfect, but even so, it will be immeasurably better than it will be under conditions such as the board proposes." The significance of these words was brought out four years later when the united railway brotherhoods made their famous coup in Congress. For the time being, however, the public with its usual self-assurance thought the railway employee question was solved, though the findings were for one year only. ¹ ¹ The award dated back to May 1, 1912, and was valid only one year from that date. Daniel Willard speaking for the railroads, said: "My acceptance of the award as a whole does not signify my approval of all the findings in detail. It is intended, however, to indicate clearly that, although the award is not such as the railroads had hoped for, nor is it such as they felt would be justified by a full consideration of all the facts, yet having decided to submit this case to arbitration and having been given ample opportunity to present the facts and arguments in support of their position, they now accept without question the conclusion which was reached by the board appointed to pass upon the matter at issue." A comparison of these statements shows how the balance of power had shifted, since the days when railway policies reigned supreme, from the corporation to the union. The change was amply demonstrated by the next grand entrance of the railway brotherhoods upon the public stage. After his victory in the Western territory, Chief Stone remarked: "Most labor troubles are the result of one of two things, misrepresentation or misunderstanding. Unfortunately, negotiations are sometimes entrusted to men who were never intended by nature for this mission, since they cannot discuss a question without losing their temper. . . . It may be laid down as a fundamental principle without which no labor organization can hope to exist, that it must carry out its contracts. No employer can be expected to live up to a contract that is not regarded binding by the union." The other railway brotherhoods to a considerable degree follow the model set by the engineers. The Order of Railway Conductors developed rapidly from the Conductors' Union which was organized by the conductors of the Illinois Central Railroad at Amboy, Illinois, in the spring of 1868. In the following July this union was extended to include all the lines in the State. In November of the same year a call to conductors on all the roads in the United States and the British Provinces was issued to meet at Columbus, Ohio, in December, to organize a general brotherhood. Ten years later the union adopted its present name. It has an ample insurance fund ¹ based upon the principle that policies are not matured but members arriving at the age of seventy years are relieved from further payments. About thirty members are thus annually retired. At Cedar Rapids, Iowa, the national headquarters, the order publishes The Railway Conductor, a journal which aims not only at the solidarity of the membership but at increasing their practical efficiency. ¹ In 1919 the total amount of outstanding insurance was somewhat over $90,000,000. The conductors are a conservative and carefully selected group of men. Each must pass through a long term of apprenticeship and must possess ability and personality. The order has been carefully and skillfully led and in recent years has had but few differences with the railways which have not been amicably settled. Edgar E. Clark was chosen president in 1890 and served until 1906, when he became a member of the Interstate Commerce Commission. He was born in 1856, received a public school education, and studied for some time in an academy at Lima, New York. At the age of seventeen, he began railroading and served as conductor on the Northern Pacific and other Western lines. He held numerous subordinate positions in the Brotherhood and in 1889 became its vice-president. He was appointed by President Roosevelt as a member of the Anthracite Coal Strike Commission in 1902 and is generally recognized as one of the most judicial heads in the labor world. He was succeeded as president of the order by Austin B. Garretson, who was born in Winterset, Iowa, in 1856. He began his railroad career at nineteen years of age, became a conductor on the Burlington system, and had a varied experience on several Western lines, including the Mexican National and Mexican Central railways. His rise in the order was rapid and in 1889 he became vice-president. One of his intimate friends wrote that "in his capacity as Vice-President and President of the Order he has written more schedules and successfully negotiated more wage settlements, including the eight-hour day settlement in 1916, under the method of collective bargaining than any other labor leader on the American continent." Garretson has long served as a member of the executive committee of the National Civic Federation and in 1912 was appointed by President Wilson a member of the Federal Commission on Industrial Relations. A man of great energy and force of character, he has recently assumed a leading place in labor union activities. In addition to the locomotive engineers and the conductors, the firemen also have their union. Eleven firemen of the Erie Railroad organized a brotherhood at Port Jervis, New York, in December, 1873, but it was a fraternal order rather than a trade union. In 1877, the year of the great railway strike, it was joined by the International Firemen's Union, an organization without any fraternal or insurance features. In spite of this amalgamation, however, the growth of the Brotherhood was very slow. Indeed, so unsatisfactory was the condition of affairs that in 1879 the order took an unusual step. "So bitter was the continued opposition of railroad officials at this time," relates the chronicler of the Brotherhood (in some sections of the country it resulted in the disbandment of the lodges and the depletion of membership) "that it was decided, in order to remove the cause of such opposition, to eliminate the protective feature of the organization. With a view to this end a resolution was adopted ignoring strikes." This is one of the few recorded retreats of militant trade unionism. The treasury of the Brotherhood was so depleted that it was obliged to call upon local lodges for donations. By 1885, however, the order had sufficiently recovered to assume again the functions of a labor union in addition to its fraternal and beneficiary obligations. The days of its greatest hardships were over, although the historic strike on the Burlington lines that lasted virtually throughout the year 1888 and the Pullman strike in 1894 wrought a severe strain upon its staying powers. In 1906 the enginemen were incorporated into the order, and thenceforth the membership grew rapidly. In 1913 a joint agreement was effected with the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers whereby the two organizations could work together "on a labor union basis." Today men operating electric engines or motor or gas cars on lines using electricity are eligible for membership, if they are otherwise qualified. This arrangement does not interfere with unions already established on interurban lines. The leadership of this order of firemen has been less continuous, though scarcely less conspicuous, than that of the other brotherhoods. Before 1886 the Grand Secretary and Treasurer was invested with greater authority than the grand master, and in this position Eugene V. Debs, who served from 1881 to 1892, and Frank W. Arnold, who served from 1893 to 1903, were potent in shaping the policies of the Union. There have been seven grand masters and one president (the name now used to designate the chief officer) since 1874. Of these leaders Frank P. Sargent served from 1886 until 1892, when he was appointed Commissioner General of Immigration by President Roosevelt. Since 1909, William S. Carter has been president of the Brotherhood. Born in Texas in 1859, he began railroading at nineteen years of age and served in turn as fireman, baggageman, and engineer. Before his election to the editorship of the Firemen's Magazine, he held various minor offices in local lodges. Since 1894 he has served the order successively as editor, grand secretary and treasurer, and president. To his position he has brought an intimate knowledge of the affairs of the Union as well as a varied experience in practical railroading. Upon the entrance of America into the Great War, President Wilson appointed him Director of the Division of Labor of the United States Railway Administration. Of the government and policy of the firemen's union President Carter remarked: This Brotherhood may be compared to a state in a republic of railway unions, maintaining almost complete autonomy in its own affairs yet uniting with other railway brotherhoods in matters of mutual concern and in common defense. It is true that these railway brotherhoods carry the principle of home rule to great lengths and have acknowledged no common head, and by this have invited the criticism from those who believe . . . that only in one "big" union can railway employees hope for improved working condition. . . . That in union there is strength, no one will deny, but in any confederation of forces there must be an exchange of individual rights for this collective power. There is a point in the combining of working people in labor unions where the loss of individual rights is not compensated by the increased power of the masses of workers. In the cautious working out of this principle, the firemen have prospered after the manner of their colleagues in the other brotherhoods. Their membership embraces the large majority of their craft. From the date of the establishment of their beneficiary fund to 1918 a total of $21,860,103.00 has been paid in death and disability claims and in 1918 the amount so paid was $1,538,207.00. The Firemen's Magazine, established in 1876 and now published from headquarters in Cleveland, is indicative of the ambitions of the membership, for its avowed aim is to "make a specialty of educational matter for locomotive enginemen and other railroad employees." An attempt was even made in 1908 to conduct a correspondence school, under the supervision of the editor and manager of the magazine, but after three years this project was discontinued because it could not be made self-supporting. The youngest of the railway labor organizations is the Brotherhood of Trainmen, organized in September, 1883, at Oneonta, New York. Its early years were lean and filled with bickerings and doubts, and it was not until S. E. Wilkinson was elected grand master in 1885 that it assumed an important rôle in labor organizations. Wilkinson was one of those big, rough and ready men, with a natural aptitude for leadership, who occasionally emerge from the mass. He preferred railroading to schooling and spent more time in the train sheds of his native town of Monroeville, Ohio, than he did at school. At twelve years of age he ran away to join the Union Army, in which he served as an orderly until the end of the war. He then followed his natural bent, became a switchman and later a brakeman, was a charter member of the Brotherhood, and, when its outlook was least encouraging, became its Grand Master. At once under his leadership the organization became aggressive. The conditions under which trainmen worked were far from satisfactory. At that time, in the Eastern field, the pay of a brakeman was between $1.50 and $2 a day in the freight service, $45 a month in the passenger service, and $50 a month for yard service. In the Southern territory, the wages were very much lower and in the Western about $5 per month higher. The runs in the different sections of the country were not equalized; there was no limit to the number of hours called a day's work; overtime and preparatory time were not counted in; and there were many complaints of arbitrary treatment of trainmen by their superiors. Wilkinson set to work to remedy the wage situation first. Almost at once he brought about the adoption of the principle of collective bargaining for trainmen and yardmen. By 1895, when he relinquished his office, the majority of the railways in the United States and Canada had working agreements with their train and yard service men. Wages had been raised, twelve hours or less and one hundred miles or less became recognized as a daily measure of service, and overtime was paid extra. The panic of 1893 hit the railway service very hard. There followed many strikes engineered by the American Railway Union, a radical organization which carried its ideas of violence so far that it wrecked not only itself but brought the newer and conservative Brotherhoods to the verge of ruin. It was during this period of strain that, in 1895, P. H. Morrissey was chosen Grand Master of the Trainmen. With a varied training in railroading, in insurance, and in labor organization work, Morrissey was in many ways the antithesis of his predecessors who had, in a powerful and brusque way, prepared the ground for his analytical and judicial leadership. He was unusually well informed on all matters pertaining to railroad operations, earnings, and conditions of employment, and on general economic conditions. This knowledge, together with his forcefulness, tact, parliamentary ability, and rare good judgment, soon made him the spokesman of all the railway Brotherhoods in their joint conferences and their leader before the public. He was not afraid to take the unpopular side of a cause, cared nothing for mere temporary advantages, and had the gift of inspiring confidence. When Morrissey assumed the leadership of the Trainmen, their order had lost 10,000 members in two years and was about $200,000 in debt. The panic had produced unemployment and distrust, and the violent reprisals of the American Railway Union had reaped a harvest of bitterness and disloyalty. During his fifteen years of service until he retired in 1909, Morrissey saw his order rejuvenated and virtually reconstructed, the work of the men standardized in the greater part of the country, slight increases of pay given to the freight and passenger men, and very substantial increases granted to the yard men. But his greatest service to his order was in thoroughly establishing it in the public confidence. He was succeeded by William G. Lee, who had served in many subordinate offices in local lodges before he had been chosen First Vice-Grand Master in 1895. For fifteen years he was a faithful understudy to Morrissey whose policy he has continued in a characteristically fearless and thoroughgoing manner. When he assumed the presidency of the order, he obtained a ten-hour day in the Eastern territory for all train and yard men, together with a slight increase in pay for all classes fixed on the ten-hour basis. The ten-hour day was now adopted in Western territory where it had not already been put into effect. The Southern territory, however, held out until 1912, when a general advance on all Southern railroads, with one exception, brought the freight and passenger men to a somewhat higher level of wages than existed in other parts of the country. In the following year the East and the West raised their wages so that finally a fairly level rate prevailed throughout the United States. In the movement for the eight-hour day which culminated in the passage of the Adamson Law by Congress, Lee and his order took a prominent part. In 1919 the Trainmen had $253,000,000 insurance in force, and up to that year had paid out $42,500,000 in claims. Of this latter amount $3,604,000 was paid out in 1918, one-half of which was attributed to the influenza epidemic. Much of the success and power of the railroad Brotherhoods is due to the character of their members as well as to able leadership. The editor of a leading newspaper has recently written: "The impelling power behind every one of these organizations is the membership. I say this without detracting from the executive or administrative abilities of the men who have been at the head of these organizations, for their influence has been most potent in carrying out the will of their several organizations. But whatever is done is first decided upon by the men and it is then put up to their chief executive officers for their direction." With a membership of 375,000 uniformly clean and competent, so well captained and so well fortified financially by insurance, benefit, and other funds, it is little wonder that the Brotherhoods have reached a permanent place in the railroad industry. Their progressive power can be discerned in Federal legislation pertaining to arbitration and labor conditions in interstate carriers. In 1888 an act was passed providing that, in cases of railway labor disputes, the President might appoint two investigators who, with the United States Commission of Labor, should form a board to investigate the controversy and recommend "the best means for adjusting it." But as they were empowered to produce only findings and not to render decisions, the law remained a dead letter, without having a single case brought up under it. It was superseded in 1898 by the Erdman Act, which provided that certain Federal officials should act as mediators and that, in case they failed, a Board of Arbitrators was to be appointed whose word should be binding for a certain period of time and from whose decisions appeal could be taken to the Federal courts. Of the hundreds of disputes which occurred during the first eight years of the existence of this statute, only one was brought under the mechanism of the law. Federal arbitration was not popular. In 1905, however, a rather sudden change came over the situation. Over sixty cases were brought under the Erdman Act in about eight years. In 1913 the Newlands Law was passed providing for a permanent Board of Mediation and Conciliation, by which over sixty controversies have been adjusted. The increase of brotherhood influence which such legislation represents was accompanied by a consolidation in power. At first the Brotherhoods operated by railway systems or as individual orders. Later on they united into districts, all the Brotherhoods of a given district coöperating in their demands. Finally the coöperation of all the Brotherhoods in the United States on all the railway systems was effected. This larger organization came clearly to light in 1912, when the Brotherhoods submitted their disputes to the board of arbitration. This step was hailed by the public as going a long way towards the settlement of labor disputes by arbitral boards. The latest victory of the Brotherhoods, however, has shaken public confidence and has ushered in a new era of brotherhood influence and Federal interference in railroad matters. In 1916, the four Brotherhoods threatened to strike. The mode of reckoning pay--whether upon an eight-hour or a longer day--was the subject of contention. The Department of Labor, through the Federal Conciliation Board, tried in vain to bring the opponents together. Even President Wilson's efforts to bring about an agreement proved futile. The roads agreed to arbitrate all the points, allowing the President to name the arbitrators; but the Brotherhoods, probably realizing their temporary strategic advantage, refused point-blank to arbitrate. When the President tried to persuade the roads to yield the eight-hour day, they replied that it was a proper subject for arbitration. Instead of standing firmly on the principle of arbitration, the President chose to go before Congress, on the afternoon of the 29th of August, and ask, first, for a reorganization of the Interstate Commerce Commission; second, for legal recognition of the eight-hour day for interstate carriers; third, for power to appoint a commission to observe the operation of the eight-hour day for a stated time; fourth, for reopening the question of an increase in freight rates to meet the enlarged cost of operation; fifth, for a law declaring railway strikes and lockouts unlawful until a public investigation could be made; sixth, for authorization to operate the roads in case of military necessity. The strike was planned to fall on the expectant populace, scurrying home from their vacations, on the 4th of September. On the 1st of September an eight-hour bill, providing also for the appointment of a board of observation, was rushed through the House; on the following day it was hastened through the staid Senate; and on the third it received the President's signature. ¹ The other recommendations of the President were made to await the pleasure of Congress and the unions. To the suggestion that railway strikes be made unlawful until their causes are disclosed the Brotherhoods were absolutely opposed. ¹ This was on Sunday. In order to obviate any objection as to the legality of the signature the President signed the bill again on the following Tuesday, the intervening Monday being Labor Day. Many readjustments were involved in launching the eight-hour law, and in March, 1917, the Brotherhoods again threatened to strike. The President sent a committee, including the Secretary of the Interior and the Secretary of Labor, to urge the parties to come to an agreement. On the 19th of March, the Supreme Court upheld the validity of the law, and the trouble subsided. But in the following November, after the declaration of war, clouds reappeared on the horizon, and again the unions refused the Government's suggestion of arbitration. Under war pressure, however, the Brotherhoods finally consented to hold their grievance in abeyance. The haste with which the eight-hour law was enacted, and the omission of the vital balance suggested by the President appeared to many citizens to be a holdup of Congress, and the nearness of the presidential election suggested that a political motive was not absent. The fact that in the ensuing presidential election, Ohio, the home of the Brotherhoods, swung from the Republican to the Democratic column, did not dispel this suspicion from the public mind. Throughout this maneuver it was apparent that the unions were very confident, but whether because of a prearranged pact, or because of a full treasury, or because of a feeling that the public was with them, or because of the opposite belief that the public feared them, must be left to individual conjecture. None the less, the public realized that the principle of arbitration had given way to the principle of coercion. Soon after the United States had entered the Great War, the Government, under authority of an act of Congress, took over the management of all the interstate railroads, and the nation was launched upon a vast experiment destined to test the capacities of all the parties concerned. The dispute over wages that had been temporarily quieted by the Adamson Law broke out afresh until settled by the famous Order No. 27, issued by William G. McAdoo, the Director General of Railroads, and providing a substantial readjustment of wages and hours. In the spring of 1919 another large wage increase was granted to the men by Director General Hines, who succeeded McAdoo. Meanwhile the Brotherhoods, through their counsel, laid before the congressional committee a plan for the government ownership and joint operation of the roads, known as the Plumb plan, and the American people are now face to face with an issue which will bring to a head the paramount question of the relation of employees on government works to the Government and to the general public. CHAPTER VIII ISSUES AND WARFARE There has been an enormous expansion in the demands of the unions since the early days of the Philadelphia cordwainers; yet these demands involve the same fundamental issues regarding hours, wages, and the closed shop. Most unions, when all persiflage is set aside, are primarily organized for business--the business of looking after their own interests. Their treasury is a war chest rather than an insurance fund. As a benevolent organization, the American union is far behind the British union with its highly developed Friendly Societies. The establishment of a standard rate of wages is perhaps, as the United States Industrial Commission reported in 1901, "the primary object of trade union policy." The most promising method of adjusting the wage contract is by the collective trade agreement. The mechanism of the union has made possible collective bargaining, and in numerous trades wages and other conditions are now adjusted by this method. One of the earliest of these agreements was effected by the Iron Molders' Union in 1891 and has been annually renewed. The coal operatives, too, for a number of years have signed a wage agreement with their miners, and the many local difficulties and differences have been ingeniously and successfully met. The great railroads have, likewise, for many years made periodical contracts with the railway Brotherhoods. The glove-makers, cigar-makers, and, in many localities, workers in the building trades and on street-railway systems have the advantage of similar collective agreements. In 1900 the American Newspaper Publishers Association and the International Typographical Union, after many years of stubborn fighting merged their numerous differences in a trade contract to be in effect for one year. This experiment proved so successful that the agreement has since then been renewed for five year periods. In 1915 a bitter strike of the garment makers in New York City was ended by a "protocol." The principle of collective agreement has become so prevalent that the Massachusetts Bureau of Labor believes that it "is being accepted with increasing favor by both employers and employees," and John Mitchell, speaking from wide experience and an intimate knowledge of conditions, says that "the hope of future peace in the industrial world lies in the trade agreement." These agreements are growing in complexity, and today they embrace not only questions of wages and hours but also methods for adjusting all the differences which may arise between the parties to the bargain. The very success of collective bargaining hinges upon the solidarity and integrity of the union which makes the bargain. A union capable of enforcing an agreement is a necessary antecedent condition to such a contract. With this fact in mind, one can believe that John Mitchell was not unduly sanguine in stating that "the tendency is toward the growth of compulsory membership . . . and the time will doubtless come when this compulsion will be as general and will be considered as little of a grievance as the compulsory attendance of children at school." There are certain industries so well centralized, however, that their coercive power is greater than that of the labor union, and these have maintained a consistent hostility to the closed shop. The question of the closed shop is, indeed, the most stubborn issue confronting the union. The principle involves the employment of only union men in a shop; it means a monopoly of jobs by members of the union. The issue is as old as the unions themselves and as perplexing as human nature. As early as 1806 it was contended for by the Philadelphia cordwainers and by 1850 it had become an established union policy. While wages and hours are now, in the greater industrial fields, the subject of a collective contract, this question of union monopoly is still open, though there has been some progress towards an adjustment. Wherever the trade agreement provides for a closed shop, the union, through its proper committees and officers, assumes at least part of the responsibility of the discipline. The agreement also includes methods for arbitrating differences. The acid test of the union is its capacity to live up to this trade agreement. For the purpose of forcing its policies upon its employers and society the unions have resorted to the strike and picketing, the boycott, and the union label. When violence occurs, it usually is the concomitant of a strike; but violence unaccompanied by a strike is sometimes used as a union weapon. The strike is the oldest and most spectacular weapon in the hands of labor. For many years it was thought a necessary concomitant of machine industry. The strike, however, antedates machinery and was a practical method of protest long before there were unions. Men in a shop simply agreed not to work further and walked out. The earliest strike in the United States, as disclosed by the United States Department of Labor occurred in 1741 among the journeymen bakers in New York City. In 1792 the cordwainers of Philadelphia struck. By 1834 strikes were so prevalent that the New York Daily Advertiser declared them to be "all the fashion." These demonstrations were all small affairs compared with the strikes that disorganized industry after the Civil War or those that swept the country in successive waves in the late seventies, the eighties, and the nineties. The United States Bureau of Labor has tabulated the strike statistics for the twenty-five year period from 1881 to 1905. This list discloses the fact that 38,303 strikes and lockouts occurred, involving 199,954 establishments and 7,444,279 employees. About 2,000,000 other employees were thrown out of work as an indirect result. In 1894, the year of the great Pullman strike, 610,425 men were out of work at one time; and 659,792 in 1902. How much time and money these ten million wage-earners lost, and their employers lost, and society lost, can never be computed, nor how much nervous energy was wasted, good will thrown to the winds, and mutual suspicion created. The increase of union influence is apparent, for recognition of the union has become more frequently a cause for strikes. ¹ Moreover, while the unions were responsible for about 47 per cent of the strikes in 1881, they had originated, directly or indirectly, 75 per cent in 1905. More significant, indeed, is the fact that striking is a growing habit. In 1903, for instance, there were 3494 strikes, an average of about ten a day. ¹ The cause of the strikes tabulated by the Bureau of Labor is shown in the following table of percentages: 1881 1891 1901 1905 For increase of wages: 61 27 29 32 Against reduction of wages: 10 11 4 5 For reduction in hours: 3 5 7 5 Recognition of Union: 6 14 28 31 Preparedness is the watchword of the Unions in this warfare. They have generals and captains, a war chest and relief committees, as well as publicity agents and sympathy scouts whose duty it is to enlist the interest of the public. Usually the leaders of the unions are conservative and deprecate violence. But a strike by its very nature offers an opportunity to the lawless. The destruction of property and the coercion of workmen have been so prevalent in the past that, in the public mind, violence has become universally associated with strikes. Judge Jenkins, of the United States Circuit Court, declared, in a leading case, that "a strike without violence would equal the representation of Hamlet with the part of Hamlet omitted." Justice Brewer of the United States Supreme Court said that "the common rule as to strikes" is not only for the workers to quit but to "forcibly prevent others from taking their place." Historic examples involving violence of this sort are the great railway strikes of 1877, when Pittsburgh, Reading, Cincinnati, Chicago, and Buffalo were mob-ridden; the strike of the steel-workers at Homestead, Pennsylvania, in 1892; the Pullman strike of 1894, when President Cleveland sent Federal troops to Chicago; the great anthracite strike of 1902, which the Federal Commission characterized as "stained with a record of riot and bloodshed"; the civil war in the Colorado and Idaho mining regions, where the Western Federation of Miners battled with the militia and Federal troops; the dynamite outrages, perpetrated by the structural iron workers, stretching across the entire country, and reaching a dastardly climax in the dynamiting of the Los Angeles Times building on October 1, 1910, in which some twenty men were killed. The recoil from this outrage was the severest blow which organized labor has received in America. John J. McNamara, Secretary of the Structural Iron Workers' Association, and his brother James were indicted for murder. After the trial was staged and the eyes of the nation were upon it, the public was shocked and the hopes of labor unionists were shattered by the confessions of the principals. In March, 1912, a Federal Grand Jury at Indianapolis returned fifty-four indictments against officers and members of the same union for participation in dynamite outrages that had occurred during the six years in many parts of the country, with a toll of over one hundred lives and the destruction of property valued at many millions of dollars. Among those indicted was the president of the International Association of Bridge and Structural Iron Workers. Most of the defendants were sentenced to various terms in the penitentiary. The records of this industrial warfare are replete with lesser battles where thuggery joined hands with desperation in the struggle for wages. Evidence is not wanting that local leaders have frequently incited their men to commit acts of violence in order to impress the public with their earnestness. It is not an inviting picture, this matching of the sullen violence of the mob against the sullen vigilance of the corporation. Yet such methods have not always been used, for the union has done much to systematize this guerrilla warfare. It has matched the ingenuity and the resolution of the employer, backed by his detectives and professional strike-breakers; it has perfected its organization so that the blow of a whistle or the mere uplifting of a hand can silence a great mill. Some of the notable strikes have been managed with rare skill and diplomacy. Some careful observers, indeed, are inclined to the opinion that the amount of violence that takes place in the average strike has been grossly exaggerated. They maintain that, considering the great number of strikes, the earnestness with which they are fought, the opportunity they offer to the lawless, and the vast range of territory they cover, the amount of damage to property and person is unusually small and that the public, through sensational newspaper reports of one or two acts of violence, is led to an exaggerated opinion of its prevalence. It must be admitted, however, that the wisdom and conservatism of the national labor leaders is neutralized by their lack of authority in their particular organization. A large price is paid for the autonomy that permits the local unions to declare strikes without the sanction of the general officers. There are only a few unions, perhaps half a dozen, in which a local can be expelled for striking contrary to the wish of the national officers. In the United Mine Workers' Union, for example, the local must secure the consent of the district officers and national president, or, if these disagree, of the executive board, before it can declare a strike. The tendency to strike on the spur of the moment is much more marked among the newer unions than among the older ones, which have perfected their strike machinery through much experience and have learned the cost of hasty and unjustified action. A less conspicuous but none the less effective weapon in the hands of labor is the boycott, ¹ which is carried by some of the unions to a terrible perfection. It reached its greatest power in the decade between 1881 and 1891. Though it was aimed at a great variety of industries, it seemed to be peculiarly effective in the theater, hotel, restaurant, and publishing business, and in the clothing and cigar trades. For sheer arbitrary coerciveness, nothing in the armory of the union is so effective as the boycott. A flourishing business finds its trade gone overnight. Leading customers withdraw their patronage at the union's threat. The alert picket is the harbinger of ruin, and the union black list is as fraught with threat as the black hand. ¹ In 1880, Lord Erne, an absentee Irish landlord, sent Captain Boycott to Connemara to subdue his irate tenants. The people of the region refused to have any intercourse whatever with the agent or his family. And social and business ostracism has since been known as the boycott. The New York Bureau of Statistics of Labor has shown that during the period of eight years between 1885 and 1892 there were 1352 boycotts in New York State alone. A sort of terrorism spread among the tradespeople of the cities. But the unions went too far. Instances of gross unfairness aroused public sympathy against the boycotters. In New York City, for instance, a Mrs. Grey operated a small bakery with nonunion help. Upon her refusal to unionize her shop at the command of the walking delegate, her customers were sent the usual boycott notice, and pickets were posted. Her delivery wagons were followed, and her customers were threatened. Grocers selling her bread were systematically boycotted. All this persecution merely aroused public sympathy for Mrs. Grey, and she found her bread becoming immensely popular. The boycotters then demanded $2500 for paying their boycott expenses. When news of this attempt at extortion was made public, it heightened the tide of sympathy, the courts took up the matter, and the boycott failed. The New York Boycotter, a journal devoted to this form of coercion, declared: "In boycotting we believe it to be legitimate to strike a man financially, socially, or politically. We believe in hitting him where it will hurt the most; we believe in remorselessly crowding him to the wall; but when he is down, instead of striking him, we would lift him up and stand him once more on his feet." When the boycott thus enlisted the aid of blackmail, it was doomed in the public esteem. Boycott indictments multiplied, and in one year in New York City alone, over one hundred leaders of such attempts at coercion were sentenced to imprisonment. The boycott, however, was not laid aside as a necessary weapon of organized labor because it had been abused by corrupt or overzealous unionists, nor because it had been declared illegal by the courts. All the resources of the more conservative unions and of the American Federation of Labor have been enlisted to make it effective in extreme instances where the strike has failed. This application of the method can best be illustrated by the two most important cases of boycott in our history, the Buck's Stove and Range case and the Danbury Hatters' case. Both were fought through the Federal courts, with the defendants backed by the American Federation and opposed by the Anti-Boycott Association, a federation of employers. The Buck's Stove and Range Company of St. Louis incurred the displeasure of the Metal Polishers' Union by insisting upon a ten-hour day. On August 27, 1906, at five o'clock in the afternoon, on a prearranged signal, the employees walked out. They returned to work the next morning and all were permitted to take their accustomed places except those who had given the signal. They were discharged. At five o'clock that afternoon the men put aside their work, and the following morning reappeared. Again the men who had given the signal were discharged, and the rest went to work. The union then sent notice to the foreman that the discharged men must be reinstated or that all would quit. A strike ensued which soon led to a boycott of national proportions. It spread from the local to the St. Louis Central Trades and Labor Union and to the Metal Polishers' Union. In 1907 the executive council of the American Federation of Labor officially placed the Buck's Stove and Range Company on the unfair list and gave this action wide and conspicuous circulation in The Federationist. This boycott received further impetus from the action of the Mine Workers, who in their Annual Convention resolved that the Buck's Stove and Range Company be put on the unfair list and that "any member of the United Mine Workers of America purchasing a stove of above make be fined $5.00 and failing to pay the same be expelled from the organization." Espionage became so efficient and letters from old customers withdrawing patronage became so numerous and came from so wide a range of territory that the company found itself rapidly nearing ruin. An injunction was secured, enjoining the American Federation from blacklisting the company. The labor journals circumvented this mandate by publishing in display type the statement that "It is unlawful for the American Federation of Labor to boycott Buck's Stoves and Ranges," and then in small type adroitly recited the news of the court's decision in such a way that the reader would see at a glance that the company was under union ban. These evasions of the court's order were interpreted as contempt, and in punishment the officers of the Federation were sentenced to imprisonment--Frank Morrison for six months, John Mitchell for nine months, Samuel Gompers for twelve months. But a technicality intervened between the leaders and the cells awaiting them. The public throughout the country had followed the course of this case with mingled feelings of sympathy and disfavor, and though the boycott had never met with popular approval, on the whole the public was relieved to learn that the jail-sentences were not to be served. The Danbury Hatters' boycott was brought on in 1903 by the attempt of the Hatters' Union to make a closed shop of a manufacturing concern in Danbury, Connecticut. The unions moved upon Danbury, flushed with two recent victories--one in Philadelphia, where an important hat factory had agreed to the closed shop after spending some $40,000 in fighting, and another at Orange, New Jersey, where a manufacturer had spent $25,000. But as the Danbury concern was determined to fight the union, in 1902 a nationwide boycott was declared. The company then brought suit against members of the union in the United States District Court. Injunction proceedings reached the Supreme Court of the United States on a demurrer, and in February, 1908, the court declared that the Sherman Anti-Trust Law forbade interstate boycotts. The case then returned to the original court for trial. Testimony was taken in many States, and after a trial lasting twelve weeks the jury assessed the damages to the plaintiff at $74,000. On account of error, the case was remanded for re-trial in 1911. At the second trial the jury gave the plaintiff a verdict for $80,000, the full amount asked. According to the law, this amount was trebled, leaving the judgment, with costs added, at $252,000. The Supreme Court having sustained the verdict, the puzzling question of how to collect it arose. As such funds as the union had were invulnerable to process, the savings bank accounts of the individual defendants were attached. The union insisted that the defendants were not taxable for accrued interest, and the United States Supreme Court, now appealed to for a third time, sustained the plaintiff's contention. In this manner $60,000 were obtained. Foreclosure proceedings were then begun against one hundred and forty homes belonging to union men in the towns of Danbury, Norwalk, and Bethel. The union boasted that this sale would prove only an incubus to the purchasers, for no one would dare occupy the houses sold under such circumstances. In the meantime the American Federation, which had financed the litigation, undertook to raise the needed sum by voluntary collection and made Gompers's birthday the occasion for a gift to the Danbury local. The Federation insisted that the houses be sold on foreclosure and that the collected money be used not as a prior settlement but as an indemnity to the individuals thus deprived of their homes. Rancor gave way to reason, however, and just before the day fixed for the foreclosure sale the matter was settled. In all, $235,000 was paid in damages by the union to the company. In the fourteen years during which this contest was waged, about forty defendants, one of the plaintiffs, and eight judges who had passed on the controversy, died. The outcome served as a spur to the Federation in hastening through Congress the Clayton bill of 1914, designed to place labor unions beyond the reach of the anti-trust laws. The union label has in more recent years achieved importance as a weapon in union warfare. This is a mark or device denoting a union-made article. It might be termed a sort of labor union trade-mark. Union men are admonished to favor the goods so marked, but it was not until national organizations were highly perfected that the label could become of much practical value. It is a device of American invention and was first used by the cigar makers in 1874. In 1880 their national body adopted the now familiar blue label and, with great skill and perseverance and at a considerable outlay of money, has pushed its union-made ware, in the face of sweat-shop competition, of the introduction of cigar making machinery, and of fraudulent imitation. Gradually other unions making products of common consumption adopted labels. Conspicuous among these were the garment makers, the hat makers, the shoe makers, and the brewery workers. As the value of the label manifestly depends upon the trade it entices, the unions are careful to emphasize the sanitary conditions and good workmanship which a label represents. The application of the label is being rapidly extended. Building materials are now in many large cities under label domination. In Chicago the bricklayers have for over fifteen years been able to force the builders to use only union-label brick, and the carpenters have forced the contractors to use only material from union mills. There is practically no limit to this form of mandatory boycott. The barbers, retail clerks, hotel employees, and butcher workmen hang union cards in their places of employment or wear badges as insignia of union loyalty. As these labels do not come under the protection of the United States trade-mark laws, the unions have not infrequently been forced to bring suits against counterfeiters. Finally, in their efforts to fortify themselves against undue increase in the rate of production or "speeding up," against the inrush of new machinery, and against the debilitating alternation of rush work and no work, the unions have attempted to restrict the output. The United States Industrial Commission reported in 1901 that "there has always been a strong tendency among labor organizations to discourage exertion beyond a certain limit. The tendency does not express itself in formal rules. On the contrary, it appears chiefly in the silent, or at least informal pressure of working class opinion." Some unions have rules, others a distinct understanding, on the subject of a normal day's work, and some discourage piecework. But it is difficult to determine how far this policy has been carried in application. Carroll D. Wright, in a special report as United States Commissioner of Labor in 1904, said that "unions in some cases fix a limit to the amount of work a workman may perform a day. Usually it is a secret understanding, but sometimes, when the union is strong, no concealment is made." His report mentioned several trades, including the building trades, in which this curtailment is prevalent. The course of this industrial warfare between the unions and the employers has been replete with sordid details of selfishness, corruption, hatred, suspicion, and malice. In every community the strike or the boycott has been an ominous visitant, leaving in its trail a social bitterness which even time finds it difficult to efface. In the great cities and the factory towns, the constant repetition of labor struggles has created centers of perennial discontent which are sources of never-ending reprisals. In spite of individual injustice, however, one can discern in the larger movements a current setting towards a collective justice and a communal ideal which society in self-defense is imposing upon the combatants. CHAPTER IX THE NEW TERRORISM: THE I. W. W. It was not to be expected that the field of organized labor would be left undisputed to the moderation of the trade union after its triumph over the extreme methods of the Knights of Labor. The public, however, did not anticipate the revolutionary ideal which again sought to inflame industrial unionism. After the decadence of the older type of the industrial union several conditions manifested themselves which now, in retrospect, appear to have encouraged the violent militants who call themselves the Industrial Workers of the World. First of all, there took place in Europe the rise of syndicalism with its adoption of sympathetic strikes as one of its methods. Syndicalism flourished especially in France, where from its inception the alert French mind had shaped for it a philosophy of violence, whose subtlest exponent was Georges Sorel. The Socialist Future of Trade Unions, which he published in 1897, was an early exposition of his views, but his Reflections upon Violence in 1908 is the best known of his contributions to this newer doctrine. With true Gallic fervor, the French workingman had sought to translate his philosophy into action, and in 1906 undertook, with the aid of a revolutionary organization known as the Confédération Général du Travail, a series of strikes which culminated in the railroad and post office strike of 1909. All these uprisings--for they were in reality more than strikes--were characterized by extreme language, by violent action, and by impressive public demonstrations. In Italy, Spain, Norway, and Belgium, the syndicalists were also active. Their partiality to violent methods attracted general attention in Europe and appealed to that small group of American labor leaders whose experience in the Western Federation of Miners had taught them the value of dynamite as a press agent. In the meantime material was being gathered for a new outbreak in the United States. The casual laborers had greatly increased in numbers, especially in the West. These migratory workingmen--the "hobo miners," the "hobo lumberjacks," the "blanket stiffs," of colloquial speech--wander about the country in search of work. They rarely have ties of family and seldom ties of locality. About one-half of these wanderers are American born. They are to be described with precision as "floaters." Their range of operations includes the wheat regions west of the Mississippi, the iron mines of Michigan and Minnesota, the mines and forests of Idaho, Montana, Colorado, Washington, and Oregon, and the fields of California and Arizona. They prefer to winter in the cities, but, as their only refuge is the bunk lodging house, they increase the social problem in New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and other centers of the unemployed. Many of these migrants never were skilled workers; but a considerable portion of them have been forced down into the ranks of the unskilled by the inevitable tragedies of prolonged unemployment. Such men lend a willing ear to the labor agitator. The exact number in this wandering class is not known. The railroad companies have estimated that at a given time there have been 500,000 hobos trying to beat their way from place to place. Unquestionably a large percentage of the 23,964 trespassers killed and of the 25,236 injured on railway rights of way from 1901 to 1904 belonged to this class. It is not alone these drifters, however, who because of their irresponsibility and their hostility toward society became easy victims to the industrial organizer. The great mass of unskilled workers in the factory towns proved quite as tempting to the propagandist. Among laborers of this class, wages are the lowest and living conditions the most uninviting. Moreover, this group forms the industrial reservoir which receives the settlings of the most recent European and Asiatic immigration. These people have a standard of living and conceptions of political and individual freedom which are at variance with American traditions. Though their employment is steadier than that of the migratory laborer, and though they often have ties of family and other stabilizing responsibilities, their lives are subject to periods of unemployment, and these fluctuations serve to feed their innate restlessness. They are, in quite the literal sense of the word, American proletarians. They are more volatile than any European proletarian, for they have learned the lesson of migration, and they retain the socialistic and anarchistic philosophy of their European fellow-workers. There were several attempts to organize casual labor after the decline of the Knights of Labor. But it is difficult to arouse any sustained interest in industrial organizations among workingmen of this class. They lack the motive of members of a trade union, and the migratory character of such workers deprives their organization of stability. One industrial organization, however, has been of the greatest encouragement to the I. W. W. The Western Federation of Miners, which was organized at Butte, Montana, on May 15, 1893, has enjoyed a more turbulent history than any other American labor union. It was conceived in that spirit of rough resistance which local unions of miners, for some years before the amalgamation of the unions, had opposed to the ruthless and firm determination of the mine owners. In 1897, the president of the miners, after quoting the words of the Constitution of the United States giving citizens the right to bear arms, said: "This you should comply with immediately. Every union should have a rifle club. I strongly advise you to provide every member with the latest improved rifle which can be obtained from the factory at a nominal price. I entreat you to take action on this important question, so that in two years we can hear the inspiring music of the martial tread of 25,000 armed men in the ranks of labor." This militant vision was fortunately never quite fulfilled. But armed strikers there were, by the thousands, and the gruesome details of their fight with mine owners in Colorado are set forth in a special report of the United States Commissioner of Labor in 1905. The use of dynamite became early associated with this warfare in Colorado. In 1903 a fatal explosion occurred in the Vindicator mine in Teller County, and serious disorders broke out in Telluride, the county seat of San Miguel County. In 1904 a cage lifting miners from the shaft in the Independence mine at Victor was dropped and fifteen men were killed. There were many minor outrages, isolated murders, "white cap" raids, infernal machines, deportations, black lists, and so on. In Montana and Idaho similar scenes were enacted and reached a climax in the murder of Governor Steunenberg of Idaho. Yet the union officers indicted for this murder were released by the trial jury. Such was the preparatory school of the new unionism, which had its inception in several informal conferences held in Chicago. The first, attended by only six radical leaders, met in the autumn of 1904. The second, held in January, 1905, issued a manifesto attacking the trade unions, calling for a "new departure" in the labor movement, and inviting those who desired to join in organizing such a movement to "meet in convention in Chicago the 27th day of June, 1905." About two hundred persons responded to this appeal and organized the Industrial Workers of the World, almost unnoticed by the press of the day and scorned by the American Federation of Labor, whose official organ had called those in attendance at the second conference "engaged in the delectable work of trying to divert, pervert, and disrupt the labor movement of the country." An overwhelming influence in this convention was wielded by the Western Federation of Miners and the Socialistic American Labor Union, two radical labor bodies which looked upon the trade unions as "union snobbery" and the "aristocracy of labor," and upon the American Federation as "the consummate flower of craft unionism" and "a combination of job trusts." They believed trade unionism wrong in principle. They discarded the principle of trade autonomy for the principle of laboring class solidarity, for, as one of their spokesmen said, "The industrial union, in contradistinction to the craft union, is that organization through which all its members in one industry, or in all industries if necessary, can act as a unit." While this convention was united in denouncing the trade unions, it was not so unanimous in other matters, for the leaders were all veterans in those factional quarrels which characterize Socialists the world over. Eugene V. Debs, for example, was the hero of the Knights of Labor and had achieved wide notoriety during the Pullman strike by being imprisoned for contempt of court. William D. Haywood, popularly known as "Big Bill," received a rigorous training in the Western Federation of Miners. Daniel DeLeon, whose right name, the American Federationist alleged, was Daniel Loeb, was a university graduate and a vehement revolutionary, the leader of the Socialistic Labor party, and the editor of the Daily People. A. M. Simons, the leader of the Socialist party and the editor of the Coming Nation, was at swords' points with DeLeon. William E. Trautmann was the fluent spokesman of the anti-political faction. These men dominated the convention. After some twelve days of discussion, they agreed upon a constitution which established six departments, ¹ provided for a general executive board with centralized powers, and at the same time left to the local and department organizations complete industrial autonomy. The I. W. W. in "the first constitution, crude and provisional as it was, made room for all the world's workers." ² This was, indeed, the great object of the organization. ¹ 1. Agriculture, Land, Fisheries, and Water Products. 2. Mining. 3. Transportation and Communication. 4. Manufacturing and General Production. 5. Construction. 6. Public Service. ² J. G. Brissenden, The Launching of the Industrial Workers of the World, page 41. Whatever visions of world conquest the militants may at first have fostered were soon shattered by internal strife. There were unreconcilable elements in the body: those who regarded the political aspect as paramount and industrial unions as allies of socialism; those who regarded the forming of unions as paramount and politics as secondary; and those who regarded all forms of political activity as mere waste of energy. The first two groups were tucked under the wings of the Socialist party and the Socialist Labor party. The third group was frankly anarchistic and revolutionary. In the fourth annual convention the Socialist factions withdrew, established headquarters at Detroit, organized what is called the Detroit branch, and left the Chicago field to the revolutionists. So socialism "pure and simple," and what amounts to anarchism "pure and simple," fell out, after they had both agreed to disdain trade unionism "pure and simple." This shift proved the great opportunity for Haywood and his disciples. Feeling himself now free of all political encumbrances, he gathered around him a small group of enthusiastic leaders, some of whom had a gift of diabolical intrigue, and with indomitable perseverance and zeal he set himself to seeking out the neglected, unskilled, and casual laborer. Within a few years he so dominated the movement that, in the public mind, the I. W. W. is associated with the Chicago branch and the Detroit faction is well-nigh forgotten. As a preliminary to a survey of some of the battles that made the I. W. W. a symbol of terror in many communities it will be well to glance for a moment at the underlying doctrines of the organization. In a preamble now notorious it declared that "the working class and the employing class have nothing in common. There can be no peace so long as hunger and want are found among millions of working people, and the few who make up the employing class have all the good things of life. Between these two classes a struggle must go on until the workers of the world as a class take possession of the earth and the machinery of production and abolish the wage system." This thesis is a declaration of war as well as a declaration of principles. The I. W. W. aims at nothing less than the complete overthrow of modern capitalism and the political structure which accompanies it. Emma Goldman, who prides herself on having received her knowledge of syndicalism "from actual contact" and not from books, says that "syndicalism repudiates and condemns the present industrial arrangement as unjust and criminal." Edward Hamond calls the labor contract "the sacred cow" of industrial idolatry and says that the aim of the I. W. W. is "the abolition of the wage system." And W. E. Trautmann affirms that "the industrial unionist holds that there can be no agreement with the employers of labor which the workers have to consider sacred and inviolable." In place of what they consider an unjust and universal capitalistic order they would establish a new society in which "the unions of the workers will own and manage all industries, regulate consumption, and administer the general social interests." How is this contemplated revolution to be achieved? By the working classes themselves and not through political activity, for "one of the first principles of the I. W. W. is that political power rests on economic power. . . . It must gain control of the shops, ships, railways, mines, mills." And how is it to gain this all-embracing control? By persuading every worker to join the union, the "one great organization" which, according to Haywood, is to be "big enough to take in the black man, the white man; big enough to take in all nationalities--an organization that will be strong enough to obliterate state boundaries, to obliterate national boundaries. . . . We, the I. W. W., stand on our two feet, the class struggle and industrial unionism, and coolly say we want the whole earth." When the great union has become universal, it will simply take possession of its own, will "lock the employers out for good as owners and parasites, and give them a chance to become useful toilers." The resistance that will assuredly be made to this process of absorption is to be met by direct action, the general strike, and sabotage--a trinity of phrases imported from Europe, each one of special significance. "The general strike means a stoppage of work," says Emma Goldman with naïve brevity. It was thought of long before the I. W. W. existed, but it has become the most valuable weapon in their arsenal. Their pamphlets contain many allusions to the great strikes in Belgium, Russia, Italy, France, Scandinavia, and other European countries, that were so widespread as to merit being called general. If all the workers can be induced to stop work, even for a very brief interval, such action would be regarded as the greatest possible manifestation of the "collective power of the producers." Direct action, a term translated directly from the French, is more difficult to define. This method sets itself in opposition to the methods of the capitalist in retaining control of industry, which is spoken of as indirect action. Laws, machinery, credits, courts, and constabulary are indirect methods whereby the capitalist keeps possession of his property. The industrialist matches this with a direct method. For example, he engages in a passive strike, obeying rules so literally as to destroy both their utility and his work; or in an opportune strike, ceasing work suddenly when he knows his employer has orders that must be immediately filled; or in a temporary strike, quitting work one day and coming back the next. His weapon is organized opportunism, wielding an unexpected blow, and keeping the employer in a frenzy of fearful anticipation. Finally, sabotage is a word that expresses the whole philosophy and practice of revolutionary labor. John Spargo, in his Syndicalism, Industrial Unionism and Socialism, traces the origin of the word to the dockers' union in London. Attempt after attempt had proved futile to win by strikes the demands of these unskilled workers. The men were quite at the end of their resources, when finally they hit upon the plan of "lying down on the job" or "soldiering." As a catchword they adopted the Scotch phrase ca'canny, to go slow or be careful not to do too much. As an example they pointed to the Chinese coolies who met a refusal of increased wages by cutting off a few inches from their shovels on the principle of "small pay, small work." He then goes on to say that "the idea was very easily extended. From the slowing up of the human worker to the slowing up of the iron worker, the machine, was an easy transition. Judiciously planned 'accidents' might easily create confusion for which no one could be blamed. A few 'mistakes' in handling cargoes might easily cost the employers far more than a small increase in wages would." Some French syndicalists, visiting London, were greatly impressed with this new cunning. But as they had no ready translation for the Scottish ca'canny, they ingeniously abstracted the same idea from the old French saying Travailler à coups de sabots--to work as if one had on wooden shoes--and sabotage thus became a new and expressive phrase in the labor war. Armed with these weapons, Haywood and his henchmen moved forward. Not long after the first convention in 1905, they made their presence known at Goldfield, Nevada. Then they struck simultaneously at Youngstown, Ohio, and Portland, Oregon. The first battle, however, to attract general notice was at McKees Rocks, Pennsylvania, in 1909. In this warfare between the recently organized unskilled workers and the efficient state constabulary, the I. W. W. sent notice "that for every striker killed or injured by the cossacks, the life of a cossack will be exacted in return." And they collected their gruesome toll. In 1912 occurred the historic strike in the mill town of Lawrence, Massachusetts. This affair was so adroitly managed by the organizers of the Workers that within a few weeks every newspaper of importance in America was publishing long descriptions of the new anarchism. Magazine writers, self-appointed reformers, delegations representing various organizations, three committees of the state legislature, the Governor's personal emissary, the United States Attorney, the United States Commissioner of Labor, and a congressional committee devoted their time to numerous investigations, thereby giving immense satisfaction to those obscure agitators who were lifted suddenly into the glare of universal notoriety, to the disgust of the town thus dragged into unenviable publicity, and to the discomfiture of the employers. The legislature of Massachusetts had reduced the hours of work of women and children from fifty-six to fifty-four hours a week. Without making adequate announcement, the employers withheld two hours' pay from the weekly stipend. A large portion of the workers were foreigners, representing eighteen different nationalities, most of them with a wholly inadequate knowledge of English, and all of an inflammable temperament. When they found their pay short, a group marched through the mills, inciting others to join them, and the strike was on. The American Federation of Labor had paid little attention to these workers. There were some trade unions in the mills, but most of the workers were unorganized except for the fact that the I. W. W. had, about eight months before, gathered several hundred into an industrial union. Yet it does not appear that this union started the strike. It was a case of spontaneous combustion. No sooner had it begun, however, than Joseph J. Ettor, an I. W. W. organizer, hastened to take charge, and succeeded so well that within a few weeks he claimed 7000 members in his union. Ettor proved a crafty, resourceful general, quick in action, magnetic in personality, a linguist who could command his polyglot mob. He was also a successful press agent who exploited fully the unpalatable drinking water provided by the companies, the inadequate sewerage, the unpaved streets, and the practical destitution of many of the workers. The strikers made an attempt to send children to other towns so that they might be better cared for. After several groups had thus been taken away, the city of Lawrence interfered, claiming that many children had been sent without their parents' consent. On the 24th of February, when a group of forty children and their mothers gathered at the railway station to take a train for Philadelphia, the police after due warning refused to let them depart. It was then that the Federal Government was called upon to take action. The strike committee telegraphed Congress: "Twenty-five thousand striking textile workers and citizens of Lawrence protest against the hideous brutality with which the police handled the women and children of Lawrence this morning. Carrying out the illegal and original orders of the city marshal to prevent free citizens from sending their children out of the city, striking men were knocked down, women and mothers who were trying to protect their children from the onslaught of the police were attacked and clubbed." So widespread was the opinion that unnecessary brutality had taken place that petitions for an investigation poured in upon Congress from many States and numerous organizations. The whole country was watching the situation. The hearings held by a congressional committee emphasized the stupidity of the employers in arbitrarily curtailing the wage, the inadequacy of the town government in handling the situation, and the cupidity of the I. W. W. leaders in taking advantage of the fears, the ignorance, the inflammability of the workers, and in creating a "terrorism which impregnated the whole city for days." Lawrence became a symbol. It stood for the American factory town; for municipal indifference and social neglect, for heterogeneity in population, for the tinder pile awaiting the incendiary match. At Little Falls, New York, a strike occurred in the textile mills in October, 1912, as a result of a reduction of wages due to a fifty-four hour law. No organization was responsible for the strike, but no sooner had the operatives walked out than here also the I. W. W. appeared. The leaders ordered every striker to do something which would involve arrest in order to choke the local jail and the courts. The state authorities investigating the situation reported that "all of those on strike were foreigners and few, if any, could speak or understand the English language, complete control of the strike being in the hands of the I. W. W." In February, 1913, about 15,000 employees in the rubber works at Akron, Ohio, struck. The introduction of machinery into the manufacture of automobile tires caused a reduction in the piecework rate in certain shops. One of the companies posted a notice on the 10th of February that this reduction would take effect immediately. No time was given for conference, and it was this sudden arbitrary act which precipitated all the discontent lurking for a long time in the background; and the employees walked out. The legislative investigating committee reported "there was practically no organization existing among the rubber employees when the strike began. A small local of the Industrial Workers of the World comprised of between fifteen and fifty members had been formed. . . . Simultaneously with the beginning of the strike, organizers of the I. W. W. appeared on the ground inviting and urging the striking employees to unite with their organization." Many of these testified before the public authorities that they had not joined because they believed in the preachings of the organization but because "they hoped through collective action to increase their wages and improve their conditions of employment." The tactics of the strike leaders soon alienated the public, which had at first been inclined towards the strikers, and acts of violence led to the organization of a vigilance committee of one thousand citizens which warned the leaders to leave town. In February, 1913, some 25,000 workers in the silk mills of Paterson, New Jersey, struck, and here again the I. W. W. repeated its maneuvers. Sympathetic meetings took place in New York and other cities. Daily "experience meetings" were held in Paterson and all sorts of devices were invented to maintain the fervor of the strikers. The leaders threatened to make Paterson a "howling wilderness," an "industrial graveyard," and "to wipe it off the map." This threat naturally arrayed the citizens against the strikers, over one thousand of whom were lodged in jail before the outbreak was over. Among the five ringleaders arrested and held for the grand jury were Elizabeth Gurley Flynn and Patrick Quinlan, whose trials attracted wide attention. Elizabeth Flynn, an appealing young widow scarcely over twenty-one, testified that she had begun her work as an organizer at the age of sixteen, that she had not incited strikers to violence but had only advised them to picket and to keep their hands in their pockets, "so that detectives could not put stones in them as they had done in other strikes." The jury disagreed and she was discharged. Quinlan, an unusually attractive young man, also a professional I. W. W. agitator, was found guilty of inciting to violence and was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. After serving nine months he was freed because of a monster petition signed by some 20,000 sympathetic persons all over the United States. Clergymen, philanthropists, and prominent public men, were among the signers, as well as the jurors who convicted and the sheriff who locked up the defendant. These cases served to fix further public attention upon the nature of the new movement and the sort of revivalists its evangel of violence was producing. Employers steadfastly refused to deal with the I. W. W., although they repeatedly asserted they were willing to negotiate with their employees themselves. After three months of strike and turmoil the mayor of Paterson had said: "The fight which Paterson is making is the fight of the nation. Their agitation has no other object in view but to establish a reign of terror throughout the United States." A large number of thoughtful people all over the land were beginning to share this view. In New York City a new sort of agitation was devised in the winter of 1913-14 under the captaincy of a young man who quite suddenly found himself widely advertised. Frank Tannenbaum organized an "army of the unemployed," commandeered Rutgers Square as a rendezvous, Fifth Avenue as a parade ground, and churches and parish houses as forts and commissaries. Several of the churches were voluntarily opened to them, but other churches they attempted to enter by storm. In March, 1914, Tannenbaum led several score into the church of St. Alphonsus while mass was being celebrated. Many arrests followed this bold attempt to emulate the French Revolutionists. Though sympathizers raised $7500 bail for the ringleader, Tannenbaum loyally refused to accept it as long as any of his "army" remained in jail. Squads of his men entered restaurants, ate their fill, refused to pay, and then found their way to the workhouse. So for several months a handful of unemployed, some of them professional unemployed, held the headlines of the metropolitan papers, rallied to their defense sentimental social sympathizers, and succeeded in calling the attention of the public to a serious industrial condition. At Granite City, Illinois, another instance of unrest occurred when several thousand laborers in the steel mills, mostly Roumanians and Bulgarians, demanded an increase in wages. When the whistle blew on the appointed morning, they gathered at the gates, refused to enter, and continued to shout "Two dollars a day!" Though the manager feared violence and posted guards, no violence was offered. Suddenly at the end of two hours the men quietly resumed their work, and the management believed the trouble was over. But for several successive mornings this maneuver was repeated. Strike breakers were then sent for. For a week, however, the work went forward as usual. The order for strike breakers was countermanded. Then came a continued repetition of the early morning strikes until the company gave way. Nor were the subtler methods of sabotage forgotten in these demonstrations. From many places came reports of emery dust in the gearings of expensive machines. Men boasted of powdered soap emptied into water tanks that fed boilers, of kerosene applied to belting, of railroad switches that had been tampered with. With these and many similar examples before them, the public became convinced that the mere arresting of a few leaders was futile. A mass meeting at Ipswich, Massachusetts, in 1913, declared, as its principle of action, "We have got to meet force with force," and then threatened to run the entire local I. W. W. group out of town. In many towns vigilance committees acted as eyes, ears, and hands for the community. When the community refused to remain neutral, the contest assumed a different aspect and easily became a feud between a small group of militants and the general public. In the West this contest assumed its most aggressive form. At Spokane, in 1910, the jail was soon filled, and sixty prisoners went on a hunger strike which cost several lives. In the lumber mills of Aberdeen, South Dakota, explosions and riots occurred. In Hoquiam, Washington, a twelve-foot stockade surmounted by barbed wire entanglements failed to protect the mills from the assaults of strikers. At Gray's Harbor, Washington, a citizens' committee cut the electric light wires to darken the meeting place of the I. W. W. and then used axe handles and wagon spokes to drive the members out of town. At Everett, Washington, a strike in the shingle mills led to the expulsion of the I. W. W. The leaders then called for volunteers to invade Everett, and several hundred members sailed from Seattle. They were met at the dock, however, by a large committee of citizens and were informed by the sheriff that they would not be allowed to land. After some parley, the invaders opened fire, and in the course of the shooting that followed the sheriff was seriously wounded, five persons were killed, and many were injured. The boat and its small invading army then returned to Seattle without making a landing at Everett. The I. W. W. found an excuse for their riotous action in the refusal of communities to permit them to speak in the streets and public places. This, they claimed, was an invasion of their constitutional right of free speech. The experience of San Diego serves as an example of their "free speech" campaigns. In 1910, I. W. W. agitators began to hold public meetings in the streets, in the course of which their language increased in ferocity until the indignation of the community was aroused. An ordinance was then passed by the city council prohibiting street speaking within the congested portions of the city, but allowing street meetings in other parts of the city if a permit from the police department were first obtained. There was, however, no law requiring the issue of such a permit, and none was granted to the agitators. This restriction of their liberties greatly incensed the agitators, who at once raised the cry of "free speech" and began to hold meetings in defiance of the ordinance. The jail was soon glutted with these apostles of riotous speaking. In order to delay the dispatch of the court's overcrowded calendar, every one demanded a jury trial. The mayor of the town then received a telegram from the general secretary of the organization which disclosed their tactics: "This fight will be continued until free speech is established in San Diego if it takes twenty thousand members and twenty years to do so." The national membership of the I. W. W. had been drafted as an invading army, to be a constant irritation to the city until it surrendered. The police asserted that "there are bodies of men leaving all parts of the country for San Diego" for the purpose of defying the city authorities and overwhelming its municipal machinery. A committee of vigilantes armed with "revolvers, knives, night-sticks, black jacks, and black snakes," supported by the local press and commercial bodies, undertook to run the unwelcome guests out of town. That this was not done gently is clearly disclosed by subsequent official evidence. Culprits were loaded into auto trucks at night, taken to the county line, made to kiss the flag, sing the national anthem, run the gauntlet between rows of vigilantes provided with cudgels and, after thus proving their patriotism under duress, were told never to return. "There is an unwritten law," one of the local papers at this time remarked, "that permits a citizen to avenge his outraged honor. There is an unwritten law that permits a community to defend itself by any means in its power, lawful or unlawful, against any evil which the operation of the written law is inadequate to oppose or must oppose by slow, tedious, and unnecessarily expensive proceeding." So this municipal homeopathy of curing lawlessness with lawlessness received public sanction. With the declaration of war against Germany in April, 1917, hostility to the I. W. W. on the part of the American public was intensified. The members of the organization opposed war. Their leaflet War and the Workers, bore this legend: GENERAL SHERMAN SAID "WAR IS HELL" DON'T GO TO HELL IN ORDER TO GIVE A BUNCH OF PIRATICAL PLUTOCRATIC PARASITES A BIGGER SLICE OF HEAVEN Soon rumors abounded that German money was being used to aid the I. W. W. in their plots. In Oklahoma, Texas, Illinois, Kansas, and other States, members of the organization were arrested for failure to comply with the draft law. The governors of Oregon, Washington, Montana, Idaho, and Nevada met to plan laws for suppressing the I. W. W. Similar legislation was urged upon Congress. Senator Thomas, in a report to the Senate, accused the I. W. W. of coöperating with German agents in the copper mines and harvest fields of the West by inciting the laborers to strikes and to the destruction of food and material. Popular opinion in the West inclined to the view of Senator Poindexter of Washington when he said that "most of the I. W. W. leaders are outlaws or ought to be made outlaws because of their official utterances, inflammatory literature and acts of violence." Indeed, scores of communities in 1917 took matters into their own hands. Over a thousand I. W. W. strikers in the copper mines of Bisbee, Arizona, were loaded into freight cars and shipped over the state line. In Billings, Montana, one leader was horsewhipped, and two others were hanged until they were unconscious. In Tulsa, Oklahoma, a group of seventeen members were taken from policemen, thoroughly flogged, tarred, feathered, and driven out of town by vigilantes. The Federal Government, after an extended inquiry through the secret service, raided the Detroit headquarters of the I. W. W., where a plot to tie up lake traffic was brewing. The Chicago offices were raided some time later; over one hundred and sixty leaders of the organization from all parts of the country were indicted as a result of the examination of the wagon-load of papers and documents seized. As a result, 166 indictments were returned. Of these 99 defendants were found guilty by the trial jury, 16 were dismissed during the trial, and 51 were dismissed before the trial. In Cleveland, Buffalo, and other lake ports similar disclosures were made, and everywhere the organization fell under popular and official suspicion. In many other portions of the country members of the I. W. W. were tried for conspiracy under the Federal espionage act. In January, 1919, a trial jury in Sacramento found 46 defendants guilty. The offense in the majority of these cases consisted in opposing military service rather than in overt acts against the Government. But in May and June, 1919, the country was startled by a series of bomb outrages aimed at the United States Attorney-General, certain Federal district judges, and other leading public personages, which were evidently the result of centralized planning and were executed by members of the I. W. W., aided very considerably by foreign Bolshevists. In spite of its spectacular warfare and its monopoly of newspaper headlines, the I. W. W. has never been numerically strong. The first convention claimed a membership of 60,000. All told, the organization has issued over 200,000 cards since its inception, but this total never constituted its membership at any given time, for no more fluctuating group ever existed. When the I. W. W. fosters a strike of considerable proportions, the membership rapidly swells, only to shrink again when the strike is over. This temporary membership consists mostly of foreign workmen who are recent immigrants. What may be termed the permanent membership is difficult to estimate. In 1913 there were about 14,000 members. In 1917 the membership was estimated at 75,000. Though this is probably a maximum rather than an average, nevertheless the members are mostly young men whose revolutionary ardor counterbalances their want in numbers. It is, moreover, an organization that has a wide penumbra. It readily attracts the discontented, the unemployed, the man without a horizon. In an instant it can lay a fire and put an entire police force on the qui vive. The organization has always been in financial straits. The source of its power is to be sought elsewhere. Financially bankrupt and numerically unstable, the I. W. W. relies upon the brazen cupidity of its stratagems and the habitual timorousness of society for its power. It is this self-seeking disregard of constituted authority that has given a handful of bold and crafty leaders such prominence in the recent literature of fear. And the members of this industrial Ku Klux Klan, these American Bolsheviki, assume to be the "conscious minority" which is to lead the ranks of labor into the Canaan of industrial bliss. CHAPTER X LABOR AND POLITICS In a democracy it is possible for organized labor to extend its influence far beyond the confines of a mere trade policy. It can move the political mechanism directly in proportion to its capacity to enlist public opinion. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that labor is eager to take part in politics or that labor parties were early organized. They were, however, doomed to failure, for no workingman's party can succeed, except in isolated localities, without the coöperation of other social and political forces. Standing alone as a political entity, labor has met only rebuff and defeat at the hands of the American voter. The earlier attempts at direct political action were local. In Philadelphia a workingman's party was organized in 1828 as a result of the disappointment of the Mechanics' Union at its failure to achieve its ambitions by strikes. At a public meeting it was resolved to support only such candidates for the legislature and city council as would pledge themselves to the interests of "the working classes." The city was organized, and a delegate convention was called which nominated a ticket of thirty candidates for city and county offices. But nineteen of these nominees were also on the Jackson ticket, and ten on the Adams ticket; and both of these parties used the legend "Working Man's Ticket," professing to favor a shorter working day. The isolated labor candidates received only from 229 to 539 votes, while the Jackson party vote ranged from 3800 to 7000 and the Adams party vote from 2500 to 3800. So that labor's first excursion into politics revealed the eagerness of the older parties to win the labor vote, and the futility of relying on a separate organization, except for propaganda purposes. Preparatory to their next campaign, the workingmen organized political clubs in all the wards of Philadelphia. In 1829 they nominated thirty-two candidates for local offices, of whom nine received the endorsement of the Federalists and three that of the Democrats. The workingmen fared better in this election, polling nearly 2000 votes in the county and electing sixteen candidates. So encouraged were they by this success that they attempted to nominate a state ticket, but the dominant parties were too strong. In 1831 the workingmen's candidates, who were not endorsed by the older parties, received less than 400 votes in Philadelphia. After this year the party vanished. New York also early had an illuminating experience in labor politics. In 1829 the workingmen of the city launched a political venture under the immediate leadership of an agitator by the name of Thomas Skidmore. Skidmore set forth his social panacea in a book whose elongated title betrays his secret: The Rights of Man to Property! Being a Proposition to Make it Equal among the Adults of the Present Generation; and to Provide for its Equal Transmission to Every Individual of Each Succeeding Generation, on Arriving at the Age of Maturity. The party manifesto began with the startling declaration that "all human society, our own as well as every other, is constructed radically wrong." The new party proposed to right this defect by an equal distribution of the land and by an elaborate system of public education. Associated with Skidmore were Robert Dale Owen and Frances Wright of the Free Enquirer, a paper advocating all sorts of extreme social and economic doctrines. It was not strange, therefore, that the new party was at once connected, in the public mind, with all the erratic vagaries of these Apostles of Change. It was called the "Fanny Wright ticket" and the "Infidel Ticket." Every one forgot that it aimed to be the workingman's ticket. The movement, however, was supported by The Working Man's Advocate, a new journal that soon reached a wide influence. There now appeared an eccentric Quaker, Russell Comstock by name, to center public attention still more upon the new party. As a candidate for the legislature, he professed an alarmingly advanced position, for he believed that the State ought to establish free schools where handicrafts and morals, but not religion, should be taught; that husband and wife should be equals before the law; that a mechanics' lien and bankruptcy law should be passed; and that by wise graduations all laws for the collection of debts should be repealed. At a meeting held at the City Hall, for the further elucidation of his "pure Republicanism," he was greeted by a great throng but was arrested for disturbing the peace. He received less than one hundred and fifty votes, but his words went far to excite, on the one hand, the interest of the laboring classes in reform, and, on the other hand, the determination of the conservative classes to defeat "a ticket got up openly and avowedly," as one newspaper said, "in opposition to all banks, in opposition to social order, in opposition to rights of property." Elections at this time lasted three days. On the first day there was genuine alarm at the large vote cast for "the Infidels." Thoughtful citizens were importuned to go to the polls, and on the second and third days they responded in sufficient numbers to compass the defeat of the entire ticket, excepting only one candidate for the legislature. The Workingman's party contained too many zealots to hold together. After the election of 1829 a meeting was called to revise the party platform. The more conservative element prevailed and omitted the agrarian portions of the platform. Skidmore, who was present, attempted to protest, but his voice was drowned by the clamor of the audience. He then started a party of his own, which he called the Original Workingman's party but which became known as the Agrarian party. The majority endeavored to rectify their position in the community by an address to the people. "We take this opportunity," they said, "to aver, whatever may be said to the contrary by ignorant or designing individuals or biased presses, that we have no desire or intention of disturbing the rights of property in individuals or the public." In the meantime Robert Dale Owen and Fanny Wright organized a party of their own, endorsing an extreme form of state paternalism over children. This State Guardianship Plan, as it was called, aimed to "regenerate America in a generation" and to "make but one class out of the many that now envy and despise each other." There were, then, three workingmen's parties in New York, none of which, however, succeeded in gaining an influential position in state politics. After 1830 all these parties disappeared, but not without leaving a legacy of valuable experience. The Working Man's Advocate discovered political wisdom when it confessed that "whether these measures are carried by the formation of a new party, by the reform of an old one, or by the abolishment of party altogether, is of comparative unimportance." In New England, the workingmen's political endeavors were joined with those of the farmers under the agency of the New England Association of Farmers, Mechanics, and Workingmen. This organization was initiated in 1830 by the workingmen of Woodstock, Vermont, and their journal, the Working Man's Gazette, became a medium of agitation which affected all the New England manufacturing towns as well as many farming communities. "Woodstock meetings," as they were called, were held everywhere and aroused both workingmen and farmers to form a new political party. The Springfield Republican summarized the demands of the new party thus: The avowed objects generally seem to be to abolish imprisonment for debt, the abolishment of litigation, and in lieu thereof the settlement of disputes by reference to neighbors; to establish some more equal and universal system of public education; to diminish the salaries and extravagance of public officers; to support no men for offices of public trust, but farmers, mechanics, and what the party call "working men"; and to elevate the character of this class by mental instruction and mental improvement. . . . Much is said against the wealth and aristocracy of the land, their influence, and the undue influence of lawyers and other professional men. . . . The most of these objects appear very well on paper and we believe they are already sustained by the good sense of the people. . . . What is most ridiculous about this party is, that in many places where the greatest noise is made about it, the most indolent and most worthless persons, men of no trade or useful occupation have taken the lead. We cannot of course answer for the character for industry of many places where this party is agitated: but we believe the great body of our own community, embracing every class and profession, may justly be called workingmen: nor do we believe enough can be found who are not such, to make even a decent party of drones. In the early thirties many towns and cities in Massachusetts, Vermont, Maine, Connecticut, and Rhode Island elected workingmen's candidates to local offices, usually with the help of small tradespeople. In 1833 and 1834 the workingmen of Massachusetts put a state ticket in the field which polled about 2000 votes, and in Boston a workingman's party was organized, but it did not gather much momentum and soon disappeared. These local and desultory attempts at forming a separate labor party failed as partisan movements. The labor leader proved an inefficient amateur when matched against the shrewd and experienced party manipulator; nor was there a sufficient class homogeneity to keep the labor vote together; and, even if it had so been united, there were not enough labor votes to make a majority. So the labor candidate had to rely on the good will of other classes in order to win his election. And this support was not forthcoming. Americans have, thus far, always looked with suspicion upon a party that represented primarily the interests of only one class. This tendency shows a healthy instinct founded upon the fundamental conception of society as a great unity whose life and progress depend upon the freedom of all its diverse parts. It is not necessary to assume, as some observers have done, that these petty political excursions wrecked the labor movement of that day. It was perfectly natural that the laborer, when he awoke to the possibilities of organization and found himself possessed of unlimited political rights, should seek a speedy salvation in the ballot box. He took, by impulse, the partisan shortcut and soon found himself lost in the slough of party intrigue. On the other hand, it should not be concluded that these intermittent attempts to form labor parties were without political significance. The politician is usually blind to every need except the need of his party; and the one permanent need of his party is votes. A demand backed by reason will usually find him inert; a demand backed by votes galvanizes him into nervous attention. When, therefore, it was apparent that there was a labor vote, even though a small one, the demands of this vote were not to be ignored, especially in States where the parties were well balanced and the scale was tipped by a few hundred votes. Within a few decades after the political movement began, many States had passed lien laws, had taken active measures to establish efficient free schools, had abolished imprisonment for debt, had legislative inquiry into factory conditions, and had recognized the ten-hour day. These had been the leading demands of organized labor, and they had been brought home to the public conscience, in part at least, by the influence of the workingmen's votes. It was not until after the Civil War that labor achieved sufficient national homogeneity to attempt seriously the formation of a national party. In the light of later events it is interesting to sketch briefly the development of the political power of the workingman. The National Labor Union at its congress of 1866 resolved "that, so far as political action is concerned, each locality should be governed by its own policy, whether to run an independent ticket of workingmen, or to use political parties already existing, but at all events to cast no vote except for men pledged to the interests of labor." The issue then seemed clear enough. But six years later the Labor Reform party struck out on an independent course and held its first and only national convention. Seventeen States were represented. ¹ The Labor party, however, had yet to learn how hardly won are independence and unity in any political organization. Rumors of pernicious intermeddling by the Democratic and Republican politicians were afloat, and it was charged that the Pennsylvania delegates had come on passes issued by the president of the Pennsylvania Railroad. Judge David Davis of Illinois, then a member of the United States Supreme Court, was nominated for President and Governor Joel Parker of New Jersey for Vice-President. Both declined, however, and Charles O'Conor of New York, the candidate of "the Straight-Out Democrats," was named for President, but no nomination was made for Vice-President. Considering the subsequent phenomenal growth of the labor vote, it is worth noting in passing that O'Conor received only 29,489 votes and that these embraced both the labor and the so-called "straight" Democratic strength. ¹ It is interesting to note that in this first National Labor Party Convention a motion favoring government ownership and the referendum was voted down. For some years the political labor movement lost its independent character and was absorbed by the Greenback party which offered a meeting-ground for discontented farmers and restless workingmen. In 1876 the party nominated for President the venerable Peter Cooper, who received about eighty thousand votes--most of them probably cast by farmers. During this time the leaders of the labor movement were serving a political apprenticeship and were learning the value of coöperation. On February 22, 1878, a conference held at Toledo, Ohio, including eight hundred delegates from twenty-eight States, perfected an alliance between the Labor Reform and Greenback parties and invited all "patriotic citizens to unite in an effort to secure financial reform and industrial emancipation." Financial reform meant the adoption of the well-known greenback free silver policy. Industrial emancipation involved the enactment of an eight-hour law; the inspection of workshops, factories, and mines; the regulation of interstate commerce; a graduated federal income tax; the prohibition of the importation of alien contract labor; the forfeiture of the unused portion of the princely land grants to railroads; and the direct participation of the people in government. These fundamental issues were included in the demands of subsequent labor and populist parties, and some of them were bequeathed to the Progressive party of a later date. The convention was thus a forerunner of genuine reform, for its demands were based upon industrial needs. For the moment it made a wide popular appeal. In the state elections of 1878 about a million votes were polled by the party candidates. The bulk of these were farmers' votes cast in the Middle and Far West, though in the East, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New York, Maine, and New Jersey cast a considerable vote for the party. With high expectations the new party entered the campaign of 1880. It had over a dozen members in Congress, active organizations in nearly every State, and ten thousand local clubs. General James B. Weaver, the presidential nominee of the party, was the first candidate to make extensive campaign journeys into distant sections of the country. His energetic canvass netted him only 308,578 votes, most of which came from the West. The party was distinctly a farmers' party. In 1884, it nominated the lurid Ben Butler who had been, according to report, "ejected from the Democratic party and booted out of the Republican." His demagogic appeals, however, brought him not much more than half as many votes as the party received at the preceding election, and helped to end the political career of the Greenbackers. With the power of the farmers on the wane, the balance began to shift. There now followed a number of attempts to organize labor in the Union Labor party, the United Labor party, the Progressive Labor party, the American Reform party, and the Tax Reformers. There were still numerous farmers' organizations such as the Farmers' Alliance, the Anti-Monopolists, the Homesteaders, and others, but they were no longer the dominant force. Under the stimulus of the labor unions, delegates representing the Knights of Labor, the Grangers, the Anti-Monopolists, and other farmers' organizations, met in Cincinnati on February 22, 1887, and organized the National Union Labor party. ¹ The following May the party held its only nominating convention. Alson J. Streeter of Illinois was named for President and Samuel Evans of Texas for Vice-President. The platform of the party was based upon the prevalent economic and political discontent. Farmers were overmortgaged, laborers were underpaid, and the poor were growing poorer, while the rich were daily growing richer. "The paramount issues," the new party declared, "are the abolition of usury, monopoly, and trusts, and we denounce the Republican and Democratic parties for creating and perpetuating these monstrous evils." ¹ McKee, National Conventions and Platforms, p. 251. In the meantime Henry George, whose Progress and Poverty had made a profound impression upon public thought, had become in 1886 a candidate for mayor of New York City, and polled the phenomenal total of 68,110 votes, while Theodore Roosevelt, the Republican candidate, received 60,435, and Abram S. Hewitt, the successful Democratic candidate, polled 90,552. The evidence of popular support which attended Henry George's brief political career was the prelude to a national effort which culminated in the formation of the United Labor party. Its platform was similar to that of the Union party, except that the single tax now made its appearance. This method contemplated the "taxation of land according to its value and not according to its area, to devote to common use and benefit those values which arise, not from the exertion of the individual, but from the growth of society," and the abolition of all taxes on industry and its products. But it was apparent from the similarity of their platforms and the geographical distribution of their candidates that the two labor parties were competing for the same vote. At a conference held in Chicago to effect a union, however, the Union Labor party insisted on the complete effacement of the other ticket and the single taxers refused to submit. In the election which followed, the Union Labor party received about 147,000 votes, largely from the South and West and evidently the old Greenback vote, while the United party polled almost no votes outside of Illinois and New York. Neither party survived the result of this election. In December, 1889, committees representing the Knights of Labor and the Farmers' Alliance met in St. Louis to come to some agreement on political policies. Owing to the single tax predilection of the Knights, the two organizations were unable to enter into a close union, but they nevertheless did agree that "the legislative committees of both organizations [would] act in concert before Congress for the purpose of securing the enactment of laws in harmony with their demands." This coöperation was a forerunner of the People's party or, as it was commonly called, the Populist party, the largest third party that had taken the field since the Civil War. Throughout the West and the South political conditions now were feverish. Old party majorities were overturned, and a new type of Congressman invaded Washington. When the first national convention of the People's party met in Omaha on July 2, 1892, the outlook was bright. General Weaver was nominated for President and James G. Field of Virginia for Vice-President. The platform rehabilitated Greenbackism in cogent phrases, demanded government control of railroads and telegraph and telephone systems, the reclamation of land held by corporations, an income tax, the free coinage of silver and gold "at the present legal ratio of sixteen to one," and postal savings banks. In a series of resolutions which were not a part of the platform but were nevertheless "expressive of the sentiment of this convention," the party declared itself in sympathy "with the efforts of organized workingmen to shorten the hours of labor"; it condemned "the fallacy of protecting American labor under the present system, which opens our ports to the pauper and criminal classes of the world and crowds out our wage-earners"; and it opposed the Pinkerton system of capitalistic espionage as "a menace to our liberties." The party formally declared itself to be a "union of the labor forces of the United States," for "the interests of rural and city labor are the same; their enemies identical." These national movements prior to 1896 are not, however, an adequate index of the political strength of labor in partisan endeavor. Organized labor was more of a power in local and state elections, perhaps because in these cases its pressure was more direct, perhaps because it was unable to cope with the great national organization of the older parties. During these years of effort to gain a footing in the Federal Government, there are numerous examples of the success of the labor party in state elections. As early as 1872 the labor reformers nominated state tickets in Pennsylvania and Connecticut. In 1875 they nominated Wendell Phillips for Governor of Massachusetts. In 1878, in coalition with the Greenbackers, they elected many state officers throughout the West. Ten years later, when the Union Labor party was at its height, labor candidates were successful in several municipalities. In 1888 labor tickets were nominated in many Western States, including Colorado, Indiana, Kansas, Minnesota, Michigan, Missouri, Nebraska, Ohio, and Wisconsin. Of these Kansas cast the largest labor vote, with nearly 36,000, and Missouri came next with 15,400. In the East, however, the showing of the party in state elections was far less impressive. In California the political labor movement achieved a singular prominence. In 1877 the labor situation in San Francisco became acute because of the prevalence of unemployment. Grumblings of dissatisfaction soon gave way to parades and informal meetings at which imported Chinese labor and the rich "nobs," the supposed dual cause of all the trouble, were denounced in lurid language. The agitation, however, was formless until the necessary leader appeared in Dennis Kearney, a native of Cork County, Ireland. For fourteen years he had been a sailor, had risen rapidly to first officer of a clipper ship, and then had settled in San Francisco as a drayman. He was temperate and industrious in his personal life, and possessed a clear eye, a penetrating voice, the vocabulary of one versed in the crude socialistic pamphlets of his day, and, in spite of certain domineering habits bred in the sailor, the winning graces of his nationality. Kearney appeared at meetings on the vacant lots known as the "sand lots," in front of the City Hall of San Francisco, and advised the discontented ones to "wrest the government from the hands of the rich and place it in those of the people." On September 12, 1877, he rallied a group of unemployed around him and organized the Workingman's Trade and Labor Union of San Francisco. On the 5th of October, at a great public meeting, the Workingman's party of California was formed and Kearney was elected president. The platform adopted by the party proposed to place the government in the hands of the people, to get rid of the Chinese, to destroy the money power, to "provide decently for the poor and unfortunate, the weak and the helpless," and "to elect none but competent workingmen and their friends to any office whatever. . . . When we have 10,000 members we shall have the sympathy and support of 20,000 other workingmen. This party," concluded the pronouncement, "will exhaust all peaceable means of attaining its ends, but it will not be denied justice, when it has the power to enforce it. It will encourage no riot or outrage, but it will not volunteer to repress or put down or arrest or prosecute the hungry and impatient, who manifest their hatred of the Chinamen by a crusade against 'John,' or those who employ him. Let those who raise the storm by their selfishness, suppress it themselves. If they dare raise the devil, let them meet him face to face. We will not help them." In advocating these views, Kearney held meeting after meeting, each rhetorically more violent than the last, until on the 3d of November he was arrested. This martyrdom in the cause of labor increased his power, and when he was released he was drawn by his followers in triumph through the streets on one of his own drays. His language became more and more extreme. He bludgeoned the "thieving politicians" and the "bloodsucking capitalists," and he advocated "judicious hanging" and "discretionary shooting." The City Council passed an ordinance intended to gag him; the legislature enacted an extremely harsh riot act; a body of volunteers patrolled the streets of the city; a committee of safety was organized. On January 5, 1878, Kearney and a number of associates were indicted, arrested, and released on bail. When the trial jury acquitted Kearney, what may be called the terrorism of the movement attained its height, but it fortunately spent itself in violent adjectives. The Workingman's party, however, elected a workingman mayor of San Francisco, joined forces with the Grangers, and elected a majority of the members of the state constitutional convention which met in Sacramento on September 28, 1878. This was a notable triumph for a third party. The framing of a new constitution gave this coalition of farmers and workingmen an unusual opportunity to assail the evils which they declared infested the State. The instrument which they drafted bound the state legislature with numerous restrictions and made lobbying a felony; it reorganized the courts, placed innumerable limitations upon corporations, forbade the loaning of the credit or property of the State to corporations, and placed a state commission in charge of the railroads, which had been perniciously active in state politics. Alas for these visions of reform! A few years after the adoption of this new constitution by California, Hubert H. Bancroft wrote: Those objects which it particularly aimed at, it failed to achieve. The effect upon corporations disappointed its authors and supporters. Many of them were strong enough still to defy state power and evade state laws, in protecting their interests, and this they did without scruple. The relation of capital and labor is even more strained than before the constitution was adopted. Capital soon recovered from a temporary intimidation . . . Labor still uneasy was still subject to the inexorable law of supply and demand. Legislatures were still to be approached by agents . . . Chinese were still employed in digging and grading. The state board of railroad Commissioners was a useless expense, . . . being as wax in the hands of the companies it was set to watch. ¹ ¹ Works (vol. XXIV): History of California, vol. VII, p. 404. After the collapse of the Populist party, there is to be discerned in labor politics a new departure, due primarily to the attitude of the American Federation of Labor in partisan matters, and secondarily to the rise of political socialism. A socialistic party deriving its support almost wholly from foreign-born workmen had appeared in a few of the large cities in 1877, but it was not until 1892 that a national party was organized, and not until after the collapse of Populism that it assumed some political importance. In August, 1892, a Socialist-Labor convention which was held in New York City nominated candidates for President and Vice-President and adopted a platform that contained, besides the familiar economic demands of socialism, the rather unusual suggestion that the Presidency, Vice-Presidency, and Senate of the United States be abolished and that an executive board be established "whose members are to be elected, and may at any time be recalled, by the House of Representatives, as the only legislative body, the States and municipalities to adopt corresponding amendments to their constitutions and statutes." Under the title of the Socialist-Labor party, this ticket polled 21,532 votes in 1892, and in 1896, 36,373 votes. In 1897 the inevitable split occurred in the Socialist ranks. Eugene V. Debs, the radical labor leader, who, as president of the American Railway Union, had directed the Pullman strike and had become a martyr to the radical cause through his imprisonment for violating the orders of a Federal Court, organized the Social-Democratic party. In 1900 Debs was nominated for President, and Job Harriman, representing the older wing, for Vice-President. The ticket polled 94,864 votes. The Socialist-Labor party nominated a ticket of their own which received only 33,432 votes. Eventually this party shrank to a mere remnant, while the Social Democratic party became generally known as the Socialist party. Debs became their candidate in three successive elections. In 1904 and 1908 his vote hovered around 400,000. In 1910 congressional and local elections spurred the Socialists to hope for a million votes in 1912 but they fell somewhat short of this mark. Debs received 901,873 votes, the largest number which a Socialist candidate has ever yet received. Benson, the presidential candidate in 1916, received 590,579 votes. ¹ ¹ The Socialist vote is stated differently by McKee, National Conventions and Platforms. The above figures, to 1912, are taken from Stanwood's History of the Presidency, and for 1912 and 1916 from the World Almanac. In the meantime, the influence of the Socialist labor vote in particular localities vastly increased. In 1910 Milwaukee elected a Socialist mayor by a plurality of seven thousand, sent Victor Berger to Washington as the first Socialist Congressman, and elected labor-union members as five of the twelve Socialist councilmen, thus revealing the sympathy of the working class for the cause. On January 1, 1912, over three hundred towns and cities had one or more Socialist officers. The estimated Socialist vote of these localities was 1,500,000. The 1039 Socialist officers included 56 mayors, 205 aldermen and councilmen, and 148 school officers. This was not a sectional vote but represented New England and the far West, the oldest commonwealths and the newest, the North and the South, and cities filled with foreign workingmen as well as staid towns controlled by retired farmers and shopkeepers. When the United States entered the Great War, the Socialist party became a reservoir for all the unsavory disloyalties loosened by the shock of the great conflict. Pacifists and pro-Germans found a common refuge under its red banner. In the New York mayoralty elections in 1917 these Socialists cast nearly one-fourth of the votes, and in the Wisconsin senatorial election in 1918 Victor Berger, their standard-bearer, swept Milwaukee, carried seven counties, and polled over one hundred thousand votes. On the other hand, a large number of American Socialists, under the leadership of William English Walling and John Spargo, vigorously espoused the national cause and subordinated their economic and political theories to their loyalty. The Socialists have repeatedly attempted to make official inroads upon organized labor. They have the sympathy of the I. W. W., the remnant of the Knights of Labor, and the more radical trades unions, but from the American Federation of Labor they have met only rebuff. A number of state federations, especially in the Middle West, not a few city centrals, and some sixteen national unions, have officially approved of the Socialist programme, but the Federation has consistently refused such an endorsement. The political tactics assumed by the Federation discountenance a distinct labor party movement, as long as the old parties are willing to subserve the ends of the unions. This self-restraint does not mean that the Federation is not "in politics." On the contrary, it is constantly vigilant and aggressive and it engages every year in political maneuvers without, however, having a partisan organization of its own. At its annual conventions it has time and again urged local and state branches to scrutinize the records of legislative candidates and to see that only friends of union labor receive the union laborer's ballot. In 1897 it "firmly and unequivocally" favored "the independent use of the ballot by trade unionists and workmen united regardless of party, that we may elect men from our own ranks to write new laws and administer them along lines laid down in the legislative demands of the American Federation of Labor and at the same time secure an impartial judiciary that will not govern us by arbitrary injunctions of the courts, nor act as the pliant tool of corporate wealth." And in 1906 it determined, first, to defeat all candidates who are either hostile or indifferent to labor's demands; second, if neither party names such candidates, then to make independent labor nominations; third, in every instance to support "the men who have shown themselves to be friendly to labor." With great astuteness, perseverance, and alertness, the Federation has pursued this method to its uttermost possibilities. In Washington it has met with singular success, reaching a high-water mark in the first Wilson Administration, with the passage of the Clayton bill and the eight-hour railroad bill. After this action, a great New York daily lamented that "Congress is a subordinate branch of the American Federation of Labor . . . The unsleeping watchmen of organized labor know how intrepid most Congressmen are when threatened with the 'labor vote.' The American laborites don't have to send men to Congress as their British brethren do to the House of Commons. From the galleries they watch the proceedings. They are mighty in committee rooms. They reason with the recalcitrant. They fight opponents in their Congress districts. There are no abler or more potent politicians than the labor leaders out of Congress. Why should rulers like Mr. Gompers and Mr. Furuseth ¹ go to Congress? They are a Super-Congress." ¹ Andrew Furuseth, the president of the Seamen's Union and reputed author of the Seaman's Act of 1915. Many Congressmen have felt the retaliatory power of the Federation. Even such powerful leaders as Congressman Littlefield of Maine and Speaker Cannon were compelled to exert their utmost to overcome union opposition. The Federation has been active in seating union men in Congress. In 1908 there were six union members in the House; in 1910 there were ten; in 1912 there were seventeen. The Secretary of Labor himself holds a union card. Nor has the Federation shrunk from active participation in the presidential lists. It bitterly opposed President Roosevelt when he espoused the open shop in the Government Printing Office; and in 1908 it openly espoused the Democratic ticket. In thus maintaining a sort of grand partisan neutrality, the Federation not only holds in numerous instances the balance of power but it makes party fealty its slave and avoids the costly luxury of maintaining a separate national organization of its own. The all-seeing lobby which it maintains at Washington is a prototype of what one may discern in most state capitals when the legislature is in session. The legislative programmes adopted by the various state labor bodies are metamorphosed into demands, and well organized committees are present to coöperate with the labor members who sit in the legislature. The unions, through their steering committee, select with caution the members who are to introduce the labor bills and watch paternally over every stage in the progress of a measure. Most of this legislative output has been strictly protective of union interests. Labor, like all other interests that aim to use the power of government, has not been wholly altruistic in its motives, especially since in recent years it has found itself matched against such powerful organizations of employers as the Manufacturers' Association, the National Erectors' Association, and the Metal Trades Association. In fact, in nearly every important industry the employers have organized for defensive and offensive purposes. These organizations match committee with committee, lobby with lobby, add espionage to open warfare, and issue effective literature in behalf of their open shop propaganda. The voluminous labor codes of such great manufacturing communities as Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, and Illinois, reflect a new and enlarged conception of the modern State. Labor has generally favored measures that extend the inquisitional and regulative functions of the State, excepting where this extension seemed to interfere with the autonomy of labor itself. Workshops, mines, factories, and other places of employment are now minutely inspected, and innumerable sanitary and safety provisions are enforced. A workman's compensation law removes from the employee's mind his anxiety for the fate of his family if he should be disabled. The labor contract, long extolled as the ægis of economic liberty, is no longer free from state vigilance. The time and method of paying wages are ordered by the State, and in certain industries the hours of labor are fixed by law. Women and children are the special protégés of this new State, and great care is taken that they shall be engaged only in employment suitable to their strength and under an environment that will not ruin their health. The growing social control of the individual is significant, for it is not only the immediate conditions of labor that have come under public surveillance. Where and how the workman lives is no longer a matter of indifference to the public, nor what sort of schooling his children get, what games they play, and what motion pictures they see. The city, in coöperation with the State, now provides nurses, dentists, oculists, and surgeons, as well as teachers for the children. This local paternalism increases yearly in its solicitude and receives the eager sanction of the labor members of city councils. The State has also set up elaborate machinery for observing all phases of the labor situation and for gathering statistics and other information that should be helpful in framing labor laws, and has also established state employment agencies and boards of conciliation and arbitration. This machinery of mediation is significant not because of what it has already accomplished but as evidence of the realization on the part of the State that labor disputes are not merely the concern of the two parties to the labor contract. Society has finally come to realize that, in the complex of the modern State, it also is vitally concerned, and, in despair at thousands of strikes every year, with their wastage and their aftermath of bitterness, it has attempted to interpose its good offices as mediator. The modern labor laws cannot be credited, however, to labor activity alone. The new social atmosphere has provided a congenial milieu for this vast extension of state functions. The philanthropist, the statistician, and the sociologist have become potent allies of the labor-legislator; and such non-labor organizations, as the American Association for Labor Legislation, have added their momentum to the movement. New ideals of social coöperation have been established, and new conceptions of the responsibilities of private ownership have been evolved. While labor organizations have succeeded rather readily in bending the legislative power to their wishes, the military arm of the executive and the judiciary which ultimately enforce the command of the State have been beyond their reach. To bend these branches of the government to its will, organized labor has fought a persistent and aggressive warfare. Decisions of the courts which do not sustain union contentions are received with great disfavor. The open shop decisions of the United States Supreme Court are characterized as unfair and partisan and are vigorously opposed in all the labor journals. It is not, however, until the sanction of public opinion eventually backs the attitude of the unions that the laws and their interpretation can conform entirely to the desires of labor. The chief grievance of organized labor against the courts is their use of the injunction to prevent boycotts and strikes. "Government by injunction" is the complaint of the unions and it is based upon the common, even reckless, use of a writ which was in origin and intent a high and rarely used prerogative of the Court of Chancery. What was in early times a powerful weapon in the hands of the Crown against riotous assemblies and threatened lawlessness was invoked in 1868 by an English court as a remedy against industrial disturbances. ¹ Since the Civil War the American courts in rapidly increasing numbers have used this weapon, and the Damascus blade of equity has been transformed into a bludgeon in the hands even of magistrates of inferior courts. ¹ Springfield Spinning Company vs. Riley, L. R. 6 Eq. 551. The prime objection which labor urges against this use of the injunction is that it deprives the defendant of a jury trial when his liberty is at stake. The unions have always insisted that the law should be so modified that this right would accompany all injunctions growing out of labor disputes. Such a denatured injunction, however, would defeat the purpose of the writ; but the union leader maintains, on the other hand, that he is placed unfairly at a disadvantage, when an employer can command for his own aid in an industrial dispute the swift and sure arm of a law originally intended for a very different purpose. The imprisonment of Debs during the Pullman strike for disobeying a Federal injunction brought the issue vividly before the public; and the sentencing of Gompers, Mitchell, and Morrison to prison terms for violating the Buck's Stove injunction produced new waves of popular protest. Occasional dissenting opinions by judges and the gradual conviction of lawyers and of society that some other tribunal than a court of equity or even a court of law would be more suitable for the settling of labor disputes is indicative of the change ultimately to be wrought in practice. The unions are also violently opposed to the use of military power by the State during strikes. Not only can the militia be called out to enforce the mandates of the State but whenever Federal interference is justified the United States troops may be sent to the scene of turmoil. After the period of great labor troubles culminating in the Pullman strike, many States reorganized their militia into national guards. The armories built for the accommodation of the guard were called by the unions "plutocracy's bastiles," and the mounted State constabulary organized in 1906 by Pennsylvania were at once dubbed "American Cossacks." Several States following the example of Pennsylvania have encountered the bitterest hostility on the part of the labor unions. Already opposition to the militia has proceeded so far that some unions have forbidden their members to perform militia service when called to do strike duty, and the military readjustments involved in the Great War have profoundly affected the relation of the State to organized labor. Following the signing of the armistice, a movement for the organization of an American Labor party patterned after the British Labour party gained rapid momentum, especially in New York and Chicago. A platform of fourteen points was formulated at a general conference of the leaders, and provisional organizations were perfected in a number of cities. What power this latest attempt to enlist labor in partisan politics will assume is problematical. It is obviously inspired by European experiences and promulgated by socialistic propaganda. It has not succeeded in invading the American Federation of Labor, which did not formally endorse the movement at its Annual Convention in 1919. Gompers, in an intimate and moving speech, told a group of labor leaders gathered in New York on December 9, 1918, that "the organization of a political party would simply mean the dividing of the activities and allegiance of the men and women of labor between two bodies, such as would often come in conflict." Under present conditions, it would appear that no Labor party could succeed in the United States without the coöperation of the American Federation of Labor. The relation between the American Federation of Labor and the socialistic and political labor movements, as well as the monopolistic eagerness of the socialists to absorb these activities, is clearly indicated in Gompers's narrative of his experiences as an American labor representative at the London Conference of 1918. The following paragraphs are significant: When the Inter-Allied Labor Conference opened in London, on September 17th, early in the morning, there were sent over to my room at the hotel cards which were intended to be the credential cards for our delegation to sign and hand in as our credentials. The card read something like this: "The undersigned is a duly accredited delegate to the Inter-Allied Socialist Conference to be held at London," etc., and giving the dates. I refused to sign my name, or permit my name to be put upon any card of that character. My associates were as indignant as I was and refused to sign any such credential. We went to the hall where the conference was to be held. There was a young lady at the door. When we made an effort to enter she asked for our cards. We said we had no cards to present. "Well," the answer came, "you cannot be admitted." We replied, "That may be true--we cannot be admitted--but we will not sign any such card. We have our credentials written out, signed, and sealed and will present them to any committee of the conference for scrutiny and recommendation, but we are not going to sign such a card." Mr. Charles Bowerman, Secretary of the Parliamentary Committee of the British Trade Union Congress, at that moment emerged from the door. He asked why we had not entered. I told him the situation, and he persuaded the young lady to permit us to pass in. We entered the hall and presented our credentials. Mr. James Sexton, officer and representative of the Docker's Union of Liverpool, arose and called the attention of the Conference to this situation, and declared that the American Federation of Labor delegates refused to sign any such document. He said it was not an Inter-Allied Socialist Conference, but an Inter-Allied Socialist and Labor Conference. Mr. Arthur Henderson, of the Labor Party, made an explanation something to this effect, if my memory serves me: "It is really regrettable that such an error should have been made. It was due to the fact that the old card of credentials which has been used in former conferences was sent to the printer, no one paying any attention to it, thinking it was all right." I want to call your attention to the significance of that explanation, that is, that the trade union movement of Great Britain was represented at these former conferences, but at this conference the importance of Labor was regarded as so insignificant that everybody took it for granted that it was perfectly all right to have the credential card read "Inter-Allied Socialist Conference" and with the omission of this more important term, "Labor." ¹ ¹ American Federationist, January, 1919, pp. 40-41. As one looks back upon the history of the workingman, one finds something impressive, even majestic, in the rise of the fourth estate from a humble place to one of power in this democratic nation. In this rise of fortune the laborer's union has unquestionably been a moving force, perhaps even the leading cause. At least this homogeneous mass of workingmen, guided by self-developed leadership, has aroused society to safeguard more carefully the individual needs of all its parts. Labor has awakened the state to a sense of responsibility for its great sins of neglect and has made it conscious of its social duties. Labor, like other elements of society, has often been selfish, narrow, vindictive; but it has also shown itself earnest and constructive. The conservative trades union, at the hour of this writing, stands as a bulwark between that amorphous, inefficient, irresponsible Socialism which has made Russia a lurid warning and Prussia a word of scorn, and that rational social ideal which is founded upon the conviction that society is ultimately an organic spiritual unity, the blending of a thousand diverse interests whose justly combined labors and harmonized talents create civilization and develop culture. BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE While there is a vast amount of writing on the labor problem, there are very few works on the history of labor organizations in the United States. The main reliance for the earlier period, in the foregoing pages, has been the Documentary History of American Industrial Society, edited by John R. Commons, 10 vols. (1910). The History of Labour in the United States, 2 vols. (1918), which he published with associates, is the most convenient and complete compilation that has yet appeared and contains a large mass of historical material on the labor question. The following works are devoted to discussions of various phases of the history of American labor and industry: T. S. Adams and Helen L. Sumner, Labor Problems (1905). Contains several refreshing chapters on labor organizations. F. T. Carlton, The History and Problem of Organized Labor (1911). A succinct discussion of union problems. R. T. Ely, The Labor Movement in America (1886). Though one of the earliest American works on the subject, it remains indispensable. G. G. Groat, An Introduction to the Study of Organized Labor in America (1916). A useful and up-to-date compendium. R. F. Hoxie, Trade Unionism in the United States (1917). A suggestive study of the philosophy of unionism. J. R. Commons (Ed.), Trade Unionism and Labor Problems (1905). J. H. Hollander and G. E. Barnett (Eds.), Studies in American Trade Unionism (1905). These two volumes are collections of contemporary studies of many phases of organized labor by numerous scholars. They are not historical. The Report of the Industrial Commission, vol. XVII (1901) provides the most complete analysis of trade-union policies and also contains valuable historical summaries of many unions. G. E. McNeill (Ed.), The Labor Movement: the Problem of Today (1892). This collection contains historical sketches of the organizations of the greater labor groups and of the development of the more important issues espoused by them. For many years it was the most comprehensive historical work on American unionism, and it remains a necessary source of information to the student of trades union history. J. G. Brissenden, The Launching of the Industrial Workers of the World (1913). An account of the origin of the I. W. W. J. G. Brooks, American Syndicalism: the I. W. W. (1913). John Mitchell, Organized Labor (1903). A suggestive exposition of the principles of Unionism by a distinguished labor leader. It contains only a limited amount of historical matter. T. V. Powderly, Thirty Years of Labor (1889). A history of the Knights of Labor from a personal viewpoint. E. L. Bogart, The Economic History of the United States (rev. ed., 1918). A concise and clear account of our economic development. R. T. Ely, Evolution of Industrial Society (1903). Carroll D. Wright, The Industrial Evolution of the United States (1895). G. S. Callender, Selections from the Economic History of the United States (1909). A collection of readings. The brief introductory essays to each chapter give a succinct account of American industrial development to 1860. INDEX A Aberdeen (S. D.), I. W. W. in, 212. Adamson Law (eight-hour railroad law), 133 (note), 160, 164-166, 247. Agrarian Party, 224. Akron (O.), strike in rubber works, 206-207. Albany, trade unions in, 34. Albany Mechanical Society (1801), 22. Allegheny City, ten-hour controversy in cotton mills, 54. Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers, 126. Amalgamated Labor Union, 88. Amalgamated Wood Workers' Association, 109. Amboy (Ill.), Conductors' Union organized (1868), 150. American Alliance for Labor and Democracy, 101-102. American Association for Labor Legislation, 251. "American Cossacks", 254. American Federation of Labor, suggested at Terre Haute (1881), 88; established (1886), 89; growth, 89-90, organization, 90-93, 112; Gompers and, 94 et seq.; financial policy, 97; and Great War, 100 et seq.; and labor readjustment, 107; attitude toward socialism, 108, 111, 245, 256; tendency toward amalgamating allied trades, 109-110; and unskilled labor, 109; importance, 110-111; Mitchell and, 128; and Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, 133 (note); and Buck's Stove and Range Company boycott, 181; and Danbury Hatters' case, 184; and I. W. W., 194; and Lawrence Mill Workers, 203; and politics, 242, 245-246, 256; influences legislation, 246-252; and American Labor Party movement, 255-256. American Federationist, organ of American Federation of Labor, 92, 181, 195. American Labor Party, movement for forming, 255. America Newspaper Publishers Association, 169. American Railway Union, and strikes, 158, 159; Debs president of, 243. Anthracite Coal Strike (1902), 113, 129-130, 174; Commission cross-examines Mitchell, 130 (note). Anti-Boycott Association, 180. Anti-Monopolist Party, 233. Arbitration, 85-86; law providing for settlement of railway disputes (1888), 85; in Anthracite Coal Strike, 129-130; Board to deal with railway problems (1912), 146-150; Erdman Act (1898), 146, 162; Federal legislation (1883), 161-162; Newlands Law (1913), 162; Brotherhoods refuse (1916), 163-164. Arizona, "hobo" labor in, 190. Arkwright, Sir Richard, invents roller spinning machine, 7. Arnold, F. W., 154. Arthur, P. M., 141-143. Association of Longshoremen, 117. Aurora, Philadelphia newspaper, 23. B Baltimore, guilds before Revolution in, 21; tailors' strike (1795), 22; early unions in, 34; Baltimore and Ohio strikes, 57, 67; Labor Congress (1866), 73. Bancroft, H. H., quoted, 241-242. Bank, United States, as political issue, 27. Beecher, H. W., and eight-hour day, 71. Belgium, syndicalism in, 189; general strikes, 200. Bell, A. G., and the telephone, 64. Benson, A. L., presidential candidate (1916), 243-244. Bentham, Jeremy, Place and, 17. Berger, Victor, 244, 245. Berne (Switzerland), labor conference at, 105-106. Billings (Mont.), treatment of I. W. W. leaders in, 216. Bisbee (Ariz.), I. W. W. strikers in, 216. Bolshevists, Gompers's attitude toward, 108; and I. W. W., 218. Boston, early trade unions in, 34; strike benefits in, 39; coöperative movement, 46-47; strikes because of cost of living (1853), 57; eight-hour societies, 70; workingman's party, 227. Boston Labor Reform Association circulates Steward's pamphlet, 71. Boston Trades Union, 33. Bowerman, Charles, 257. Boycott, Captain, 177 (note). Boycott, 177 et seq.; used against convict labor, 37; union label as weapon, 184-186; court injunction to prevent, 252. Braidwood (Ill.), Mitchell at, 127-128. Brewer, Justice D. J., on strike violence, 174. Brewery workers and control of coopers, 118. Brisbane, Albert, 47. Brissenden, J. G., The Launching of the Industrial Workers of the World, cited, 196 (note). Brook Farm experiment, 41. Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, origin, 133; and American Federation of Labor, 133 (note); character, 134; supervision of members, 135-136; excludes firemen, 136; attitude toward nonmembers, 136-137; business policy, 137-138; activities, 138-140; organization, 140; and Firemen's Brotherhood, 154. Brotherhood of the Footboard, 133. Brotherhood of Trainmen, 156. Brush, C. F., and electric lighting, 64. Buck's Stove and Range Company of St. Louis, boycott case, 180-182, 254. Buffalo, machinists' strike (1880), 67-68; annual convention of Federation of Labor (1917), 101; railway strike (1877), 174; I. W. W. disclosures, 217. Burns, John, 123. Butler, General B. F., 232-233. Butte (Mont.), Western Federation of Miners organized at, 192. C California, effect of discovery of gold on cost of living, 57; "hobo" labor in, 190; political labor movement, 238-242; Workingman's party, 239; new constitution, 241. Cannon, J. G., 248. Carlyle, Thomas, 18; and British industrial conditions, 9; Emerson writes to, 41. Carter, W. S., 154-156. Cedar Rapids (Ia.), headquarters of Order of Railway Conductors, 150. Charleston Navy Yard, eight-hour day in (1842), 70. Chevalier, Michael, quoted, 37. Chicago, stockyards' strike (1880), 67; Haymarket riots, 68, 83-84; Railway strike (1877), 174; "floaters" winter in, 190; conferences organize I. W. W., 193-194; revolutionary branch of I. W. W. in, 196; I. W. W. offices raided, 217; Labor Party conference, 235; movement to form American Labor party, 255. Child labor, 28; in England, 9; Greeley and, 52-53; Paris peace treaty and, 107; State regulation, 250. Chinese denounced in California, 238, 239. Cigar-makers' International Union, Gompers and, 94. Cincinnati, becomes manufacturing town (1820), 26; early Unions in, 34; coöperative movement in, 45, 46; Railway strike (1877), 174; National Union party organized (1887), 233. Civil War, condition of the United States after, 63-64. Clark, E. E., 151. Clayton Act, 100, 184, 247. Cleveland, Grover, Message (1886), 85; and Pullman strike, 174. Cleveland, Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers own building in, 140; Firemen's Magazine published in, 156; I. W. W. disclosures, 217. Clinton, De Witt, 23. Collective bargaining, trade unions and, 168-171. Colorado, miners' strikes, 174, 193; "hobo" labor in, 190; labor ticket (1888), 237. Columbia, puddlers' strike (1880), 67. Columbus, American Federation of Labor established (1886), 89; Order of Conductors organized (1868), 150. Combinations in restraint of trade, origin of doctrine, 16; in England, 17. Coming Nation, A. H. Simons editor of, 195. Commerce of Great Britain, 6. Commons, J.R., 29-30. Communistic colonies, Owen's attempts, 40-41; Brook Farm, 41. Comstock, Russell, 223. Confédération Général du Travail, 189. Congress, Homestead Act (1862), 50; establishes eight-hour day for public work, 71; Clayton bill (1914), 100, 184, 247; eight-hour railroad law, 133 (note), 160, 164-165, 166, 247; Wilson and, 164; and I. W. W., 216; American Federation of Labor, 247. Connecticut, delegates to the national cordwainers' convention (1836), 35; labor politics, 227, labor ticket (1872), 237. Conspiracy, legal doctrine in England, 15-16; strikers tried for, 23; trials in New York City, 23-24, 32; acting in unison considered, 28. Convict labor, 36; boycott used against, 37. Cooper, Peter, 231. Coöperative movement, 45-48; 58. Corn laws, 6. Cost of living, bread riots caused by high, 39; Mooney on (1850), 43-44; in 1853, 57; Stone's attempt to adjust wages to meet, 144. Council of National Defense, 102-103. Crompton, Samuel, and spinning machine, 7. D Daily Advertiser, New York, on strikes (1834), 172. Daily People, DeLeon editor of, 195. Danbury Hatters' Boycott, 180, 182-184. Daniels, Newell, 74. Davis, Judge David, 230. Debs, E. V., 154, 195, 243, 253. Debt, imprisonment for, 36. Declaration of Independence, 1. Defoe, Daniel, on domestic system of manufacture, 4-5. Delaware, delegates to national cordwainers' convention (1836), 35. DeLeon, Daniel, 195. Democratic party and ten-hour day, 53. Detroit, headquarters for Socialist factions of I. W. W., 196; I. W. W. offices raided, 217. Direct action, 200-201. Dover, (N. H.), mill girls' strike (1829), 55. Duncan, James, 124. E Edison, T. A., 64. Education, condition before 1840, 28; issue with labor, 36, public school improvement, 42; Paris peace treaty and, 107. Edward III, proclamation of 1349, 12. Eidlitz, O. M., 146. Eight-Hour League, 70; see also Hours of labor. Elevator Constructors' Union, 118 Eliot, C. W., and Gompers, 98. Ely, R. T., quoted, 21. Emerson, R. W., on communistic experiments, 41. Employers' organizations, 249. Erdman Act, 146, 162. Erie Railroad, firemen organize Brotherhood, 152. Erne, Lord, Irish landlord, 177 (note). Ettor, J. J., 204. Evans, G. H., 48-49. Evans, Samuel, 233. Evening Post, account of mass meeting in New York, 32; quoted, 33. Everett, Edward, 53. Everett (Wash.), and I. W. W., 212. F Factory Girls' Association (Lowell), 55. Factory inspection, Paris peace treaty and, 107; as political issue, 231; provided by law, 249-250. Farmers' Alliance, 233; and Knights of Labor at St. Louis, 235. Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions of the United States and Canada, 89. Female Industry Association, 56. Female Labor Reform Association, 55. Field, J. G., 236. Finance, demand for capital after Civil War, 64-65; reform as a political issue, 231; People's party platform, 236; see also Panics, Taxation. Firemen's Magazine, 155, 156. "Five Stars," see Knights of Labor. Flynn, E. G., 208. Force, Peter, 24. Foster, F. K., The Labor Movement, the Problem of Today, quoted, 75-76. Fox, Martin, 116. France, syndicalism in, 188; general strikes, 200. Free Enquirer, 222. Friendly Societies, 168. Furuseth, Andrew, 247. G Garretson, A. B., 151, 152. General Trades' Union of New York City, 31. George, Henry, 234; Evans precursor of, 48. Glassblowers' Union, 124. Goldfield (Nev.), I. W. W. at, 202. Goldman, Emma, on syndicalism, 198; on general strikes, 199. Gompers, Samuel, President of American Federation of Labor, 94 et seq.; early life, 94; national lobbyist for Federation, 99, 247; organizes American Alliance for Labor and Democracy, 101; on Council of Defense, 102; heads American labor mission to Europe (1917), 104-105; and Berne labor conference, 105-106; contribution to Paris treaty of peace, 106-107; and Socialism, 107-108; personal characteristics, 108; sentenced to imprisonment, 182, 254; birthday occasion of gift to Danbury union, 184; on American labor party, 255; experience at London Conference (1918), 256-258. Government control of public utilities, People's party demands, 236. Government operation of railroads, Brotherhoods' plan for (1919), 167. Government ownership, National Labor party on, 230 (note). Government Printing Office, Roosevelt espouses open shop in, 248. Grangers, help organize National Union party, 233; join Workingman's party in California, 240. Granite City (Ill.), early morning strikes in steel mills, 210-211. Granite Cutters' National Union, 124. Gray's Harbor (Wash.), I. W. W. in, 212. Great Britain, American institutions modeled after those of, 1-2; survey of industrial system, 2 et seq.; ten-hour law in, 53; British Trades Union as model for American Federation, 88; labor leaders in, 123; labor compared with that in America, 124. Great War, American Federation of Labor and, 100 et seq.; and railroads, 166-167; I. W. W. and, 215; and Socialist party, 244-245. Greeley, Horace, and ten-hour bill, 52; on child labor law, 53; and eight-hour day, 71. Green Point (L. I.), potters' strike (1880), 67. Greenback party, 68, 231, 237. Guild system, 3-4, 13. H Hamond, Edward, on I. W. W., 198. Hardie, Keir, 123. Hargreaves, James, invents spinning-jenny, 7. Harriman, Job, 243. Hayes, Dennis, 124-125. Hayes, R. B., proclamation, 67. Haywood, W. D., 195, 197, 202; quoted, 199. Henderson, Arthur, 257. Henderson, John, 123. Herald, New York, quoted, 56. Hewitt, A. S., 234. Highland Park (Ill.), Home for Disabled Railroad Men, 139. Hines, W. D., Director-General of Railroads, 167. Homestead Act (1862), 50. Homestead strike (1892), 126, 174. Homesteaders, 233. Hoqiam (Wash.), sabotage in, 212. Hours of labor, long hours, 28, 44; ten-hour day, 30-31, 32, 34, 35, 44, 50-54, 160; first ten-hour law (1847), 52; as issue, 69-70; eight-hour day, 70-72, 74, 129, 152; Paris peace treaty and eight-hour day, 106; eight-hour railroad law, 133 (note), 160, 164-166, 247; eight-hour law as political issue, 231; State regulation, 250. Housing conditions about 1840, 27. Hume, Joseph, 17-18. I I. W. W., see Industrial Workers of the World. Idaho, miners' strike, 174; "hobo" labor in, 190; violence in, 193; and I. W. W., 216. Illinois, strikes, 66, 67; eight-hour law (1867), 71; I. W. W. and draft in, 216; United Labor party in, 235; labor code, 249. Illinois Central Railroad, conductors organize union, 150. Immigration, character of immigrants, 26; adds to armies of labor, 69; I. W. W. and, 191; People's party on, 236. Indiana, strikes, 66, 67; shoemakers' strike (1880), 68; labor ticket (1888), 237. Indianapolis, McNamara trial at, 175. Industrial Commission, United States, 152; report quoted, 168; on union restriction of output, 186. Industrial Revolution, 26. Industrial Workers of the World, American Alliance for Labor and Democracy as an anecdote for, 101; and American Federation of Labor, 109; history of movement, 188 et seq.; factions, 196; and direct action, 200-201; and Socialist party, 245. Industry, centralization of, 87-88. "Infidel" party, 223, 224. Inspection, see Factory inspection. Insurance, Locomotive Engineers' Mutual Life and Accident Insurance Association, 138-139; Order of Railway Conductors, 150; Brotherhood of Trainmen, 160-161. Inter-Allied Labor Conference, London (1918), 256-258. International Association of Machinists, 125. International Association of Steam, Hot Water and Power Pipe Fitters and Helpers, 119. International Firemen's Union, 152-153. International Typographical Union of North America, 60, 126, 169. Interstate commerce, regulation as political issue, 231. Interstate Commerce Commission, and wage increases, 145; Clark on, 151; Wilson asks for reorganization of, 164. Ipswich (Mass.), meeting against I. W. W., 211. Iron Molders' Union of North America, 60, 169. Italy, syndicalism in, 189; general strikes, 200. J Jackson, Andrew, and mechanics, 27. Jay, John, on wages (1784), 21. Jenkins, Judge J. G., of United States Circuit Court, on strike violence, 174. Johnstown, puddlers' strike (1880), 67. Journeymen, Stone Cutters' Association of North America, 60. Judson, F. K., 146. K Kansas, I. W. W. and draft, 216; labor ticket (1888), 237. Kay, John, invents flying shuttle, 7. Kearney, Dennis, 238. Keefe, D. J., 126-127. Kidd, Thomas, 125. Knapp, Judge, of United States Commerce Court, 146. Knights of Industry, 88. Knights of Labor, 72; history of, 76-85; contrasted to American Federation of Labor, 90; Mitchell and, 127, 128; and Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, 133 (note); help organize National Union party, 233; and Farmers' Alliance at St. Louis, 235; and Socialist party, 245. "Knights of St. Crispin," 72, 74-76. L Labor, organizations in eighteenth century, 14-15; organizations in American before Revolution, 21; and politics, 68, 74, 220 et seq.; relations with capital, 69; number of wage-earners in United States (1860-1890), 69; Congress at Baltimore (1866), 73; Bureau of, established (1884), 85; and corporations, 87; and Paris peace treaty, 106-107; leaders, 121-123; Department of, and Brotherhoods, 163; "floaters," 189-190; special report of United States Commissioners of (1905), 193; contract labor as political issue, 231; legislation, 247-252; see also Hours of labor; and the courts, 252-254; bibliography, 261; see also Child labor, Convict labor, Hours of labor, Strikes, Trade unions, Wages. Labor Reform League, 51. Labor Reform party, 74, 229-230. Labour Party in England, 18. Land, Evans and, 48-50; Homestead Act (1862), 50; forfeiture of grants as political issue, 231. Lawrence (Mass.), unemployment (1857), 62; strike (1912), 202-206. Lee. W. G., 160. Lima (N. Y.), Clark at, 151. Little Falls (N. Y.), strike in textile mills (1912), 206. Littlefield, Congressman from Maine, 247-248. Locomotive Engineers' Journal, 136, 139. Locomotive Engineers' Mutual Life and Accident Insurance Association, 138-139. Loeb, Daniel, alias Daniel DeLeon, 195. London, Inter-Allied Labor Conference (1918), 256-258. London Corresponding Society, 17. Los Angeles, dynamiting of Times building, 175. Lowell (Mass.), condition of women factory workers (1846), 44-45; women strike in (1836), 55. Lowell Female Industrial Reform and Mutual Aid Society, 55. Lynch, J. M., 126. M McAdoo, W. G., 166. McCulloch, J. R., 18. MacDonald, Ramsey, 123. Machinists' Union, 118. McKee, National Conventions and Platforms, cited, 233 (note), 244 (note). McKees Rocks (Penn.), I. W. W. at, 202. McMaster, J. B., quoted, 26. McNamara, James, 175. McNamara, J. J., 175. Maine, labor politics, 227, labor party (1878), 232. Mann, Horace, 42. Manufacturers' Association, 249. Manufacturing, guild system replaced by domestic, 4; introduction of machinery, 7-10; in United States, 24-26. Martineau, Harriet, cited, 35-36. Marx, Karl, 9; follower addresses meeting in New York, 47. Maryland, class distinctions, 20; strikes, 66. Massachusetts, factories in 1820, 25; first labor investigation, 51; women factory workers, 56; Bureau of Labor and collective bargaining, 169-170; labor politics, 227; labor party (1878), 232; labor code, 249. Mechanics' Union of Trade Associations, 29. Menlo Park, (N. J.), electric car in, 64. Mercantile system, 5-6. Metal Polishers' Union and Buck's Stove and Range case, 180. Metal Trades Association, 249. Mexican Central Railway, Garretson on, 152. Michigan, "hobo" labor in, 190; labor ticket (1888), 237. Militia, use during strikes, 37, 244-245. Mill, James, Place and, 17. Milwaukee, Knights of St. Crispin in, 74; and Socialism, 244, 245. Minnesota, "hobo" labor in, 190; labor ticket (1888), 237. Missouri, strikes, 66; eight-hour law (1867), 71; labor ticket (1888), 237. Mitchell, John, president of United Mine workers, 113, 114, 128-129; his life and character, 127-128; and Anthracite Coal Strike, 129-130; quoted, 131-132; on compulsory membership in unions, 170; on collective bargaining, 170; sentenced to imprisonment, 182, 254. Montana, "hobo" labor in, 190; violence in, 193; and I. W. W., 216. Mooney, Thomas, Nine Years in America (1850), quoted, 43-44. Moore, Ely, 31. Morrison, Frank, 182, 254. Morrissey, P. H., 146, 148, 158-160. N National Civic Federation, 152. National Convention of Journeymen Printers (1850), 60. National Erectors' Association, 249. National Labor party, convention, 230 (note); see also Labor Reform party. National Labor Union, 73-74, 229. National Metal Trade Association, 125. National Protective Association, 133. National Trade Association of Hat Finishers, 60. National Trades Union, 34. National Typographical Union, 60. National Union party, 233. Navigation Laws, 6, 10. Nebraska, labor ticket (1888), 237. Nevada, and I. W. W., 216. New Brunswick, union in, 34. New England, class distinctions, 20; manufacture in, 25; women in textile mills, 55; cotton weavers' strike (1880), 67; labor politics, 225-227. New England Association of Farmers, Mechanics, and Workingmen, 225. New England Protective Union, 48. New England Workingmen's Association, 46, 51. New Hampshire, first ten-hour law, 52. New Jersey, manufacturing in, 25; delegates to national cordwainers' convention (1836), 35; ten-hour law (1851), 54; stablemen's strike (1880), 67; labor party, 232. New York (State), delegates to national cordwainers' convention (1836), 35; communistic colonies, 41; cotton weavers' strike (1880), 67; eight-hour law (1867), 71; boycotts, 178; labor party (1878), 232; United Labor party in, 235; labor code, 249. New York Boycotter quoted, 179. New York Bureau of Statistics and Labor, on boycotts, 178. New York Central Railroad, Arthur as engineer on, 141. New York City, early labor organizations, 21, 22; cordwainers' strike (1809), 23-24; growth, 25; strikes (1833), 31; General Trades' Union organized, 31; tailors' strike (1836), 32; union in, 34; boycott of convict labor, 37; sabotage in (1835), 38; strike benefits, 39; coöperative movement, 47-48; women's organizations (1825), 55; Female Industry Association organized (1845), 56; strikes (1853), 57; national meeting of carpet-weavers (1846), 60; demonstration in 1857, 61-62; unemployment, 62; ribbon weaver' strike (1880), 67; stablemen's strike (1880), 67; tailors' strike (1880), 68; Third Avenue Railway strike (1886), 83; Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers expels members (1905), 138 (note); garment makers' strike (1915), 169; bakers strike (1741), 172; Mrs. Grey boycotted, 178-179; "floaters" winter in, 190; "army of the unemployed" (1913-1914), 209; labor politics, 222; election (1886), 234; Socialist-Labor convention (1892), 242; movement to form American Labor party, 255. New York Masons Society (1807), 22. New York Protective Union, 48. New York Society of Journeymen Shipwrights (1807), 22. New York Typographical Society, 24. Newark (N. J.), union in, 34. Newlands Law, 162. Noble Order of the Knights of Labor, see Knights of Labor. Northern Pacific Railroad, Clark on, 151. Norway, syndicalism in, 189. O O'Connell, James, 125. O'Conor, Charles, of New York, 230. Ohio, communistic colonies in, 41; ten-hour law (1852), 54; strikes, 66, 67; in election of 1916, 166; labor ticket (1888), 237. Oklahoma, I. W. W. and draft, 216. Omaha, stockyards strike (1880), 67; People's party convention (1892), 236. Oneonta (N. Y.), Brotherhood of the Trainmen organized at (1883), 156. Orange (N. J.), Hatters' Union victory in, 182. Order of Railway Conductors, 150-152. Oregon, "hobo" labor in, 190; and I. W. W., 216. Original Working Man's party, 224. Osceola (Ia.), Garretson born in, 151. Oshkosh (Wis.), Kidd arrested in, 25. Owen, Robert, Place and, 17; in America, 40-41, 58. Owens, R. D., 222, 225. P Panics (1837), 34, 35, 40, 50-51; (1857), 61-62; (1873-1874), 66; (1893), 158. Paris Peace Conference, Commission on International Labor Legislation, 105; Gompers and the treaty, 106-107. Parker, Joel, Governor of New Jersey, 230. Paterson (N. J.), ribbon weavers' strike (1880), 67; silk mills strike (1913), 207-209. Pennsylvania, communistic colonies in, 41; ten-hour law, 53; child labor law, 53; coal miners (1873), 66; strikes, 67; labor party (1878), 232; labor ticket (1872), 237; labor code, 249; mounted constabulary, 254. Pennsylvania Railroad, Brotherhood and, 141. People's Council, 101. People's party, 235, 236; see also Populist party. Philadelphia, early labor organizations, 21, 22; weaving center, 26; first Trades' Union in, 29; Trades' Union of the City and County of, 30; number of union members (1834), 34; strike (1835), 37; sabotage in, 38; strike benefits, 39; coöperative movement, 45-46, 47; strikes, 57; unemployment (1857), 62; ribbon weavers' strike (1880), 67; Knights of Labor in, 81; cordwainers (1806), 171; cordwainers' strike (1792), 172; hatters' union victory, 182; Lawrence strikers start for, 204; Workingman's party, 220-221; workingmen's political clubs, 221-222. Phillips, Wendell, and ten-hour movement, 53; and eight-hour day, 71; nominated Governor of Massachusetts, 237. Pinkerton detectives opposed by People's party, 236. Pittsburgh, becomes manufacturing town, 26; union in, 34; strikes, 57; riots, 67; Federation of Organized Trades established (1881), 89; railway strikes (1877), 174. Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne and Chicago Railroad, Brotherhood and, 136; Place, Francis, 17, 18. Plumb plan of railroad operations, see Government operation of Railroads. Poindexter, Miles, Senator, and I. W. W., 216. Politics, Labor and, 68, 74, 220 et seq.. Populist party, 235, 242; see also People's party. Port Jervis (N. Y.), Firemen's Brotherhood organized at, 152. Portland (Ore.), I. W. W. at, 202. Postal savings banks, advocated by People's party, 236. Powderly, T. V., Grand Master of Knights of Labor, 79-80, 84. Prison reform, 42. Progressive party, 232. Progressive Labor party,233. Pullman strike, 172, 174, 195, 243, 253. Q Quinlan, Patrick, 208. R Railway Brotherhoods, 133 et seq. Railway Conductor, The, 150-151. Reading, railway strike (1877), 174. Red Bank (N. J.), communistic experiment at, 41. Referendum, National Labor party on, 230 (note). Revolutionary War, new epoch for labor begins with, 21. Rhode Island, ten-hour law (1853), 54; labor politics, 227. Ripley, George, and Brook Farm experiment, 41. Rock Island Railroad, Stone on, 143-144. Roosevelt, Theodore, and Gompers, 98, 99; intervention in coal miners' strike, 129, 130; and Clark, 151; and Sargent, 154; defeated as mayor of New York City, 234; Federation of Labor opposes, 248. Ruskin, John, and labor conditions, 9. Russia, general strikes, 200. S Sabotage, 38, 201 et seq., 211. Sacramento (Cal.), I. W. W. trials (1919), 217; Workingman's party convention (1878), 240. St. Louis, union in, 34; Knights of Labor in, 82, 83; meeting of Knights of Labor and Farmers' Alliance, 235. St. Louis Central Trades and Labor Union, 181. San Diego, I. W. W. in, 213-215. San Francisco, stablemen's strike (1880), 67; "floaters" winter in, 190; labor situation (1877), 238; Workingman's Trade and Labor Union of, 239. Sargent, F. P., 154. Scandinavia, general strikes in, 200. Schaffer, Theodore, 126. Schenectady, union in, 34. Scranton (Penn.), Powderly at, 79. Seaman's Act (1915), 247 (note). Seamen's Union, 117. Sexton, James, 257. Shaw, Albert, 146. Shaw, Chief Justice of Massachusetts, opinion in Commonwealth vs. Hunt, 60-61. Sherman Anti-Trust Law, Gompers and, 99; and boycott, 183. Silver, free coinage, 236. Simons, A. M., 195. Skidmore, Thomas, 224; The Rights of Man to Property . . ., 222. Smith, Adam, 10, 18; The Wealth of Nations, 1. Smith, Sidney, quoted, 24-25. Snowden, Phillip, 123. Social Democratic party, 243. Socialism, synonym of destruction, 62; organized labor and, 245, 258. Socialist Labor party, 196, 243. Socialist party, 196; Social Democratic party becomes known as, 243; in Milwaukee, 244; progress (1912), 244; and Great War, 244-245. Socialist American Labor Union, 194. Sorel, Georges, The Socialist Future of the Trade Unions, 188-189; Reflections Upon Violence, 189. Spain, syndicalism in, 189. Spargo, John, 245; Syndicalism, Industrial Unionism and Socialism, 201. Spokane, I. W. W. in, 212. Springfield Republican, on labor party, 226-227. Stanwood, History of the Presidency, cited, 244 (note). State Guardianship Plan, 225. Statute of Laborers (1562), 12. Stephens, U. S., founder of Knights of Labor, 76-77, 78, 79. Steunenberg, Frank, Governor of Idaho, murdered, 193. Steward, Ira, and eight-hour day, 70-71; A Reduction of Hours and Increase of Wages, 71. Stone, W. S., 143-145, 149-150. Strasser, Adolph, testimony before Senate Committee (1883), 120-121. Strauss, O. S., 146. Streeter, A. J., 233. Strikes, weapon of self-defense, 14; tailors' strike in Baltimore (1795), 22; cordwainers in Philadelphia (1805), 22-23; cordwainers in New York City (1809), 23; first general building strike (1827), 30; first general strike in America (1835), 30-31; (1834-1837), 32; issues not to be settled by, 36; use of militia, 37, 254-255; sabotage, 38, 201 et seq.; benefits, 39; Boston tailors (1850), 46-47; New York tailors, 47-48; Dover mill girls (1829), 55; Lowell womens factory workers (1836), 55; in 1853, 57; Baltimore and Ohio, 57, 67, 133; become part of economic routine, 66; increase in number and importance, 66-68; in 1880, 67-68; of 1886, 68, 82-84; Anthracite Coal Strike, 113, 129-130, 174; O'Connell leads, 125; New York City railway (1905), 138 (note); railroad, 141, 142, 145, 153, 158, 174; Brotherhood threatens (1916), 163, 165; New York City garment makers, 169; history in United States, 171-173; strike statistics of United States Bureau of Labor, 172, 173; violence, 174-176; Lawrence mill strike (1912), 202-206; Little Falls textile strike, 206; Akron rubber works, 206-207; Granite City (Ill.), steel mills, 210-211; court prevention, 252-253. Supreme Court, Danbury Hatters' case, 183; open shop decision, 252. "Supreme Mechanical Order of the Sun," 72. Syndicalism, in Europe, 188; I. W. W. and, 198. T Taft, W. H., vetoes exemption bill for Anti-Trust Law, 99. Tammany Hall, 32. Tannenbaum, Frank, 209-210. Tariff, demand for protective, 27. Tax Reformers, 233. Taxation, single tax, 234, 235; income tax, 231, 236. Terre Haute (Ind.), convention (1881), 88-89. Texas, I. W. W. and draft, 216. Thomas, C. S., Senator, report on I. W. W., 216. Times, Los Angeles, dynamiting of building, 175. Toledo, (O.), conference of Labor Reform and Greenback parties, 231. Trade unions, beginnings, 29-39; temporary eclipse, 40; new species in the early fifties, 58-59; organization of special trades, 60; organization, 112; conventions, 112-113; local unions, 114-116; characterization of different trades, 116-117; disputes as to authority, 117-118; adjustment to changing conditions, 117-118; advantages of amalgamation, 119; and labor leaders, 121 et seq.; purpose, 168; and collective bargaining, 168-171; question of monopoly, 170-171; and strikes, 173-177; local autonomy, 177; union label, 184-186; restriction of output, 186-187; oppose use of military, 254; bibliography, 262. Trades' Union of the City and County of Philadelphia, 30. Transportation, demand for better, 27. Trautmann, W. E., 195; quoted, 198. Troy (N. Y.), union in, 34. Tulsa (Okla.), treatment of I. W. W. in, 216. U Unemployment, in 1857, 61-62; in 1873-1874, 66; "floaters," 190; among immigrants, 191; in San Francisco (1877), 238. Union Labor party, 233, 237; see also National Union Labor party. Union of Longshoremen, Marine and Transport Workers, 126. United Association of Journeymen Plumbers, Gas Fitters, Steam Fitters and Steam Fitters' Helpers, 119. United Brotherhood of Carpenters, 109. United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America, 110. United Hatters of North America, 60. United Labor party, 233, 234. United Mine Workers, 112, 117, 128-129, 177, 181. V Van Buren, Martin, executive order for ten-hour day, 51. Van Hise, C. R., 146. Vermont, labor politics, 227. Virginia, class distinction in, 20. W Wages, beginning of controversy, 11-12; in 1784, 21; result of tailors' strike, 22; rise of, 22; in 1840, 28; carpenters', 31; strikes to raise, 36; Mooney on (1850), 43; issue, 69-70; Paris peace treaty and, 106; United Mine Workers and, 129; Arthur and engineers', 142; Stone and, 144; Eastern engineers demand standardization of, 145; Garretson and, 152; brakemen's, 157; Wilkins and, 158; Adamson Law and, 166; further increase for railroad employees, 167; Trade unions and, 168-169; State regulation, 250. Walling, W. E., 245. Washington (State), "hobo" labor in, 190, and I. W. W., 216. Washington, (D. C.), union in, 34; Knights of Labor, 84; headquarters of American Federation of Labor in, 97. Weaver, General J. B., 232, 236. Webb, Sidney and Beatrice, History of Trade Unionism, 14. Weed, Thurlow, 24. West Roxbury (Mass.), Brook Farm experiment at, 41. Western Federation of Miners, 174, 189, 192, 194. Whig party and ten-hour day, 53. Wilkinson, S. E., 157. Willard, Daniel, 146, 149. Wilson, Woodrow, quoted, 72; and Clayton Act, 100; and Garretson, 152; and threatened strike of Brotherhoods (1916), 163-164; and eight-hour railroad law, 164-166. Wisconsin, communistic experiment in, 41; eight-hour law for women and children (1867), 71; labor ticket (1888), 237; Socialist party (1918), 245. Women, wages in 1840, 28; "new woman" movement, 43; conditions of labor, 44-45; in factories, 54-55; organizations, 55-56; Paris peace treaty and equal pay for, 107; State regulation of labor, 250. Wood Workers in shipbuilding industry, 110. Wood-Workers International Union, 125. Wooden Box Makers, 110. "Woodstock meetings," 226. Working Man's Advocate, The, 223, 225. Working Man's Gazette, 226. Workingman's party, 220-221. Workingman's party of California, 239, 240. Workingman's Trade and Labor Union of San Francisco, 239. Workingmen's compensation, 250. Wright, C. D., report quoted, 187. Wright, Frances, 222, 225. Y Youngson, A. B., 143. Youngstown (O.), I. W. W. at, 202. The Chronicles of America Series The Red Man's Continent by Ellsworth Huntington The Spanish Conquerors by Irving Berdine Richman Elizabethan Sea-Dogs by William Charles Henry Wood The Crusaders of New France by William Bennett Munro Pioneers of the Old South by Mary Johnson The Fathers of New England by Charles McLean Andrews Dutch and English on the Hudson by Maud Wilder Goodwin The Quaker Colonies by Sydney George Fisher Colonial Folkways by Charles McLean Andrews The Conquest of New France by George McKinnon Wrong The Eve of the Revolution by Carl Lotus Becker Washington and His Comrades in Arms by George McKinnon Wrong The Fathers of the Constitution by Max Farrand Washington and His Colleagues by Henry Jones Ford Jefferson and his Colleagues by Allen Johnson John Marshall and the Constitution by Edward Samuel Corwin The Fight for a Free Sea by Ralph Delahaye Paine Pioneers of the Old Southwest by Constance Lindsay Skinner The Old Northwest by Frederic Austin Ogg The Reign of Andrew Jackson by Frederic Austin Ogg The Paths of Inland Commerce by Archer Butler Hulbert Adventurers of Oregon by Constance Lindsay Skinner The Spanish Borderlands by Herbert E. Bolton Texas and the Mexican War by Nathaniel Wright Stephenson The Forty-Niners by Stewart Edward White The Passing of the Frontier by Emerson Hough The Cotton Kingdom by William E. Dodd The Anti-Slavery Crusade by Jesse Macy Abraham Lincoln and the Union by Nathaniel Wright Stephenson The Day of the Confederacy by Nathaniel Wright Stephenson Captains of the Civil War by William Charles Henry Wood The Sequel of Appomattox by Walter Lynwood Fleming The American Spirit in Education by Edwin E. Slosson The American Spirit in Literature by Bliss Perry Our Foreigners by Samuel Peter Orth The Old Merchant Marine by Ralph Delahaye Paine The Age of Invention by Holland Thompson The Railroad Builders by John Moody The Age of Big Business by Burton Jesse Hendrick The Armies of Labor by Samuel Peter Orth The Masters of Capital by John Moody The New South by Holland Thompson The Boss and the Machine by Samuel Peter Orth The Cleveland Era by Henry Jones Ford The Agrarian Crusade by Solon Justus Buck The Path of Empire by Carl Russell Fish Theodore Roosevelt and His Times by Harold Howland Woodrow Wilson and the World War by Charles Seymour The Canadian Dominion by Oscar D. Skelton The Hispanic Nations of the New World by William R. Shepherd Transcriber's Note This e-book is a direct transcription of the Textbook Edition of The Armies of Labor by Samuel P. Orth. There were three instances where changes were made to correct an error: one in the bibliography, one in the index, and one on page 231. Also, footnotes were changed in two instances due to the way we transcribe footnotes. There were some inconsistencies in hyphenating words, and these posed dilemmas in deciding how to transcribe a few words in the text. Those decisions appear below with the emendations to the text. Page 94: The phrase, "the son of a cigar-maker" hyphenated cigar-maker for spacing between two lines. We could transcribe the word two ways. There are multiple uses of "cigar-maker" (see Page 113, Page 116, and Page 118 for a few examples). There is one lone usage of "cigarmaker" on Page 30. Since usage in this book tended toward the hyphen, cigar-maker on page 94 was transcribed with the hyphen. Page 136 and Page 137: Non-union is broken into two lines by a hyphen in two places in the same paragraph. We could transcribe the word two ways. The hyphen was employed on Page 127, but nonunion was used on Page 24 and Page 178. By a vote of 2-1, nonunion prevailed. Page 185: Trade-mark was split between two lines and hyphenated for spacing, thus giving the transcriber a choice. Only one other usage of the word was found in the text: trade-mark was hyphenated on Page 186. We therefore used the hyphen on Page 185 and transcribed the word "trade-mark." Page 243: On page 243 the book was inconsistent by using a hyphen in the "Social-Democratic party," only to omit the hyphen a few sentences later, on the same page. The hyphen was also not used in the index. Here, the inconsistency was retained. Page 196: In transcribing a book, we place footnotes after the paragraph where the footnote belongs. The paragraph beginning on page 195 and ending on page 196, contains 2 footnotes. In the book, ¹ appears on page 195 and ² appears on page 196, but both footnotes must be placed after the paragraph on page 196 due to the way that we transcribe the book. Therefore, footnote 1 on page 195 in the paper book is ¹ on page 196 of the e-book; and footnote 1 of page 196 in the paper book is ² on page 196 in the e-book. The same changes were made to the footnotes on Page 96 and Page 97. The paragraph beginning on page 96 and ending on page 97 had a footnote, and a second paragraph on page 97 had a footnote. In the book, ¹ appears on page 96 and ² appears on page 97, but both footnotes must be placed on page 97 due to the way that we transcribe the book. We changed the latter footnote on page 97 to ² to reduce confusion. The paper book abbreviates the Wobblies as I. W. W., which could cause the text formatter to break up the letters over two lines. One solution to overcome the text formatter is to write "I.W.W.", but the cramped phrase reads awkwardly. Modern history books use "IWW". I used the convention adopted by the paper book and hope that the reader is not too inconvenienced by the possible break of I. W. W. across two lines. Page 231: Changed "cooperation" to "coöperation" because every other spelling of that word and derivations had an oomlat. There were thirty-three occurrences of cöperation or coöperate or coöperate and even coördinate. The six occurrences of "coop" were either the name Cooper or the profession. My guess is that the publisher left out the oomlat here by mistake when hyphenating the word into two lines for spacing. Page 262: Every other item in the Bibliography has the date of the book in parenthesis with a period after the right parenthesis when the period is used. I have changed (1889.) after Terence Powderly's book to (1889). Page 270: Insert a comma in the index after "Industrial Workers of the World" and before "American Alliance . . .". 
33314	----	scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print archive. BOOKS BY EDWIN LEFEVRE SAMPSON ROCK OF WALL STREET. Illustrated. Post 8vo. H. R. Illustrated. Post 8vo. * * * * * HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK [Illustration: SHE PETRIFIED HERSELF WHEN SHE BEHELD THE MAN WHO HAD MADE HER FAMOUS] [Illustration: H. R.] BY EDWIN LEFEVRE [Illustration] HARPER & BROTHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON MCMXV Copyright, 1915, by Harper & Brothers TO ROBERT HOBART DAVIS _My dear Bob: In dedicating this book to you, I do more than follow the selfish impulse of pleasing myself. It was you who warned me that none of the usual fiction-labels would fit "H. R." To irritate the reader by compelling him to think in order to understand was, you told me, both unfair and unwise. But a writer occasionally may be permitted to please himself, and if his experiment fails there remains the satisfaction of having tried. I have not labelled my jokes explicitly nor have I written a single foot-note in the middle of a page. I have endeavored to reproduce a recognizable atmosphere by intentionally exaggerating certain phases of the attitude of New York toward the eternal verities. Not even for purposes of contrast have I felt bound to have a nice character in the book. But if the reader fails to get what you so clearly understood, and if the critics point out how completely I have failed to write a Satirical Romance of To-day, I can at least make certain of having one line in this volume with which none may find fault. And that, Great and Good Friend, is the line at the top of this page._ _E. L._ _Dorset, Vt., June, 1915._ H. R. I The trouble was not in being a bank clerk, but in being a clerk in a bank that wanted him to be nothing but a bank clerk. That kind always enriches first the bank and later on a bit of soil. Hendrik Rutgers had no desire to enrich either bank or soil. He was blue-eyed, brown-haired, clear-skinned, rosy-cheeked, tall, well-built, and square-chinned. He always was in fine physical trim, which made people envy him so that they begrudged him advancement, but it also made them like him because they were so flattered when he reduced himself to their level by not bragging of his muscles. He had a quick-gaited mind and much fluency of speech. Also the peculiar sense of humor of a born leader that enabled him to laugh at what any witty devil said about others, even while it prevented him from seeing jokes aimed at his sacred self. He not only was congenitally stubborn--from his Dutch ancestors--but he had his Gascon grandmother's ability to believe whatever he wished to believe, and his Scandinavian great-grandfather's power to fill himself with Berserker rage in a twinkling. This made him begin all arguments by clenching his fists. Having in his veins so many kinds of un-American blood, he was one of the few real Americans in his own country, and he always said so. It was this blood that now began to boil for no reason, though the reason was really the spring. He had acquired the American habit of reading the newspapers instead of thinking, and his mind therefore always worked in head-lines. This time it worked like this: MORE MONEY AND MORE FUN! Being an American, he instantly looked about for the best rung of the ladder of success. He had always liked the cashier. A man climbs at first by his friends. Later by his enemies. That is why friends are superfluous later. Hendrik, so self-confident that he did not even have to frown, approached the kindly superior. "Mr. Coster," he said, pleasantly, "I've been on the job over two years. I've done my work satisfactorily. I need more money." You could see from his manner that it was much nicer to state facts than to argue. The cashier was looking out of the big plate-glass window at the wonderful blue sky--New York! April! He swung on his swivel-chair and, facing Hendrik Rutgers, stared at a white birch by a trout stream three hundred miles north of the bank. "Huh?" he grunted, absently. Then the words he had not heard indented the proper spot on his brain and he became a kindly bank cashier once more. "My boy," he said, sympathetically, "I know how it is. Everybody gets the fit about this time of year. What kind of a fly would you use for-- I mean, you go back to your cage and confine your attention to the K-L ledger." A two hours walk in the Westchester hills would have made these two men brothers. Instead, Hendrik allowed himself to fill up with that anger which is apt to become indignation, and thus lead to freedom. Anger is wrath over injury; indignation is wrath over injustice: hence the freedom. "I am worth more to the bank than I'm getting. If the bank wants me to stay--" "Hendrik, I'll do you a favor. Go out and take a walk. Come back in ten minutes--cured! "Thanks, Mr. Coster. But suppose I still want a raise when I come back? "Then I'll accept your resignation." "But I don't want to resign. I want to be worth still more to the bank so that the bank will be only too glad to pay me more. I don't want to live and die a clerk. That would be stupid for me, and also for the bank." "Take the walk, Hen. Then come back and see me." "What good will that do me?" "As far as I can see, it will enable you to be fired by no less than the Big Chief himself. Tell Morson you are going to do something for me. Walk around and look at the people--thousands of them; they are working! Don't forget that, Hen; working; _making regular wages_! Good luck, my boy. I've never done this before, but you caught me fishing. I had just hooked a three-pounder," he finished, apologetically. Hendrik was suffocating as he returned to his cage. He did not think; he felt--felt that everything was wrong with a civilization that kept both wild beasts and bank clerks in cages. He put on his hat, told the head bookkeeper he was going on an errand for Mr. Coster, and left the bank. The sky was pure blue and the clouds pure white. There was in the air that which even when strained through the bank's window-screens had made Hendrik so restless. To breathe it, outdoors, made the step more elastic, the heartbeats more vigorous, the thoughts more vivid, the resolve stronger. The chimneys were waving white plumes in the bright air--waving toward heaven! He wished to hear the song of freedom of streams escaping from the mountains, of the snow-elves liberated by the sun; to hear birds with the spring in their throats admitting it, and the impatient breeze telling the awakening trees to hurry up with the sap. Instead, he heard the noises that civilized people make when they make money. Also, whenever he ceased to look upward, in the place of the free sunlight and the azure liberty of God's sky, he beheld the senseless scurrying of thousands of human ants bent on the same golden errand. When a man looks down he always sees dollar-chasing insects--his brothers! He clenched his fists and changed, by the magic of the season, into a fighting-man. He saw that the ant life of Wall Street was really a battle. Men here were not writing on ledgers, but fighting deserts, and swamps, and mountains, and heat, and cold, and hunger; fighting Nature; fighting her with gold for more gold. It followed that men were fighting men with gold for more gold! So, of course, men were killing men with gold for more gold! So greatly has civilization advanced since the Jews crucified Him for interfering with business, that to-day man not only is able to use dollars to kill with, but boasts of it. "Fools!" he thought, having in mind all other living men. After he definitely classified humanity he felt more kindly disposed toward the world. After all, why should men fight Nature or fight men? Nature was only too willing to let men live who kept her laws; and men were only too willing to love their fellow-men if only dollars were not sandwiched in between human hearts. He saw, in great happy flashes, the comfort of living intelligently, brothers all, employers and employed, rid of the curse of money, the curse of making it, the curse of coining it out of the sweat and sorrow of humanity. "Fools!" This time he spoke his thought aloud. A hurrying broker's clerk smiled superciliously, recognizing a stock-market loser talking of himself to himself, as they all do. But Hendrik really had in mind bank clerks who, instead of striking off their fetters, caressed them as though they were the flesh of sweethearts; or wept, as though tears could soften steel; or blasphemed, as though curses were cold-chisels! And every year the fetters were made thicker by the blacksmith Habit. To be a bank clerk, now and always; now and always nothing! He now saw all about him hordes of sheep-hearted Things with pens behind their ears and black-cloth sleeve-protectors, who said, with the spitefulness of eunuchs or magazine editors: "_You also are of us!_" He would _not_ be of them! He might not be able to change conditions in the world of finance, not knowing exactly how to go about it, but he certainly could change the financial condition of Hendrik Rutgers. He would become a free man. He would do it by getting more money, if not from the bank, from somebody else. In all imperfectly Christianized democracies a man must capitalize his freedom or cease to be free. He returned to the bank. He was worth thousands to it. This could be seen in his walk. And yet when the cashier saw Hendrik's face he instantly rose from his chair, held up a hand to check unnecessary speech, and said: "Come on, Rutgers. You are a damned fool, but I have no time to convince you of it. You understand, of course, that you'll never work for us again!" "I shall tell the president." "Yes, yes. He'll fire you." "Not if he is intelligent, he won't," said Rutgers, with assurance. The cashier looked at him pityingly and retorted: "A long catalogue of your virtues and manifold efficiency will weigh with him as much as two cubic inches of hydrogen. But I warned you." "I know you did," said Hendrik, pleasantly. Whereupon Coster frowned and said: "You are in class B--eight hundred dollars a year. In due time you will be promoted to class C--one thousand dollars. You knew our system and what the prospects were when you came to us. Other men are ahead of you; they have been here longer than you. We want to be fair to all. If you were going to be dissatisfied you should not have kept somebody else out of a job." Hendrik did not know how fair the bank was to clerks in class C. He knew they were not fair to one man in class B. Facts are facts. Arguments are sea-foam. "You say I kept somebody out of a job?" he asked. "Yes, you did!" The cashier's tone was so accusing that Hendrik said: "Don't call a policeman, Mr. Coster." "And don't you get fresh, Rutgers. Now see here; you go back and let the rise come in the usual course. I'll give you a friendly tip: once you are in class C you will be more directly under my own eye!" Instead of feeling grateful for the implied promise, Hendrik could think only that they classified men like cattle. All steers weighing one thousand pounds went into pen B, and so on. This saved time to the butchers, who, not having to stop in order to weigh and classify, were enabled to slit many more throats per day. He did not know it, but he thought all this because he wished to go fishing. Therefore he said: "I've got to have more money!" His fists clenched and his face flushed. He thought of cattle, of the ox-making bank, of being driven from pen A into pen B, and, in the end, fertilizer. "I've got to!" he repeated, thickly. "You won't get it, take it from me. To ask for it now simply means being instantly fired." "Being fired" sounded so much like being freed that Hendrik retorted, pleasantly: "Mr. Coster, you may yet live to take your orders from me, if I am fired. But if I stay here, you never will; that's sure." The cashier flushed angrily, opened his mouth, magnanimously closed it, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, preceded Hendrik Rutgers into the private office of the president. "Mr. Goodchild," said Coster, so deferentially that Hendrik looked at him in surprise for a full minute before the surprise changed into contempt. Mr. Goodchild, the president, did not even answer. He frowned, deliberately walked to a window and stared out of it sourly. A little deal of his own had gone wrong, owing to the stupidity of a subordinate. _He had lost MONEY!_ He was a big man with jowls and little puffs under the eyes; also suspicions of purple in cheeks and nose and suspicions of everybody in his eyes. Presently he turned and spat upon the intruders. He did it with one mild little word: "Well?" He then confined his scowl to the cashier. The clerk was a species of the human dirt that unfortunately exists even in banks and has to be apologized for to customers at times, when said dirt, before arrogance, actually permits itself vocal chords. They spoil the joy of doing business, damn 'em! "This is the K-L ledger clerk," said Coster. "He wants a raise in salary. I told him 'No,' and he then insisted on seeing you." Years of brooding over the appalling possibility of having to look for another job had made the cashier a skilful shirker of responsibilities. He always spoke to the president as if he were giving testimony under oath. "When one of these chaps, Mr. Coster," said the president in the accusing voice bank presidents use toward those borrowers whose collateral is inadequate, "asks for a raise and doesn't get it he begins to brood over his wrongs. People who think they are underpaid necessarily think they are overworked. And that is what makes socialists of them!" He glared at the cashier, who acquiesced, awe-strickenly: "Yes, sir!" "As a matter of fact," pursued the president, still accusingly, "we should reduce the bookkeeping force. Dawson tells me that at the Metropolitan National they average one clerk to two hundred and forty-two accounts. The best we've ever done is one to one hundred and eighty-eight. Reduce! Good morning." "Mr. Goodchild," said Hendrik Rutgers, approaching the president, "won't you please listen to what I have to say?" Mr. Goodchild was one of those business men who in their desire to conduct their affairs efficiently become mind-readers in order to save precious time. He knew what Rutgers was going to say, and therefore anticipated it by answering: "I am very sorry for the sickness in your family. The best I can do is to let you remain with us for a little while, until whoever is sick is better." He nodded with great philanthropy and self-satisfaction. But Hendrik said, very earnestly: "If I were content with my job I wouldn't be worth a whoop to the bank. What makes me valuable is that I want to be more. Every soldier of Napoleon carried a marshal's baton in his knapsack. That gave ambition to Napoleon's soldiers, who always won. Let your clerks understand that a vice-presidency can be won by any of us and you will see a rise in efficiency that will surprise you. Mr. Goodchild, it is a matter of common sense to--" "Get out!" said the president. Ordinarily he would have listened. But he had lost money; that made him think only of one thing--that he had lost money! The general had suddenly discovered that his fortress was not impregnable! He did not wish to discuss feminism. Of course, Hendrik did not know that the president's request for solitude was a confession of weakness and, therefore, in the nature of a subtle compliment. And therefore, instead of feeling flattered, Hendrik saw red. It is a common mistake. But anger always stimulated his faculties. All men who are intelligent in their wrath have in them the makings of great leaders of men. The rabble, in anger, merely becomes the angry rabble--and stays rabble. Hendrik Rutgers aimed full at George G. Goodchild, Esq., a look of intense astonishment. "Get out!" repeated the president. Hendrik Rutgers turned like a flash to the cashier and said, sharply: "Didn't you hear? _Get out!_" "You!" shouted Mr. George G. Goodchild. "Who? _Me?_" Hendrik's incredulity was abysmal. "Yes! You!" And the president, dangerously flushed, advanced threateningly toward the insolent beast. "What?" exclaimed Hendrik Rutgers, skeptically. "Do you mean to tell me you really are the jackass your wife thinks you?" Fearing to intrude upon private affairs, the cashier discreetly left the room. The president fell back a step. Had Mrs. Goodchild ever spoken to this creature? Then he realized it was merely a fashion of speaking, and he approached, one pudgy fist uplifted. The uplift was more for rhetorical effect than for practical purposes, which has been a habit with most uplifts since money-making became an exact science. But Hendrik smiled pleasantly, as his forebears always did in battle, and said: "If I hit you once on the point of the jaw it'll be the death-chair for mine. I am young. Please control yourself." "You infernal scoundrel!" "What has Mrs. Goodchild ever done to me, that I should make her a widow?" You could see he was sincerely trying to be not only just, but judicial. The president of the bank gathered himself together. Then, as one flings a dynamite bomb, he utterly destroyed this creature. "You are _discharged_!" "Tut, tut! I discharged the bank ages ago; I'm only waiting for the bank to pack up. Now you listen to me." "Leave this room, sir!" He said it in that exact tone of voice. But Hendrik did not vanish into thin air. He commanded, "Take a good look at me!" The president of the bank could not take orders from a clerk in class B. Discipline must be maintained at any cost. He therefore promptly turned away his head. But Hendrik drew near and said: "Do you hear?" There was in the lunatic's voice something that made Mr. George G. Goodchild instantly bethink himself of all the hold-up stories he had ever heard. He stared at Hendrik with the fascination of fear. "What do you see?" asked Rutgers, tensely. "A human soul? No. You see K-L. You think machinery means progress, and therefore you don't want men, but machines, hey?" The president did not see K-L, as at the beginning of the interview. Instead of the two enslaving letters he saw two huge, emancipating fists. This man was far too robust to be a safe clerk. He had square shoulders. Yes, he had! The president was not the ass that Hendrik had called him. His limitations were the limitations of all irreligious people who regularly go to church. He thus attached too much importance to To-day, though perhaps his demand loans had something to do with it. His sense of humor was altogether phrasal, like that of most multimillionaires. But if he was too old a man to be consistently intelligent, he was also an experienced banker. He knew he had to listen or be licked. He decided to listen. He also decided, in order to save his face, to indulge in humorous speech. "Young man," he asked, with a show of solicitude, "do you expect to become Governor of New York?" But Hendrik was not in a smiling mood, because he was listening to a speech he was making to himself, and his own applause was distinctly enjoyable, besides preventing him from hearing what the other was saying. That is what makes all applause dangerous. He went on, with an effect of not having been interrupted. "Machines never mutiny. They, therefore, are desirable in your System. At the same time, the end of all machines is the scrap-heap. Do _you_ expect to end in junk?" "I was not thinking of _my_ finish," the president said, with much politeness. "Yes, you are. Shall I prove it?" "Not now, please," pleaded the president, with a look of exaggerated anxiety at the clock. It brought a flush of anger to Hendrik's cheeks, seeing which the president instantly felt that glow of happiness which comes from gratified revenge. Ah, to be witty! But his smile vanished. Hendrik, his fists clenched, was advancing. The president was no true humorist, not being of the stuff of which martyrs are made. He was ready to recant when, "Good morning, daddy," came in a musical voice. Hendrik drew in his breath sharply at the narrowness of his escape. She who approached the purple-faced tyrant was the most beautiful girl in all the round world. It was spring. The girl had brought in the first blossoms of the season on her cheeks, and she had captured the sky and permanently imprisoned it in her eyes. She was more than beautiful; she was everything that Hendrik Rutgers had ever desired, and even more! "Er--good morning, Mr.--ah--" began the president in a pleasant voice. Hendrik waved his hand at him with the familiar amiability we use toward people whose political affiliations are the same as ours at election-time. Then he turned toward the girl, looked at her straight in the eyes for a full minute before he said, with impressive gravity: "Miss Goodchild, your father and I have failed to agree in a somewhat important business matter. I do not think he has used very good judgment, but I leave this office full of forgiveness toward him because I have lived to see his daughter at close range, in the broad light of day." The only woman before whom a man dares to show himself a physical coward is his wife, because no matter what he does she knows him. Mr. Goodchild was frightened, but he said, blusteringly, "That will do, you--er--_you_!" He pointed toward the door, theatrically. But Hendrik put his fingers to his lips and said "Hush, George!" and spoke to her again: "Miss Goodchild, I am going to tell you the truth, which is a luxury mighty rare in a bank president's private office, believe me." She stared at him with a curiosity that was not far from fascination. She saw a well-dressed, well-built, good-looking chap, with particularly bright, understanding eyes, who was on such familiar terms with her father that she wondered why he had never called. "Let me say," he pursued, fervently, "without any hope of reward, speaking very conservatively, that you are, without question, the most beautiful girl in all the world! I have been nearly certain of it for some time, but now I _know_. You are not only perfectly wonderful, but wonderfully perfect--all of you! And now take a good look at me--" "Yes; just before he is put away," interjected the president, trying to treat tragedy humorously before this female of the species. But for the fear of the newspapers, he would have rung for the private detective whose business was to keep out cranks, bomb-throwing anarchists, and those fellow-Christians who wished to pledge their word of honor as collateral on time-loans of less than five dollars. But she thought this friendly persiflage meant that the interesting young man was a social equal as well as a person of veracity and excellent taste. So she smiled non-committally. She was, alas, young! "They will not put me away for thinking what I say," asserted Hendrik, with such conviction that she blushed. Having done this, she smiled at him directly, that there might be no wasted effort. Wasn't it spring, and wasn't he young and fearless? And more than all that, wasn't he a _novelty_, and she a New York woman? "When you hear the name of Hendrik Rutgers, or see it in the newspapers, remember it belongs to the man who thought you were the only perfectly beautiful girl God ever made. And He has done pretty well at times, you must admit." With some people, both blasphemy and breakfast foods begin with a small "b". The Only Perfect One thought he was a picturesque talker! "Mr. Rutgers, I am sorry you must be going," said the president, with a pleasant smile, having made up his mind that this young man was not only crazy, but harmless--unless angered. "But you'll come back, won't you, when you are famous? We should like to have your account." Hendrik ignored him. He looked at her and said: "Do _you_ prefer wealth to fame? Anybody can be rich. But famous? Which would you rather hear: _There goes Miss $80,000-a-year Goodchild or That is that wonderful Goodchild girl everybody is talking about?_" She didn't know what to answer, the question being a direct one and she a woman. But this did not injure Hendrik in her eyes; for women actually love to be compelled to be silent in order to let a man speak--at certain times, about a certain subject. Her father, after the immemorial fashion of unintelligent parents, answered for her. He said, stupidly: "It never hurts to have a dollar or two, dear Mr. Rutgers." "Dollar or two! Why, there are poor men whose names on your list of directors would attract more depositors to this bank than the name of the richest man in the world. Even for your bank, between St. Vincent de Paul and John D. Rockefeller, whom would you choose? Dollars! When you can _dream_!" Hendrik's eyes were gazing steadily into hers. She did not think he was at all lunatical. But George G. Goodchild had reached the limit of his endurance and even of prudence. He rose to his feet, his face deep purple. However, Providence was in a kindly mood. At that very moment the door opened and a male stenographer appeared, note-book in hand. Civilization does its life-saving in entirely unexpected ways, even outside of hospitals. "_Au revoir_, Miss Goodchild. Don't forget the name, will you?" "I won't," she promised. There was a smile on her flower-lips and firm resolve in her beautiful eyes. It mounted to Hendrik's head and took away his senses, for he waved his hand at the purple president, said, with a solemnity that thrilled her, "_Pray for your future son-in-law!_" and walked out with the step of a conqueror. And the step visibly gained in majesty as he overheard the music of the spheres: "Daddy, who is he?" At the cashier's desk he stopped, held out his hand, and said with that valiant smile with which young men feel bound to announce their defeat, "I'm leaving, Mr. Coster." "Good morning," said Coster, coldly, studiously ignoring the outstretched hand. Rutgers was now a discharged employee, a potential hobo, a possible socialist, an enemy of society, one of the dangerous Have-Nots. But Hendrik felt so much superior to this creature with a regular income that he said, pityingly: "Mr. Coster, your punishment for assassinating your own soul is that your children are bound to have the hearts of clerks. You are now definitely nothing but a bank cashier. That's what!" "Get out!" shrieked the bank cashier, plagiarizing from a greater than he. The tone of voice made the private policeman draw near. When he saw it was Hendrik to whom Mr. Coster was speaking, he instantly smelled liquor. What other theory for an employee's loud talking in a bank? He hoped Hendrik would not swear audibly. The bank would blame it on the policeman's lack of tact. "_Au revoir._" And Hendrik smiled so very pleasantly that the policeman, whose brains were in his biceps, sighed with relief. At the same time the whisper ran among the caged clerks in the mysterious fashion of all bad news--the oldest of all wireless systems! _Hendrik Rutgers was fired!_ Did life hold a darker tragedy than to be out of a job? A terrible world, this, to be hungry in. As Hendrik walked into the cage to get his few belongings, pale faces bent absorbingly over their ledgers. To be fed, to grow comfortably old, to die in bed, always at so much per week. Ideal! No wonder, therefore, that his erstwhile companions feared to look at what once had been a clerk. And then, too, the danger of contagion! A terrible disease, freedom, in a money-making republic, but, fortunately, rare, and the victims provided with food, lodging, and strait-jackets at the expense of the state. Or without strait-jackets: bars. Hendrik got his pay from the head of his department, who seemed of a sudden to recall that he had never been formally introduced to this Mr. H. Rutgers. This filled Hendrik at first with great anger, and then with a great joy that he was leaving the inclosure wherein men's thoughts withered and died, just like plants, for the same reason--lack of sunshine. On his way to the street he paused by his best friend--a little old fellow with unobtrusive side-whiskers who turned the ledger's pages over with an amazing deftness, and wore the hunted look that comes from thirty years of fear of dismissal. To some extent the old clerk's constant boasting about the days when he was a reckless devil had encouraged Hendrick. "Good-by, Billy," said Hendrik, holding out his hand. "I'm going." Little old Billy was seen by witnesses talking in public with a discharged employee! He hastily said, "Too bad!" and made a pretense of adding a column of figures. "Too bad nothing. See what it has done for you, to stay so long. I laid out old Goodchild, and the only reason why I stopped was I thought he'd get apoplexy. But say, the daughter-- She is some peach, believe me. I called him papa-in-law to his face. You should have seen him!" Billy shivered. It was even worse than any human being could have imagined. "Good-by, Rutgers," he whispered out of a corner of his mouth, never taking his eyes from the ledger. "You poor old-- No, Billy! Thank you a thousand times for showing me Hendrik Rutgers at sixty. Thanks!" And he walked out of the bank overflowing with gratitude toward Fate that had hung him into the middle of the street. From there he could look at the free sun all day; and of nights, at the unfettered stars. It was better than looking at the greedy hieroglyphics wherewith a stupid few enslaved the stupider many. He was free! He stood for a moment on the steps of the main entrance. For two years he had looked from the world into the bank. But now he looked from the bank out--on the world. And that was why that self-same world suddenly changed its aspect. The very street looked different; the sidewalk wore an air of strangeness; the crowd was not at all the same. He drew in a deep breath. The April air vitalized his blood. This new world was a world to conquer. He must fight! The nearest enemy was the latest. This is always true. Therefore Hendrik Rutgers, in thinking of fighting, thought of the bank and the people who made of banks temples to worship in. All he needed now was an excuse. There was no doubt that he would get it. Some people call this process the autohypnosis of the great. Two sandwich-men slouched by in opposite directions. One of them stopped and from the edge of the sidewalk stared at a man cleaning windows on the fourteenth story of a building across the way. The other wearily shuffled southward. Above his head swayed an enormous amputated foot. Rutgers himself walked briskly to the south. To avoid a collision with a hurrying stenographer-girl--if it had been a male he would have used a short jab--he unavoidably jostled the chiropodist's advertisement into the gutter. The sandwich-man looked meekly into Rutgers's pugnacious face and started to cross the street. Hendrik felt he should apologize, but before his sense of duty could crystallize into action the man was too far away. So Hendrik turned back. The other sandwich-man was still looking at the window-cleaner on the fourteenth story across the street. Happening to look down, he saw coming a man who looked angry. Therefore the sandwich-man meekly stepped into the gutter, out of the way. It was the second time within one minute! Hendrik stopped and spoke peevishly to the meek one in the gutter: "Why did you move out of my way?" The sandwich-man looked at him uneasily; then, without answering, walked away sullenly. "Here I am," thought Rutgers, "a man without a job; and there he is, a man with a job and afraid of me!" Something was wrong--or right. Something always is, to the born fighter. Who could be afraid of a man without a job but sandwich-men who always walked along the curb so they could be pushed off into the gutter among the other beasts? Nobody ever deliberately became a sandwich-man. When circumstances, the police, hopeless inefficiency, or shattered credit prevented a hobo from begging, stealing, murdering, or getting drunk, he became a sandwich-man in order to live until he could rise again. Whatever a sandwich-man changed himself into, it was always advancement. Once a sandwich-man, never again a sandwich-man. It was not boards they carried, but the printed certificates of hopelessness. Men who could not keep steady jobs became either corpses or sandwich-men. The sandwich illustrated the tyranny of the regular income just as the need of a regular income illustrated the need of Christianity. The sandwich thus had become the spirit of the times. The spring-filled system of Hendrik Rutgers began to react for a second time to a feeling of anger, and this for a second time turned his thoughts to fighting. To fight was to conquer. There were two ways of conquering--by fighting with gold and by fighting with brains. Who won by gold perished by gold. That was why a numismatical bourgeoisie never fought. Hendrik had no gold. So he would fight with brains. He therefore would win. Also, he would fight for his fellow-men, which would make his fight noble. That is called "hedging," for defeat in a noble cause is something to be proud of in the newspapers. The reason why all hedging is intelligent is that victory is always Victory when you talk about it. The sandwich-men were the scum of the earth. _Ah!_ It was a thrilling thought: To lead men who could no longer fight for themselves against the world that had marred their immortal souls; and then to compel that same world to place three square meals a day within their astonished bellies! The man who could make the world do that could do anything. Since he could do anything, he could marry a girl who not only was very beautiful, but had a very rich and dislikable father. The early Christians accomplished so much because they not only loved God, but hated the devil. Hendrik Rutgers found both the excuse and the motive power. One minute after a man of brains perceives the need of a ladder in order to climb, the rain of ladders begins. The chest-inflating egotism of the monopolistic tendency, rather than the few remaining vestiges of Christianity, keeps Protestants in America from becoming socialists. Hendrik filled his lungs full of self-oxygen and of the consciousness of power for good, and decided to draw up the constitution of his union. He would do it himself in order to produce a perfect document; perfect in everything. A square deal; no more, no less. That meant justice toward everybody, even toward the public. This union, being absolutely fair, would be more than good, more than intelligent; it would pay. Carried away by his desire to help the lowest of the low, he constituted himself into a natural law. He would grade his men, be the sole judge and arbiter of their qualifications, and even of their proper wages. Hendrik walked back toward the last sandwich-man and soon overtook him. "Hey, there, you!" he said, tapping the rear board with his hand. The sandwich-man did not turn about. Really, what human being could wish to speak to him? Hendrik Rutgers walked for a few feet beside the modest artist who was proclaiming to a purblind world the merits of an optician's wares, and spoke again, politely: "I want to see you, on business." The man's lips quivered, then curved downward, immobilizing themselves into a fixed grimace of fear. "I--I 'ain't done no-nothin'," he whined, and edged away. This was what society had done to an immortal soul! "Hell!" said Hendrik Rutgers between clenched teeth. "I'm not a fly-cop. I've just got a plain business proposition to make to you." "If you'll tell me where yer place is, I'll come aroun'--" began the man, so obviously lying that Rutgers's anger shifted from society and tyranny on to the thing between sandwich-boards--the thing that refused to be his brother. "You damned fool!" he hissed, fraternally. "You come with me--now." The inverted crescent of the man's lips trembled, and presently there issued from it, "Well, I 'ain't done--" Charity, which is not always astute, made H. Rutgers say with a kindly cleverness to his poor brother, "I'll tell you how you are going to make more money than you ever earned before." The prospect of making more money than he ever earned before brought no name of joy into the blear and furtive eyes. Instead, he sidled, crabwise, into the middle of the street. "No, you don't!" said Rutgers so menacingly that the sandwich-man shivered. It was clear that, to feed this starving man, force would be necessary. This never discourages the true philanthropist. Rutgers, however, feeling that Christian forbearance should be used before resorting to the ultimate diplomacy, said, with an earnest amiability: "Say, Bo, d'you want to fill your belly so that if you ate any more you'd bust?" At the hint of a promise of a sufficiency of food the man opened his mouth, stared at Rutgers, and did not speak. He couldn't because he did not close his mouth. "All the grub you can possibly eat, three times a day. Grub, Bo! All you want, any time you want it. Hey? What?" The sandwich-man's open mouth opened wider. In his eyes there was no fear, no hunger, no incredulity, nothing only an abyss deep as the human soul, that returned no answer whatever. "Do you want," pursued the now optimistic Hendrik Rutgers, "to drink all you can hold? The kind that don't hurt you if you drink a gallon! Booze, and grub, and a bed, and money in your pocket, and nobody to go through your duds while you sleep. Hey?" The sandwich-man spasmodically opened and closed his mouth in the unhuman fashion of a ventriloquist's puppet. Rutgers heard the click, but never a word. It filled him with pity. The desire to help such brothers as this grew intense. Next to feeding them there was nothing like talking to them about food and drink in a kindly way. "What do you say, Bo?" he queried, gently, almost tenderly. The man's teeth chattered a minute before he said, huskily, "Wh-what m-must I do?" "Let's go to the Battery," said Rutgers, "and I'll tell you all about it." The mission of history is to prove that Fate sends the right man for the right place at the right time. While Hendrik Rutgers talked, the sandwich-man listened with his stomach; and when Hendrik Rutgers promised, the sandwich-man believed with his soul. Rutgers told Fleming that all sandwich-men must join the union; that as soon as he and the other present sandwichers were enrolled on its books no more members would be admitted, except as a superabundance of jobs justified additional admissions; and at that it would require a nine-tenths vote to elect, thus preventing a surplus of labor and likewise a slump in wages. The union would compel advertisers in the future to pay twenty cents an hour and would guarantee both steady work and these wages to its members; there would be neither an initiation fee nor strike-fund assessments; the dues of one cent a day were collectible only when the member worked and received union wages for his day's work. Any member could lay off any time he felt like it, unmulcted and unfired. There was only one thing that all sandwich-men had to do to be in good standing; obey the secretary and treasurer of the union--Mr. H. Rutgers--in all union matters. The sandwich business, once unionized, would become a lucrative profession and therefore highly moral, and therefore its members would automatically cease to be pariahs, notwithstanding congenital fitness for same. Anybody who cannot only defy Nature, but make her subservient to the wishes of an infinitely higher intelligence, is fit to be a labor-leader. And he generally is. Fleming agreed to round up those of his colleagues whose peregrinations extended south of Chambers Street. He would ask them to come to the Battery on the next day at noon. So thrilled was Hendrik by his rescue-work among the wreckages that it never occurred to him to doubt his own success. This made him know exactly what to say to Fleming. "Don't just ask them to come. Tell them that there will be free beers and free grub. Tell them anything you damn please, but bring them! _Do you hear me?_" He gripped the sandwich-man's arm so tightly that Fleming's lips began to quiver. "And if you don't bring a bunch, God help you!" "Ye-yes, sir; I will. Sure!" whimpered Fleming, staring fascinatedly at those eyes which both promised and menaced. And in Fleming's own eyes Hendrik saw the four "B's" which form the great equation of all democracies: _Bread + Bludgeon = Born Boss!_ Such men always know how to _say_ everything. This is more important than _thinking_ anything. "Remember the beer!" Brother Hendrik spoke pleasantly, and Fleming nodded eagerly. "And get on the job," hissed Secretary Rutgers; and Fleming shivered and hurried away before the licking came. Hendrik himself walked briskly up-town. When a man is pleased with himself he can always continue in that condition by the simple expedient of continuing to see whatever he wishes to see. Hendrik opened his eyes very wide and continued to see the ladder of success that great men use to climb to their changing heaven. Hendrik's heaven just then happened to be one in which a man of brains could make the money-makers pay him for allowing them to make money for him. After finding the ladder, all that was necessary was for Hendrik to think of George G. Goodchild's money. That made him see red; and whenever he saw red he could see no obstacles whatever; and because of his self-inflicted blindness he was intelligently ready to tackle anything, even the job of helping his fellow-men. To be an efficient philanthropist a man must have not only love, but murder, in his heart. That is one of the two hundred and eighty-six reasons why scientific charities make absolutely no inroads on the world's store of poverty. Mr. Rutgers met the charter members of his union at the time and place indicated by Providence through the medium of Mr. Rutgers's lips. There were fourteen sandwich-men. Hendrik, not knowing what to say, gazed at the faces before him in impressive silence. So long as you keep a man guessing, he is at your mercy. Orators have already discovered this. "Holy smoke! What in the name of Maginnis do you call this?" shrieked a messenger-boy. "Free freak show?" A crowd gathered about them by magic. Opportunity held out its right hand and Hendrik Rutgers grasped it in both his own. If all New York could be made to talk about him, all New York could be made to pay him, as it always pays for the privilege of talking of the same thing at the same time. You cannot get anybody to talk about the Ten Commandments; therefore, there is nobody to listen; therefore nobody capitalizes them. It _is_ the first rung that really matters. All other rungs in the ladder of success are easier to find and to fit. Hendrik could now gather together his various impulses and thoughts and motives and arrange them in their proper sequence, as great men do, to make easier the work of the historian. It was a crusade that he had undertaken, for the liberation of the most abject of all modern slaves; he had changed the scum of the earth into respectable humanity. That was history. The facts, however, happened to be as follows: He threw up his job because he wished to go fishing, which of course made him angry because his fellow-clerks were slaves, and he therefore got himself discharged by the president, which made him hate the president so that the hatred showed in Hendrik's face and made two sandwich-men so afraid that he couldn't help organizing the sandwich-men's union because he could boss it, and that would make people talk about him, which would put money in his pocket; and once he was both rich and famous he would be the equal of the greatest and as such could pick and choose; and he would pick Grace Goodchild and choose her for his wife, which would make him rich. In Europe the ability promptly to recognize the kindness of chance is called opportunism. Here we boast of it as the American spirit. That is why American bankers so often find pleasure in proudly informing you that it pays to be honest! "Listen, you!" said Hendrik to the sandwich-men. These were the tools wherewith he would hammer the first rung into place. They looked at him, incredulous in advance. This attitude on the part of the majority has caused republics at all times to be ruled by the minority. The vice of making money also arose from the fact that suspicious people are so easy to fool that even philosophers succumb to the temptation. "Just now you are nothing but a bunch of dirty hoboes. Scum of the earth!" It would not do to have followers who had illusions about themselves. This is fundamental. "Say, I didn't come here to listen to--" "You--!" said Hendrik Rutgers, and did not smile. "You came here just exactly for that. See?" And he walked up to within six inches of the speaker, not knowing that his anger gave him the fighting face. "You came to listen to me just as long as I am talking--unless you are pining to spend your last three hours in the hospital. Do you get me? Which for yours?" "Listen!" replied the sandwich-man. He had been poor so long that from force of habit he economized even in words. "By cripes! here I am spending valuable time so as to make you bums into prosperous men--" "Where do you come in, Bill?" asked a voice from the rear. "I don't have to come in. I am in. You fellows have got to join the union. Then you'll get good wages, easy hours, decent--" "Yeh; but--" Hendrik turned to the man who had interrupted--a short chap advertising a chain of hat-stores and asked, "But what?" "Nutt'n!" The hatter had once helped about a prize-fighter's training-quarters, hence the quick duck. "Also, you'll have easy--" "Easy!" The hatter had spoken prematurely again. "What?" scowled Hendrik. "Hours," hastily explained the man. "We ask only for fair play," pursued the leader. "Yeh; sure!" murmured Fleming, with the cold enthusiasm of all paid lieutenants of causes. "And we must make up our minds to play fair with employers, so that employers will play fair with us." "Like hell they will!" This was from a tall, thin, toothless chap. Reason: Tapeworm and booze. Name: Mulligan. Recreation: Chiropodist's favorite. "I'll prove it to you," said Hendrik, very earnestly. "Perhaps _to_ but not _by_ me," muttered Mulligan. "Union wages will be twenty cents an hour." "Never get it!" mumbled an old fellow with what they call waiter's foot--flattened arch. "Never!" "Never," came in chorus from all the others, their voices ringing with conviction. "I'll have the jobs to give out. I guess I know how much you'll get." The flame of hope lit fourteen pairs of blear eyes. Maybe this boob had the cash and desired to separate himself from it. All primitive people think the fool is touched of God. Hunger makes men primitive. "I'll fix the wages!" declared Hendrik again. He saw himself feeding these men; therefore he felt he owned them absolutely. It isn't, of course, necessary actually to feed people, or even to promise to feed them, to own them. Nevertheless, his look of possession imposed on these victims of a democracy. They mutely acknowledged a boss. Instantly perceiving this, a sense of kindly responsibility came upon Hendrik. These were his children. He said, paternally, "We'll now have a beer--on me!" Fleming, to show his divine right to the place of vice-regent, led the way to a joint on Washington Street. Hendrik saw, with carefully concealed delight, the sensation caused even in the Syrian-infested streets of the quarter by the sight of a handful of sandwich-men in full regalia. He heard the exclamations that fell from polyglot lips. It was a foretaste of success, the preface of a famous man's biography! The union drank fifteen beers, slowly--and quickly wiped the day's free lunch from the face of the earth. The huskiest of the three bartenders began to work with one hand, the other being glued to a bung-starter. He felt it had to come. "I'm boss!" said Hendrik to his children as a preliminary to discussing the by-laws. "I'm willin'!" "Same here!" "Let 'er go, cap!" "Suits _me_!" They were all eager to please him--too eager. It made him ask, disgustedly: "Don't you fellows care who is boss?" "Naw! Don't we have to have one, anyhow?" "Yes. But to have one crammed down your throats--" "The beer helps the swallowing, boss," said the hatter with conviction--and a fresh hope! "There doesn't seem to be a man among the whole lot of you," said Hendrik. A young fellow of about twenty-eight, very pale, wearing steel-rimmed spectacles, spoke back, "If you'd starved for three weeks and two days, and on top of it been kicked and cheated and held up, there wouldn't be a hell of a lot of fight in you, my wise gazabo." "That's exactly what would make me fight," retorted Hendrik, angrily. "Each of you has a vote; each of you, therefore, has as much to say as to how this country should be run as any millionaire. Don't you know what to do with your vote?" "You're lucky to get a quarter and two nights' lodging nowadays," said the old man with waiter's foot. "The time we elected Gilroy I made fifteen bones and was soused for a mont'. Shorty McFadden made thirty-five dollars--" "Any of you Republicans?" "No!" came in a great and indignant chorus. "I used to be!" defiantly asserted the young man with the spectacles and the pale face and the beaten look. "And now?" "Just a lame duck, I guess." "Too much rumatism," suggested a husky voice, and all the others laughed. The depths of degradation are reached when you can laugh at your own degradation. "Are any of you socialists?" asked Hendrik. They looked at him doubtfully. They wished to please him and would have answered accordingly if they had known what he wished to get from them. What they wished to get from him, in the way of speech, was another invitation to tank up. But when in doubt, all men deny. It is good police-court practice. Three veterans, therefore, tentatively said: "No!" Hendrik was disappointed, but did not show it. He asked, "Are any of you Christians?" The crowd fell back. "Is there one man among you who believes in God?" They stared at one another in the consternation of utter hopelessness. Mulligan was the first to break the painful silence. He said, with a sad triumph: "I knew it. Stung again! They'll do anything to get you to listen. We fell for it like boobs." "What is that?" said Hendrik, sharply. "I was sayin'," replied Mulligan, grateful that he was one schooner ahead, anyhow, "that I can listen to a good brother like you by the hour when I ain't thirsty. The dryness in my throat affects my hearin'. If you blow again I'll believe in miracles. How could I help it?" Fourteen pairs of eyes turned hopefully toward the wonder-worker. But he said in the habitual tone of all born leaders: "You--bums, get around! I'm going to lick hell out of Mulligan. And after that, to show I'm boss, I'll blow again. But first the licking." Hendrik gave his hat to Fleming to hold and began to turn up his sleeves. But Mulligan hastily said, "I'm converted, boss!" and actually looked pious. How he did it, nobody could tell, for he was not a Methodist by birth or education. "Mulligan, the union wages will be forty schooners a day." Hendrik said, sternly. Again it was genius--that is, to talk so that men will understand you. "Kill the scabs!" shrieked Mulligan, and there was murder in his eyes. Hendrik Rutgers put his right foot firmly on the second rung of the ladder. He did it by spending seventy-five cents for the second time. Fifteen beers. "Everybody," he said, threateningly, "wait until the schooners are on the bar!" thereby disappointing those who had hoped to ring in an extra glass during the excitement. But all that Hendrik desired was to inculcate salutary notions of discipline and obedience under circumstances that try men's souls. He yelled: "Damn you, step back! All of you! _Back!_" They fell back. The quivering line, now two feet from the beer, did not look at the glasses full of cheer, but at the eyes full of lickings. They gazed at him, open-mouthed; they gazed and kept on gazing, two feet from the bar--the length of the arm from the beer! Not obey? After that? There is no doubt of it; they are born! "To the union! All together! _Drink!_" They did not observe that this man was regulating even their thirst. The reason they did not notice it was that they were so busy assuaging it. They drank. Then they looked at Hendrik. He was a law of nature. He shook his head. They understood his "No." It was like death. To save their faces they began to clamor for free lunch. "Get to hell out of here!" said the proprietor. "Do you want your joint smashed?" asked Rutgers. He approached the man and looked at him from across a gulf of six inches that made escape impossible. Whatever the proprietor saw in Rutgers's eyes made him turn away. "Come across with the free lunch," Hendrik bade the proprietor. To his men he said, "Boys, get ready!" These men-that-were--miserable worms, scum of the earth, walking cuspidors--began to take off their armor. The bartenders were husky, but hadn't the boss commanded, _Get ready!_ and didn't all men know he meant, _Get ready_ TO EAT? Moreover, each sandwich felt he might dodge the bung-starters, but not the boss's right flipper! The union was making ready to fight with the desperation of men whose retreat is cut on by a foe who never heard of The Hague Convention. "Hey, no rough-house!" yelled the proprietor. "Free lunch!" retorted Hendrik. Then he added, "_Quick!_" The sandwich-men's nostrils began to dilate with the contagion of the battle spirit. One after another, these beasts of the gutter took off the boards and leaned them against the wall, out of the way, and eyed the boss expectantly, waiting for the word--_men once more!_ Hendrik, with the eye of a strategist and the look of a prize-fighter, planned the attack. Like a very wise man who lived to be the most popular of all our Presidents, he did his thinking aloud. On occasions like this Hendrik's mind also worked in battle-cries and best expressed itself in action. "Free lunch," said Hendrik, "is free. It is everybody's. It is therefore _ours_!" "Give us our grub!" hoarsely cried the union. "Three to each bartender," said Hendrik. "When I yell 'Now!' jump in, from both ends of the bar at once--six of you here; you six over there. Fleming, you smash the mirrors back of the bar with those empty schooners. Mulligan, you cop some bottles of booze, and wait outside--do you hear? _Wait outside!_--for us. I'll attend to the cash-register myself. Now, you," he said peremptorily to the proprietor, "do we get the free lunch? _Say no; won't you, please?_" Hendrik radiated battle. The derelicts took on human traits as their eyes lit up with visions of pillage. Fleming grasped a heavy schooner in each hand. Mulligan had his eye on three bottles of whisky and, for the first time in years, was using his mind--planning the get-away. The proprietor saw all this and also perceived that he could not afford a victory. It was much cheaper to give them seven cents worth of spoiled rations. Therefore he decided in favor of humanity. "Do what I told you, Jake," he said, with the smile of a man who has inveigled friends into accepting over-expensive Christmas presents. "Let 'em have the rest of the lunch--_all they want_." He smiled again, much pleased with his kindly astuteness. He was a constructive statesman and would be famous for longevity. But the sandwich-men swaggered about, realizing that under the leadership of the boss they had won; they had obtained something to which they had no right; by threats of force they had secured food; the boss had made men of them. They therefore crowned Hendrik king. The instinctive and immemorial craving of all men for a father manifests itself--in republics that have forgotten God--in the election of the great promisers and the great confiscators to the supreme power. History records that no dynasty was ever founded except by a man who fought both for and with his followers. The men that merely fought for their fellows have uniformly died by the most noble and inspiring death of all--starvation. Names and posthumous addresses not known. When not a scrap remained on any of the platters, Hendrik called his men to him and told them: "Meet me at the sign-painter's, corner Twenty-ninth Street and Ninth Avenue next Friday night after seven. We'll be open till midnight. Be sure and bring your boards with you." "We gotter give 'em up before we can get paid," remonstrated Mulligan. "If we don't we don't eat." "That's right!" assented a half-dozen. "_Bring them!_" said Hendrik. The time to check a mutiny is before it begins. "A' right!" came in a chorus of fourteen heroic voices. "Beginning next Monday, you'll get twenty cents an hour. I guarantee that to you out of my own pocket. You must each of you bring all the other sandwiches you run across. If necessary, drag them. We must have about one hundred to start, if you want forty beers a day." "We do! We do!" "Then bring the others, because we've got to begin with enough men in the union to knock the stuffing out of those who try to scab on us. Get that?" "Sure thing!" they shouted, with the surprised enthusiasm of men who suddenly understand. They were deep in misery and accustomed to a poverty so abject that they no longer were capable of even envying the rich. They, therefore, could hate only those who were poorer than themselves--the men who dared to have thirsts that could be assuaged with less than forty beers per day. Not obey the boss, when they already felt an endless stream trickling down their unionized gullets? And not kill the scab whose own non-union thirst would prolong theirs? No! A man owes some things to his fellows, but he owes everything to himself. That is why, for teaching brotherhood, there is nothing like one book: the city Directory, from a fourth-floor window. When the boss left them he was certain that they would not fail him. Just let them dare try to stay away, after he had so kindly destined them to be the rungs of the ladder on which he expected to climb to his lady's window--and her father's pocket! As he walked away, his confidence in himself showed in his stride so clearly that those who saw him shared that confidence. It is not what they were when they were not leaders, but what they can be when they become leaders, that makes them remarkable men. II The next morning Hendrik went to his tailor. As he walked into the shop he had the air of a man in whom two new suits a day would not be extravagance. The tailor, unconscious of cause and effect, called him "Mister," against the habit of years. Hendrik nodded coldly and said: "As secretary and treasurer of the National Street Advertising Men's Association, I've got to have a new frock-coat. Measure me for one." Hendrik had the air of a man who sees an unpleasant duty ahead, but does not mean to shirk it. This attitude always commands respect from tailors, clergymen, and users of false weights and measures. "Left the bank?" asked the tailor, uncertainly. "I should say I had," answered Hendrik, emphatically. "What is the new job, anyhow?" asked the tailor, professionally. His customers usually told him their business, their history, and their hopes. By listening he had been able to invest in real estate. "As I was about to say when you _interrupted_ me"--Hendrik spoke rebukingly. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Rutgers," said the tailor, and blushed. He knew now he should have said "position" instead of "job." The civilization of to-day--including sanitary plumbing--is possible because price-tags were invented. This is not an epigram. "--the clothes must be finished by Thursday. If you can't do it, I'll go somewhere else." "Oh, we can do it, all right, Mr. Rutgers." "Good morning," and Hendrik strode haughtily from the shop. To the tailor Hendrik had always been a clerk at a bank. But now it was plain to see that Mr. Rutgers thought well of himself, as a man with money always does in all Christian countries. Hendrik's credit at once jumped into the A1 class. Some people and all tailors judge men by their backs. Being sure of the guests, Hendrik Rutgers went forth in search of their dinner. To feed fivescore starving fellow-men was a noble deed; to feed them at the expense of some one else was even higher. So, dressed in his frock-coat, wearing his high hat as though it was a crown, he sought Caspar Weinpusslacher. The owner of the "Colossal Restaurant," just off the Bowery, gave a square meal for a quarter of a dollar, twenty-five cents; for thirty cents he gave the same meal with a paper napkin and the privilege of repeating the potato or the pie. His kitchen organization was perfect. His cooks and scullions had served in the German army in similar capacities, and he ruled them like one born and brought up in the General Staff. His waiters also were recruited from the greatest training-school for waiters in the world. He operated on a system approved by an efficiency expert. By giving low wages to people who were glad to get them, paying cash for his supplies and judiciously selecting the latter just on the eve of their spoiling, he was able to give an astonishingly good meal for the money. His profits, however, depended upon his selling his entire output. This did not always happen. Some days Herr Weinpusslacher almost lost three dollars. No system is perfect. Otherwise hotel men would wish to live for ever. Hendrik stalked into the Colossal dining-room and snarled at one of the waiters: "Where's your boss?" The waiter knew it couldn't be the Kaiser, or a millionaire. It must therefore be a walking delegate. He deferentially pointed to a short, fat man by the bar. "Tell him to come here," said Rutgers, and sat down at a table. It isn't so much in knowing whom to order about, but in acquiring the habit of ordering everybody about, that wins. Caspar Weinpusslacher received the message, walked toward the table and signaled to a Herculean waiter, who unobtrusively drew near--and in the rear--of H. Rutgers. Hendrik pointed commandingly to a chair across the table. C. Weinpusslacher obeyed. The Herculean waiter, to account for his proximity, flicked non-existent crumbs on the napeless surface of the table. "Recklar tinner?" he queried, in his best Delmonico. "_Geht-weg!_" snarled Mr. Rutgers. The waiter, a nostalgic look in his big blue eyes, went away. _Ach_, to be treated like a dog! Ach, the Fatherland! And the officers! _Ach!_ "Weinpusslacher," said Rutgers, irascibly, "who is your lawyer and what's his address?" C. Weinpusslacher's little pig-eyes gleamed apprehensively. "For why you wish to know?" he said. "Don't ask _me_ questions. Isn't he your friend?" "Sure." "Is he smart?" "Smart?" C. Weinpusslacher laughed now, fatly. "He's too smart for _you_, all right. He's Max Ondemacher, 397 Bowery. I guess if you--" "All right. I'm going to bring him to lunch here." "He wouldn't lunch here. He's got money," said C. Weinpusslacher, proudly. "He will come." Rutgers looked, in a frozen way, at Caspar Weinpusslacher, and continued, icily: "I am the secretary and treasurer of the _National_ Street Advertising Men's Association. If I told you I wanted _you_ to give _me_ money you'd believe me. But if I told you _I_ wanted to give _you_ money, you wouldn't. So I am going to let your own lawyer tell you to do as I say. I'll make you rich--for nothing!" And Hendrik Rutgers walked calmly out of the Colossal Restaurant, leaving in the eyes of C. Weinpusslacher astonishment, in the mind respect, and in the heart vague hope. This is the now historic document which Hendrik Rutgers dictated in Max Onthemaker's office: Hendrik Rutgers, secretary and treasurer of the National Street Advertising Men's Association, agrees to make Caspar Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant famous by means of articles in the leading newspapers in New York City. For these services Hendrik Rutgers shall receive from said Caspar Weinpusslacher, proprietor of said Colossal Restaurant, one-tenth (1/10) of the advertising value of such newspaper notices--said value to be left to a jury composed of the advertising managers of the _Ladies Home Journal_, the Jewish _Daily Forward_, and the New York _Evening Post_, and of Max Onthemaker and Hendrik Rutgers. It is further stipulated that such compensation is to be paid to Hendrik Rutgers, not in cash, but in tickets for meals in said Colossal Restaurant, at thirty cents per meal, said meal-tickets to be used by said Hendrik Rutgers to secure still more desirable publicity by feeding law-abiding, respectable poor people. _Panem et circenses!_ He had made sure of the first! The public could always be depended upon to furnish the second by being perfectly natural. M. Onthemaker accompanied H. Rutgers to the Colossal. He had some difficulty in persuading C. Weinpusslacher to sign. But as soon as it was done Hendrik said: "First gun: The National Street Advertising Men will hold their annual dinner here next Saturday, about one hundred of us, thirty cents each; regular dinner. _That_ is legitimate news and will be printed as such. It will advertise the Colossal and the Colossal thirty-cent dinner. You won't be out a cent. We pay cash for our dinner. I'll supply a few decorations; all you'll have to do is to hang them from that corner to this. You might also arrange to have a little extra illumination in front of the place. Have a couple of men in evening clothes and high hats on the corner, pointing to the Colossal, and saying: '_Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant! Three doors down. Just follow the crowd!_' Arrange for all these things so that when you see that I am delivering the goods you won't be paralyzed. Another thing: There will be reporters from every daily paper in the city here Saturday night. Provide a table for them and pay especial attention to both dinner and drinks. _They_ will make you famous and rich, because you will tell them that they are getting the regular thirty-cent dinner. It will be up to you to be intelligently generous now so that you may with impunity be intelligently stingy later, when you are rich. I advise you to have Max here, because you seem to be of the distrustful nature of most damned fools and therefore must make your money in spite of yourself. Next Saturday at six P.M.! You'll make at least two hundred thousand dollars in the next five years. Now I am going to eat. Come on, Onthemaker." H. Rutgers sat down, summoned the Herculean waiter, and ordered two thirty-cent dinners. C. Weinpusslacher, a dazed look in his eyes, approached Max and whispered, "Hey, dot's a smart feller. What?" "Well," answered M. Onthemaker, lawyer-like, "you haven't anything to lose." "You said I should sign the paper," Caspar reminded him, accusingly. "You're all right so long as you don't give him a cent unless I say so." "I won't; not even if you say so." With thirty cents of food and thirty millions of confidence under his waistcoat, Hendrik Rutgers walked from the Colossal Restaurant down the Bowery and Center Street to the City Hall. At the door of the Mayor's room he fixed the doorkeeper with his stern eye and requested his Honor to be informed that the secretary of the National Street Advertising Men's Association would like to see his Honor about the annual dinner of the association, of which his Honor had been duly informed. One of the Mayor's secretaries came out, a tall young man who, as a reporter on a sensational newspaper, had acquired a habit of dodging curses and kicks. Now, as Mayor's secretary, he didn't quite know how to dodge soft soap and glad hands. "Good afternoon," said Hendrik, with what might be called a business-like amiability. "Will the Mayor accept?" "The Mayor," said the secretary with an amazing mixture of condescension and uneasiness, as of a man calling on a poor friend in whose parlor there is shabby furniture but in whose cellar there is a ton of dynamite--"the Mayor knows nothing about your asso--of the _dinner_ of your association." The secretary looked pleased at having caught himself in time. "Why, I wrote," began H. Rutgers, with annoyance, "over a week--" He silenced himself while he opened his frock-coat, tilted back his high hat from a corrugated brow, and felt in his pocket. It is the delivery, not the speech, that distinguishes the great artist. Otherwise writers would be considered intelligent people. "Hell!" exclaimed Hendrik, looking at the secretary so fixedly and angrily that the ex-reporter flinched. "It's in the other coat. I mean the copy of the letter I sent the Mayor exactly a week ago to-day. I wondered why he hadn't answered." "He never got it," the secretary hastened to say. Hendrik laughed. "You must excuse my language; but you know what it is to arrange all the details of an annual meeting and banquet--menu, decorations, music, _and_ speeches. Well, here is the situation: the annual dinner of the National Street Advertising Men's Association will be held at Weinpusslacher's. Reception at six; dinner at eight; speeches begin about ten. "What day?" asked the secretary. "My head is in a whirl, and I don't-- Let me see-- Oh yes. Next Saturday, April twenty-ninth. I'll send you tickets. Do you think the Mayor will come?" "I don't know. Saturdays he goes to his farm in Hartsdale." "Yes, I know; but couldn't _you_ induce him to come? By George! there is nothing our association wouldn't do for you in return." "I'll see," promised the secretary, with a far-away look in his eyes as if he were devising ways and means. Oh, he earned his salary, even if he was a Celt. "Thank you. And-- Oh yes, by the way, some of our members will arrive at the Grand Central Station Saturday afternoon. Any objections to our marching with a band of music down the avenue to the Colossal? We'll wear our association badges; they are hummers." He felt in his coat-tails. "I wish I had some with me. Is it necessary to have a permit to parade?" "Yes; but there will be no trouble about that." "Oh, thanks. Will you fix that for us? I've got to go to Wall Street after one of the bankers on the list of speakers, and I'll be back in about an hour. Could I have the Mayor's acceptance and the permit to parade then? You see, it's only a couple of days and I hate to trust the mail. Thank you. It's very kind of you, and we appreciate it." The secretary pulled out a letter and a pencil from his pocket as if to make a note on the back of the envelope, and so Hendrik Rutgers dictated: "_The National Street Advertising Men's Association._ Altogether about one hundred and fifty members and one band of music. So long, and thank you very much, Mr.--er--" "McDevitt. "Mr. McDevitt. I'll return in about an hour from now, if I may. Thank you." And he bowed himself out. Hendrik Rutgers had spoken as a man speaks who has a train to catch that he mustn't miss. That will command respect where an appeal in the name of the Deity will insure a swift kick. Republics! In an hour he was back, knowing that the Mayor had gone. He sent in for Mr. McDevitt. The secretary appeared. "Did he say he'd come?" asked H. Rutgers, impetuously. "I am sorry to say the Mayor has a previous engagement that makes it absolutely impossible for him to be present at your dinner. I've got a letter of regret." "They'll be awfully disappointed, too. I'll get the blame, of course. _Of_ course!" Mr. Rutgers spoke with a sort of bitter gloom, spiced with vindictiveness. "Here it is. I had him sign it. I wrote it. It's one of those letters," went on the secretary, inflated with the pride of authorship, "that can be read at any meeting. It contains a dissertation on the beneficent influence of advertising, strengthened by citations from Epictetus, Buddha, George Francis Train, and other great moral teachers of this administration." "Thank you very much. I appreciate it. But, say, what's the matter with you coming in his place? I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I have a hunch that when it comes to slinging after-dinner oratory you'd do a great deal better." "Oh," said McDevitt, with a loyal shake of negation and a smile of assent. "No, I couldn't." "I'm sure--" "And then I'm going to Philadelphia on Saturday morning to stay over Sunday. I wish you'd asked me earlier." "So do I," murmured H. Rutgers, with conviction and despair judiciously admixed. The secretary had meant to quiz H. Rutgers about the association, but H. Rutgers's manner and words disarmed suspicion. It was not that H. Rutgers always bluffed, but that he always bluffed as he did, that makes his subsequent career one of the most interesting chapters of our political history. "And here's the permit," said the secretary. H. Rutgers, without looking at it, put it in his pocket as if it were all a matter of course. It strengthened the secretary's belief that non-suspiciousness was justified. "Thanks, very much," said H. Rutgers. "I am, I still repeat, very sorry that neither you nor the Mayor can come." He paid to the Mayor's eloquent secretary the tribute of a military salute and left the room. III The union of the sandwich-men was an assured success. Victory had come to H. Rutgers by the intelligent use of brains. The possession of brains is one of the facts that can always be confirmed at the source. Next he arranged for the band. He told the band-master what he wished the band to do. The band-master thereupon told him the price. "Friend," said H. Rutgers, pleasantly, "I do not deal in dreams either as buyer or seller. That's the asking price. Now, how much will you take?" Not having any money, Hendrik added, impressively, "Cash!" The band-master, being a native-born, repeated the price--unchanged. But he was no match for H. Rutgers, who took a card from his pocket, looked at what the band-master imagined was a list of addresses of other bands, and then said, "Let me see; from here to--" He pulled out his watch and muttered to himself, but audible by the band-master, "It will take me half an hour or more." H. Rutgers closed his watch with a sharp and angry snap and then determinedly named a sum exactly two-thirds of what the band-master had fixed as the irreducible minimum. It was more than Hendrik could possibly pay. The band-master shook his head, so H. Rutgers said, irascibly: "For Heaven's sake, quit talking. I'm nearly crazy with the arrangements. Do you think you're the only band in New York or that I never hired one before? Here's the Mayor's permit." He showed it to the musical director, who was thereby enabled to see _National Street Advertising Men's Association_, and went on: "Now be at Grand Central Station, Lexington Avenue entrance, at 3.45 Saturday afternoon. The train gets in at 4. I'll be there before you are. We'll go from the depot to Weinpusslacher's for dinner." "Of course, we get our dinners," said the band-master in the tone of voice of a man who has surrendered, but denies it to the reporters. "Yes. You'll be there sure?" "Yes. But, say, we ought to get--" "Not a damned cent more," said H. Rutgers, pugnaciously, in order to forestall requests for part payment in advance. "I wasn't going to ask you for more money, but for a few--" "Then why waste my time? Don't fail me!" Then Hendrik Rutgers put the finishing touches on the work of organization. He rented offices in the Allied Arts Building, sent a sign-painter to decorate the ground-glass doors, and ordered some official stationery in a rush. He promised the agent to return with the president and sign the lease. Where everybody distrusts everybody else there is nothing like promising to sign documents! He bought some office furniture on exactly the same plan. On Friday night the unionized sandwich-men took their signs and boards to the trysting-place, Twenty-ninth Street and Ninth Avenue, to have new advertisements of Hendrik's composition painted thereon. The boards did not belong to the members, but in a good cause all property is the cause's. Each of the original fourteen brought recruits. The street was almost blocked. The two sign-painters worked like nine beavers, and Hendrik and the young man in steel-rimmed spectacles helped. When the clamor became threatening Hendrik counted his men twice, aloud. There were eighty-four of them. They knew it was eighty-four, having heard him say it, as he intended they should. He then took them to the corner boozery. He had only two dollars. There were eighty-four thirsty. Therefore, "Eighty beers!" he yelled, majestically. "_Eighty-four!_" shouted eighty-four voices. "That's twenty cents more," said Hendrik to himself in the plain hearing of the hitherto distrustful bartender. He had a small green roll in his left hand consisting of two dollars and two clippings. With his right he loudly planked down two large dimes on the counter and shoved them toward the bartender, who took them while Hendrik began to count his greenbacks. The bartender saw the exact change and began to draw beer. He even yelled for assistance. Hendrik knew better than to enforce discipline now, but he could not officially countenance disorder. "Give the other fellows a chance," he said, paternally, to those near by. Then he saw the rear entrance. It inspired him. He waited until there were about sixty glasses on the bar. Then he yelled in the direction of the front door: "Come in, boys! Everybody gets one!" The tidal-wave carried him and twenty others to the end of the room. But while the twenty others fought to get back to the schooners, he intelligently went out by the back door. The police reserves were called. They responded. Then six ambulances. Those who survived sought Hendrik to complain, but he beat them to it by scolding them angrily. He all but licked them on the spot, so that they forgot their grievance in their haste to defend themselves. He then divided them into squads of five and took them to another saloon--one squad and a quarter of a dollar at a time. He only used one dollar and fifty cents cash that way. He then promised all of them forty beers a day beginning on Monday. He told them to get recruits, who would not be admitted to the union, but could have the privilege of parading. They must be thirsty men and look it. They would receive two beers apiece. On Saturday morning there was not a sandwich-man to be seen at work in Greater New York. At noon the city editors of all the metropolitan dailies received neatly typewritten notices that the sandwich-men had formed a union and would "peacefully strive for higher wages, shorter hours, and reduced peregrinations. The sandwich-men had no desire to precipitate another internecine strife between Labor and Capital." They were "willing to submit their differences to a board of arbitration consisting of John D. Rockefeller, Charles F. Murphy, Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and Hendrik Rutgers." These notices were one and all thrown into waste-paper baskets as cheap humor--to be dug up later and used. IV On Saturday afternoon at 3.35 the Harlem contingent, carrying their armor under one arm, their tickets given into the conductor's own hand by the lieutenant, Fleming, entrained at the One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street station of the New York Central and Hudson River Railroad. Ten minutes later they arrived at the Grand Central Station. And as the first pair of sandwiches descended, the waiting band burst into a joyous welcome. The exits were crowded. Martial music and parading men always draw crowds. So long as there is no charge, gaping audiences automatically supply themselves in New York. And so, along Forty-second Street, following the musicians, himself followed by his starving sandwiches, Hendrik Rutgers walked into Fifth Avenue and into history at one and the same time. The procession turned southward. The band played Chopin's "Funeral March." Hendrik Rutgers at the head of his pauperized cohorts, anger in his heart, light in his soul, defiance in his eyes, marched down Fifth Avenue with an effect as of a man in armor treading on prostrate millionaires as over so many railroad-ties. Men who had money in their pockets for a minute felt the wind squeezed out of them by his foot. And as they saw the led sandwiches they looked thoughtful. The first of Rutgers's infantry was an old man. His long, gray beard was dirty and ragged, like his clothes and the rest of him. In his eyes you saw the unutterable weariness of a man who has lived fifty suffering years too long. Underneath his eyes were dark rings; from the sidewalk his sockets looked finger-deep. On his cheeks was the pallor of death. H. Rutgers, fighting for fairness and justice, had justly picked out the old fellow to be his Exhibit "A." Society must see what it did to human beings! Therefore the old man slid one foot along the asphalt and let the other follow it, with a spent, mechanical movement, as an engine, after the power is turned off, keeps on going from the momentum of years. The legs seemed to move from force of habit--a corpse on foot, with a concealed galvanic battery somewhere. And on the breastplate and backplate of this armored corpse, printed in funereal black, beautiful women and intellectual men on Fifth Avenue, where the unforgivable crime is to be poor and show it, read: Yesterday I walked 19 miles. They paid me 35 cents cash And 2 meal tickets. He had been well coached as to his gait and, thrilled by the success he was making, the old chap became an artist and limped worse. Behind him was our friend Mulligan, pale, thin to emaciation. He looked famished. It came from the possession of a tapeworm, as before stated. To him Hendrik Rutgers had given this standard to bear: They call us Sandwich-men because: We don't know what a Square Meal is! He was followed by the raggedest human being that Anthony Comstock ever allowed to exhibit himself in public. On his boards the Fifth Avenue crowd on this fair spring day saw this: Do you thank God you are alive? So do we! And notice the DIFFERENCE! The shabby-genteel man, ex-Republican, with steel-rimmed spectacles, who now looked for all the world like a bookkeeper out of a job, had this: I am the Result. The Cause was not Drink. It was HUNGER. A young fellow who looked so much as if he had just left a hospital that thousands of spectators imagined they smelled iodoform carried this: All men must die. Knowing this, WE HOPE! An octogenarian, not over four and one-half feet tall, very frail-looking, was next. To him H. Rutgers had assigned this banner: If Society won't feed us We'll feed the Society of Worms-- POTTER'S FIELD Under a big foot--property of a popular chiropodist on lower Broadway; terms twenty-five cents per, five for a dollar--was this: We are the World's Unfortunates: BORN TO BE KICKED! Then followed a haggard-faced man who looked like an exaggerated picture of poverty. He carried: There are poorer than we. HELP THEM! A man with the stride of a conqueror bore a banner: AND STILL WE BELIEVE IN GOD! The crowd looked puzzled. What the dickens did believing in God have to do with anything? To end the bother of thinking they looked at the next one. Look at Fifth Avenue! WHY? See what we are! WHY? They obeyed. They saw Fifth Avenue. Why? They did not know why. And then they saw what the sandwich-men were. And they wondered why the sandwich-men asked why. Why not? Pshaw! The placard that followed was: If you wish to see One hundred starving men Follow us. YOU WILL REMEMBER IT! Say, that was something that nobody had seen and therefore everybody could joke about. Every woman had the same remark and the same grin: "Haven't I seen my husband?" Before the parade had gone half a square Fifth Avenue was blocked. Apart from the interference of the band and the sandwiches with vehicular traffic, there was the paralysis of the pedestrians. The Peacock Parade halted. Slim figures, half-naked, flat-bosomed, stalked swayingly to the curb and stared with eyes in which was the insolent sex challenge that New York males answer with furs and jewels. And as they looked the challenge of sex died in the eyes of the women: the marchers had no sex; anybody could see they had no money! And the men, too, ceased to look stallion-eyed at the women and gazed on the parade of sandwich-men, who, in the middle of the street, with the machines and the horses, slouched on--almost rubbing valuable varnish on automobiles and carriages, careless beasts! Presently the hurrying crowds slowed their gait and kept step to Chopin's dirge--_slowly! slowly!_--until all Fifth Avenue was a vast funeral procession; only the marchers could not have told you what it was that long since had died of gold on Fifth Avenue! Slowly! Slowly! And with the funereal gait other changes came--in the grimace of the over-red lips and the look of the over-bold eyes. But never the slightest change in the color of the cheeks, which was there to stay, in rain, shine, or snow. "What is it? What is it?" whispered ten thousand people. From the middle of the street it sounded like the whimper of ten thousand little foamy waves dying on a flat beach. It made the filthy bipeds who marched look at the thronged sidewalks. They saw the usual Fifth Avenue crowd. They saw the full-fed, clock-hating faces of professional idlers; the drawn features of the busy money-maker with his perennial anxieties; the suddenly immobilized grimaces of millionaires intended to conceal the fear of God knew what; the contemptuous countenances of waiters from fashionable restaurants, who, like ordained priests, knew America at its worst, but, unlike priests, could not pity; healthy American boys with clean faces and the eyes of animals. And the sexless marchers saw also healthy American girls with delicate features and dreadful, price-quoting eyes, and faces not clean and healthy, but dead-white and dead-crimson; they saw not women's faces, but marble tombstones on which the epitaphs were scarlet letters that told what the price was, so that the professional prostitutes no longer wasted time advertising with the same ink, but used downcast eyes as bait. There was a gap of about thirty feet between the first detachment of Rutgers's marching advertisements and the next. The spectators, seeking explanations, saw a cadaverous-looking man, hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed, white-lipped, who stepped as though the avenue were full of puddles of nitroglycerine--uncertainly, fearfully! And this death-on-foot carried a white-cloth board black-bordered like a funeral-card. And thereon money-makers and money-spenders, clubmen and waiters, shop-girls and millionairesses--all Fifth Avenue!--saw this: HAIL, NEW YORK! WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE SALUTE YOU! There followed another gap of thirty feet, so that the valedictorian of the doomed might be seen of all. Then came eighty-odd sandwich-bearers, appositely legended. From time to time the valedictorian would stagger as you have seen horses do on their last trip to the glue-factory. Whereupon a couple of the non-descripts behind him would shuffle up and endeavor to uphold him. And the others slouched on, deep-eyed, gaunt, famine-stricken, rum-ravaged, disease-smitten--ex-bookkeepers, and superannuated mechanics, and disgraced yeggmen, and former merchants--and former men, too! At Thirty-ninth Street a young woman dressed richly but in perfect taste stood on the very corner. Her hair had glints of sunshine and her eyes were like twin heavens, clean, and clear, and blue, and infinitely deep. And the Madonna face saw the Death face, looked at the thing that had been a man, and read his salutation. And in one of the pauses of the "Funeral March" a thousand people heard her laugh, and heard her exclaim with a contagious relish, spiced with undisguised admiration: "_If that ain't the limit!_" New York had spoken! And the chauffeurs near her laughed in sympathy. And gray heads stuck out of limousine windows, and millionaires and their female stood up in their snail-moving touring-cars, and top-hatted coachmen turned impassive heads on neck-hinges long since rusted with the arrogance of menials. And upon their faces and along the ranks that lined both sides of the great avenue a slow grin spread--uncertain, hesitating, dubious! The great American sense of humor was trying to assert itself. Hendrik's joke was not labeled "Joke" plainly enough. Otherwise the spectators would have shown much earlier their ability to laugh at death, hunger, disease, misery, drunkenness, honesty, despair--anything, so long as it was the death, hunger, disease, misery, drunkenness, honesty, and despair of others. But at Tiffany's corner the traffic policeman stopped the leader of the band; and he stopped the band; and the band stopped Rutgers; and Rutgers stopped his army; and that stopped all traffic on the Avenue up to Forty-second Street. Hendrik Rutgers hurried forward and explained, calmly: "Here, officer. I am the secretary of the National Street Advertising Men's Association. We have a permit from the Mayor. Here it is." "Oh, advertising! I see!" said the policeman, and smiled appreciatively. He had feared they might be starving men. "Yes," said H. Rutgers, quite loudly, "advertising the fact that a man out of a job in New York, who is too proud to beg and too honest to steal, has to become a sandwich-man and make from twenty-five to forty-five cents for ten hours work--not in China or Mexico, but in New York, to-day; men who are willing to work, but are old or sickly or have no regular trade. You know how the Mayor feels about the rights of citizens who are not rich and the duty of paid officials of this city. He and I are opposed to too much law in the way of clubs. So kindly pass the word down the line, officer." The big traffic policeman, far more impressed by the delivery than by the speech itself, touched his hand to his cap so very respectfully that the grinning crowd at once became serious. Each woman turned on her neighbor and frowned furiously the unuttered scolding for the other's unseemly levity. "What does it mean?" asked hundreds. All looked toward Hendrik Rutgers for explanation, for official permission to laugh at a spectacle that was not without humorous suggestions. But he kept them guessing. This is called knowledge of stage effects; also psychological insight; also cheap politics. Historians even refer to it as statesmanship. Something that makes one hundred thousand New-Yorkers gasp and stare is not necessarily news; an ingenius street-sign or a five-dollar-a-day Steeple Jack could do it. But that not one of one hundred thousand omniscient New-Yorkers knew whether to laugh, to curse, or to weep at what they saw made that sight very decidedly "news." An interrogation marker in one hundred thousand otherwise empty heads loomed gigantic before the hair-trigger minds of the city editors. They sent their star men to get answers to the multitudinous question; and, if possible, also the facts. Just south of Thirty-fourth Street the _Herald_, _Times_, _Sun_, and _Evening Journal_ reporters overtook H. Rutgers. He made the procession halt. That again made all Fifth Avenue halt. He waited until all the reporters were near him, and then he spoke very slowly, for he guessed that shorthand and literature do not necessarily coexist. "The sandwich-men have formed a union. It includes sandwich-men from the five boroughs. We are going to have an annual dinner at six o clock--we are not fashionable folk, you know. There will be speeches. Did you ask why we should have a union? I'll tell you why: because we didn't have one; because employers have not thought of us as human beings, but as human derelicts. A starving man who doesn't want to steal and is ashamed to beg will sandwich for thirty cents a day ten hours; and he can't always collect his wages. And who is going to fight for him? When you think of the importance of all advertising, do you consider the peculiar picturesqueness of advertising through sandwiches? In the Middle Ages they had their heralds and their pursuivants--the sandwich-men of feudalism; and later the town criers; and later still, _us_. Do you know in what esteem sandwich-men are held in the south of France and in the Orient? Did you know that sandwich-men take the place of bells on Good Friday in Moldavia? Do you know why there are no commercial sandwich-men in Russia or in Spain? Did you ever read what Confucius wrote about 'Those men who with letters on their garments dispel the ignorance of buyers,' and a lot more? Did you? Did any clergyman ever tell you that sandwich-men are, beyond the shadow of a doubt, alluded to twice in the Old and five times in the New Testament? Don't you think that as intelligent investigators of industrial conditions and of the submerged tenth it would be worth your time to come to our annual dinner and hear our version of it? And also see how starving men eat the first square meal of the year?" Of course it was pure inspiration and, as such, impressive. "Yes, sir," respectfully replied the _Evening Journal_ man--a tall, dark chap with gold-rimmed spectacles and a friendly smile. "What's the name of the restaurant?" "Caspar Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant," said H. Rutgers. "Spell it!" chorused the reporters; and H. Rutgers did, slowly and patiently. At once the _Evening Journalist_ rushed on to telephone the caption of a story to his paper. That would enable the office to get out an extra; after which would come another edition with the story itself. He was the best head-line reporter in all New York. Long before the National Street Advertising Men's Association reached the Colossal Restaurant, Caspar Weinpusslacher converted himself into a Teutonic hurricane and changed thirty short tables into three, long ones. On his lips was a smile, and in his heart a hope that glowed like an incandescent twenty-dollar gold piece, for Max Onthemaker had rushed in breathlessly and gasped: "He _is_ a smart feller, all right. What?" And he gave an _Evening Journal_ to Caspar Weinpusslacher, wherein he read this: SANDWICH PARADE PATHETIC PROTEST AGAINST INDUSTRIAL SLAVERY PAUPERS WHO WILL NEITHER STEAL NOR BEG FORCED BY SOCIETY TO STARVE SANDWICH WAGES, TWO CENTS AN HOUR MEN ABOUT TO DIE SALUTE NEW YORK The Sandwich-men's Union will hold their annual meeting at Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant. They have been saving up for this, their one square meal this year. They are paid from twenty to forty cents a day and walk from fifteen to thirty miles in the ten hours. Did you know that twice in the Old and five times in the New Testament mention is made of the sandwich-men? Do you know why Catholic Spain and anti-Semitic Russia alike permit no sandwich-men to ply their time-honored occupation within their confines? There the article abruptly ended. "Weinie," said Max, exultingly, "this makes you. Be very nice to Mr. Rutgers. You'll have to pay him thousands of dollars--" "Then, you vas in league mit him?" "No. But he's a genius!" "I thought he was German," said C. Weinpusslacher, controversially. "Get busy, Weinie. The crowd will be here in a minute. And don't ask Mr. Rutgers to pay for his dinner." "Why not?" growled Weinie. He was on his way to a sure million. That made the growl natural. "What is thirty dollars for their dinner to thirty thousand dollars worth of free advertising?" "Thirty dollars," observed C. Weinpusslacher, thriftily, "is _thirty dollars_!" "Bah!" "I tell you, it is, mister." C. Weinpusslacher frowned pugnaciously. But Onthemaker knew his man. So he said: "I'll get Meyer Rabinowitz to give us an option on the property to-night before he reads the newspapers. As Rutgers said, once your place is a success, you'll have to pay any price the landlord wants. Meyer's got you! I can hear your squeals of agony already!" Max shook his head so gloomily that C. Weinpusslacher actually began to tremble with joy. The thought of making money did not move him. The thought of losing the money he had not made, did. Oh yes; born money-makers! By the time H. Rutgers arrived at the Colossal Restaurant Caspar Weinpusslacher, Esq., and the Hon. Maximilian Onthemaker had constituted themselves into a highly enthusiastic reception committee, for the crowd that came with H. Rutgers filled the street so that all you heard was the squealing and cursing of persons that were pressed against iron newel-posts of the old-fashioned stoops or precipitated into basements and cellars. Sixty policemen, impartially cursing the Mayor, Epictetus, and H. Rutgers, and yearning for the days of Aleck Williams, when clubs were made to be used and not to be fined for, endeavored to keep the crowd moving. "You'll find everything ready, Mr. Rutgers," said M. Onthemaker. "Here is one of my cards. The name, you will see," he almost shouted, "is spelled with a _k_ not _h_--O-n-t-h-e-m-a-k-e-r. Everything is ready, Mr. Secretary." He looked at the reporters out of a corner of his eye. "And it won't cost you nothing, not one cent," interjected C. Weinpusslacher, eagerly and distinctly. "Any feller wot's smart like you, Mr. Rutchers--" "And the poor starving men," quickly interjected M. Onthemaker, not wishing for character-analyses yet, "who are the victims of a ruthless industrial system--" "Yah, sandwiches!" put in C. Weinpusslacher. M. Onthemaker grimaced horribly, and C. Weinpusslacher was silent for a minute. Presently he told Rutgers, "They get enough to eat here, anyways, I bet you." He glared with a sort of malevolent triumph at M. Onthemaker, until he heard the boss say in stern accents: "That, of course, Weinpusslacher, includes a couple of beers apiece." "Of course! Of course!" put in M. Onthemaker, hastily. "The representatives of the press will sit at their own table, at which I am to have the honor of presiding, Max Onthemaker--O-n-t-h-e-m--" "We got it down," the _Evening Journal_ man assured him, amiably. C. Weinpusslacher was so angry that anybody should help him to make money, when half the pleasure is in making it yourself out of your fellow-men, that he said, spitefully, "There will be free beer!" Hendrik Rutgers took an innkeeper's notion and made of it the most remarkable platform in the history of party government. He said, sternly, "Everything free for free men!" A grunting murmur ran down the line of derelicts--the inarticulate tribute of great thirst to great leadership. In a hundred pairs of eyes a human hope kindled its fire for the first time in two hundred years! Great indeed was Hendrik Rutgers! His faithful sandwiches would go through fire for him! A man who can get free beer for Sahara throats could put out the fire--with more beer. The boards were hung around the great hall in plain sight of the reporters, who copied the legends, that all America might read. While they were writing, Caspar was hiring thirty extra waiters and turning people away. Hendrik went from man to man, sternly warning that no one must begin to eat until he gave the order. A violation of his order would entail the loss of the dinner and most of the scalp. He also said they must not linger over their victuals, and told them that two extra beers apiece would be awarded to the ten men who finished first. He had made up his mind that the cold and callous world should be told how starving men eat. What do people who get enough to eat know about starving men? Nothing! They impede the world's progress by being content. Human pigs! In a surprisingly short time one hundred complete dinners were in front of one hundred starving men. Six bartenders were busy filling schooners--in plain sight of the starving men. But the boss's awful frown held them in check. Each man began to tremble in advance--fearing he might not be one of the ten to win the extra schooners. The reporters looked at the hundred faces and began to write like mad. Hendrik rose. There was an awed silence. The reporters stopped writing. One hundred inferior maxillaries began to castanet away like mad. The boss held up a hand. Then he said in measured tones: "May God be good to us sandwich-men again this year! _Eat!_" When he said eat, men ate. Don't forget the moral effect of commanding and being obeyed! They flung themselves on the food like wild beasts, and made animal noises in their throats. They disdained forks, knives, and spoons. They used claws and jaws on meat, coffee, bread, potatoes, soup, or pie whichever was nearest. No man wanted to be the last to finish. "My God!" exclaimed the _Evening Post_ man. "This is absolutely horrible!" "Pippin!" said the creative artist from the Sun. All of them would treat it as a Belasco production. That is, they would impart to it all the dignity and importance of a political convention. At 8 P.M. Hendrik Rutgers, man of destiny, rose to speak. He never even glanced at the reporters. He said, very earnestly, to his tattered cohorts: "Comrades! Ours is beyond question the only labor union in the United States, and, for all I know, in the entire world, that is not monopolistic in its tendencies. We are individualists because advertising is not a science nor a trade, but an art, and we are artists. When the advertisers' greed saw the artists' hunger, the result was _that_!" He pointed to five score dehumanized faces before him. "Great!" murmured the _Sun_ man. "Hereafter watch the sandwich-man, and in one corner of the sign look for the union label--a skeleton carrying a coffin, to remind us that no matter what a man is when he is born, he goes to his Maker between boards. In death all men are equal, and in his coffin a man is the Ultimate Sandwich!" "That's literature!" muttered the serious young man from the _Journal_. "We refuse to be thieves. Therefore we decline to do any sandwiching for patent medicines, banks, quack cures, fraudulent stores, immoral books, coal-dealers, fake doctors, suburban real estate, bum chiropodists, or disreputable people of any kind, class, or nature whatsoever. We start with professional ethics, which is where most professions end. We who have been the lowest of the low class that work for their daily bread are now the S. A. S. A.--the Society of American Sandwich Artists. All we ask is permission to live! Our headquarters will be in the Allied Arts Building on Fifth Avenue." His speech had quotable phrases. A country that once cast the biggest vote in its history for the square deal, that makes minions of dollars out of asking you if you see that hump, and from promising to do the rest if you push the button, and boasts of the thorn that made a rose famous, is bound to be governed by phrases. The only exceptions are the Ten Commandments. They are quotable, but not memorable. All the newspapers spread themselves on that story. In their clubs the managing editors heard their fellow-members talk about the parade, and this made each M. E. telephone to the city editor to play it up. It was too picturesque not to be good reading, and since good reading is always easy writing, both reporters and editorial writers enjoyed themselves. That made them artists instead of wage-earners. Hendrik Rutgers possessed the same quality of political instinct that nearly made the luckiest man in the world President of the United States. By blindly following it, young Mr. Rutgers jumped into the very heart of a profound truth. And once he landed, the same sublimated sagacity impelled him to stamp with both feet hard. Then, unemotionally perceiving exactly what he had done, he proceeded very carefully to pick out his own philosophical steps, in order to be able later on to prove that he had been coldly logical. Impulsive humanity always distrusts impulsiveness in others. Leaders, therefore, always call them carefully considered plans. In all irreligious countries, as Hendrik Rutgers, astutely arguing backward, told himself, the people who buy, sell, and vote are alive only to To-day and therefore dare not take heed of the Hereafter. This has exalted _news_ to the dignity of a sacred commandment. In such communities success is necessarily a matter of skilful publicity. Who is the greatest of all press agents, working while you sleep and even when you blunder? The People! The front page of the newspaper is therefore the arena of to-day! To live in that page, all you have to do is to become News. Once you become News all the king-making reporters of all the nation-making newspapers become your press agents. The public does the rest and pays all salaries. Thrilled by his discovery, Hendrik called Max Onthemaker to one side and, with the air of a man risking one hundred and two millions of cash, said to him: "I have decided to make you chief counsel of my society. Your services will entitle you to represent me." Never had man been so lavishly overpaid for breathing since the dawn of historical time. Hendrik went on, still imperial in bounty: "I have in mind some great things. Every one of them will be worth as much space as the newspapers will give to this dinner. Do you see your chance?" "I can't live on newspaper articles," began Max, elated but dissembling. "You can die without them. Chronic obscurity; acute starvation," said Hendrik Rutgers in his clinical voice. "I not only do not propose to pay you a cent, but I expect you to pay all necessary expenses out of your privy purse without a murmur--unless said murmur is intended to express your legal opinion and your gratitude. I shall give you an opportunity to represent my society"--you would have sworn he was saying _my regiment_--"in actions involving the most famous names in America." "For instance?" asked M. Onthemaker, trying to speak skeptically, that his eagerness might not show too plainly. Hendrik Rutgers named six of the mightiest. "You're on, Mr. Rutgers," said Max, enthusiastically. "Now, I think--" "Wait!" interrupted Hendrik, coldly. "Never forget that I am not your press agent. You are mine." "There will be glory enough to go around," said Max Onthemaker in his police-court voice. "When do we begin?" "To-morrow." "Yes, sir. And now--" "My _now_ is your _when_! Your job is to find the legal way of helping the Cause." "I will!" promised Onthemaker, heartfully. The Cause would be his Cause. He'd fix it so they couldn't leave out his name. But Hendrik saw the gleam in the lawyer's eye. That's the worst of all thoughts of self. They invariably are undisguisable. "The Cause, Onthemaker," said Hendrik, sternly, "is the cause of the Society of American Sandwich Artists. We are not associated to make money for ourselves, but for our employers. This is revolutionary. Moreover, we are not working-men, but artists. Therefore our men not only love their work, but are law-abiding. This will make the employers helpless to retaliate. We shall never do anything without invoking the aid of the law, for I believe that the law will help the poor not less than the rich if properly--" "Advertised," prompted Max. "I get you. In the forum of the people's liberties--the daily papers--is the place to try--" Hendrik held up a hand. He had chosen the right lawyer. The interpretation of the law depends exclusively upon the tone of voice. All reporters are trained to be judges of elocution. They have to be, in republics. "To-morrow--" Here Hendrik paused. Max's face paled slightly as he waited. What was coming? Hendrik finished: "_I shall telephone to you!_" Max drew in his breath sharply. Hendrik then nodded. It meant, "You have my permission to retire!" "Thank you, Mr. Rutgers," said Max, respectfully, and withdrew from the presence on tiptoe. Hendrik then beckoned to his sandwich lieutenant. "Fleming!" he said, sternly. Fleming threw up an arm defensively from force of habit--the slave's immemorial salute. Then he grinned sheepishly. Then he said, eagerly, "Yes, boss!" "I'm going to make you chief of the Meal Ticket Department, and I expect you to maintain discipline. But if I ever hear of any graft, such as accepting bonuses--" He closed his jaws and his fists. When you close both at the same time you inevitably win the debate. It is, however, difficult. "Honest, b-boss," stammered Fleming, his eyes on Hendrik's right fist. "Honest, I--" The boss's right unclenched itself. Fleming drew in a deep breath. "Get the names and addresses of all the men here--in their own writing. Ask Onthemaker for a blank-book, and when the men have signed give the book back to him. They've got to sign!" Fleming's face was pale but resigned. Signatures are lethal weapons in all industrial democracies. Ask the note-teller in any bank. But the boss had said, "_Sign!_" Kismet! "And you keep a book of your own so that when I want ten or twenty men of a certain type and appearance you will know where to find them. I hold you responsible!" Poor Fleming almost collapsed. Responsibility in a republic really means accountability. Our entire system of law, as a great psychologist has pointed out, is based upon the same confusion of definitions. Hendrik saw the fear of statutory punishment seep into his lieutenant's soul. He stopped it at exactly the right point. "Fleming," he said, kindly, "I trust you!" Fleming felt himself decorated with the Grand Cross of the Order of Unearned Food. It made him into an active citizen. "I'll get the men when you shout, boss!" he promised, proudly, realizing the meaning of the duty of a voter. However, it would never do to have your creatures think they also have the power to create. Therefore Hendrik said, "If you don't--" "I'll get 'em for you, b-boss. Honest, I will!" meekly promised Fleming, taking his place in the ranks. He was an ideal cabinet officer. Hendrik Rutgers did not _know_ men. He _guessed_ them. He thus saved himself the fatigue of thinking. Weinpusslacher swaggered by, counting his millions. He had begun to feel haughty. Hendrik stopped him by lifting his right forefinger and then smartly moving it Hendrikward. "Weinie, I guess you're famous. You give the free meal tickets to Onthemaker. And don't try to cheat!" "I never do such--" began Caspar, angrily. "You never will to me," interrupted Hendrik, making Weinie's unuttered words his own. It took away from Weinie all sense of proprietorship in his own property. This also is called genius. Such men should be tax-collectors instead of railroad bankers. Hendrik glanced toward the reporters and saw that Mr. Onthemaker was talking to them and looking at him--looking at him both ingratiatingly and proudly. He therefore knew that Max was being quoted by the newspaper men, and the only subject on which they would quote him was Hendrik Rutgers. He also knew that the desire for reflected glory, in all newspaper-reading countries, is so strong that Max would be a great political historian. The best way to blow your own horn is to lend it to an obscure friend. Hendrik Rutgers left the Colossal Restaurant certain that he was News, and that his job consisted of continuing to be News. To become News and then to continue to be News a man must be plausible, persistent, and picturesque. There was no altitude of success to which he might not climb, provided he lost six-sevenths of his name and mutilated his surname in like degree. He must become two letters: _H. R._ He thus would become an immortal during his own lifetime, which was immortality enough for any man who merely wished to acquire fame, wealth, and one wife in his own country. So brightly lighted was his road that he knew exactly where to plant each foot--in the front page! He must do it all. Therefore he must make others do the work. But this man who now was a million miles beyond all bank clerks knew exactly _what_ he needed, which made it easy for him to know exactly _whom_ he needed. This knowledge would establish the basis on which the workers must work. He sought a newspaper-advertising agency; ordered the manager to insert in all the morning papers the same advertisement, in large type, with triple spacing, to show that money was no object. This always impresses people who wish to make money. The advertisement read: WANTED--FIRST-CLASS ADVERTISING CANVASSERS. I AM ANXIOUS TO PAY 50 PER CENT. MORE THAN IS CUSTOMARY TO SUCH MEN. THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU, MY HUNGRY AND HOPEFUL FRIEND! Apply between 9 and 10 A.M. to H. R. ALLIED ARTS BLDG. _P. S. The better the men the fewer I need. The fewer I use the greater the profit to the lucky ones. Keep away unless you are a Wonder._ It was the first time that an advertisement for "Help Wanted" had contained a postscriptum. H. R. did it because he knew that the unusualness of it would make professional people talk. Every experienced advertising man must realize that H. R. had not written an advertisement, but had dictated a brief letter to him. The signer was too busy and too much in earnest to compose a regular advertisement. Genius neglects no opportunity, however slight. Consider the small but efficient yellow-fever microbe. V Monday morning, at 8.30 A.M., H. R. was in his office. At 8.35 he had engaged a stenographer by telephone and told the starter and the elevator-men who H. R. was. Later on the dozen men who answered the advertisement made it impossible for either starter or elevator-men ever to forget who H. R. was without the use of gratuities, profanity, or promises. H. R.'s first task was to compose memoranda for the use and guidance of Max Onthemaker and Lieutenant Fleming. At 8.45 the first-class advertising canvassers began to appear in numbers. Really efficient men are never modest. Neither are really inefficient men. Efficiency is always a matter of personal judgment. Even efficiency experts will tell you that nobody is really efficient until efficiency experts have said so. H. R. allowed the applicants to accumulate in the anteroom. The new stenographer had been told to write, "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party" two thousand times and to time herself. The spectators thereby realized that this was a busy office. He was confronting his first crisis--the selection of a man who must not only be highly competent, but must be made to realize that H. R. was a pioneer, a man to whom tradition, precedents, and custom were less than nothing. H. R. studied the situation and then went out to the anteroom and looked at the waiting dozen slowly. There are a few men in the world who can look a crowd from head to foot and manage to make each man in it feel guilty. After H. R. had so looked at them, he asked, skeptically, "Are _all_ of you first-class men?" To their honor be it said, not one of them answered No. Men collectively may be cruel or blind, but seldom petty or egotistical. Observe mobs. H. R. turned his back on the crowd and returned to his private office. He did it on purpose. Men usually follow those who act as if they do not care whether they have a following or not. It is wiser to be wrong and not hesitate than to vacillate and be right. Besides, much quicker. At the threshold he half turned and, without looking at any one in particular, said: "I need only four first-class men. The others might as well go away." Twelve men heard him. Twelve men followed him. He sat down at his new desk, put the unpaid bill for same in a drawer, and confronted them. "Eight of you can go," he observed, and waited. Each man cast a glance of pity at his neighbor. "Don't be so modest," H. R. told them, kindly. "You said first-class men?" politely inquired a young man, smooth-shaven, blond, blue-eyed, and very clean-looking. "Yes," answered H. R. "That's what I understood," said the young man, extending his hand. "Barrett's my name." H. R. ignored the outstretched hand and stared at the clean-looking young man. On the faces of eleven Christian gentlemen came a fraternal look of self-conscious modesty. But young Mr. Barrett, unabashed, said, cheerily: "Keep on looking. _I_ know you want me. When _you_ discover it, we'll do business." "Go to the foot of the class," said H. R., impassively. You could tell nothing from his voice. It is a valuable gift. The young man eyed H. R. shrewdly, then walked to a corner of the room, sat down, pulled a memorandum-book from his pocket, and began to count his contracts in advance. "Your _last_ name, please," said H. R., looking as if what he had asked for was the _right_ name. The assumption of guilt has the effect of putting even the innocent on the defensive. The strategic inferiority of the defensive is always acknowledged by the defeated--even before the defeat. He jotted down the replies, one after another. Within one and three-quarter minutes these men felt themselves deprived of their individual entities. They had been turned into a list of surnames, a fragment of the rabble. The leader stood alone--he alone had a _first_ name! Smith merely votes; John Smith has his own opinion. H. R. had acted instinctively. He never would have had the conscious wisdom of an editorial writer. There are many editorial writers in all republics. Hence, practical politics. "Where did you see my advertisement?" asked H. R. "One at a time, please. Also, state why you looked in that particular newspaper?" They told him, one at a time, in the hearing of the others, thereby intensifying their own feeling of having been lumped into an electorate. He made notes as they answered. Some had seen it in the _Herald_. Others blamed the _World_ or the _Times_ or the _Sun_, or the _Tribune_. Three gave two papers; one had seen three. They expressed their professional opinion of that particular advertising medium, feeling that said opinion was a qualification of fitness. Young Mr. Barrett from his chair answered: "In all the papers. I also looked in the German, Yiddish, and Italian papers; in the _Courier des Etats-Unis_, and in the first morning edition of every afternoon paper. I did it to get a line on _you_." H. R. did not look as if he had heard Barrett. He said to the others: "I thank you all for coming. I shall not need Wilson, Streeter, Manley, Hill, Roberts, Smith, Jenks, or MacDuffy." One of the rejected came forward, scowling. He was naturally a robust-looking person. He said, "Say, this is--" H. R. did not allow the full expression of individual opinion--a form of salutary discipline which explains why people are governed. He snarled in a tone of voice that made his shoulders look a yard wide: "Mr. Book Agent, I've picked the men I want. What I don't want is to hear any remarks. Talk them into a dictagraph and send the cylinders by parcels post to my secretary." He had risen. But when he finished speaking, as though the unarmed proletariat were in full retreat, he sat down again. It was the way he did it. Men always do what they are expected to do. The eight non-successfuls went out. It was only when they were outside, where the female was typewriting away, that they began to talk loudly. H. R. had judged rightly. They were not first-class men. He turned to the others and asked: "Can you _sell_ advertising?" Young Mr. Barrett came forward. The four answered, "Yes!" "Then you can sell anything!" He stood up suddenly, when they were not expecting such a thing. This is always subtly disconcerting. Business men and beautiful women invariably resent it. He asked, sharply, "What is the one thing none of you can sell to me?" He looked challengingly at the first. The man stared back at H. R. and, with the canvasser's professional look of congratulation, replied, "A gold brick!" "Good answer! Not _the_ answer. And you?" he asked the second man. "Newspaper space--not to you." "Still better answer. But not the answer." He looked at the third man, who promptly said: "Opinions!" "Excellent. But not the answer. And you, young man?" The accusation of youth is never successfully repulsed. Young Mr. Barrett, ingeniously admitting his youth to remove the sting from his humor, replied triumphantly, "Smallpox!" "The tendency of American youth is toward the clown. It keeps us in an attitude of perennial apology toward the perennial juvenility of our nation. What none of you can sell me is--" He paused. They were looking at him with the intentness with which all men look at an armed lunatic--or at their master. After the second minute of suspense they exclaimed in chorus: "What?" They couldn't help it! "Cold feet!" said H. R. calmly. They looked relieved. Then they looked anxious. The reason the ruled masses never win is because they inflict upon themselves their own doubts. "How many times your own salary do you wish to earn for me?" asked H. R. in the tone of voice in which a philanthropist asks strangers for subscriptions to his pet charity. This always makes people feel that extravagance is a sin. "I'd expect to earn for you--" began one of the victims. "Not what you would _expect_, but what you would _like_," corrected H. R. He spoke so kindly that they at once knew it was a trap. A look of brotherhood always is, to all clever men of an editorial type of mind. "Four or five times," answered No. 1. "And you?" "I don't want to work for you at all," answered No. 2, feeling that his answer was sure not to be right. "Good morning," said H. R. in such a voice and with such a look that No. 2 instantly ceased to exist. When he walked out he didn't hear his own footsteps. "And you?" "It depends," answered No. 3 in the earnest voice of a man trying to be fair at all costs, "upon what the work will be." "I sha'n't need you. Please don't ask me questions. Good day, sir." "I have a right--" "None whatever. It would be cruelty if I told you." Mr. Barrett laughed. No. 3 said, angrily, "You can't come that on me and get away with it, you damned--" "Go while the going is good, friend." H. R. spoke with the cold kindness of a man warning an objectionable inebriate. Then, when the loss of patience of a prize-fighter who, however, has not quite lost sight of the electric chair: "Get out! D'ye _hear_?" The man left. H. R. stared out of the window. They could see it was to cool off. It gave the remaining pair a great respect for him and also a resolve not to stimulate the heat verbally. At length H. R. turned to No. 1 and said, "Wolverton is your name?" "Yes," answered Wolverton. Then he added, "Sir." "Do you always get what you want?" "I get my share." "Barrett, do you get what you want?" "Always!" promptly answered Barrett. "But I've got to be sure I want it." "The more money you two wish to make the better you please me. It will give you something to brag of. In working for me you will receive your share of prosperity and the pleasure of becoming somebody." He looked as if the three of them stood in the plain sight of two and one-half millions of spectators. He went on, even more impressively, "You will now go on Fifth Avenue and graciously permit the swellest shops to employ our union sandwich-men to advertise their wares." Wolverton rose to his feet. His color also rose. "You didn't want me to waste your time, did you?" "No, but you have. Good day. Now, Barrett, listen to me. I never repeat." Mr. Wolverton opened his mouth, perceived that H. R. was not looking at him, closed his mouth and went out. He was a well-dressed man with a determined chin. If it had not been for that chin he would have been a bookkeeper. Determination minus imagination equals stubbornness. Mr. Wolverton therefore walked out unbleeding. "Barrett, do you see the possibilities?" "Do I? Didn't I see the parade? Say, I can only think when I talk. Trust _me_! Speaking of terms--" He looked at H. R., nodded amiably, and said, "After you, kind friend." "You will ask our clients five dollars per day per man, they to pay for the boards, which must be artistic and approved by me. The union label will be on them. Forty per cent. goes to the artist, forty per cent. to you, and ten per cent. to the society. Don't try Valiquet's. Tackle everybody else first. I'll be here all the afternoon. Barrett, I expect you to do your damnedest!" He rose, shook hands with young Mr. Andrew Barrett, escorted him to the door, and returned to his desk. He sat there, thinking. He intended Barrett should fail in order that when H. R. made him succeed, later, Barrett should know to whom the credit should go, though the commissions would fall into Barrett's pocket. That would make the young man really useful. The telephone people had not yet installed the apparatus in his office, so he went downstairs and called up Mr. Maximilian Onthemaker. "Onthemaker?... This is H. R. speaking.... Of course I saw the papers.... Yes, all of them. Come up to my office. At once!... I can't help it; I need you--this means the front page again. If you don't want the job.... I thought you would! Remember, I'm waiting. Do you hear me? _Waiting!_" The greatest stroke of political genius on the part of Louis XIV. was his rebuke: "I almost have been made to wait!" What, wait?--H. R.? If it had not been that taxicabs cost actual money, M. Onthemaker would have taken one. But he knew he soon would have one of his own--if the newspapers did their share. Before Max could decide whether he ought to say good morning to H. R. in a sulky tone of voice at being called from an important conference, or smile pleasantly, H. R. said: "Onthemaker, I am going to advertise a shop without permission and without pay." "Another restaurant, like--" "Like nothing. Don't interrupt again, not even to approve. I am going to have Valiquet's, the jewelers, brought to the notice of Fifth Avenue through the medium of our sandwich-men. I anticipate objections. The statute clearly says we must not use a person's name for purposes of trade without his consent. But I'm not going to use the name of a person, but of a corporation, _for its own trade and profit_. There is no law that can prevent me from putting money into a corporation's treasury--" "A commission of lunacy--" "Be quiet. They can't stop me legally, if you are our counsel." Max bowed, opened his mouth, and promptly closed it when he saw H. R.'s face. "They might try to get out an injunction, but you must beat them to it. They will probably try to get the police to stop us by alleging breach of the peace, disorderly conduct, or some violation of a city ordinance. I want you to prepare in advance restraining orders or applications for injunctions or whatever is needed to prevent interference with us. You are the counsel of the Society of American Sandwich Artists. Prepare papers also in the names of individual members. The poor sandwich artist, working for a mere pittance, without money to pay his able but charitable and indignant counsel, will fight the richest jewelry-shop in the world. The pearl showcase alone would feed one hundred and eighty-six thousand, four hundred and fifty-one men one week. Do you get that?" "Do I?" Max Onthemaker, able and indignant, was rushing to embrace H. R., on whose face he saw ten thousand front-page head-lines, when H. R. said, coldly: "Sit down. This is only the beginning." Max sat down. He felt very much more like kneeling in adoration before this god of success. "Yes, sir," he murmured, prayerfully, and looked with his very soul. "Be ready with the papers for the papers." Perceiving a puzzled look on the lawyer's face, H. R. explained: "Draw the legal papers up so they will be news. And remember that _I_ am the society. You are merely a lawyer lucky enough to be _its_ lawyer. If you don't know what the reporters like to print, bring the injunctions and typewritten argument to me this afternoon. Go away now. I'm going to Valiquet's." "Not to--" "Not to anything you may think." Max Onthemaker walked away, and even as he walked he began to fear that the newspapers would not let him have more than twenty-eight columns. It behooved him to be brief. What with the immemorial wrongs of the poor, and the inalienable rights of American citizens, and the abuse of wealth, and the arrogance of unconvicted millionaires, and the supine subservience of the police and the politicians to Big Business, how could he use less than three pages? How? But he must do it. He asked himself what steps he would take to prevent the sandwich-men, or anybody, from advertising him, and he could find no objection. But he had imagination. He indignantly put himself in the place of Valiquet's and hired M. Onthemaker, Esq., to stop the beasts. And then he proceeded to make the able counsel of the S. A. S. A. punch the great jewelers' case full of holes--such holes as would let out the law in the way the reporters would like. This would make said holes the kind that no judge, thinking of re-election and the recall, would dare to plug up. When your client is poor and doesn't use dynamite, sympathy is the best law with juries. And when it came to picking out jurors, Max had inherited a vision for dollars which enabled him to tell the contents of a juror's inside pocket to the penny, and therefore the exact hatred of riches of each of the twelve peers. VI H. R. sent word to Fleming, _via_ Caspar Weinpusslacher, that he desired to meet about fifty members of the society at the Colossal Restaurant that evening at seven sharp. He then went to Valiquet's. The firm's name was not visible on the façade; only a beautiful bronze clock. Everybody was expected to know that this was Valiquet's, and everybody did, particularly those who could not afford to buy jewels. It had engendered throughout the entire country that familiar form of American snobbery which consists not only of having the best that money can buy, but of telling everybody that the watch or the necklace or the solitaire or the stick-pin came from Valiquet's. He entered the most beautiful store in the world as though his feet had carried him thither automatically, from force of habit. He looked approvingly, as for the millionth time, at the wide teak boards of the floor and the ornate but beautiful solid-silver ceiling and the cool variegated purple-gray marble columns. He paused by the pearl-counter and stared at the one-hundred-thousand-dollar strings with what you might call an amiable tolerance; it wasn't their fault, poor things! He moved on, reluctantly, six feet farther and examined, with a little more insistence, the emeralds, the fashionable gems of the season. "Very fair! Very fair, indeed!" he seemed to be saying encouragingly to the dazzling green things. The well-trained clerks looked at him, took a respectfully eager step toward him as if to place themselves unreservedly at his orders, and then abruptly immobilized themselves in their tracks--their tribute to expert knowledge! He did not look up, but, as if he were aware that the world was looking on, ready to obey, he rested his finger-tip on the showcase immediately above an eighteen-carat cabochon emerald surrounded by very white diamonds set in platinum. By instinct he had picked out the best. A clerk opened the case, took out the emerald, and respectfully laid it before the connoisseur. H. R. fumbled in his waistcoat pockets, then in his coat, allowed himself to look annoyed at having forgotten his pocket magnifying-glass, picked up the jewel, looked at it closely for flaws, then at arm's-length for general effect. He laid it on the velvet mat, raised his eyes and met the clerk's. The clerk smiled uncertainly. H. R. unsmilingly raised his eyebrows--very slightly. "Sixty-eight thousand five hundred, Mr.--eh--" H. R. hesitated. Then he shook his head resolutely. Having mastered the temptation, he nodded to the clerk, and said, kindly, "Thank you." "Not at all, sir," gratefully said the clerk. H. R. walked on, a marked man, high in the estimation of the clerks because he had _not_ bought a sixty-eight-thousand-dollar emerald. Don't you wonder how they do it? What is it? Intuition? Genius? A floor-walker who had taken in H. R.'s introduction of himself to Valiquet's bowed deferentially to H. R. and blamed his memory for not remembering the name. He was certain he knew the gentleman well. H. R. nodded and asked: "I wish to have a bronze statuette designed and cast for me. Which department, please?" "Up-stairs, Mr.--er-- Second floor, sir. Mr. Gwathmey is in charge, and--" "Oh, Gwathmey!" H. R. was obviously much relieved. "Yes, sir. He's still with us, sir. Elevator on the left." "Thank you," said H. R., and the man smiled gratefully. You don't have to buy to be treated politely in New York. The mere suspicion of the power of purchase is enough. It is thus that the principle "Politeness pays" has been established among stock-brokers and jewelers. H. R. was directed to the head of the department, to whom he said, with a sort of boyish eagerness, "Mr. Gwathmey, I'm very much interested in the Movement, as you probably know, and I wish my little society to have a _very_ artistic emblem." He looked expectantly at Mr. Gwathmey, who thereupon bowed at the implied compliment, but, not knowing what to say, said nothing. "You read in the papers about the parade my poor fellows had Saturday?" "Not the--er--sandwich-men's parade?" "Yes!" H. R. smiled so gratefully and congratulatory that Mr. Gwathmey felt himself enrolled among the honorary vice-presidents. "That's it. The society emblem is a skeleton and the sandwich-boards are a coffin--" "Yes, I read that," and Mr. Gwathmey smiled at the delightful humor of the conceit. H. R. instantly frowned at the levity--all very rich men frown at all smiles aimed at their pet hobbies. Mr. Gwathmey, knowing the ways of millionaires, hastened to explain, gravely, "There is a great deal to that idea!" "Nobody helped me!" H. R. spoke eagerly, as all youthful aristocrats speak when they speak of their own ideas. "The Ultimate Sandwich! What you and I shall be at least once. I am glad you agree with me. Now, I wish statuettes made in bronze in three sizes, two, four, and six inches high, so they can be used by my friends as desk ornaments. And can you put on a nice _patine_?" "Oh yes! And--er--Mr.--ah--" Gwathmey looked ashamed of himself. But H. R. smiled pleasantly and said: "It is easy to see you are not a Rutgers College man. I'm Mr. Rutgers. _My_ father--" He stopped--naturally. "I'm sorry to say I'm Harvard, Mr. Rutgers," said Mr. Gwathmey, contritely. "But don't you think it would be a little gruesome for a desk ornament?" "Not at all. The Egyptians used to bring in a skeleton at their feasts so that the timid guests should cease to fear dyspepsia. And the _Memento Mori_ of later centuries had its _raison d'être_. I have a Byzantine ivory carving of a skull that is a gem. Holbein's 'Dance of Death' is not inartistic. It is up to you people to keep my skull from being repulsive. I wish to get something that will drive home the fact to us careless Americans that the richest is no better than the poorest. For we are _not_!" H. R. said this decisively. When the aristocrat tells you that you and he are not a bit better than the proletariat, what you understand him to say is that you also are an aristocrat. A democratic aristocracy is invincible. "No," agreed Mr. Gwathmey, proudly, "we are not!" "Let me have a sketch as soon as possible. It is to raise funds for our superannuated sandwiches." Mr. Gwathmey saw no humor in either the intention or the phrase. As an alert business man who studied the psychology of customers, he knew that society leaders had advocated the cause of the shirtwaist workers and of certain educational movies--especially society leaders who had reached the age when their looks and their pearls no longer entitled them to the pictorial supplements. How else could they stay in the newspapers except by indignation over the wrongs of social inferiors? By espousing the cause of the lower classes, the latter also remained lower. Mr. Gwathmey smiled tolerantly and nodded. Then he looked dreamy and murmured: "I see! I see _exactly_ what you want: a skeleton carrying a coffin as sandwich-boards. The Ultimate Sandwich." He saw it in the air, two feet from the tip of his nose; he was a creative artist. Then he became a salesman. "We can submit designs to you, Mr. Rutgers--" "To-day?" "Oh, gracious, no! We couldn't--" "To-morrow, then. You have grasped the idea completely. No, Mr. Gwathmey; no!" And H. R. held up a hand--the hand of Fate. "To-morrow, at the latest! Must have it! I hate waiting. That's why I came to Valiquet's instead of Shoreham's. And now," he went on before Mr. Gwathmey could protest, "I wish also a series of designs for sandwich-boards--heraldic shields, scutcheons and bucklers, spade-shapes, rectangular boards of the right proportion, circles, and a keystone for use by the Pennsylvania Railroad. I propose to raise the sandwich to the highest form of art. I shall experiment with various materials--wood, metal, and composition, with raised as well as with sunken letters, in divers colors, vert antique and beautiful soft grays, and iridescent-glass mosaic. Can't you imagine a sandwich being made artistic, if I get competent experts to design them?" H. R. looked anxiously at the competent expert. "Indeed I can," replied Mr. Gwathmey, with conviction. "Indeed I can, Mr. Rutgers. It is an excellent idea!" "Thank you. Do you know, I thought so, too!" Mr. Gwathmey, being a kindly man, was so pleased at having suggested, evolved, and improved a great idea that he filled with enthusiasm. Enthusiasm always made him take out his pencil and reach for a pad. He did so now. "For instance--" he said, and he began to design. "Exactly! Exactly!" said H. R., with such eager admiration that Mr. Gwathmey was inspired by love of the young man. "I'd give everything I own, Mr. Gwathmey, to have your gift!" Mr. Gwathmey modestly felt his talents overcapitalized. Everything this eccentric but clever scion of the Knickerbockers owned? Mr. Gwathmey almost saw the old Rutgers farm! It must have had at least one hundred and fifty acres bounded by Broadway, Wall, Fulton, and the East River. A very nice young man, with agricultural ancestors in New Amsterdam. "Won't you give me these, Mr. Gwathmey?" pleaded H. R. "We never send out such rough--" "These are not the firm's, but Gwathmey's. Just sign your name and let me keep these as souvenirs. Please!" And H. R. smiled with boyish eagerness. Mr. Gwathmey signed his initials, and reluctantly gave the drawings to H. R., shaking his modest head deprecatingly. H. R. reverently put the precious sheets in his pocket and said: "Thank you very much. Now you get your best sculptor to model my Ultimate Sandwich by to-morrow, won't you?" Then he proceeded to contradict in advance--a purely feminine habit, sometimes used with great effect by masculine leaders--"Oh yes, he can. I'm sure _you_ can make him do it if you wish to be nice!" What reply could Mr. Gwathmey possibly make? He made it. "I'll do my best, Mr. Rutgers; but--" "Then it's done," said H. R., with such conviction that Mr. Gwathmey filled his own lungs with oxygen. "And the designs for the various kinds of sandwich-boards, in color, with the different materials indicated. Send them to me, Allied Arts Building, won't you?" H. R. forgot to say anything about costs. Only the nobility forget such things, for the nobility know that Valiquet's work is perfect. Mr. Gwathmey therefore forgot to be cautious. He said, "Very well, Mr. Rutgers." "Thank you so much!" That little phrase of gratitude in that same tone of voice has often made plebeians feel like dying to prove _their_ gratitude. Then H. R. hesitated, looked at Mr. Gwathmey, and, recklessly vaulting over all caste-barriers, said, "I wish to shake hands with the man who designed my sandwiches!" Mr. Gwathmey actually blushed as he shook hands warmly. The moment H. R. left, Mr. Gwathmey rushed to his office to take steps to please young Mr. Rutgers. Rutgers College--culture; Hendrik--Knickerbocker; no question about price--inherited wealth; newspaper front page--somebody! A nice boy, bless him! Mr. Gwathmey at that moment was the only man who really knew H. R. Like a book! Thus are historic characters analyzed by intimate friends. Invaluable testimony! Interesting side-lights! H. R. went back to his office and began to copy Mr. Gwathmey's designs. He had barely finished when Andrew Barrett entered. He looked humorous. Young men always do when they are angry at having failed but do not wish to call it failure, and therefore must not look angry. Defeat is never a joke. Therefore a joke can never be an acknowledgment of defeat. Very easy! Origin: U. S. A. Reason: national juvenility. Before Barrett could speak H. R. asked, "Nobody would be first?" "No; nor second." "They will. Did you properly play up the wisdom and glory of being first?" "Of course." "Go back and tell them that Valiquet's will advertise with our sandwiches as soon as they have prepared artistic boards. The other men have lost the chance to be first. They are asses. Tell them so and book them for second place. Dwell strongly on the fact that the commercial standing of each shop will be determined by the richness of the sandwich-boards. Tell them confidentially that Valiquet's will do some wonderful stunts with real bronze and iridescent-glass mosaics valued at ten thousand dollars. The firm are taking big chances with breakage in a crowded avenue, but that's why they are on top of the heap. The department stores might try real lace edging and gold-thread hand-embroidery on Genoese velvet." Valiquet's advertising campaigns were models of ultra-conservatism and costly refinement. And now, sandwiches! "Have you--" began young Mr. Barrett in awed tones. "I have. Get busy! Tell them to watch. On next Monday begins the greatest revolution in advertising this country ever experienced. We are making history! Pledge them to advertise through us, if we deliver the goods. It will be the only swell way. Get that?" "Betcherlife!" And Mr. Andrew Barrett rushed off. VII H. R. went out to have his boards made. He distributed orders among wood-carvers and plaster-casting ateliers, and devised a method by which boards could be made on the principle of stereotypers' matrices, only the letters were raised. He pledged the makers to deliver the boards within twenty-four hours, and as he did not haggle over the price by the simple expedient of not asking for it, they promised. When a man is permitted to fix his own profit he will do anything except go to church. At seven sharp, accompanied by Andrew Barrett, H. R. went to Caspar Weinpusslacher's. He could not get a seat. People stood in dozens, waiting for the early dinner to finish. And most of the waiting customers were fashionably dressed. The Colossal Restaurant had become a fad. Caspar greeted H. R. with respect. He did not yet feel strong enough to display ingratitude. "I'll fix a special table, Mr. Rutchers," he said. H. R. nodded assent and then sought Fleming. At the longest table sat twenty-seven unionized artists. "Are you getting the full thirty-cent dinner?" he asked, paternally. "Yes, sir," Fleming hastily assured him. H. R. looked at his men. They looked away uneasily. Was this to be their last free meal? H. R. turned to Andrew Barrett and said in a voice that did not reach the members and therefore increased their uneasiness: "Barrett, in unionizing these men, thereby making them free sandwiches, I had in mind several things; one of them was the absolute control of the New York papers." "How?" asked Barrett in utter non-comprehension. "By organizing my men into a Public Sentiment Corps. Their duty will be to write letters to the newspapers. I figure that one bona-fide letter to each thirteen thousand one hundred and eighty-six circulation creates an irresistible demand. The _Evening Post_, of course, needs about one to five hundred readers. I think eleven letters will be enough there. Our men already have names, and hereafter they will have permanent addresses." "And then?" "I furnish the paper, the stamps, and the literature. The men copy the letters. The newspapers will do the rest. Did you bring the pads and pencils I told you?" "Yes." "Pass 'em around, one to each man." Barrett did so. The men edged away in ill-concealed terror. "Take up the pencils!" commanded H. R. The members acted as if the pencils were rattlesnakes. "Did you hear me?" asked H. R., calmly. They trembled. But they were not slaves. No man can be compelled to write in a free country. By feeding these men H. R. had given them the courage to refuse to obey him! Was the food an error, as charitable philosophers have declared? The pencils remained untouched before the men. Fleming was the only one who obeyed. But he was by now almost a capitalist--he was a distributor of meal-tickets. "Mutiny!" muttered Andrew Barrett, and looked anxiously at his chief. How would H. R. meet this crisis? The absolute control of the New York papers hung in the balance. But H. R. merely asked, pleasantly, "Ready?" Not a man stirred. They had forgotten that he could fight! "I will dictate and each of you must write down what I say. I want to know how well you can write." Two of the men began to shake their heads with growing independence. Others followed, for moral courage is contagious, even in industrial democracies. H. R. smiled confidently. That made them waver. Confidence is the most demoralizing of all social factors. "Now write what I say and sign your name after you finish." All of them shook their heads and frowned pugnaciously. H. R. dictated, "_Please pay us five dollars a day!_" They grabbed the pencils with one lightning-like movement, and wrote, very plainly. They signed their names even more plainly. "Give them to Fleming. On Monday we begin work. I shall consider the writing carefully." In this wise was organized the Public Sentiment Corps of the S. A. S. A. Literature, it had once more been demonstrated, is merely a matter of demand and supply. VIII After dining in the company of Barrett and Caspar Weinpusslacher, H. R. went to the agency that had handled his newspaper advertising, opened a charge account, and told them to send to all the morning papers the following advertisement: _WANTED._--An actor who can look like a gentleman in good health before a critical audience of 250,000. Apply in person, without press notices. H. R. Allied Arts Bldg. It was rather late in the evening when he sent for Max Onthemaker, but this only served to strengthen the learned counsel's high opinion of H. R. When H. R. told him what he proposed to do Max jumped in the air for joy. Then he sat down limply. It suddenly occurred to him that H. R. was far too intelligent. This is fatal to the right kind of newspaper publicity. But H. R. soothed him and dispelled Max's doubts by showing him exactly how to become an efficient and altogether legal _agent provocateur_. The legal mind always concerns itself over the particular paragraph. It comes from numbering the statutes. Max worked till dawn on his papers and arguments. On the next morning H. R. selected, out of several dozen applicants, four actors who looked really distinguished. The others walked away cursing the trust. They are never original, as a class, by reason of their habit of also reading the press notices of their colleagues. H. R. told the lucky four that he would give them the hardest part of their lives. They looked at him pityingly. He then guaranteed to get their pictures in all the papers. They looked blasé. He began to speak to them about fame and about money, and then about money and fame--the power to go into any restaurant and cause an instant cessation of all mastication, or walk into any manager's office and be entreated to sign, at any price, only sign--sign at once! They accepted on the spot, and asked when the engagement began. In their eagerness to be artists they forgot to ask the salary. H. R. then told them that they must introduce the art of sandwiching to New York. They must command the union sandwiches. _Never!_ He explained to them very patiently, for he was dealing with temperaments, that to make sandwiching an art required the highest form of histrionic ability. Anybody could look like a gentleman on the stage or in any of the Fifth Avenue drawing-rooms to which they were obviously accustomed. But, unmistakably to look like a gentleman between sandwich-boards would require a combination of Richard Mansfield and ancient lineage. He asked them kindly to ponder on the lamented Edward VII. How would the Kaiser act? That is the way he wanted his artists to act--like royalty. It was the highest art ever discovered. They would be the cynosure of all eyes on Fifth Avenue, where most eyes belong to wealthy women who always look for, as well as at, handsome men of discretion and bona-fide divorce decrees. The artists themselves would represent Valiquet's, the world's greatest jewelers, and the newspapers would be told of the enormous salaries paid. Some of the boards would be of real gold, to be valued at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in the most conservative of the newspapers. The men also would be paid in cash, two dollars a day. "The idea is not to sandwich in the ordinary commercial way, but to give our press agents the swellest opportunity of the century. Managers have used real diamonds on the stage. Money buys them. I am using real gentlemen. Money cannot make them. Valiquet's never does anything inexpensive, and this is merely the first and most dazzling chapter in the history of the New Art of Advertising. The newspapers will duly chronicle the fact that each artist received one thousand dollars a week--which the artists have turned over to charity, like gentlemen. To be the Theodore Roosevelts of street advertisements is more than a privilege, more than an honor, more than art--it is _cash_! There have been sandwich-men. There shall be _sandwich-artists_! Gentlemen, you will make history. If you feel you don't measure up to the job, you can get the hell out of here!" They not only signed, but begged to begin on that day, even though it was Friday. But H. R. was adamant. "Monday!" he said, "and no more remarks. Report at nine A.M., dressed like gentlemen." Andrew Barrett reported enthusiastically that nearly every shop on the Avenue was ready to sign contracts if Valiquet's began. There had been some skepticism, and expectations were keyed up to the snapping-pitch. Mr. Gwathmey sent a dozen designs for boards and the model of the Ultimate Sandwich. It was really a beautiful piece of work. H. R.'s luck was with him. The young Frenchman who did it came into his own years later. H. R. accepted them on official stationery of the society, ordered one hundred of each size, and also asked that the designs of the sandwich-boards be engraved in color. He told Barrett to get Valiquet's written acceptance of his order. On Sunday all the newspapers were impressively notified that there would be some novel and revolutionary advertising on the Avenue. To insure attention, the newspapers were simultaneously informed also that the Fifth Avenue Merchants' Guild had decided to advertise more extensively in the daily press. New York would give an object-lesson in optimism and confidence to the rest of the country. This would allay all fears as to the fundamental soundness of the general business situation. Wall Street might be in the dumps, but the legitimate merchants, up to the full-page size, were more truly representative of the metropolis. Fleming had been told to detail himself, Mulligan, and the four most typical sandwiches in the society to act as the advance-guard. He and the five were at the office early Monday morning, so were the four histrionic artists, so was Max Onthemaker with nineteen injunctions, writs, and legal documents neatly typewritten, three process-servers, and thirty copies of a statement for the newspapers. Each sandwich-man received his board and a copy of his own speech. It was a plea for equal rights and the cessation of hostilities against a poor man simply because he had no money, a prayer for the enforcement of the Constitution, and three quotations from that obsolete Book that taught sandwich-men how to turn the other cheek. Also a post-Scriptural assertion that each man went to church to pray and not to ask for unearned bread or jump on Standard Oil. Max himself made them memorize the speech. They were letter perfect before he stopped. "This will kill 'em dead," he said, enthusiastically. "Why, Mr. Rutgers, even the newspapers will think they are Christians and--" "Make them early Christians," wisely advised H. R. "Thats what the world needs to-day!" "You are right, as usual. Hey, you fellows, add, _If we must die, we die forgiving our fellow-men in the knowledge that after death we shall come into our own._" "Hey, I ain't going to be killed just to--" began Mulligan, edging toward the door. "In the newspapers, ass! In the front page, imbecile!" shrieked Max. Mulligan shook his head doggedly. "Mulligan!" said H. R., and clenched his right fist. "Ye-es, boss." "I'll be there to see that you get the forty beers and I'll guarantee that you'll have a chance to assuage your thirst _after_ business hours." "All right, boss," said Mulligan. "And I'll guarantee the thirst." "Say, can you beat it?" admiringly asked Max of Andrew Barrett. "Where does he get it?" And he tapped his own cranium sadly. "And, Mulligan, if you should be locked up," added H. R., "the first thing you do when you get to jail is to declare a hunger strike. This will stamp you as Crusaders! And Crusaders never frighten Business." "Great heavens!" whispered Max. "Do we get the--" began Mulligan, anxiously. "Nothing need be said about drinking. You'll get your forty." "They can do their damnedest," said Mulligan, looking like a hero-martyr. "Refer all reporters to your counsel," finally advised Max. "Forget everything else, but not that, not that!" IX The four great actors, distinguished-looking, positively Beau Brummelesque, in shining top-hats of the latest fashion, went out of the Allied Arts Building to make history. They walked ahead abreast, their eyes fixed straight ahead. Pedestrians instinctively parted to let them by. Then they asked questions. Andrew Barrett's agents answered the questions. "They are the advance-guard. You ought to see what's coming!" The faint sense of waiting for something worth waiting for, that so far only the annual police parade has been able to arouse in New York was discernible on the faces of the spectators. They began to cluster on the edges of the sidewalks. The chauffeurs began to look anxious. Honestly, they did! Andrew Barrett had shown to the other shop-keepers the Valiquet designs and told them to watch for the great jewelers' astounding coup. He booked twenty-two orders for the next week. At two o'clock the artists sallied forth once more. The throngs opened for them to pass. Those spectators who had put off lunching to see the epoch-making stunt were rewarded. They saw four perfectly attired gentlemen in top-hats, carrying dazzling escutcheons worthy of the premier jewel-shop in the world. The six, walking professionally, carried the most beautiful boards ever seen, with these legends: [Illustration: THIS BOARD DESIGNED BY VALIQUET'S PREMIER JEWELERS OF AMERICA] [Illustration: WONDERS OF THE WORLD! THE OLD WORLD HAD SEVEN! THE NEW WORLD HAS ONLY ONE: VALIQUET'S] They were followed by the six picked sandwiches, in their working-clothes, but with wonderful boards. [Illustration: FOR SILVER AND GOLD, PEARLS, DIAMONDS, RUBIES, EMERALDS, EXCLUSIVE DESIGNS VALIQUET'S WHO DESIGNED THIS BOARD] [Illustration: VALIQUET'S OFFICIAL DESIGNERS OF THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF SANDWICH ARTISTS] The sandwich was the thing! The sandwich-men were merely artists. The spectators recalled that ultimately all men and all women must become sandwiches. It made New-Yorkers realize that Death was still on the job. This gave them something to talk about that night at dinner, before dancing. Also three hundred and fifty thousand people saw the O. K. of "_H. R._" It is easy to remember two letters. It was an extraordinary sensation. The big shops emptied themselves. In McQuery's and Oldman's and Mann & Baker's the rush to the Avenue doors was so great that floor-walkers who tried to stem the tide were crushed, manlike, by the women and borne, half-clad, upon the sidewalk. The proprietors looked at the crowds, heard the same remark, "What is it?" by the tens of thousands, saw the sandwiches, saw the looks on the tens of thousands of faces, and said, "Damn!" They had not heard the knock of opportunity, and Valiquet's had. No wonder the jewel firm's regular two-hundred-per-cent. quarterly dividends were regular. It wasn't the big profit in gems; it was the cars! The proprietors blamed their advertising managers. The triumphal march of the sandwiches was more than a success, more than a sensation. It was an event. The four top-hatted histrions then and there forswore the stage. No artist had ever won such triumphs since Nero. They had started as Beau Brummels. They had become Kaisers--only infinitely more Cæsarean. And the union sandwiches following in Indian file, oblivious, like true artists, of the admiration of the rabble, thought of the end of the day, of the forty beers and the free food--of unearned wealth!--and actually swaggered so that their parasite-infested hirsuteness and their beast-faces took on an aspect of aristocratic eccentricity, of zeal for a noble cause. Their rags, in juxtaposition to the dazzling gorgeousness of their sandwich-boards, thus became ecclesiastical vestments--pilgrims wearing tatters in fulfillment of Lenten vows of renunciation. It was, of course, the masterly combination. Valiquet's was the last word in swellness, the label of utterly inutilitarian wealth. The sandwich business was therefore the postscript. "Only Valiquet's would think of doing such a thing!" said all Fifth Avenue, as usual giving credit to commercial genius instead of to the creative artist. The other mercantile geniuses, seeing that their shoppers had declared a legal holiday, frantically telephoned to Mr. Andrew Barrett to send out _their_ sandwiches at once. They would pay ten dollars per man; yes, twenty dollars. Only do it now! They did not wish to be put in the position of _following_. This is fatal on Fifth Avenue. Valiquet's was skimming the cream! Never mind submitting the legends! Get a hustle on! Never mind striking catch-phrases. That would come later. Get the sandwiches on the Avenue! The bare name and the sandwiches! The crowd, who had not had time to forget about the sandwich-men's parade of a few days before, cleverly saw that this was the second chapter. They therefore knew all about it and could and would say so to their less-clever fellow-beings. Completeness of knowledge is one of the nicest feelings in the world. Barrett excitedly reported the avalanche of orders to H. R. and was promptly and calmly despatched to the board-makers to order fifty boards each of the six Valiquet designs, three hundred in all. H. R. then dictated a statement for publication, as to the real meaning of sandwiching on Fifth Avenue. It was not merely advertising--it was philanthropy. Much more went to feeding starving artists at the Colossal Restaurant than to the militant brethren in the shape of wages. It was also the best way of advertising Fifth Avenue's wares. Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn, president of Valiquet's corporation, was told of the sandwich desecration of the holy name. His private secretary alone had the courage to impart the news. Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn, feeling that he had to be to his help what his firm was to the world, turned around in his Circassian-walnut swivel-chair, said, "_Stop 'em!_" and revolved again. The secretary carried the order to the first vice-president, Mr. Angus MacAckus; the first vice-president took it upon himself not only to stop 'em, but to punish 'em. He hastily descended to the main floor. What he saw through the Fifth Avenue doors appalled him, and worse. Even within the sacred precincts of the shop the reckless jewel-buying public and the conservative charge-accounts alike were talking about it, actually congratulating the gentlemanly salesmen and the courtly department-managers and the obliging watch-repairers. Two men, whom he recognized as reporters by their intellectual faces, approached him, but he ran away from them toward the door. Mrs. Vandergilt, undisputed Tsarina of society, was in one of the compartments of the plate-glass and solid-silver stile, and he waited in order to welcome her. They did not make a hundred thousand a year out of her, for she was not from Detroit, but they had been official jewelers to the family for sixty years, as they were of all the Vans who were Van Somebody. The annual storage of the Vandergilt crown jewels was a regular yearly story, like the police parade and the first snow-storm. "MacAckus," said Mrs. Vandergilt in her sharp, imperious voice, "why did you do it? Not to advertise?" "Certainly not," answered Mr. MacAckus, forgetting himself and speaking with heat. "I thought not. Well, I am glad you are helping. I shall send my check to them. Poor men!" Then she had one of those moments of kindliness that made people worship her: "It was a very clever thing to do, MacAckus. I am glad you had not only the brains, but the courage." The reporters heard her. It was their business to get the news. Mr. MacAckus realized that Mrs. Vandergilt's approval had changed the complexion of the affair. At the same time, Valiquet's never talked for publication, and the remarks of their clients were sacred. He turned to the reporters and said in the peremptory tone that makes reporters so obedient: "Not a word of this! Do you understand?" "We understand perfectly," said the _American_. "We certainly do!" and wrote what Mrs. Vandergilt had said and what she was wearing. It would be a text for one of Arthur Migraine's editorial sermons, proving that millionaires, instead of being blown into ATOMS, should be freely permitted to give MONEY for starving men to convert into FOOD. In fact, NATURE wisely provided that millionaires should have MONEY to give away. The more the POOR received the LESS the millionaire would take to the USELESS GRAVE. Mr. MacAckus, greatly perturbed by this deviation from the norm, rushed to the president's office to tell him Mrs. Vandergilt's opinion. Before he could speak, Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn said: "Did you stop 'em?" "No, sir. Let me explain. Mrs. Vandergilt just came in and--" "I sent word to have 'em stopped!" said Mr. Josslyn, frowning. "Let me explain, Mr. Josslyn--" Disobedience cannot be explained away. Discipline must be enforced. It is better to blunder under orders than to prevent disorganization from interfering with dividends. The obvious advantage that a corporation president has over his subordinates is that he does not have to be hampered by petty details. "Stop 'em!" he said, coldly. "Mrs. Vandergilt said--" "And Mr. Josslyn said stop 'em!" He turned his back on MacAckus, who thereupon rushed downstairs, frowning angrily. He'd stop 'em. He walked out into the Avenue. It was blocked. He tried to elbow his way through the intelligent femininity and was nearly run in by a traffic policeman. The women refused to budge--the sandwiches were coming. And would you believe it? As the shining top-hats drew near, the crowd actually divided itself, Red-Sea-wise, to let H. R.'s chosen people pass safely. Mr. MacAckus did not faint, because he was too angry. He stepped in front of the four obvious gentlemen and held up a hand. He could not speak. But the four, who had been elevated to imperial dignity by New York, moved on so majestically that Mr. MacAckus began to retreat before them, waving his hand frantically. He stepped backward, keeping time to their steps, his hand moving up and down in his wrath. It looked for all the world like a band-master indicating to his artists just how to play it. Backward he stepped; onward they marched; until speech returned to him: "Stop! _Stop! STOP!_" They did not hear him. He called to a policeman, "Stop 'em!" H. R. had won! The officer ran up. He was a policeman. He therefore said, "What's the matter?" "These men have no right to use our name. We did not authorize them. We wish them stopped from using our firm's name for--er--advertising purposes. It's against the law. I'll make a complaint against them. Stop 'em!" Max Onthemaker came forward, his face pale with determination. Four reporters trailed along. "Touch these gentlemen at your peril!" he said to the policeman. "Here is a sworn copy of the statute referred to by that person." He shoved a typewritten document under the officer's nose. There were two seals on it; one was in anarchistic red and the other in Wall Street gold. "Observe," pursued Mr. Onthemaker, impressively and very distinctly, that the reporters might not misquote, "that the statute says _the name of a living person_ must not be used. But Valiquet's is a corporation. Do you get that, officer? A _corporation_!" The officer read the newspapers. He knew what corporations were. They bought votes for the Republicans; and, besides, they only paid the men higher up. He therefore informed Mr. MacAckus: "I can't do not'n." "And even if you could, officer," said Mr. Onthemaker to the reporters, "the magistrate would let them go with a reprimand for you. We are ready for him." Then he said to MacAckus: "Get out of the way, or I'll have you arrested for blocking traffic, causing a crowd to collect, for assuming that you own the sidewalk, and for interfering with honest working-men who are trying to earn a peaceful living. Also for oppressing the poor. We have not asked you for money. We do not wish your charity." He paused, and, shaking a finger at Mr. MacAckus, said, loudly, "_We spurn your tainted money!_" H. R. had not made a mistake in picking out this man to represent the society. Indeed, one reporter, in a stage whisper, actually hissed: "_Bribery!_" The officer looked at Mr. MacAckus and said, "Please move on, sir." "That's polite enough," said one of the reporters, making a note of it. But Mr. MacAckus said: "Why, you infernal--" "_Move on!_" said the cop. "I am Mr. MacAckus, of Valiquet's--" "Tell him who you are, officer," said the diabolic Onthemaker, guessing the cop's nationality. "I am Mr. McGinnis, of the thirty-first precinct." People began to clap their hands--people who never went into Valiquet's. Mr. McGinnis thereupon laid a hand proudly on Mr. MacAckus's arm. Mr. MacAckus lost his head; that is, he shook off the white-gloved hand of the law. The law blew its whistle, as the law always does in civilized communities. Instantly, as though the whistle had been the cue, the stirring sound of galloping steeds smote the asphalt of Fifth Avenue. "Let him go, Officer McGinnis," said Max Onthemaker, magnanimously. "We do not care to appear against him." "Ain't he fine-looking?" a woman asked her companion, looking at the law. She even pointed at him. Mr. McGinnis therefore haughtily said, "Resisting an officer--" H. R. on horseback, in correct riding attire, following seven mounted traffic-squad men, appeared on the scene. "There he is!" said Mr. Onthemaker to the reporters, dutifully yielding the center of the stage to its rightful possessor. After all, there was only one H. R., and both H. R. and Max Onthemaker knew it. "That's the commissioner," said a clerk to the atmosphere. "It's young Vandergilt!" asserted the fickle one who had thought McGinnis was fine-looking. Before the traffic squad could dismount, H. R. jumped down from his horse, threw the reins to one of the mounted officers, said, "Look after him!" so decisively that no remonstrance was possible, approached the group, and said, "I'm Mr. Rutgers!" Fifth Avenue was impassable now. "_Who_ is it?" asked ten thousand who had been asking, "_What_ is it?" Those who had heard proudly repeated the name to those who had not. Within forty seconds, as far as Thirty-fourth Street, intelligent New-Yorkers were saying, "It's Mr. Rutgers!" Officer McGinnis touched his white-gloved hand to his cap. "That's Hendrik Rutgers!" explained Max Onthemaker to the reporters. H. R. looked Mr. MacAckus in the eye and said, with patrician frigidity: "If you think you have any ground for a civil action, go ahead. My office is in the Allied Arts Building. I'll accept service in person or through my counsel here." A murmur went up: these were law-abiding men. They therefore must be not only right, but mighty sure of it. All the lieutenant dared say, when he saw the representative of business and the representative of the leisure class was: "Gentlemen, I'm afraid you're blocking traffic. Perhaps, if you went inside--" "Follow me!" said H. R. to his men, and he led them into Thirty-seventh Street. He halted fifty feet from the corner. Mr. MacAckus had followed and unlimbered his heavy artillery. "This infernal outrage--" H. R. lost all patience. He said to the mounted lieutenant, "Take us to the magistrate!" To Max Onthemaker he whispered, "Got the papers with you?" "And the reporters, too," answered the able counsel with much pride, as though the reporters were his own private property loaned to the cause for the occasion without charge. Seeing that the police made no move, H. R. said, determinedly: "I insist upon going before the magistrate. You can report it at the station later and save us time." This made the police officer hesitate. It always does. It works on the principle of treating your opponent as if he were a taxicabby who has overcharged. "I guess that's the best way," said the lieutenant. "Thank you, Inspector. Will you kindly tell one of your men to bring my mount along? Thank you!" said H. R. Politeness pays. By saying "thank you" in advance of the service no gentleman can refuse. At the Magistrate's Court the session was short and sweet. Mr. Onthemaker looked eloquent. The clerk who had typewritten the restraining orders whispered, "It's No. 5!" and his chief picked it out of the seventeen without hesitation. Everybody was impressed by the obvious efficiency. Efficiency must never be hidden. The argument prepared by Mr. Onthemaker was one of the best his Honor had ever heard. He needed it for his own fall campaign. It certainly read well. He even read it in print--in advance. "Let me see your argument," said the magistrate, and when Mr. Onthemaker gave him the speech he put it in his inside pocket. He did not know what to say until he saw the reporters taking notes. Then he knew. "Discharged!" he said. It was the most popular decision in New York. Max Onthemaker looked at his watch. Morris Lazarus by this time had doubtless applied for an order restraining Valiquet's from interfering with the lawful business of Jean Gerard, Walter Townsend, J. J. Fleming, William Mulligan, William F. Farquhar, Marmaduke de Beanville, Wilton Lazear, Percival Willoughby, and Francis Drake. "We have secured an injunction against Valiquet's. Here it is," said Mr. Onthemaker. "You are the vice-president of your _corporation_. You might as well learn your own business from me." Then, with a fierce frown that there might be no back talk, he explained, with utter finality, "This is a _certified copy_!" He approached Mr. MacAckus and took advantage of the contiguity to whisper: "If you don't wish to make your concern the laughing-stock of America get busy and keep the newspapers from printing that you were fool enough to oppose us in our perfectly legal position. Bear in mind that if you fight us you make us." "No compromise!" said H. R., sternly. "No, sir," answered Onthemaker, meekly. Then he hissed at MacAckus, "Do as I tell you, you boob!" Mr. MacAckus clearly realized that this was a conspiracy. That always makes business men fear that they may lose money. The fear of that always sharpens their wits. It comes from a lifetime's training. It was all Mr. Josslyn's fault. This made Mr. MacAckus almost despair. But he said, very kindly, to the reporters, "Gentlemen, will you all be good enough to call at our office before you print anything?" The reporters, very kindly also, told him they would. The free sandwiches returned to Fifth Avenue. It was an ovation! Art again had triumphed! Proudly, up and down, from Thirty-fourth to Forty-second and back on the other side, they marched unhindered. The reporters did justice to the story. Like all really big stories, it was legitimate news. They had indeed suspected advertising until H. R. refused to speak about himself. "All you please about my poor sandwiches, but not one word about me. I have merely tried to rehabilitate the pariahs of the great mercantile world by reviving the lost art of perambulating publicity. If I have succeeded in making sandwiches free in New York, my work is done. Please do not mention my name!" Then he leaned over confidentially and said, very earnestly: "My family is conservative, and they hate to see the old name in print. Don't use it, boys. Please! That's why I never sign more than my initials!" Ah, it was not alone modesty, but high social position and inherited wealth that were responsible for "H. R." instead of the full name? And the reporters? News is what is novel; also what is rare. H. R. was therefore doubly news. The minds of the reporters did not work like H. R.'s, but they arrived at the same point at the same time. This is genius--on the part of the other man. Keeping your mouth shut after it happens is a still higher form of genius. The newspapers gave him from two to six columns. Since the reporters could not get anything about H. R. from H. R., they got everything from Max Onthemaker, from the sandwich-men, from Andrew Barrett, and also from their inner consciousness and psychological insight. Nine newspapers; nine different heroes; one name--and initials at that! X Andrew Barrett was made office-manager as well as business-getter. He was ordered to pay for the two additional clerks and the bookkeeper out of his own commissions or resign. He paid. This was real business because even then young Mr. Barrett was overpaid for his work. But his real acumen was in recognizing a great man. Since the pay-roll was a matter of Mr. Andrew Barrett's personally selected statistics, H. R. was certainly a wonder. On Tuesday morning H. R., feeling that his own greatness had already become merely a matter of greater greatness, turned, manlike, to thoughts of love: he would share his greatness! He would make Grace Goodchild marry him. He was sure he would succeed. He saw very clearly, indeed, how Mr. Goodchild, being a conservative banker, could be compelled to say yes. In addition he would make Grace love him. The strongest love is that love which is stronger than hatred or fear. Therefore the love that begins by hating or fearing is best. To overcome the inertia of non-loving is not so difficult as to stop the backward motion and turn it into forward. He sat down and wrote a note: DEAR GRACE, I am sending you herewith a few clippings. Remember what I told you. Don't let father prejudice you. Hope to see you soon. Busy as the dickens. Yours, H. R. _P.S._--I love you because you are _You!_ Certainly I am crazy. But, dear, _I know it_! With the note he sent her eighty-three inches of clippings and fourteen pictures. If that wasn't fame, what was? He also sent flowers. That afternoon before the _thé dansant_ hour he called at the Goodchild residence. "Miss Goodchild!" he said to the man, instead of asking for her. He pulled out his watch, looked at it, and before the man could say he would see if she were at home to H. R., added, "Yes!" He was punctual, as the man could see. The man therefore held out a silver card-tray. "Say it's Mr. Rutgers," H. R. told him. "And straighten out that rug. You've walked over it a dozen times!" It was plain to see that it was H. R. who really owned this house. He must, since he wasn't afraid of the servants. And the worst of it was that the footman could not resent it: the gentleman was so obviously accustomed to regarding servants as domestic furniture. He dehumanized footmen, deprived them of souls, left them merely arms and legs to obey, machine-like. They call such "well-ordered households." Certainly not. It isn't a matter of the orders, but of the soul-excision. Grace Goodchild walked in--behind her mother. The footman stood by the door, evidently by request. Everything in civilized communities is by request. "How do you do?" said H. R., pleasantly. "Is this mother?" He bowed to Mrs. Goodchild--the bow of a social equal--his eyes full of a highly intelligent appreciation of physical charm. Then he asked Grace, "Did you read them?" Mrs. Goodchild had intended to be stern, but the young man's undisguised admiration softened her wrath to pleasant sarcasm. "I wished to see for myself," she said, not very hostilely, "if you were insane. I see you are--" "I am," agreed H. R., amicably, "and have been since I saw her. And the worst of it is, I am very proud of it." "Will you oblige me by leaving this house quietly?" "Certainly," H. R. assured her. "I didn't come to stay--this time. I'm glad to have seen you. Has Grace told you I'm to be your son-in-law?" He looked at her proudly, yet meekly. It was wonderful how well he managed to express the conflict. Then he apologized contritely. "I was too busy to call before. My grandmother has never met you, has she?" He looked at her anxiously, eager to clear Mrs. Goodchild's name before the court of his family. At one fell swoop H. R. had deleted the name of Goodchild from the society columns. Mrs. Goodchild said, huskily, "Frederick, ring for a policeman." "I'll break his damned neck if he does," said H. R., with patrician calmness. "Don't you ever again dare to listen while I am here, Frederick. You may go." H. R. looked so much as if he meant what he said that Grace was pleasantly thrilled by his masterfulness. But not for worlds would she show it facially. When a woman can't lie to the man who loves her she lies to herself by looking as she does not feel. "Do you wish me to go? For the sake of peace?" he asked Grace, anxiously. There was nothing he would not do, no torture too great to endure, for her sake--not even the exquisite agony of absence. That there might be no misunderstanding, he added, softly, "Do you?" "Don't you talk to my daughter!" said Mrs. Goodchild, furious at being excluded from the supreme command. Hearing no assent, she was compelled by the law of nature to repeat herself: "Don't you talk to my daughter!" H. R. looked at her in grieved perplexity. "Do you mean that you are deliberately going to be a comic-weekly mother-in-law and make me the laughing-stock of my set?" Feeling the inadequacy of mere words to express the thought she had not tried to express, Mrs. Goodchild called on her right hand for aid; she pointed. Being concerned with gesture rather than intent on direction, she, alas! pointed to a window. He shook his head at her and then at the window, and told her: "To jump out of that one would be as bad as having me arrested. Do you want the infernal reporters to make you ridiculous? Do you realize that I am the most-talked-about man in all New York? Don't you know what newspaper ridicule is? Don't you? Say no!" To make sure of her own grasp of the situation Mrs. Goodchild, who was dying to shriek at the top of her voice, compressed her lips. H. R. instantly perceived the state of affairs and double-turned the key by fiendishly placing his right forefinger to his own lips. This would give to his mother-in-law the two excellent habits of obedience and silence. He turned to the girl and said: "Grace, don't hide behind your mother. Let me look my fill. It's got to last me a whole week!" Grace saw in his face and knew from his voice that he was neither acting nor raving. His words were as the gospel, the oldest of all gospels, which, unlike all others, is particularly persuasive in the springtime. He was a fine-looking chap, and the newspapers were full of him, and he was in love with her. He interested her. But of course he was impossible. But also she was New York, and, to prove it, she must be epigrammatic. All her life she had listened to high-class vaudeville. She said, icily, yet with a subtle consciousness of her own humor, "If you wish to worship, why don't you try a church?" "Which?" he retorted so promptly and meaningly that she almost felt the wedding-ring on her finger. He pursued: "And when? I have the license all ready. See?" He pulled out of his pocket a long envelope containing a communication from Valiquet's lawyer. "Here it is!" and he held it toward her. Being young and healthy, she laughed approvingly. "Has it come to this, in my own house?" exclaimed Mrs. Goodchild in dismay. Being rich and living in New York, she did not know her daughter's affairs. "Why not?" asked H. R., with rebuking coldness. "In whose house should our marriage be discussed?" Then he spoke to Grace with a fervor that impressed both women: "I love you as men used to love when they were willing to murder for the sake of their love. Look at me!" He spoke so commandingly that Grace looked, wonder and doubt in her eyes. In some women incertitude expresses itself in silence. Her mother was of a different larynx. She wailed: "What shall I do? What shall I do?" And sank back in her arm-chair. After one second's hesitation Mrs. Goodchild decided to clasp her own hands with a gesture of helplessness such as Pilate would have used had he been Mrs. Pontius. She did so, turning the big emerald _en cabochon_, so that she could plaintively gaze at it. Eight thousand dollars. Then she turned the gem accusingly in the direction of this man who might, for all she knew, be penniless. He was good-looking. Hendrik was Dutch. So was Rutgers. Could he belong? "I beg your pardon, moth--Mrs. Goodchild," said H. R. so very courteously and contritely that he looked old-fashioned. "You must forgive me. But she _is_ beautiful! She will grow, God willing, to look more like you every day. By making me regard the future with pleasurable anticipation, you yourself give me one more reason why I must marry Grace." Grace looked at her mother and smiled--at the effect. Mrs. Goodchild confessed to forty-six. "I am making Grace Goodchild famous," H. R. pursued, briskly, and paused that they might listen attentively to what was to follow. Mother and daughter looked at him with irrepressible curiosity. Their own lives had so few red-blooded thrills for them that they enjoyed theatricals as being "real life." This man was an Experience! He shook his head and explained, mournfully: "It is very strange, this thing of not belonging to yourself but to the world. It is a sacrifice Grace must make!" His voice rang with a subtle regret. But suddenly he raised his head proudly and looked straight at her. "It is a sacrifice worth making--for the sake of the downtrodden whom you will uplift with your beauty. _Au revoir_, Grace. _I am needed!_" He approached her. She tried to draw back. He halted before her, took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. "I am the dirt under your feet," he murmured, and left the room. His was the gait of the Invincibles. He had cast a bewitching spell of unreality over the entire drawing-room that made Grace feel like both actress and audience. She heard him in the hall calling, "Frederick!" And, after a brief pause, "My hat and cane!" There was another pause. Then she heard Frederick say, infinitely more respectfully than Frederick had ever spoken to Mr. Goodchild, "Thank _you_ very much, sir." Mrs. Goodchild paid Frederick by the month for working. H. R. had given Frederick twenty dollars for being an utterly useless menial. Hence Frederick's logical gratitude and respect. XI H. R. walked to his office, thinking of the engagement-ring. He therefore rang for Maximilian Onthemaker, Esquire. "Come up at once!" "Damnation, I will," said Max. "I'm busy as the dickens, but an order from you is--" "Another front page--with pictures!" "I'm half-way up, already!" said Max. Before the telephone receiver could descend on the holder, H. R. heard a voice impatiently shriek, "Down!" to an elevator-man two and one-half miles away. When Mr. Onthemaker, his face alight with eagerness to serve the cause of the poor sandwich-men free gratis, for nothing, could speak, H. R. told him, calmly: "Max, I am going to marry the only daughter of George G. Goodchild, president of the Ketcham National Bank. Get photographs of her. Try La Touche and the other fashionable photographers. They will require an order from Miss Goodchild." "Written?" asked Mr. Onthemaker, anxiously. "I don't know." "I'll call up my office, and Miss Hirschbaum will give the order." "Can she talk like--" "Oh, she goes to the swell Gentile theaters," Max reassured him. "Don't say I'm engaged, and tell 'em not to bother the parents." He meant the reporters. Max thought of nothing else. "Leave it to me. Say, Hendrik--" "Mr. Rutgers!" The voice and the look made Max tremble and grow pale. "I was only joking," he apologized, weakly. He never repeated the offense. "I'll attend to it, Mr. Hendrik-- I mean Mr. Rutgers." "When Barrett comes in I'll send him down to you. Good day." When Andrew Barrett returned he said, impetuously, "I'm afraid I'll have to have some help, H. R." "I was going to tell you, my boy, that from to-morrow on you will have to go on salary." Barrett's smiles vanished. He shook his head. H. R. went on, in a kindly voice: "You've done very well and I'm much pleased with your work. But you mustn't be a hog." Barrett had made bushels of money by taking advantage of the opportunity to do so. The victorious idea was another's, the machinery was the society's, the work was done by the sandwiches. But Mr. Andrew Barrett was the salesman, the transmuter into cash. He was entitled to all he desired to make so long as he didn't raise prices. Injustice stared him in the face with smiles! Reducing his gain and smiling! H. R. would as lief get another man! Barrett forgot that he could get no business until H. R.'s astounding Valiquet's coup made the agent's job one of merely writing down names. He forgot it, but he did not forget his own successor. All he could say, in a boyishly obstinate way, was, "Well, I think--" "You mustn't think, and especially you must not think I'm an ass. You know very well that this is only the beginning of a very remarkable revolution in the advertising business. I need your services in installing the machinery and organizing the office, details that I leave to you because you have brains. Your salary will be a hundred a week and five per cent. on all new business. After I pass on to a still higher field I will make you a present of this business for you to have and to hold till death do you part. The Barrett Advertising Agency will be all yours. It will do a bigger business every year. And if you don't like it, you may leave this minute. You are young yet. Is it settled?" Andrew Barrett nodded. H. R. said, seriously: "It's about time sandwiching spread. How many on the Avenue to-day?" "Nineteen firms; one hundred and eleven men. I think--" H. R. knew what Barrett was about to say. He therefore said it for Barrett. "Now that you have Fifth Avenue, move west and east to Sixth and Madison and Fourth and try Broadway and Twenty-third and Thirty-fourth and Forty-second--" "I was just going to propose it to you," said Barrett, aggrievedly. "I know you have brains. That's why you are here. I trust you implicitly. This is a man's job. There will be big money in it for you. For me--" He ceased speaking, and stared meditatively out of the window. Andrew Barrett wondered with all his soul what the chief was reading in big print in the future. Andrew Barrett waited. Presently H. R. frowned. Then he smiled slightly. Barrett stared fascinatedly. Ah, the lure of mystery! If more men appreciated it, polygamy would be inevitable--and liberal divorce laws. H. R. looked up. "Oh, are you here?" he smiled paternally, forgivingly. Barrett beamed. "My boy, I wish you'd run over to Max Onthemaker's or get him on the telephone. The newspapers are going to publish it." "Yes, sir, I will. Er--what are they--what are you going to spring on an enraptured metropolis? "My impending marriage to Grace Goodchild, only daughter of Goodchild, president of the Ketcham National Bank. See that it is well handled. And, Barrett?" "Yes, sir?" "The old people don't relish the idea. She is the most beautiful girl in New York." "I've seen her! Pippinissima!" exclaimed Andrew Barrett, heartfully. "Ten millions," said Hendrik Rutgers, calmly. "My God!" whispered young Mr. Barrett, New-Yorker. He meant what he said. Ten millions! Mr. Onthemaker, Andrew Barrett, and their faithful phalanx of star space men who always signed their stuff called in a body on La Touche, the photographer of the moment. He refused to give them Miss Goodchild's photograph. He wished his name used, of course, but he was too sensible to disregard professional ethics. "Mr. Rutgers said we could get it," said Andrew Barrett, sternly. "I must have her permission. Hang it, boys, I am just as anxious as you--as I can be to do what I can for you. But I don't dare. These swell people are _queer_!" the photographer explained, aggrievedly. "I'll call her up myself," said Max Onthemaker, resolutely. "What's the Goodchild number?" He went to the telephone and gave the number of his own office in low tones. Presently he said, loudly enough to be heard by all, "Is this 777 Fifth Avenue?" He alone heard the answer. He would not lie. He was a lawyer. It was unnecessary. "Can I speak with Miss Goodchild? No; _Miss_ Goodchild." After a judiciously measured pause he spoke again: "Good afternoon. This is Mr. Onthemaker speaking. Quite well, thank you. I hope you are the same!... That's good!... Yes, miss, I saw him this morning. The papers wish to publish your photograph.... I'm sorry, but they say they simply must!... I am at La Touche's studio.... They doubtless do not do you justice, but they are the best ever taken of you--... No, I don't think they can wait for new ones.... One moment, please--" He held his hand in front of the transmitter so she couldn't hear him say to La Touche: "She wants some new ones." "To-morrow at two," said La Touche. "Give us the old ones now," chorused the reporters. "We'll publish the new ones for the wedding." "I am sorry"--Max again spoke into the telephone--"but they say they want some now. They'll use the others later.... Which one?... The one Mr. Rutgers likes?... Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much." Foreseeing unintelligent incredulity, Mr. Onthemaker did not hang up the receiver. It was just as well, for the cautious La Touche said, "I want to talk to her." "Certainly," said Max, and hastily rose. "Miss Goodchild," said the photographer, respectfully, "will it be all right if I let the reporters have--" "Give him the one Mr. Rutgers likes," came in a sweet voice, without the slightest trace of Yiddish or catarrh. They would be wonderful linguists, if they didn't always begin by, "Say, listen." "Which one is that?" "The one he likes. And please send the bill to me, not to papa," with the accent properly on the last syllable. "There will be no charge, Miss Goodchild. Thank you. I only wished to make sure you approved." La Touche rose and, turning to the friendly reporters, asked, wrathfully, "How in blazes do I know which is the one Mr. Rutgers liked?" "Let us pick it out," said one reporter. He wore his hair long. "Any one will do," said another, considerately. "I think I know which it is," said Barrett, taking pity on the photographer. To Mr. Onthemaker he whispered, "Max, you're a second H. R." "I try to be," modestly said Sam. And so the newspapers published the official preference of the lucky man. They published it because she was going to marry H. R. That same morning Mr. Goodchild called up the city editors. He was so stupid that he was angry. He threatened criminal action and also denied the engagement. Rutgers was only a discharged clerk who had worked in his bank. He had been annoying his daughter, but he, Mr. Goodchild, would take steps to put an end to further persecution. Rutgers would not be allowed to call. He had, Mr. Goodchild admitted, called--uninvited. Had a man no privacy in New York? What was the matter with the police? What was he paying taxes for--to be annoyed by insane adventurers and damned reporters? He didn't want any impertinence. If they didn't print the denial of the engagement and the facts he would put the matter in his lawyer's hands. The afternoon papers that day and the morning papers on the next printed another portrait of Miss Grace Goodchild because she was not engaged to H. R. It was so exactly what a Wall Street millionaire father would do that everybody in New York instantly recognized a romance in high life! Grace Goodchild never had known before how many people knew her and how many more wished to know her. The reporters camped on her front door-steps and the camera specialists could not be shooed away by Mr. Goodchild when he was going out on his way to the bank. He assaulted a photographer. The papers therefore printed a picture of the infuriated money power in the act of using a club on a defenseless citizen. They did it very cleverly: by manipulating the plates they made Mr. Goodchild look four times the size of the poor photographer. Max Onthemaker brought suit for fifty thousand dollars damages to the feelings, cranium, and camera of Jeremiah Legare, the _Tribune_'s society snapper. From 10 A.M. to 7 P.M. Grace held a continuous levee. Mrs. Goodchild was in handsomely gowned hysterics. Mr. Goodchild got drunk at his club. Yes, he did. The house committee ignored it. When they saw the afternoon papers they condoned it. And yet all that the newspapers said was that Grace Goodchild and Hendrik Rutgers were _not_ married. And they blame the papers for inaccuracy. H. R. knew that he must make his love for Grace plausible, and his determination to marry her persistent and picturesque. His concern was with the public. He therefore called up Grace on the telephone. At the other end they wished to know who was speaking. He replied, "Tell Frederick to come to the telephone at once!" Frederick responded. "Are you there?" asked H. R., after the fashion of Frederick's compatriots. "Frederick, go instantly to Miss Grace and tell her to come to the telephone on a matter of life and death. It's Mr. Rutgers. Don't mention my name." This wasn't one of Frederick's few duties when he deigned to accept employment in the Goodchild household. But H. R. expected to be obeyed. Therefore he was obeyed. "Yes, sir; very good, sir," said Frederick, proud to act as Mercury. He rushed off. "Telephone, Miss Grace. He said it was a matter of life and death." "Who is it? Another reporter?" "Oh no, ma'am. He's waiting, my lady." Once in a while Frederick proved that he was worth his weight in gold by forgetting that he was in America. When he did, he always called Grace my lady. She therefore went to the telephone. Of course H. R. was born lucky. But, as a matter of fact, by deliberately establishing Frederick on a plane of perennial inferiority he had made such a stroke of luck inevitable. Since it was a matter of life and death, Grace instantly asked, "_Who_ is it?" "Listen, Grace. The entire country is going wild about you. Your portrait is being admired from Maine to California. But bear up with what's coming. We've got to bring father around to our way of thinking, and--" "Who is it? Who is it?" "Great Scott! Can't you recognize the voice? It's Hendrik." Her exasperated nerves made her say, angrily, "I think you are--" "Don't think I'm conceited, but I know it." "I feel like telling you--" "I'll say it for you. Close your ears till I'm done." After a pause: "I've insulted myself. I love you all the more for it! Grace, you must be brave! If you survive this next week--" "My God!" she said, invoking divine aid for the first time since they moved to Fifth Avenue, thinking of what the newspapers could say. "He's with us, sweetheart," Hendrik assured her. "Are you an Episcopalian?" "Yes!" she replied before she could think of not answering. "Good! I love you. Wait!" His voice as he entreated her to wait rang with such anguish that she irrepressibly asked, "What?" "_I love you!_" He left the telephone and gathered together sixty-eight clippings, which he put in an envelope. He went to a fashionable florist, opened an account, and ordered some exquisite flowers. They were going to ask for financial references, but the flowers he ordered were so expensive that they felt ashamed of their own distrust. He stopped at Valiquet's, where they hated him so much that they respected him, bought a wonderful gold vanity-box, inside of which he sent a card. On the card he wrote: _More than ever!_ H. R. He sent clippings, flowers, and vanity-box to Miss Goodchild, 777 Fifth Avenue, by messenger. Charge account. He sent for Fleming and told him he wished the Public Sentiment Corps to tackle their first job. H. R. had prepared a dozen letters of protest which the artists must copy before receiving their day's wages--one copy for each paper. The letters expressed the writers' admiration, contempt, approval, abhorrence, indignation, and commendation of the journalistic treatment of the Goodchild-Rutgers affair. Real names and real addresses were given. It beat Pro Bono Publico, Old Subscriber, and Decent Citizen all to pieces. H. R. supplied various kinds of stationery--some with crests, others very humble. The chirography was different. That alone was art. The newspapers realized that H. R. had become news. The public wanted to read about him. The papers were the servants of the public. Circulation was invented for that very purpose. Not content with the services of the Public Sentiment Corps, H. R. commanded Andrew Barrett to tip off the friendly reporters--Andrew by this time was calling them by their first name--to watch the Goodchild residence on Fifth Avenue and also the Ketcham National Bank on Nassau Street. Thinking that this meant elopement up-town and shooting down-town, the reporters despatched the sob artists to Fifth Avenue and the veteran death-watch to the bank. They were rewarded. Parading up and down the Goodchild block on the Avenue were six sandwich-men. They carried the swellest sandwiches in Christendom. This was the first use of the famous iridescent glass mosaic sandwich in history. It was exquisitely beautiful. But the legends were even more beautiful: [Illustration: I SHALL MARRY GRACE GOODCHILD NO MATTER WHO SAYS NO!] This last he stationed in front of the Goodchild house. Across the street, leaning against the Central Park wall, was Morris Lazarus, Mr. Onthemaker's able associate counsel. His pockets were bulging with numbered legal documents in anticipation of hostilities from Christians, policemen, and other aliens. He had told the reporters that he was one of Mr. Rutgers's counsel and did not propose to allow the sandwich-men to be interfered with by anybody. He also distributed his card, that the name might not be misspelled. He had not yet changed Morris into Maurice. [Illustration: NO OPPOSITION CAN KEEP ME FROM MARRYING GRACE GOODCHILD] [Illustration: SEE THE NEWSPAPERS FOR ACCOUNTS OF THE MARRIAGE OF GRACE GOODCHILD TO HENDRIK RUTGERS] [Illustration: WEDDING OF GRACE GOODCHILD AND HENDRIK RUTGERS FOR DATE WATCH THIS SPACE] [Illustration: ALL THE WORLD LOVES A LOVER. LOVE GRACE GOODCHILD AND ME TOO] [Illustration: DO YOU BLAME ME FOR WISHING TO MARRY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN THE WHOLE WORLD? SHE LIVES HERE!] The sandwiches paraded up and down the Avenue sidewalk, never once going off the block. As two of the artists passed each other they saluted--the sandwich union's sign a rigid forefinger drawn quickly across the throat with a decapitating sweep: lambs expecting execution in the world's vast abattoir. The answering sign was a quick mouthward motion of the rigid thumb to represent the assuaging of thirst at the close of day. Thus did H. R. reward industry. Before the sandwich-men had made the beat a dozen times all upper Fifth Avenue heard about it. A stream of limousines, preciously freighted, halted before the Goodchild mansion and poured out into the sidewalk friends and acquaintances of the Goodchilds. On the dowagers' faces you could see the smug self-congratulations that their daughters, thank goodness, did not have to be wooed thus vulgarly to get into the newspapers. And on the daughters the watching reporters saw smiles and envious gleams of bright eyes. Why couldn't _they_ be thus desperately wooed in public? To let the world know you were desired, to have a man brave all the world in order to let the world know it! It was heroism! And even more: it was great fun! The dowagers went in to express both surprise and condolence to Mrs. Goodchild. The girls rushed to Grace's boudoir to ask questions. Mrs. Goodchild tried to brazen it out. Then she tried to treat it humorously. But the dowagers called both bluffs. Then she foolishly told them, "The poor young man is quite insane." They chorused, "He must be!" with conviction--the conviction that she was lying like a suburban boomer. Of course she paid him for the work. Grace was in an unphilosophical frame of mind. H. R. had made her the laughing-stock of New York. It would have been ridiculous if it were not so serious to her social plans. She hated him! Being absolutely helpless to help herself, her hatred embraced the world--the world that would laugh at her! All the world! Particularly the women. Especially those of her own age. They would laugh! This is the unforgivable sin in women because their sense of humor is _minus_. And when they laugh-- Just then the avalanche of those she hated the most swooped down upon her. Her eyes were red from acute aqueous mortification. They saw it. They said in chorus, sorrowfully, "You poor thing!" Who said the rich had no hearts? The girls had given to her poverty without her asking for it. It always makes people charitable when they create poverty unasked. "I wouldn't stand it!" cried one. "Nor I!" chorused fourteen of Grace's best friends. Outside, the Avenue, for the first time in its dazzling history, was blocked by automobiles. You would have sworn it was the shopping district in the Christmas week. The reason was that the occupants of the autos had told the chauffeurs to stop until they could read the sandwiches. The reporters were ringing the front-door bell and the rapid-fire tintinnabulation was driving Frederick frantic. Mrs. Goodchild had told him not to send for the police. The reporters, feeling treated like rank outsiders, were in no pleasant frame of mind. Up-stairs Grace, hiding her wrath, overwhelmed by the accursed sympathy of her best friends, said, helplessly, "What can I do?" She didn't like to tell them she wished to bury them with her own hands. From fifteen youthful throats burst forth the same golden word--"_Elope!_" She gasped and stared blankly. "It's the greatest thing I ever heard. I don't know him, but if he is half-way presentable you can teach him table manners in a week. I'd make my father give him a job in the bank!" asserted Marion Beekman. "Me, too!" declared Ethel Vandergilt. "He's just splendid," volunteered a brunette, enthusiastically. "And did you see the papers!" shrieked Verona Mortimer. "I say, _did_ you see the papers? _And_ the pictures! Girls, she's a regular devil, and we never knew it! Where did you hide your brains all these years, Gracie, dear?" "I never would have thought it possible," said the cold, philosophical Katherine Van Schaick. "I call it mighty well engineered. Did _you_ tell him to do it, Grace? If so you are a genius!" "What does he look like?" "Is he of the old New Jersey Rutgers?" "If he's good-looking and has money, what's wrong with him? Booze?" asked a practical one. "He isn't married, is he?" asked a doll-face with Reno in her heavenly eyes. At this a hush fell on the group. It was the big moment. "How exciting!" murmured one. "Is he married, Grace?" Fifteen pairs of eyes pasted themselves on Gracie's. She barely caught herself on the verge of confessing ignorance. She was dazed by the new aspect of her own love-affair. These girls envied her! "No!" she said, recklessly. "It's her father," prompted a slim young Sherlock Holmes. "No; Mrs. Goodchild!" corrected a greater genius. "Maybe it's Grace herself," suggested the envious Milly Walton. "How can I stop it?" asked Grace, angrily. "_What?_" shrieked all. "Why, girls," said Miss Van Schaick, "she isn't responsible for it, after all!" Before the disappointment could spoil their pleasure one of them said, impatiently, "Oh, let's look at 'em!" They rushed to the window. "Let's go downstairs. We can see 'em better!" And Grace's friends thereupon rushed away. One of them was considerate enough to say, "Come on, Grace!" and Grace followed, not quite grasping the change in the situation. Her fears were not so keen; her doubts keener. They nearly overturned their respective mammas in their rush to get to the windows. "Grace," said Miss Van Schaick, who had never before called her anything but "Miss--er--Goodchild," "send out and tell them to stop and face this way. I don't think I read all the sandwiches." "Yes! Yes!" "Oh, do!" "Please, Grace, tell 'em!" It sounded like election, when women shall vote. Much more melodious than to-day. The dowagers were made speechless. They had acquired that habit before their daughters. Grace capitulated to the incense. "Frederick, go out and tell them to stop and face this way," commanded Grace, with a benignant smile. "My de--" began Mrs. Goodchild, mildly. "I have lived," said Miss Van Schaick in her high-bred, level voice that people admiringly called insulting, "to see a New York society man do something really original. I must ask Beekman Rutgers why his branch of the family did not inherit brains with the real estate." Mrs. Goodchild gasped--and began to look resigned. From there to pride the jump would be slight. But hers was not a mind that readjusted itself very quickly. "Oh, look!" and the girls began to read the legends aloud. The dowagers rose, prompted by the same horrid fear. Chauffeurs were bad enough. But sandwich-men! The world moves rapidly these days. One week ago these mothers did not know sandwich-men even existed. A new peril springs up every day. They decided, being wise, not to scold their daughters. The girls shook hands with Grace with such warmth that she felt as if each had left a hateful wedding-gift in her palm. Mrs. Goodchild went up-stairs weeping or very close to it. She could not see whither it all would lead, and she was the kind that must plan everything in advance to be comfortable. By always using a memorandum calendar she cleverly managed to have something to look forward to in this life. Grace remained. She was thinking. When she thought she always tapped on the floor with her right foot, rhythmically. She realized that H. R.'s courtship of her had changed in aspect. She knew that girls in her set thought everything was a lark. But they themselves did not visit those who had larked beyond a certain point. An ecstatic "What fun!" soon changed to a frigid "How perfectly silly!" It was not so difficult to treat the sandwich episode humorously now, or even to take intelligent advantage of the publicity. She knew that, with the negligible exception of a few old fogies, the crass vulgarity of H. R.'s public performances would not harm her unless her father took it seriously enough to appeal to the law about it, when the same old fogies would say she should have ignored it. But she could not clearly see the end of it--that is, an ending that would redound to her glory. This man was a puzzle, a paradox, an exasperation. He was too unusual, too adventurous, too clever, too dangerous; he had too much to gain and nothing to lose. How should she treat him? He did not classify easily. He was masterful. He loved her. Masterful men in love have a habit of making themselves disagreeable. In how many ways would this masterful man, who was resourceful, original, undeterred by conventions, indifferent to the niceties of life, unafraid of public opinion as of social ostracism, make himself disagreeable? Was he serious in his determination to marry her? Or was it merely a scheme to obtain notoriety? Was he a crank or a criminal? She couldn't marry him. What would he do? What wouldn't he do? How long would he keep it up? Must she flee to Europe? Her foot was tap-tapping away furiously. She ceased to think in order to hate him! Then because she hated him she feared him. Then because she feared him she respected him. Then because she respected him she didn't hate him. Then because she didn't hate she began to think of him. But all she knew about him was that he said he loved her and everybody in New York knew it! Who was he? What was he? Should she start an inquiry? And yet-- "I beg pardon, miss. But the men--" Frederick paused. "Yes?" "They are standing." He meant the sandwiches. "Well?" "They are," he reminded her, desperately but proudly, "Mr. Rutgers's men." "Tell them to go away," she said. He stared a moment, for as the consort of the owner of the men she had feudal obligations to fulfil. He remembered that this was America. "Very good, miss," he said. She went up-stairs. She wished to think. It would probably make her head ache. She therefore told her maid to wake her at six and, taking up one of Edwin Lefevre's books, she went to sleep. XII On Nassau Street twenty sandwich-men were parading, ten on each side of the street, in the block where the Ketcham National Bank stood. Each sandwich bore this legend: [Illustration: ASK THE PRESIDENT OF THE KETCHAM NATIONAL BANK WHY? HE WON'T LET ME MARRY HIS DAUGHTER. ASK HIM!] Besides 12,466 men and 289 women, 13 reporters read the sandwiches. The men looked pleased; they were seeing a show on D. H. tickets. The women sighed enviously and opened their latest Robert W. Chambers in the street as they walked on. The thirteen reporters walked into the bank, went straight into the president's office, and while he was still smiling his welcome asked him why he would not let H. R. marry Grace. Mr. Goodchild nearly sat in the electric chair. The vice-president fortunately was able to grasp in time the hand that held the big paper-weight. "Remember the bank!" solemnly counseled the vice-president. "To hell with the bank!" said Mr. George G. Goodchild for the first and only time in his Republican life. "Unless you talk to us fully and politely," said the _Globe_ man, "we propose to interview your directors and ask each and every one of them to tell us the name of your successor. If you raise your hand again I'll not only break in your face, but I'll sue you and thus secure vacation money and a raise in salary. The jury is with me. Come! Tell us why you won't let Mr. Rutgers marry Grace." Here in his own office the president of a big Wall Street bank was threatened with obliterated features and the extraction of cash. The cause of it, H. R., was worse than a combination of socialism and smallpox; he was even worse than a President of the United States in an artificial bull market. Mr. Goodchild walked up and down the room exactly thirteen times--one for each reporter--and then turned to the vice-president. "Send for the police!" he commanded. "Remember the newspapers," agonizedly whispered the vice-president. The _Globe_ man overheard him. "Present!" he said, and saluted. Then he took out a lead-pencil, seized a pad from the president's own desk, and said, kindly, "I'll take down all your reasons in shorthand, Mr. Goodchild!" "Take yourself to hell!" shrieked the president. "_Après vous, mon cher Alphonse_," retorted the _Globe_ man, with exquisite courtesy. "Boys, you heard him. Verbatim!" All the reporters wrote four words. The _Globe_ man hastily left the president's room and went up to the bank's gray-coated private policeman who was trying to distinguish between the few who wished to deposit money and the many who desired to ask the sandwich question or at least hoped to hear the answer. The sacred precincts of the Ketcham National Bank had taken on the aspect of a circus arena. H. R.'s erstwhile fellow-clerks looked the only way they dared--terrified! They would have given a great deal to have been able to act as human beings. "The reporters are in the president's room!" ran the whisper among the clerks. From there it reached the curious mob within the bank. From there it spread to the congested proletariate without the doors. Said proletariate began to grow. Baseball bulletin-boards were not displayed, but the public was going to get something for nothing. Hence, free country. The _Globe_ man heard one of the bank's messengers call the policeman "Jim." Being a contemporary historian, he addressed the policeman amicably. "Jim, Mr. Goodchild says to bring in Senator Lowry and party." With that he beckoned to the _Globe_'s militant photographers and five colleagues and preceded them into the president's private office. "Quick work, Tommy," warned the reporter. "Flash?" laconically inquired "Senator Lowry." He was such a famous portraitist that his sitters never gave him time to talk. Hence his habit of speaking while he could. He prepared his flash-powder. "Yep!" and the reporter nodded. The others also unlimbered their cameras. The _Globe_ man threw open the door. The president was angrily haranguing the reporters. "Mr. Goodchild," said the _Globe_ man, "look pleasant!" Mr. Goodchild turned quickly and opened his mouth. _Bang!_ went, the flash-powder. "Hel--" shrieked Mr. Goodchild. "--p!" said the pious young _Journal_ man, with an air of completing the presidential speech. A good editor is worth his weight in pearls. The photographers' corps retreated in good order and record time. "For the third and last time will you tell us why you won't let your daughter marry Mr. Rutgers!" asked the _Globe_. "No." "Then will you tell us why you won't let Mr. Rutgers marry your daughter?" Mr. Goodchild was conservative to the last. Too many people who needed money had talked to him in the borrower's tone of voice. He could not grasp the new era. He said, "You infernal blackmailer--" "Sir," cut in the _Globe_ man, with dignity, "you are positively insulting! Be nice to the other reporters. I thank you for the interview!" He bowed and left the office, followed by all the others except the _Evening Post_ man, who, unfortunately, had never been able to rid himself of the desire to get the facts. It was partly his editor, but mostly the absence of a sense of humor. "I think, Mr. Goodchild, that you'd better give me an official statement. I'll give the Associated Press man a copy, and that will go to all the papers." "But I don't want to say anything," protested Mr. Goodchild, who always read the _Post_'s money page. "The other reporters will say it for you. I think you'd better." "He's right, Mr. Goodchild," said the vice-president. "But what the dickens can I say?" queried Mr. Goodchild, helplessly, not daring to look out of the window for fear of seeing the sandwiches. "If I were you," earnestly advised the _Post_ man, "I'd tell the truth." "What do you mean?" "Say why you won't let your daughter--" "It's preposterous!" "Say it; but also say why it is preposterous." Two directors of the bank came in. They were high in high finance. In fact, they _were_ High Finance. They therefore knew only the newspapers of an older generation, as they had proven by their testimony before a Congressional Committee. The older director looked at Mr. Goodchild and began: "Goodchild, will you tell me why--" "You, too?" interrupted Mr. Goodchild, reproachfully but respectfully. "First the reporters and now--" The directors gasped. "You didn't--actually--talk--for--_publication_?" They stared at him incredulously. "No. But I'm thinking of giving out a carefully prepared statement--" The higher of the high financiers, with the masterfulness that made him richer every panic, assumed supreme command. He turned to the _Post_ man and said: "I'm surprised to see you here. Your paper used to be decent. Mr. Goodchild has nothing to say." "But--" protested the anguished father of Grace Goodchild. "You haven't!" declared $100,000,000. "I have nothing to say!" meekly echoed one-tenth of one hundred. The _Post_ man walked out with a distinctly editorial stride. He began to envy the yellows and their vulgar editors, as all _Post_ men must at times. Mr. Goodchild's efforts to suppress the publication of his family affairs were in vain. He unfortunately sought to argue over the telephone with the owners. The owners spoke to the editors. "It's _News_!" the editors pointed out. "It's _News_," the owners regretfully explained to the bank president. "But it's a crime against decency," said Mr. Goodchild. "You are right. It's a damned shame. But it's _News_!" said the owners, and hung up. Mr. Goodchild summoned his lawyer. The lawyer looked grave. He recognized the uselessness of trying to stop the newspapers, and realized that there would be no fat fees, even if he were otherwise successful. He tried to frighten H. R., but was referred to Max Onthemaker, Esquire. Max Onthemaker, Esquire, was in heaven. He finally had butted into polite society! From the Bowery to Wall Street! At last he was opposed by the very best. A lawyer is known by his opponents! Mr. Lindsay protested with quite unprofessional heat. It was an outrage. "_Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur_," Mr. Onthemaker solemnly reminded the leader of the corporation bar. "Also, dear Mr. Lindsay, I am ready to accept service of any paper you may see fit to honor us with. My client means to fight to the bitter end." "Yes, in the newspapers!" bitterly said the eminent Mr. Lindsay through his clenched teeth. "And with sandwiches! When we ask for bread you give us a stone. But we give you a sandwich. There's no ground for criminal action in view of the public's frame of mind toward the money power. But if you will sue us for one million dollars damages I'll name my forthcoming baby after you." Mr. Lindsay hung up with violence, mistaking the telephone-holder for Mr. Onthemaker's cranium. XIII The reporters of the conservative journals sought H. R. later in the day--simply because the reporters for the live newspapers did. The system was to blame. A daily paper may eschew vulgarity, but it must not be beaten. By using better grammar and no adjectives they intelligently show they are never sensational. The newspaper-men confronted H. R. eagerly. It was the day's big story. They asked him about it. He said to them, very simply, "I love her!" They wrote it down. He waited until they had finished. Then he went on: "She is the most beautiful girl in the world--to me. Don't forget that--_to me_!" Those two words would prevent two million sneers from the other most beautiful girls in the world who at that moment happened to reside in New York. Indeed, all his words would be read aloud to young men by said two million coral lips. Perfect Cupid's bows. She was beautiful--_to him_! "Her parents oppose my suit," went on H. R., calmly. "Is this a free country," interjected Max Onthemaker, vehemently, "or are we in Russia? Has Wall Street established morganatic marriages in this Republic, or--" H. R. held up a quieting hand. Max Onthemaker smiled at the rebuke. Two reporters had taken down his remarks. "I have told her parents that I propose to marry Miss Goodchild--peacefully. Get that straight, please. Peacefully! I am a law-abiding citizen. She is very beautiful. But I am willing to wait--a few weeks." "Yes. But the sandwiches," began a reporter who entertained hopes of becoming a Public Utility Corporation's publicity man. H. R. stopped him with an impressive frown. He cleared his throat. The reporters felt it coming. "What I have done--" he began. "Yes! Yes!" "--is merely the employment for the first time in history of _psychological sabotage_!" The reporters, now having the head-line, rushed off. All except one, who whispered to H. R.'s counsel: "What in blazes _is_ sabotage? How do you spell it?" "Quit your joking," answered Max. "You know very well what it is. Isn't he a wonder? Psychological sabotage!" The newspapers gave it space in proportion to the extent of their Wall Street affiliations. The _Evening Post_, having none, came out with an editorial on "Psychological Sabotage." It held up H. R. as a product of the times, made inevitable by T. Roosevelt. The _World_ editorialized on "The Wall Street Spirit _versus_ Love"; the _Times_ wrote about "The Ethics of Modern Courtship"; and the _Sun_ about "The Decay of Manners under the Present Administration and its Mexican Policy." The _American_'s editorial was "Intelligent Eugenics and Unintelligent Wealth." But all of them quoted "Psychological Sabotage." This made the Socialist papers espouse the cause of H. R. The _Globe_, however, beat them all. It offered to supply to the young couple, free of charge, a complete kitchen-set and the services of a knot-tier. It printed the names and addresses of sixteen clergymen, two rabbis, three aldermen, and the Mayor of the City of New York. The Public Sentiment Corps copied two hundred and thirty-eight letters prepared by the boss, praising and condemning H. R. and Mr. Goodchild. This compelled the newspapers that received the letters to run Grace's portrait daily--a new photograph each time. As for Grace herself, crowds followed her. She could not go into a restaurant without making all heads turn in her direction. People even stopped dancing when they saw her. And six of New York's bluest-blooded heiresses became her inseparable companions. They also had their pictures printed. Grace hated all this notoriety. She said so, at times. But her friends soothed her and developed the habit of looking pleasantly at cameras. H. R. on the third day sent all the clippings to Grace with beautiful flowers and a note: _For your sake!_ One of Grace's friends asked to be allowed to keep the note. It reminded her, she said, of the early Christians; also of the days of knighthood. The commercial phase of the mission of the Society of American Sandwich Artists had become in the meanwhile a matter of real importance to the business world. Business men, not being artists, are stupid because they deal with money-profits, and they are imitative because money-making in the ultimate analysis is never original. When the merchants of New York perceived that Fifth Avenue had sanctified sandwiching by paying cash for it, and that the better shops elsewhere had perforce resorted to it, they accepted it as one of the conditions of modern merchandising. It did not become a fad, but worse--an imagined necessity and, as such, an institution. The little Valiquet-made statuettes of the Ultimate Sandwich sold by the thousands, greatly adding to the personal assets of the secretary and treasurer of the society. And what New York did, other cities wished to do. Then the blow fell! On the same day that H. R. sent his early Christian message to Grace, Andrew Barrett reported that while some of the streets were almost impassable for the multitude of sandwiches, the greater part of the latter, alas! were _non-union men_! "They are using their porters and janitors to carry boards," said Andrew Barrett, bitterly. "I tell you, H. R., this is a crisis!" H. R., thinking of Grace, nodded absently and said, "Send for Onthemaker." Max came on the run. Nearly three days had elapsed without a front-page paragraph for him. Barrett told him about the crisis. Their idea had been stolen and utilized by unscrupulous merchants who were sandwiching without permission and using scabs. "I get you," said Max Onthemaker. Then he turned to the chief and told him: "H. R., you've got to do something to make George G. Goodchild sue you for a million dollars." He had drawn and kept ready for use sixty-three varieties of restraining orders, writs, etc. "What's that got to do with our--" began Andrew Barrett, impatiently. "Certainly!" cut in Mr. Onthemaker. "We must fight Capital with its own weapon. The Money Power is great on injunctions. I wish to say that when it comes to injunctions I've got Wall Street gasping for breath and--" "Yes, but what about the scabs? Can't you stop 'em?" persisted Barrett. The future of the Barrett Itinerant Advertising Agency was at stake. "Sure! We can hire strong-arm--" "No!" said H. R., decisively. Andrew Barrett, who had begun to look hopeful, frowned at his leader's negative, and said, desperately, "Something has got to be done!" When human beings say "Something" in that tone of voice they mean dynamite by proxy. "Certainly!" agreed H. R., absently, his mind still on Grace. Andrew Barrett stifled a groan. He whispered to Max, "It's the girl!" Max looked alarmed, then hopeful. Grace was almost as much News as H. R. himself. Andrew Barrett turned to H. R., and said, reproachfully: "Here we've made sandwiching what it is, and these infernal tightwads--" "That's the word, Barrett," cut in H. R. "Go to it, my son!" "How do you mean?" asked Barrett. "Advertise in all the papers, morning and evening." Young Mr. Barrett stared at him, then he shook his head, tapped it with his knuckles, and confessed: "Solid!" "_Give me a pencil!_" said H. R. It sounded like "Fix bayonets!" "Nothing," Mr. Onthemaker permitted himself to observe, judicially, "is so conducive to front-page publicity as intelligent violence. This is not a strike, but a cause. Look at the militants--" "There is something in that," admitted A. Barrett. "There is something," said H. R., gently, "in everything, even in Max's cranium. But, this is not a matter of principle, but of making money." "But if you first establish--" "No," interrupted H. R. "If you make money, the principle establishes itself. The situation does not call for a flash of inspiration, but for common sense. Listen carefully: Nothing is so timid as Capital!" He looked at them as if further talk were redundant, superfluous, unnecessary, a waste of time, and an insult. "Well?" said Barrett, forgetting himself and speaking impatiently. "Utilize it. Treat it as you would a problem in mathematics. You start with an axiom. Build on it. Capital is timid. Therefore, people who have money never do anything original; that is to say, venturesome; that is to say, courageous. All new enterprises are begun and carried through by people who have no money of their own to lose. I, single-handed, could defeat an army commanded by Alexander, Cæsar, Napoleon, and U. S. Grant, if I could put into the pockets of each of the enemy's private soldiers six dollars in cash. No man likes to be killed with money in his clothes. Money is fear! Fear is unreasoning. I am opposed to injecting fear into the situation. No, sir; instead, we must capitalize another human force. Have this printed. Big blank margin. All the papers." He gave them what he had written: TO THE PUBLIC We are Union Men but we are for Peace. We do not hate scabs: we pity them! We do _not_ pity Tightwads who make scabs possible. We made Sandwiching an Art, also an Honorable Occupation. We feed our hungry men out of our Hunger Fund. Those who work support those who can't, until they in turn find work. We ask for living wages, but also for the respect of the public. Our Emblem is the Sign of the Ultimate Sandwich. Every time you see a Sandwich-Board without it you may be sure it belongs to a merchant who skimps his Advertising Appropriation. If he skimps in that, what won't he skimp in? How about the _quality_ of his goods and his _values_? We advertise the High-class Trade, honest advertisers who skimp in nothing to please the public. No merchant can misrepresent his goods through us. We do not Advertise Frauds nor Misers. We could frighten off the Poor Men whose hunger makes scabs of them. We would have the approval of the Labor Organizations and of the thinking public. _But we are for the Law!_ They can join our Union if they wish. There is no Initiation Fee. There is no compulsion to join. They are American Citizens! _So Are We!_ The Tightwad Merchant may not be Dishonest. But-- The Public Must Judge--Calmly. Look for the Ultimate Sandwich in all signs! American Society of Sandwich Artists. H. R., _Sec._ WE NEVER SOLICIT SUBSCRIPTIONS! Andrew Barrett read it. His jaw dropped and he stared at H. R. Then he declared with conviction: "Next to the Gettysburg address, this! WE--NEV-ER--SO-LI-CIT--SUB-SCRIP-TIONS! Where does it all come from?" H. R. solemnly pointed to the ceiling of his office, meaning thereby, like most Americans, heaven. Max Onthemaker looked at him dubiously, the Deity being extra-judicial. Then he shook his head uncertainly. History had told of Peter the Hermit, Mohammed, and others. It was a familiar hypothesis. The public, when it read in the newspapers that these poor men did not believe in killing scabs, but hated tightwads and never asked for subscriptions, unmistakably and unreservedly espoused their cause. The man who skimped was the common foe of the free citizen. They wrote letters to the newspapers. So did the Public Sentiment Corps. To hate tightwads and never to ask for subscriptions were admirable American traits. Christian merchants and even heretics in trade called them Virtues! Big business took the trouble to tell the reporters that this was the kind of labor organization everybody could approve of. It was a check to Socialism. Big business believes in some kinds of checks. The labor organizations could not condemn a union. They said they also were for peace and against the wretches who capitalized the hunger of their fellows. In twenty-four hours the scab-users surrendered! More clippings for Grace. The Society of American Sandwich Artists prudently leased three more offices and prepared for the rush. It came. Orders poured in from scores of merchants. The premises were so crowded with men both with and without sandwich-boards that the other tenants complained. The agent of the Allied Arts Building requested H. R. to vacate. He requested it three times an hour, from nine to six. "The other tenants object to your sandwiches," the agent explained to H. R. "Let 'em move out. We'll take the whole building--at a fair concession. "Move out yourself!" shrieked the agent. "See our lawyer," said H. R., and turned his back on the agent. The agent called on Mr. Onthemaker. "Fifty thousand dollars!" said Max. The agent fled, holding his watch in place. In the mean time the treasury of the society was growing apace. H. R. transferred his account. He now deposited the funds with the National Bank of the Avenue. The president, Mr. Wyman, told Mr. Goodchild about it. Mr. Goodchild, who had turned red as H. R.'s name was mentioned by a highly esteemed colleague, looked thoughtful--he might have had the account. XIV In the very hour of his great success H. R. suddenly was thus confronted by the greatest menace to a political career--wealth! In one morning's mail he received three hundred and eighty-four offers to become the advertising Napoleon of national concerns; no limit to the advertising appropriations. He added up the aggregate offers of salary and maximum commissions. His income, if he accepted all the offers, would amount to $614,500 per annum. So great is the danger and so widely recognized is it that nobody is worthy of respect until he is threatened by wealth with wealth. Should H. R. accept greatness to-day and let to-morrow bring the littleness? He did not reply to his correspondents. He thus went up in their estimation. To refuse to take money is something. To refuse even to refuse it is everything! He prepared a memorandum containing all the offers he had received, with the sum total of same, and sent the originals of the letters and telegrams to Mr. Goodchild. His only comment, in careless lead-pencil, was what it should be: "_Not enough!_" He knew Mr. Goodchild would speak about it. How could Mr. Goodchild help it? Didn't $614,500 begin with a $? But H. R. did not think of what he had not done, not even of what he had done, but of what he would do. Doers of deeds always think that way. To them yesterday is as dead as Cæsar. To-day is settled. To-morrow alone is greater opportunity! He therefore thought of himself. That made him think of Grace. He had no illusions about himself, but, what was far more intelligent, he had none about anybody else. He was aware that already the world was divided in their opinion of him. To some he was a humbug, to others a crank; to some a genius, to a few a dangerous demagogue. People respect what they fear. Fear always puts humanity in the attitude of a rat in a corner. That is why people with a passion for making money naturally think of corners. To make millions of men follow is to make millions of dollars shake. But his was an infinitely more difficult problem. How to become the fear of the rich and at the same time be respected by the best element? He had no precedents by which to guide his steps, no example that he might modernize and follow. He reduced the problem to its simplest form? To bring this about he would preach Brotherhood. To stop the mouths that thereupon would call him Socialist he would cover his effort. Then, in the chemical reactions of his mind, something flashed! He would do something to attract the best element. That would bring in the mob. What begins by being fashionable always ends by being popular. Nobody had ever thought of making goodness a fad. Hence, poverty, and therefore wealth! He would take the first step that night. About 11 P.M. an excited feminine voice, without the slightest trace of Yiddish--indeed, more fashionable than a Fifth Avenue voice ever dared to be--called up, one after another, the city editors of the best papers and asked: "Is it true that Grace Goodchild has eloped with Hendrik Rutgers?" "We had not heard that--" "It is not true! _It is not true!_" shrieked the voice in the highest pitch of dismay and rang on. Having been told that it was not true, the city editors, after vainly trying to get the speaker again, honorably called up the Goodchild residence. Nobody home! That was enough corroboration for any intelligent man, but the city editors despatched their most reliable reporters to the former residence of the bride. Being prudent men, the editors prepared the photographs, and the head-line was all a matter of final punctuation: MISS GOODCHILD ELOPES It remained for the make-up man to put a "!" or a "?" after "ELOPES." The reporters could not get to either Mr. or Mrs. Goodchild or to H. R. or Grace. The papers therefore did not say that the young people, whose courtship was a Fifth Avenue romance, had eloped. That might not be true. But they printed Grace's photographs and H. R.'s and reviewed H. R.'s meteoric career and called the rumor a rumor. That was common sense. Also, all the newspapers spoke about the Montagues and the Capulets. At about 2.30 A.M. the reporters returned with expurgated versions of Mr. Goodchild's denial. But the pages were cast. The late city editions honorably printed: Mr. Goodchild, when seen early this morning, denied the rumor. It was thus, at one stroke, that the nuptials of Grace Goodchild and H. R. were definitely placed among the probabilities. The average New-Yorker now knew it was only a matter of days. XV H. R. dressed to resemble an undertaker, but wearing a beautiful orchid to show he did not do it for a living, called a taxicab, drove to the Diocesan House and sent in his card to the Bishop of New York. The Bishop was a judge of cards. He therefore received H. R. in his study instead of the general waiting-room of which the decorative scheme consisted of "In His Name" in old English and therefore safe from perusal. It might as well have been, "Be Brief!" "How do you do, Bishop Phillipson?" And H. R. held out his hand with such an air of affectionate respect that the Bishop was sure he had confirmed this distinguished-looking young man. But the head of the diocese has to know more than theology. Therefore the Bishop answered, very politely: "I am very well, thank you." "Did you recognize the name?" modestly asked H. R. "Oh yes," said the Bishop, who recently had read about some meeting in Rutgers Square and therefore remembered Rutgers. He was a fine figure of a man with clean-cut features and a look of kindliness so subtly professional as to keep it from being indiscriminatingly benevolent; a good-natured man rather than a strong. One might imagine that he made friends easily, but none could visualize him as a Crusader. He was cursed with an orator's voice, sensitive ears, and the love of words. "Perhaps you've read the newspapers? They've been full of me and my doings these many weeks," said H. R., looking intently at the Bishop. "My dear boy!" expostulated Dr. Phillipson. "I need your help!" said H. R., very earnestly. The Bishop knew it! Those to whom you cannot give cheering words and fifty cents are the worst cases. To relieve physical suffering is far easier than to straighten out those tangles that society calls disreputable--after they get into print. H. R. went on, "I want you to help me to help our church." "Help you to help our church?" blankly repeated the Bishop. The unexpected always reduces the expectant kind to a mere echo. "Exactly!" And H. R. nodded congratulatorily. "Exactly! In order that we may stop losing ground!" There were so many ways in which this young man's words might be taken that his mission remained an exasperating mystery. But the Bishop smiled with the tolerance of undyspeptic age toward over-enthusiastic youth and said kindly: "Pardon me, but--" "Pardon _me_," interrupted H. R., "but since it is only the Roman Catholics who are growing--" "Our figures--" interjected the Bishop, firmly. "Ah yes, figures of speech. Don't apply to _our_ church. The reason is that the Catholics leave out the possessive pronoun. They never say _their_ church any more than they say _their_ God. Now, why did we build our huge Cathedral?" The Bishop stared at H. R. in astonishment. Then he answered, austerely, confining himself to the last question: "In order to glorify--" "Excuse me. There already existed the Himalayas. The real object of building cathedrals hollow, I take it, is to fill 'em with the flesh of _living_ people. Otherwise we would have made sarcophagi. We Protestants don't bequeath our faith to our posterity; only our pews. They are to-day empty. Hence my business. I, Bishop Phillipson, am a People-Getter." "You are what?" The Bishop did not frown; his amazement was too abysmal. "I fill churches. Since this is really a family affair, let us be frank. Of course, you could fill 'em with paper--" "Paper?" "Theatrical argot for deadheads, Bishop; people who don't pay, but contribute criticisms of the show. I am here to tell you how to go about the job efficiently." H. R.'s manner was so earnest, it so obviously reflected his desire to help, that the Bishop could not take offense at the young man's intentions. The words, however, were so much more than offensive that the Bishop said, with cold formality: "You express yourself in such a way--" "I'll tell you the reason. Deeds never convert until they are _talked_ about. Dynamic words are needed. Ask any business man. I have made a specialty of them. I may add that I am not interested in making money, only in efficiency!" The Bishop saw plainly that this well-dressed young man with the keen eyes and the resolute chin was neither a lunatic nor an impostor. Therefore the Bishop instantly realized that the young man could not help the Church and equally that the Church could not help the young man. Further talk was a waste of time. "I fear this discussion is fruitless--" "I wasn't discussing; I was asserting. I am the man who is going to marry Grace Goodchild--" The Bishop straightened in his chair and looked at H. R. with a new and more personal interest. "Indeed!" he said, so humanly that it sounded like "Do tell!" Grace was one of his flock. He remembered now that his friends the Goodchilds had been in print lately and that editorials had been written about the young man who proposed to marry the only daughter. "I promised Grace that I would help our Church--" To the Bishop these words, which the young man had used before, now had a different meaning. It was no longer an utter stranger, but an eccentric acquaintance; a character, as characterless people call them. "Yes?" And the Bishop listened attentively. "I've doped it out--" pursued H. R., earnestly. "I beg your pardon?" said the Bishop and blushed. "I have arrived at a logical conclusion," translated H. R. "In short, I have found what will put Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists, Lutherans, Jews, Parsees, and native-born Americans on the Christian map of New York. And it will not necessitate turning the unoccupied churches into restaurants or vaudeville shows." H. R. turned his hypnotic look full on the Bishop, who read therein the desire to do. "Thus must have looked HILDEBRAND!" thought the Bishop, in Roman capitals, in spite of himself. On second thought he remembered to characterize the language of Grace Goodchild's fiancé as "bizarre." Experience teaches that it is wisdom to encourage good intentions. This is done by listening. Since the Bishop was now obviously glad to listen, H. R. said, more earnestly than ever: "Tell me, Bishop, what is it that is desirable to possess and more desirable to give, elevating, rare beyond words, thrice blessed, and beautiful as heaven itself?" "Truth!" exclaimed the Bishop, his voice ringing with conviction and the pride of puzzle-solving. Being a human being, he had answered promptly. H. R. shook his head and smiled forgivingly: "That's only theology; possibly metaphysics. Forget rhetoric and get down to cases. _Truth!_ Pshaw! Can you imagine that combination of four consonants and one vowel serving as a political platform or included in any live concern's instructions to salesmen? Never! No, sir. Guess again! I've found it. Rare, picturesque, with great dramatic possibilities and easy to capitalize. It is--" He paused and looked at the Bishop. The Bishop returned the look fascinatedly. This young man was from another world. What would he say next? And what would whatever he said mean? "_Charity!_" exclaimed H. R., proudly. The Bishop's face fell. You almost heard it. H. R. shook a rigid forefinger at the Bishop's nose and said, in a distinctly vindictive voice: "_'But the greatest of these is charity'_!" "We always preach--" began the Bishop, defensively. "That's the trouble. _Don't!_ We'll tackle charity by easy steps. We'll begin by the very lowest form, in order to break in American Christians gradually. Feeding the hungry is spectacular and leads to the higher forms. Show people that you will not only fill their bellies, but send the caterer's bills direct to the Lord for payment, and the populace will supply not only the food-receptacles, but the stationery. A great deal," finished H. R., reflectively, "depends upon the right stationery." "I fear," said the Bishop, uncomfortably, "that we are talking to each other across an impassable gulf." "Not a bit, Bishop. The human intellect, properly directed, can bridge any chasm. Let us be philosophical." H. R. said this as one who proposes to speak in words of one syllable. "Now, good people--I don't mean _you_, Bishop; you know: _good_ people!--always do everything wrong end foremost. Now, what do you, speaking collectively, do to feed the hungry?" "We support St. George's Kitchens--" "Ah yes, you astutely work to eliminate poverty by tackling the poor, instead of operating on the rich. You give tickets to the hungry! Think of it--_to the hungry_! Tickets! A green one means a bowl of pea soup; a pink one, a slice of ham; a brown one, a codfish ball. The polychromatics of systematized charity whereby you discourage the increase of a professional pauper class! Tickets! To the hungry! Ouch!" The Bishop more than once had despaired of solving that very problem. He shook his head sadly rather than rebukingly and said, "I have no doubt that you are a very remarkable young man and very up to date and very hopeful, but in a huge city like New York how can any one solve the problem of helping everybody who really needs--" "By using brains, Bishop Phillipson," cut in H. R., so sternly that the Bishop flushed. But before his anger could crystallize, H. R. continued, challengingly: "Who in New York are in need of charity? Five thousand empty bellies? No. Five million empty souls!" It was a striking figure of speech. Before the Bishop could say anything H. R. went on, very politely: "Will you oblige me by torturing the ears?" "Torturing the ears?" echoed the Bishop in a daze. "Yes; by listening. Do you hear"--H. R. pointed to a corner of the room--"do you hear a voice from heaven saying, 'Let them that hunger bring a physician's certificate of protracted inanition? You don't? Then there's hope. What I propose to do, Bishop, is to revolutionize the industry." H. R. spoke so determinedly that the Bishop could not help forgetting everything else and asking: "How?" "By giving the ticket to the full belly; not to the empty. We utilize the machinery already in existence, but the ticket goes to the man who pays twenty-five cents, not to the man who needs or accepts the quarter's worth of food. There are people who would compel a fellow-man made by God after His image to convert himself into a first-trip-to-Europe dress-suit case and paste labels all over himself: _Pauper! Hungry! Wreck!_ My tickets will be precious tags marked: _Charitable! Decent! Christian!_ I accomplish this by giving to the giver! Success is a matter of labels." "But I can't see--" "My dear Bishop, everybody acknowledges that it is much nicer to give to those you love than to receive. That is why we are exhorted to love our fellows--that we may love to give to them. It follows that everybody at heart likes to be charitable. Vanity was invented pretty early in history. But it has not been properly capitalized by the Churches. Now, listen to the difference when real brains are used. Remember that though all is vanity, vanity is not all. Each person who gives twenty-five cents receives a ticket. Since he lives in America, he gets something for something! I have planned a mammoth hunger feast in Madison Square Garden. Each donor from his seat will see with his own eyes a fellow-man eat his quarter." "But, my dear Mr. Rutgers--" "I am glad you see it as I do. The ticket-buyer goes to the Garden. He knows his ticket is feeding one man. But he sees ten thousand men eating. He looks for the particular beneficiary of his particular quarter. It might be any one of the ten thousand eaters! Within thirty-seven seconds each donor will feel that his twenty-five cents is feeding the entire ten thousand! Did a quarter of a dollar ever before accomplish so much? Of anybody else," finished H. R., modestly, "I would call that genius!" The Bishop shook his head violently. "Do you mean to treat it as a spectacle--" "What else was the Crucifixion to the priests of the Temple?" asked H. R., sternly. The Bishop waved away with his hand and said, decidedly: "No! No! Would you compel starving men--" "To eat?" cut in H. R. "No; to parade their needs, to vulgarize charity and make it offensive, a stench in the nostrils of self-respecting--" "Hold on! Charity, reverend sir, is never offensive. The attitude of imperfectly Christianized fellow-citizens makes it a disgrace to show charity, but not to display poverty. The English-speaking races, being eminently practical, lay great stress upon table manners. They treat charity as if it were a natural function of man, and therefore to be done secretly and in solitude. Our cultured compatriots invariably confound modesty with the sense of smell. Etiquette is responsible for infinitely greater evils than vulgarity. Feed the hungry. When you do that you obey God. Feed them _all_!" "But--" "That is exactly what I propose to do--with your help: feed all the starving men in New York. Has anybody ever before tried that? _All the starving men!_" He finished, sternly, "Not one shall escape us!" The Bishop almost shuddered, there was so grimly determined a look on H. R.'s face. Then as his thoughts began to travel along their usual channel he felt vexed. He had patiently endured the disrespectful language of a young man whose point of view differed so irritatingly from that of the earnest men who were laboring to solve the problem. All he had heard was confusing talk, words he could not remember, but left a sting. Time had been spent to no purpose. "I still," said the Bishop with an effort, "do not see how you solve the problem that has baffled our best minds." "Nobody else could do it," acknowledged H. R., simply. "But I have carefully prepared my plans. They cannot fail. And now you will give me your signature." "My signature to what?" asked the Bishop in the tone of voice in which people usually say, "Never!" He felt that the interview was ended. A suspicion flashed in his mind that this young man might reply, "To a check!" But he paid H. R. the compliment of instantly dismissing the suspicion. This was, alas! no common impostor. "To an appeal to New York's better nature," said H. R., enthusiastically. "The masses always follow the classes; if they didn't there wouldn't be classes. Mr. Wyman, of the National Bank of the Avenue, will act as treasurer." It was the fashionable bank. Stock in demand at seventy-two hundred dollars a share, and all held by Vans. "Has he--" "He will," interrupted H. R. so decisively that the Bishop forgot to be annoyed at not being allowed to finish his question. "We shall appeal to all New-Yorkers. Your name must therefore lead the signatures. Much, Bishop Phillipson, depends upon the leader! Of course there will be other clergymen, and leading merchants, and capitalists, and the mayor, and the borough presidents, and the reform leaders, and everybody who is Somebody. They must give the example. Do you not constantly endeavor, yourself, to be an example, reverend sir?" Before the Bishop could deny this H. R. gave into his hands a book beautifully bound in hand-tooled morocco. The leaves were vellum. On the first page was artistically engrossed: _Hunger knows no denomination._ _There must not be starving men, women, or children in New York._ _We who do not hunger must feed those who do._ _LET US FEED ALL THE HUNGRY!_ "Here, Bishop Phillipson, is the place at the head of the list. It will be signed by men and women whose names stand for Achievement, Fame, and Disinterestedness." H. R. held a fountain-pen before him and pursued: "If you sign, I'll feed all the hungry--_all_! Have you ever seen a starving man? Do you know what it is to be hungry?" The Bishop shook his head at the fountain-pen. He had seen starving men, but he had read about signatures. He could not officially sanction a plan of which he knew so little. No grown man can say that he did not know what he was signing. "Listen!" commanded H. R., sternly. "Do you hear your Master's voice?" "Your intentions, I make no doubt, are highly praiseworthy. But your language is so close to blasphemy...." "All words that invoke God in unrhymed English are so regarded in the United States. Grace would have it that you would sign in Chinese if by so doing it fed the hungry. '_But the greatest of these is charity._' The reporters are waiting for the list. Everybody else will sign if you head the list." "Of course." And the Bishop's voice actually betrayed the fact that he had been forced into self-defense. "Of course. I should be only too glad to sign if I were certain such an action on my part would actually feed the hungry--" "_All_ the hungry," corrected H. R. "Even a tenth of the hungry of New York," the Bishop insisted. "But, my dear young man, excellent intentions do not always succeed. Your methods might not commend themselves to men who have made this work the study of a lifetime." "They have not gone about their work intelligently, for there are still unfed men in New York. I am a practical man, not a theorist. Emotions, respected sir, are all very well to appeal to at vote-getting times, but they are poor things to think with. Now I don't suppose I have devoted more than one hour's thought to this subject, and yet see the difference. _All_ the hungry!" In H. R.'s voice there was not the faintest trace of self-glorification nor did his manner show the slightest vanity. Both were calmly matter-of-fact. The Bishop had to have an explanation. So he asked: "And your--er--quite unemotional and sudden interest in this--er--affair, Mr. Rutgers...." "You mean, where do I come in?" cut in H. R. The Bishop almost blushed as he shook his head and explained: "Rather, your motive in undertaking so difficult...." "Oh yes. You mean, _why_?" "Yes," said the Bishop, and looked at H. R. full in the eyes. "Because I desire to marry Grace Goodchild and I wish to be worthy of her. It is a man's job to jolt New York into a spasm of practical Christianity." The Bishop smiled. After all, this was a boy, and his enthusiasm might make up for what his motive lacked in profundity of wisdom. "And besides," went on H. R., in a lowered voice, "I hate to think that men can starve when I have enough to eat without earning my food." He smiled shamefacedly. "My boy!" cried the Bishop, and shook the boy's hand warmly, "I'm afraid you are--" "Don't call me good, Bishop!" "I was going to say it, but I won't. Do you think you can do what you propose?" "I know it!" And H. R. looked at Dr. Phillipson steadily. The Bishop looked back. He was no match for H. R. "I will sign!" said the Bishop. XVI H. R. walked slowly to his office. Spring was in the air. The sky was very blue and the air sparkled with sun-dust. Life thrilled in waves. The breeze sang, as it does at times in the city. It had not the harps of the trees to strum on, but it made shift with the corners of the houses. Hand in hand with the breeze from the south came the joy of living that, after all, is merely the joy of loving. The soul of God's beautiful world--light, heat, beauty, love--percolated into the soul of Hendrik Rutgers and filled it--filled it full. It called for the One Woman in songs--the same songs the breeze was humming.... Ah, the encouragement of the wind! It bade him take her! It told him exactly whither the breeze was going, whither he should carry her in his arms. It whispered to him the place where he might lay down his burden! He walked on, head erect, chest inflated, fists clenched. He would take her from the world and make her his world. Their world!--his and hers; his first, then hers. After that they would share it equally. The breeze sang on. As he crossed Madison Square he was made aware that the sparrows also had heard the song and, phonograph-like, were repeating it. A little shriller, but the same song. Ten thousand sparrows--and each thought it was original! And the little pale-green leaves were nodding approval. And the azure smile of the sky was benignantly telling all creation to go ahead--as it was in the beginning, as it would be in the end. He loved her! He would love her even if she were not the most beautiful girl in all the round world. He would love her if she were penniless; even if her father were his best friend. He loved her and he loved his love of her. Her eyes were two skies that smiled more bluely than God's one. Her hair had the rust of gold and the dust of sun, and radiated light and glints of love. From her wonderful lips came, in the voice of the flowers, the one command that he, a hater of slaves, would obey, gratefully kneeling. And the lips said it, flower-like, in silence! She was not there to be loved. But he loved her, and because he loved her he loved everybody, everything. Even his fellow-men. They also should love! All of them! Love to love and love to live! Did they? He looked for the first time at his fellow-men on the park benches. He saw sodden faces, reptile-like sunning themselves, warming their skins; no more. They were men without money. They therefore were men without eyes, without ears, without tongues. They therefore were men without love. Everything had been cleanly excised by the great surgeon, Civilization! A wonderful invention, money. To think that puny man had, by means of that ingenious device, thwarted not only Nature, but God Himself! If money had not been invented, there would not be great cities to be loveless in! But those on the park benches, lizard-like sunning themselves, were tramps. The pedestrians had money. They, therefore, must have love. He looked at them and saw that what they had was their hands in their pockets. Doubtless it was to keep their money there. By so doing they did not have to sit on park benches and fail to see the sky and the buds, and fail to hear the birds and the breeze. And yet, as he looked he saw on their faces the same blindness and the same deafness. On the benches sat immortal souls drugged with misery. On the paths walked men asleep with Self. He alone was alive and awake! The appalling solitude of a great city was all about him. He was the only living man in New York! And Grace Goodchild was the only woman in the world! He loved her. He loved everybody. He wished to give, give, give! "You'll be fed!" he said to the park benches. "You'll feed em!" he told the sidewalks. "I'll marry you! he wirelessed to Grace. "You," he said to all New York, "will pay for every bit of it!" He walked into his office, frowning. Andrew Barrett was there. "Come with me," H. R. told him, and led the way into the private office. He sat down at his desk, brushed away a lot of letters, and said to his aide: "Barrett, I've got a man's job this time." Sandwiching for banks that had deposits of over one hundred millions appealed to Andrew Barrett. And the Standard Oil and the Steel Trust, also, held possibilities. After the S. A. S. A. got those he would go into business for himself. "Who is it?" he asked, eagerly. "Grace Goodchild!" answered H. R., absently. "Oh, I thought--" H. R. started. "What? Oh! You are thinking of business. Well, I'm going to put New York on the map at one fell swoop." Andrew Barrett beamed. At last, millions! All New York using sandwiches at regular rates! H. R. looked at his lieutenant and smiled forgivingly. After all, it was not Andrew's fault that the spring was not in his soul. "Barrett, men and women in all civilized communities desire three things. All of them begin with a B. Can you guess?" "Not I!" answered Barrett, with diplomatic self-depreciation. There are questions whose answers gain you mortal enmity by depriving the questioner of the greatest of all pleasures. "Bread, beauty, and bunco. You satisfy all the natural wants of humanity by supplying these three. Now men pay for their necessities with whatever coin happens to be current. I have sometimes thought of a state of society in which payment need not be made in interchangeable labor units, but in the self-satisfaction of accomplishment. I have even dreamed," he finished, sternly, "of making goodness fashionable!" "Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Barrett, in indescribable awe. H. R. shook his head gloomily. "The trouble," he said, bitterly, "is that it is so damned easy to be good, so obviously intelligent, so natural! Men are bad, I firmly believe, because badness is so roundabout and expensive. How else can you explain it? Society, since money was invented, has craved for expensive things. Society is, in truth, expense." "Say, Chief, I don't get the dope about goodness being easy." "Probably not; it is too obvious. The early Christians died gladly. It was good form. Dying for God ceased to be fashionable. Hence universal suffrage. To die for God merely means to live for God. Do you see?" "No. The Christian part bothers me." "Let us be heathen, then. The Spartan mother loved her sons. Sent them to battle saying, _With your shield or on it!_ The axiom of the locality is the fashion of the place. To die bravely in Sparta was to be fashionable. If I can make goodness fashionable I'll do something that is very easy and very difficult. If men were not such damned fools it would be so restful to be wise." "Yes, H. R., but human nature--" "Exactly. We go against human nature always. God gave to men the precious gift of fear in order that they might overcome it. Man's fear to-day is to be good. Once upon a time men feared hell. It is now the fashion for Americans to think, _To hell with hell!_" Andrew Barrett shook his head dubiously. He was not really interested in abstractions. But he desired to be on good terms with his chief. The best way to be nice to a man is to put up a weak argument. He began, feebly defending, "But there must be some people--" "It is perfectly proper to be selfish if you are alone. It is stupid to be selfish when you are one of a group. Therefore, my inveterately young friend and typical compatriot, we must do something for nothing. Tip off the papers." Barrett shook his head. "I don't get you," he confessed, sadly. "Few people do when you tell them they have to do something and not be paid for it. To-morrow and the day after our men must display a new sandwich for the cause for two hours." He paused, then he finished, sternly, "Tell them I said so!" "I will," hastily said Barrett, only too glad to shift the responsibility. "You might request the regular advertisers to pay full time, just the same." "You bet I will! And what will the boards say?" "Let me have your pencil," said H. R., and he wrote: NEXT WEEK THE MEN WHO HAVE MADE NEW YORK THE EMPIRE CITY OF GOD'S OWN COUNTRY WILL FEED ALL THE HUNGRY WHO HAVE NO MONEY O. K. H. R., _Sec._ "There!" said H. R. Andrew Barrett read it. "If it was anybody else--" he muttered. "Convey to your reporter friends that this is the biggest story of the year. Particularly impress upon them that it is a secret!" "I'll impress that on them, all right," promised Barrett, with profound sincerity. "It is really pleasant not to have to lie." H. R. rose and said: "I must get the other names. I have begun with the Bishop. And he showed Barrett the signature of Dr. Phillipson. "Why his?" asked Barrett. "I expect him to officiate at my wedding. Also, he is a Conservative, and Wall Street is for him, strong. Don't you see? Get the sandwiches ready." H. R. no longer bothered with details. He had discovered that by resolutely expecting people to do things, people did them. Every eight hundred and thirty-one years a man is born who can throw upon his fellow-men the yoke of responsibility so that it stays put. He decided that it would look well in print to play up the non-sectarianism of the affair. He would therefore have the prominent people meet in the Granite Presbyterian Church, attracting the Presbyterians who otherwise might have objected to Bishop Phillipson's leadership. But the meeting would be presided over by Bishop Barrows, a Methodist. Bishop Phillipson would agree to this. Did not his name come first in the stirring call to the metropolis? But, of course, to give to the project an attractive and, indeed, a compelling interest he would resort to the great American worship of bulk. It must be big. It must be the biggest ever! XVII He had no trouble in getting the other names. The bankers were easy. He told each that the cash was to be handled by a committee of bankers, thereby insuring efficient management. If Jones, of the small Nineteenth National, signed, Dawson, of the big Metropolitan, must do likewise or be convicted of lack of sympathy with a popular cause. The "Dawson party," comprising, as it did, the richest men in the world, needed popularity, Heaven knew. He also told the bankers that they would not have to pay out anything. It won them. He clenched it by comparing charity to the income tax. Yes, he did! "Nobody," he argued, "objects to an income tax that embraces _everybody_! The great good of such a tax is to make every man feel that he is supporting the government and to see to it that the government is spending his money wisely. The income tax should lead to more intelligent citizenship." Each banker agreed heartily to that. "The same with charity. Compel everybody to be charitable, the clerk equally with the president, that the burden may fall not on the rich, but on the many. Just sign here, will you, please? Thank you." The other signatures were equally easy to get. The so-called experts in charity work always give _their_ reasons. Result: $.00. On parting, H. R. told each signer the same thing: "The reporters will be present at the meeting. They may not stay till the very end. All they want is an advance copy of the speeches and the names of the people in the first three rows. The meeting begins at eight-thirty sharp!" He did not urge a single signer to attend, but at eight-twenty every seat in the Granite Presbyterian Church was filled by prominent people who hated reporters and their loathsome prying into a man's private affairs. It was a distinguished gathering, for H. R. had picked out nobody whose name was not familiar to readers of newspaper advertisements, society news, and government anti-corporation suits. Entire pews were filled with Success in Art, Literature, Science, Commerce, Finance, and Christianity. On the stage, formerly called chancel, were seated four bank presidents, four bishops, four merchants, four social leaders, four great writers, four great editors, four great painters, four great landlords, four great statesmen; in short, four great everything. H. R. rose and said: "Before introducing the chairman I desire the uninvited to retire instantly. The invitations were sent exclusively to the men who have made New York what it is!" Would you believe it? Not one man retired. And they all knew what New York was, too! They really thought New York was something to be proud of. "Those who do not rightfully belong here will retire!" repeated H. R. so threateningly that each man instantly sweated mucilage and remained glued to his seat. "I present our temporary chairman, Bishop Barrows." "The meeting will come to order," said the Bishop. Profound silence reigned. This so flabbergasted the reverend chairman that he fidgeted. Then he offered a prayer. When he had finished and the audience had drawn the customary long breath that follows "Amen" the chairman hesitated. "I'll tell 'em why we are here, if you wish," whispered H. R. Then, exactly as though the Bishop had acquiesced, he said, "Very well, Bishop," and he obediently arose. The Bishop repeated, hypnotically, "Mr. Rutgers will tell you why we are here." H. R. bowed to him and to the congregation. The reporters woke up. Here was something better than oratory or facts: News. This explains why the newspapers give more space to who speaks than to what is said. "Fellow New-Yorkers! We have been accused of provincialism. They tell us we don't care for the rest of the country. This is not true. We do care. We ought to: we own it! We supply to the rest of the country the money to be prosperous with, the paintings to be artistic with, the magazines to be cultivated with, the gowns to be beautiful with, and a place to spend money in, unsurpassed in the world. We have built the best hotels in the universe expressly to accommodate the people that hate New York. This is the soul of hospitality. New York leads. Other cities follow. They copy our clothes, our dances, our financiering, our barbers, our sandwiches, and the uniform of our street-cleaners. Our superiority is not only acknowledged, but resented. We have decided to do something that never before has been attempted, not even by automobile manufacturers. Let other cities copy us if they will. We are going to feed all the hungry who have no money! We are going to do it on the New York plan completely, intelligently, efficiently, and, above everything, picturesquely. You have seen the sandwich announcements?" They had. For two days all New York had seen them and all New York had talked about them, for the announcements had taken on the aspect of a puzzle. The answer was now expected. On vaudeville stages shining stars were at that very moment volunteering humorous solutions through their noses. "We propose to do it by means of improved tickets. No man shall buy more than one. The millionaire and the minister, the merchant and the mut, all will help. And all will help equally that each may benefit his soul in like degree without injury to any pocketbook. And, gentlemen, we are going to do it in an entirely new way." Everybody stared intently at H. R. An entirely new way! "Nobody will be allowed to buy more than one ticket. The price will be twenty-five cents! That sum will buy one Ideal Meal. The ticket not only will entitle the holder thereof to admission to Madison Square Garden, but it will also carry a coupon worth ten thousand dollars in cash!" He paused. The assemblage went pale. Hands were seen hastily buttoning up coats. "I personally will give the money," said H. R., sternly. A great sigh of relief soughed its way himward. "The meal will be a revelation to those who talk about the high cost of living and will conclusively prove the advantage of being permitted to do business in a large way without ill-advised interference by a grandfatherly government. It thus will have an important bearing on current legislation. Each ticket-buyer will see with his own eyes the entire journey of the quarter from the pocket to the empty stomach. Also the coupon attached to every ticket, worth ten thousand dollars in cash, will be a reward not of charity alone, but of the combination of charity and brains." The audience fidgeted. They did not believe it. It was too remarkable. But, anyhow, it was the orator's own money. "There will be," pursued H. R., accusingly, "no waste, no scientific un-Christianity, no half-baked philanthropy, no nonsense. On one day next week the sun will set on our city, and not one man, woman, or child will go to bed hungry, unless it is by his doctor's orders. All the hungry who have no money shall be fed. As for the coupon, I have myself already contributed the necessary funds to take care of that." Instead of feeling irritation at the repetition, they looked at him with a respect not often seen in a church. "It has never been attempted. I realize that we cannot make lazy men prosperous nor put in brains where they were left out by a wise Providence; but we are going to abolish hunger for one day, and then see what we can do to make conditions improve permanently. And the burden will be shared alike by all--nobody more than twenty-five cents." A look of resolve came over the faces of the entire audience. It was an experiment worth trying! "Gentlemen," added H. R., sternly, "we are going to call the bluff of the anarchistic labor agitators!" A storm of applause burst from the audience. H. R. held up a hand. "In giving, it is always wise to know to whom you are giving. The Society of American Sandwich Artists, with the aid of those who have made New York what it is, pledges itself to see to it that the meals find the proper bellies. There is no such thing as scientific charity any more than there is unscientific poverty. Nobody hates to give, but everybody wishes to give wisely. I guarantee that nobody who has money to buy food with will be fed at our expense. _I guarantee this!_" "_HOW?_" burst from three hundred and eighteen throats. "That is our secret. I may add that the coupon, worth exactly ten thousand dollars in cash, is not a lottery scheme. Gentlemen, I count upon your cooperation. I thank you." He bowed, modestly stepped back and nodded to Bishop Barrows. "Adjourn," he whispered. "I have a few--" began Dr. Barrows, protestingly. "Adjourn. The reporters will print them from your manuscript." "But--" H. R. took out his handkerchief and wiped his cool, unfevered brow. He had foreseen the chairman's speech. Max Onthemaker, who had been waiting for the signal, jumped to his feet and yelled: "I move we adjourn!" "Second the motion!" shrieked Andrew Barrett from a rear pew. The Bishop had to put the motion. Not having been called upon to pledge money, the assembly decided it was prudent to get out before the situation changed. The motion was unanimously carried. H. R. received the reporters in the vestry-room. He even shook hands with them. Then he said, as usual giving them the "lead" for their stories: "These are the points to emphasize: The tickets are unlike any other tickets ever invented. They cost twenty-five cents. They will carry a coupon. To a person with brains that same coupon will be worth ten thousand dollars in cash. Chance has nothing to do with it. Brains! In any event, the twenty-five cents will buy one Ideal Meal. The menu will be prepared by the Menu Commission, composed of competent persons, which is another novelty in commissions--the highest-paid chefs in New York, the proprietors of the three best restaurants, the three leading diet specialists, and three experts on hunger. No food fads and no disguised advertisements of breakfast foods or nerve-bracers. What Dr. Eliot's Five-foot Book-shelf did for literature the S. A. S. A. Ideal Hunger-Appeaser will do for the masses. That menu inaugurates a revolution without bloodshed, vulgar language, or the destruction of fundamental institutions. The low price of our meal is made possible by the application of automobile-factory methods and the fact that we have no profit to make. Play fair with the restaurant-keeper, boys, and make this strong: "The S. A. S. A., after epoch-making experiments, psychological and physiological, has succeeded in making fraudulent hunger impossible. We have a cash-detector which will enable us to discard any applicant who can pay for his food, and our alcoholic thirst-tester automatically eliminates booze-fighters. The mammoth hunger feast will be held at Madison Square Garden. Each ticket admits the buyer to the feast--as an eye-witness that he may see where his money has gone. The coupon will be detached by the ticket-taker at the entrance and returned to the ticket-holder. Uncharitable people who have no brains need not buy a ticket. "No shop, church, or bank will offer the tickets for sale; only our own sellers in person and only one to each customer. We are not going to pay anybody twenty thousand dollars. That's flat! The names of the members of our various commissions will be announced later." He nodded dismissingly. Then he seemed to remember that these were gentlemen. He said: "My secretary, who has taken down my remarks in shorthand, will give you typewritten copies of same. Use what you will. Only correct my English, won't you? I'm not literary." That made them his friends. But the _Tribune_ man said: "I'm from Missouri and I'm not going to print anything unless--" "I don't expect you to print news. These gentlemen know I receive no salary. They know as well as I do that my sole object is to win the hand of Grace Goodchild." The _Journal_ man, who was sweet on the "Advice to the Love-Lorn" editress, feverishly wrote the head-line, ALL FOR LOVE! "I needn't say to you," went on H. R., with a look that made the reporters respect his reticence, "that if I were an advertising man the publicity methods that I have introduced would have made me richer than I am. _What in hell would I do with more money?_ Answer me that!" The _Tribune_ man answered by turning pale. The others looked uneasy. When a well-dressed young man asks that question in New York there can be but two answers: Bloomingdale or Standard Oil. H. R. was going to marry a rich banker's only daughter. He was therefore no lunatic. H. R. was thenceforth regarded by the newspapers, and therefore by the public, as a fabulously rich man. This made him definitely Front Page. No other man ever became chronically that without committing murder or playing for the labor vote. XVIII All the morning papers spread themselves on the story and thereby gained the respect of those present at the meeting whose names were mentioned. Only one of the journals featured Grace Goodchild. Two dwelt strongly on the ten-thousand-dollar coupon and on the fact that the wealth of those present at the Granite Presbyterian Church aggregated $3,251,280,000. One pure-food featurer played up the ideal meal, and two the hope that at last charity would be discriminating. At 9.14 A.M. messages began to rain down on H. R. They came by livened youth, by telephone, and by secretaries. "Why," asked the Fitz-Marlton, "was not our chef considered enough? Why drag in others?" "How does it happen that our fifty-thousand-dollars-a-year Piccolini, who possesses eighteen decorations from crowned heads, is not one of the Public Menu Commission? Don't you want the best?" This came from the Vandergilt in writing that looked like ornamental spaghetti. "Please call at your earliest convenience and see what we give for $17.38 in the way of a substantial breakfast," laconically invited Herr Bummerlich of the Pastoral. Caspar Weinpusslacher called in person. He asked, reproachfully: "How it comes, Mr. Rutchers, that your best friend--" "Weinie," interrupted H. R., "this will cost you two thousand five hundred tickets for your thirty-cent meal. You are put down as one of the best three restaurateurs, together with Perry's and the Robespierre." "But say, Mr. Rutchers, two thousand five hundred--" began Weinie, trying to look angry at the extortion. He was rich now; he was even one of the sights of New York. "Three thousand! That's what your haggling has done," cut in H. R., with the cold determination that made him so formidable. "All right!" And Caspar ran out of the room. A terrible man, this. But Frau Weinpusslacher would be in society now. "I trust you will not be misled by _newspaper scientists_ into fool dietetics," wrote McAppen Dix, M.D., the hygiene expert of an afternoon paper. H. R. promptly stopped reading the letters and told one of his stenographers, "Reply to all telephone inquiries that the personnel of the commission has not yet been definitely decided upon." The three highest-salaried chefs in New York, their emoluments duly quadrupled by the reporters after eating sample ideal luncheons, the three best restaurateurs, and the three leading experts on stomachic functions had their names printed as "Probable Public Menu Commission" by the afternoon prints. Doubtless in order not to be accused of plagiarism each afternoon paper published a different set of names. Tentative menus also were given, to be repudiated by H. R. and by indignant competitors in the next morning's papers. That is how, in its glorious march to charity, all New York began to take an interest in menus. It was the first symptom of an awakened civic conscience and intelligent humanitarianism. "Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are," long ago observed Brillat-Savarin. H. R. wrote it for the reporters. It furnished the text for learned editorial sermons. When Andrew Barrett ventured to express his admiration, H. R. murmured: "Plausible, persistent, and picturesque." "I don't quite get you," said Barrett. "Watch me and learn," retorted H. R. Other men have disregarded persistence, but H. R. did not. He kept up the firing; no broadside, but one big gun at a time--once a day. As a result, the H. R. plan for feeding the hungry of New York assumed a serious aspect. The right bill of fare would change potential Socialists into sensible citizens. This was so obviously true that everybody said no living man could do it. But everybody anxiously looked for the publication of the Public Menu Commission's report. It thus became news plus suspense. The moment H. R. had selected the personnel of the commission he went to the Goodchild house. "Frederick, tell Miss Goodchild to come down at once. I have only a minute to stay. Make haste!" The imperturbable English menial actually ran. Grace rushed down in alarm. Frederick's incoherent words had made her fear it was a message from her dressmaker telling why it was absolutely impossible to have it ready in time as promised under oath. She petrified herself when she beheld the man who had made her famous. She did this in order not to betray her glad relief. "Oh!" "Grace!" exclaimed H. R., fervently. He quickly approached her, took her hand and led her into her own drawing-room. He then waved his disengaged left at all the chairs with an air that said, "I give all this magnificence to you!" He waved again and commanded, "Sit down!" She obeyed, but he did not let go her right hand. He sat beside her. Just as she was about to pull it away indignantly he patted it twice very kindly and himself laid it on her own lap. Her anger was on the very brink of turning itself into oratory when he stood up, squarely before her, clenched his fists in order to hold himself in a vanadium-steel clutch, and whispered, huskily: "Merciful Heaven, but you're beautiful!" The vocal storm, checked for an instant by his extraordinary exhibition of self-control, gave him time to go on: "Don't look at me! Don't you know how beautiful you are? It isn't fair!" He turned from her, walked over to one of the windows, and stared out of it. It showed more than self-control. It showed respect. And there are times when a New York girl likes to feel that the man who wishes to marry her also respects her. Grace knew it would be absurd to ring for a policeman; as absurd as to encourage H. R. to stay. And she really had not studied him cold-bloodedly. She looked at his back and wondered. Presently H. R. turned from the window and with a semblance of composure said to her: "If you will scold me, or laugh at me, or turn your back on me, I'll find it easier to speak calmly." Since such was the case, she decided not to do any of the things he desired her to do. She also said nothing. It is a very wise woman who, being beautiful, can keep her mouth shut. "Grace, you and I are now at the door of the church. Our wedding will be positively a national event. Have you read the papers? Did you see what I have undertaken to do for your sake?" She turned away her head. But she heard him say, with the calmness of a man who is sure of himself, and therefore to be respected: "I am cool again. You may turn your head this way." Her foot was tap-tapping the polar-bear skin eighty-four times to the minute. She was trying to find a way of getting rid of him once for all. She did not desire more sensational newspaper articles, and she realized that she must be more than careful if she was not to supply the material for them. She was clever enough to realize that this was not a man to be shooed away, chickenwise. What had seemed so easy to do was in truth an appalling problem. "Listen, Grace. For your sake I gave to New York free sandwiches." She sniffed before she could help it. "You are right," he admitted, "even if it made you famous"--she was unmoved--"and me rich!" She started slightly. She had never thought of the business end of his crusade. The motive is everything, in love as in murder. "You are right," he pursued. "But, really, I am not bragging about it. But now I'm going to give free dinners. Millions are affected-- I mean millions of dollars, not people. But I must have your help. Even your da-- "Sir!" began the loyal daughter, angrily. "_Dad_, I was going to say, not _damn_, as you naturally assumed," he explained, with dignity. "Even dad is on the Mammoth Hunger Feast Commission. I put him on. When he sees I got the other bank presidents he'll stay on. But I'll tell you why I came to see you--" "Uninvited," she frowned. "Of course. I haven't asked for the latch-key. By the way, is this house big enough for the wedding reception?" he pondered, anxiously. "It is--for mine," she said, pointedly. Then she wondered why she didn't order him away. The reason was that she couldn't. He wasn't that kind of man! "That's good," he exclaimed with relief. "Well, I want you to sell tickets. You read about the tickets for the Mammoth Hunger Feast?" "No! And I don't wish to know anything about it." "Quite so," he said, approvingly. "That being the case, you know all about it. The tickets are to be sold by the one hundred perfectly beautiful girls in New York. You head the list." She turned her face to him, a sneer on her lips. But before she could speak he said, apologetically: "I know it isn't a subtle compliment. It happens to be a fact. There is going to be tremendous pressure brought to bear on me for places on the corps. I tell you this because your best friends will drive you crazy asking you to use your influence with me. People who decry favoritism always expect favors. I'd do anything for you. But I can't have any but perfectly beautiful ones. I simply can't!" She looked at him with irrepressible interest. Then, remembering her position, said, coldly, "Will you please leave now and never come back?" He went on: "It is going to make enemies for you. That will be your first payment for being famous. You will be Number One of the perfectly beautiful hundred because God made you what you are and not because you are my wife--" "I am not!" "--to be. You didn't let me finish. Tell your friends you can't. If they pester you, tell 'em flatly you won't. And for Heaven's sake don't use the photograph of your pearls any more, nor the Crane portrait. Use the picture _Vogue_ had last week. Or get some fresh ones and give La Touche an order to supply 'em to the reporters. They won't cost you a cent that way, because they print his name. Good-by, Grace." He held out his hand. She quickly put hers behind her back. His face thereat lighted up. "Ah, you love me!" he exclaimed. "It was only a question of time, Empress. And you will never know how much I love you until you realize what it costs me to go away from here, unkissing, unkissed, and yet without regrets! But some day--" He paused, and then, with a fierce hunger that made his voice thick, "Some day I'll _eat_ you!" He walked out. She made an instinctive movement toward him, but checked herself. As he left the room she confronted the mirror and looked at herself. It brought the usual mood of kindliness. She forgave him. She rang for Frederick. "The Menaud motor, at once!" and went up-stairs to telephone. If the reporters had to use photographs, she couldn't stop them. Ten minutes later she had kindly given La Touche the photographer eighteen poses. La Touche thanked her with the perfervid sincerity of a man whose irreducible minimum is forty-eight dollars a dozen. Then he asked, anxiously: "In case the reporters--" "I suppose they'd get them, anyhow." She spoke cynically. "Not unless they stole 'em," he denied, dignifiedly. "We never give any out without permission. Of course they'd use snapshots, which are not always--er--artistic." Remembering that she had been snapped when she had a veil on and also with her mouth open, as all mouths must be in active speech, she told him in a bored tone: "It doesn't interest me." "Thank you, mademoiselle! Thank you!" effusively exclaimed the artist. "It is no wonder--" She turned on him a cold, haughty stare. He was all confusion. "_Pardon!_ I--I-- Monsieur Rutgers--" he stammered. "I--I-- He--" She left the shop, a vindictive look in her wonderful eyes. She hated H. R. Was she merely the advertised vulgarity of that unspeakable man whom her family so foolishly had not jailed? What had he made of her? She might not mind being called beautiful by the newspapers, but-- The photographer's liveried flunky on the sidewalk opened the door of her motor. Nine pedestrians, two of them male, stopped. "That's Grace Goodchild!" hissed one of the women, tensely. "See her?" loudly asked another. In the time consumed between the opening of the car's door and her taking her seat eleven more New-Yorkers gathered about the Menaud. "Home!" she snapped, angrily. The photographer's flunky stepped away to tell the chauffeur. Instantly a young man's head was thrust through the window of the car. Behind him crowded a dozen disgusting beasts--female. "You're a pippin!" came from the young man's face a foot from her own. She shrank back. "Say, _he's_ right! I wisht I was in his--" Then the motor started and nearly, but, alas! not quite, decapitated the loathsome compatriot. If this was fame, she didn't wish any of it, she decided. "I hate him!" she said to the cut-glass flower-holder. "He has given me this absurd notoriety and-- What delays us?" She looked out of the window. They were halted at Thirty-fourth Street. Presently the traffic policeman's whistle blew. The motor started again. She looked at the policeman. He instantly touched his helmet to her. And she saw also that he nodded eagerly to his mounted colleague across the street. The man on horseback also saluted her militarily! She bowed to him. She had to, being well-bred. She also smiled. She was of the logical sex. "Nevertheless, I hate--" But she left her thought unfinished in her quick desire to lie to herself. "The policeman must know papa," she said, aloud, to show H. R. what she thought of him. And that made her wonder what H. R. had up his sleeve now. What did he mean by saying that her troubles were only beginning and that she soon would feel the heavy price of fame? What absurd thing was that about the perfectly beautiful hundred and the tickets and the Beauty Commission and the free sandwiches--hateful word!--and the free dinners, and the-- She almost ran up to her room, pretending not to hear the voices of her tea-drinking friends in the Dutch room. In her boudoir she quickly read all the newspaper clippings. She learned all about the Mammoth Hunger Feast because, this being the second time, she now read intelligently, instead of looking for a certain name. If H. R. could do all he said he would, he would be a wonder. And he was a very clever chap, anyhow. Her father must be wrong. Mr. Goodchild himself could never get the newspapers to say about him all the nice things they said about H. R. And Bishop Phillipson and the fathers of girls she knew, and people she had heard of and painters and novelists and--er--people were helping H. R. The tickets and the ten-thousand-dollar coupons and the ideal menu! "He _is_ clever!" she admitted, and smiled. Then she decided, "If he makes me ridiculous--" and frowned. "I could kill him!" she said, calmly, as befits a Christian assassin. That desire compelled her to think of H. R. and of what he had said from their first meeting at the bank. He had said much and had done more. In the end she spoke aloud: "I wonder if he really loves me?" A knock at the door was the only answer--a servant who came to tell her that Mrs. Goodchild wished her to know they were waiting for her downstairs in the Dutch room. "Very well," she said to the servant. To herself she said, firmly, "Even if he loves me and is everything he should be I can never marry a man who has made me feel like a theatrical poster!" Her determination was adamantine. To break it H. R. must be more than clever. XIX H. R. at that very moment was in his office. He had prepared a few model epistles for his Public Sentiment Corps to write to the newspapers, asking whether the composition of the ideal hunger-appeaser had been printed and when the tickets for the Mammoth Hunger Feast would be offered for sale. This would keep alive interest in his plans and in the personnel of his public commissions. People had grown to believe that all sorts of commissions were necessary not only to free but even to intelligent government. He had his list of names ready for the reporters when they called. "The announcement as to how we shall sell the tickets--each at twenty-five cents--to pay for a wonderful meal for a hungry person and a coupon attached, with ten thousand dollars in cash if you have brains--will be made to-morrow." "But--" expostulated a fat reporter. "To-morrow!" said H. R., feeling strong enough now to be nasty to the press. Either he was or he was not yet News. He would decide that matter for all time. "Do you think we are your hired press agents to--" angrily began the fat one. "I don't give a damn if I never see you again. I don't care what you print or what you don't print, nor when. We do our advertising through the medium of sandwiches. Get to hell out of here and remember the libel laws; also that I pay my lawyers by the year. They are not very busy just now." To the others he said, kindly, "That's all to-day, boys. I'm busy as blazes." Cursing the absurd libel laws which prevent all newspapers from printing the truth, the fat reporter took his list of names and his leave at one and the same time. You can't treat even frauds humorously nowadays. H. R. had won again! He summoned Andrew Barrett and said to him: "Get this sandwich out to-morrow. It is one of our own. S. A. S. A. account; all-day job." "The men objected to the other--" "Seven thirty-cent tickets to Weinpusslacher's apiece," interrupted H. R., impatiently. "Get them from Weinie. He owes us three thousand." "Great! Greatissimo!" shouted young Mr. Barrett. He hated to pay out real money, and the members were getting ugly. They wanted pay for everything, even for sandwiching for the Cause. "Go to the costumer of the Metropolitan Opera House, to Madame Pauline, and to Monsieur Raquin of the Rue de la Paix who is stopping at the Hôtel Regina, and to the fashion editor of the _Ladies' Home Mentor_, and ask each to send us a design for a ticket-seller's costume. They will be worn by perfectly beautiful girls. There will be one hundred of them. I myself vote for the Perfect Thirty-eight, about five feet seven and one-half tall. My model of perfection is Miss Goodchild. Get busy. And, Barrett--" "Yes, sir." "Here is the text for the sandwich." H. R. handed a sheet of paper to his lieutenant, who read thereon: ONE HUNDRED GIRLS WILL SELL TICKETS TO THE MAMMOTH HUNGER FEAST * * * * * THEY ARE THE ONLY PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS IN ALL NEW YORK * * * * * LOOK FOR THEM! LOOK AT THEM! PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL! O. K. H. R., _Sec._ "Say, H. R., this is the master-stroke! commented Andrew Barrett. "To-morrow," said H. R. coldly, "one hundred sandwiches on the Avenue. One of them in front of Goodchild's all day. White canvas. Heliotrope letters. Pea-green border. Design number eleven. Also insert this ad. in all the papers." This was the copy of the advertisement: _Wanted:_ Perfectly Beautiful Girls. Not merely pretty, nor merely young, nor merely hopeful, but Perfectly Beautiful! Object: To make New-Yorkers thank Providence they live in the same town. Apply H. R., Allied Arts Bldg. Andrew Barrett read it and left the room shaking his head, unable to speak coherently. H. R. looked up a few addresses in the Directory and went out. He called on the president of the National Academy of Design, on the Professor of Anatomy of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, on the president of the National Sculpture Society, the president of the Magazine Cover Designers' Guild, the president of the Equal Suffrage League, who was Mrs. Vandergilt, and Professor Tangolino, late of the Argentine Republic. These, with H. R., would constitute the Public Beauty Commission and would decide who was perfectly beautiful. To each he pointed out that the noble cause of charity must be advanced. Also an American standard of perfect beauty would be established for all time, their decision being unappealable. The artists instantly approved the plan, the method being artistic and therefore strictly logical. The president of the Suffrage League at first demurred. She objected to sex being dragged into the affair, and, besides, mere physical beauty too long had been accorded a disproportionate importance in social and political matters. It degraded a sex fit for higher things than to be man's plaything. H. R., however, earnestly pointed out that it involved the recognition of the superior salesmanship of women--not sales_woman_ship, but sales_man_ship, for while man was no better than woman in the conduct of the government or anything else, woman was infinitely the superior of man in many things. He finally induced Mrs. Vandergilt and the others to serve on the commission. But the damned newspapers, he warned them, would print names and would, alas! devote much space to their deliberations. They said that the regrettable publicity would not stop them from doing their duty. He returned to his office and prepared a series of questions for the papers to ask him. This is the most intelligent form of newspaper interview because it is always printed. Answers to the reporters' own questions always appear in the papers when the reporters themselves have to supply them. These were the questions--which later on the Public Sentiment Corps answered with judiciously varied ayes and noes. 1. Were there one hundred Perfectly Beautiful Girls in New York? 2. Would there be a second Judgment of Paris? 3. Was the Public Beauty Commission really competent? 4. How many points for complexion and coloring? For teeth? For figure? For hands and feet and hair? 5. Would not a uniform garment, on the lines of Annette Kellerman's bathing-suit, be the only fair way? 6. Would the wives, daughters, or fiancées of the members of the commission be _hors concours_? 7. At what age did a girl cease to be a _Girl_? 8. Should Morality be allowed to interfere with Art? When the reporters called at the S. A. S. A. offices H. R. gave to each a typewritten set of the questions and said: "The commission will hold meetings. They will be public to the applicants. Nobody else, excepting male reporters, will be allowed to be present. And you might add, gentlemen, that the commission considers the requirements for success so uncommon as to render unnecessary the lease of the Madison Square Garden to hold the candidates. The sessions will be held in a room not much larger than this room. And," added the diabolic H. R., "we have no fear of overcrowding. They have to be _perfectly beautiful girls_, beautifully perfect. Now, don't quote me, boys, but you might print, as a report on good authority, that the only one thus far chosen is Miss Grace Goodchild!" Though all reporters are human, most of them are grateful. They duly published the "rumor" and Grace's latest photographs. XX Long before the tea was over, Grace Goodchild, two miles north of him, realized that H. R. was one of those detestable persons who are always right. A dozen of her intimates surrounded her in the Dutch room. They all talked at once. When eleven stopped for lack of breath the twelfth, who very cleverly had saved hers, asked: "Did they really pick you out, Grace?" The speaker was not perfectly beautiful. But she was wise and therefore a virgin. "No!" said Grace. "But really, I don't want to have anything to do with it." "If Hendrik was _my_ Hendrik, I'd be _It_," said the wise virgin, determinedly, "or he'd know it!" "He told me," Grace spoke modestly, "that only perfectly beautiful girls would be chosen. And so of course that lets me out!" "Oh-h-h-h!" came in chorus. There ensued much whispering. Grace flushed. No woman likes to be accused of mendacity monosyllabically. It made her dislike H. R. more than ever. "Does your father," asked the wise one, "still oppose--" "He does," answered Grace. Then she added, "Of course." "I think your father--" And the wise one bit her lips. You would have thought she was snipping off thread with her teeth. A well-bred person must do this oftener than a seamstress--to keep herself from telling the truth. "_My_ father," tactfully observed Marion Molyneux, "could oppose until the cows came home." "Mamma is on the commission and I'm not eligible, so _I_ am not after his vote," said Ethel Vandergilt. "But I'd love to meet him, Grace. Is he all they say he is?" Grace Goodchild for the first time began to realize that H. R. was a remarkable man. She realized it by the simple expedient of disliking Ethel. "Is it true that he'll do anything you tell him?" cut in Cynthia Coleman, enviously. She was a very pretty girl, with the absurd doll face that makes men feel so manly. She had brains. A girl with that face always has. She shows it by never showing them. The face does the trick more quickly. Grace said, calmly, "H. R. never--" "Oh, girls, she calls him H. R., too!" exclaimed Marion. Feeling herself one of a multitude made Grace feel a mere human being. Created in the image of God, each of them naturally desires to feel like a goddess. "I do not call him H. R.," said Grace, coldly. "It is more important to know what he calls her," observed the wise one. Grace remembered what H. R. had called her. She felt herself blushing with anger. Truly, the gods were kind to H. R. "Coming back to our muttons, are you going to introduce us?" asked Ethel Vandergilt. "I'm not going to have anything to do with the affair," said Grace, decisively. "Aren't you?" said the wise one. It barely missed being a sneer. "Why not?" asked Ethel. She was the best-gowned woman in the United States. And she was _ex-officio hors concours_. Grace Goodchild felt the stare of twenty pairs of eyes of differing degrees of brightness, but of the same degree of unbelief. They irritated her by flattering her. No woman can concentrate when watched by other women. Grace, therefore, was compelled to live up to the rôle which society had assigned to her, whether she liked it or not. When you tell a man he is wise and ask for advice, he looks as wise as he can and answers ambiguously. When you tell a woman you don't believe her she indignantly tells you the truth. "One of the reasons"--she spoke very sweetly--"is that he said my friends would ask me to do it but he did not wish me to add to his troubles." The girls were listening with their very souls, for this was inside news. Grace went on: "The commission will be absolutely impartial--" "You don't know mother!" muttered Ethel Vandergilt. Grace heard her, and she said, rebukingly, "Yes, absolutely impartial and--" "Are you chosen one of the hundred?" asked the wise virgin. "Yes, I am!" answered Grace, defiantly. "I had nothing to do with it. This whole affair is exceedingly distasteful to me." "Of course!" came in a great chorus. To agree with her in that tone of voice was intolerable. Grace's hatred shifted from the unspeakable H. R. to these bosom friends. If it were not that H. R. was always right, she wouldn't dislike _him_ so much. "It is not that I mind not being one of the hundred, but the not being asked to be," muttered the doll face. It was obviously what all of them minded. Ethel Vandergilt said: "If I could make my mother resign I'd offer my services. But she is not the resigning kind. Good-by. I'm crazy to meet your H. R." Well, they were welcome to him--if she made up her mind she did not want him for herself. The moment the last false friend left, Grace's tolerant smile vanished. Was she, in sooth, chosen Number One? The papers said it was only a rumor. Suppose she was not Number One, after all? Supposing the commission-- "I could kill him!" she hissed, and left the room. Frederick came to her. "Miss Goodchild, there are five reporters waiting to see you." "Say I'm not at home!" Then she called the man back. "Ask them what they want," and went up-stairs to her room. Frederick returned presently and reported: "They say they will do themselves the honor to inform you in person if you will be kind enough to see them. And, Miss--" He paused. He had exceeded his duty. "What is it, Frederick?" asked Grace, knowing that the imperturbable cockney was perturbed. "There is quite a crowd outside. They are photographing the ladies, ma'am." "What ladies?" "Begging your pardon, Miss Vandergilt and the others, ma'am." "Where?" "Just in front of the door. Mr. Goodchild had some trouble in getting in, ma'am. He's quite vexed about it, but it wasn't my fault, ma'am," he said, forgetting that he was a menial; that is, protesting against injustice. "I couldn't help it, ma'am." "Very well, Frederick," she said, graciously, and descended. Five reporters were politely listening to Mr. Goodchild's vituperations. Therefore his daughter walked down the stairs as majesty descends from the dais. One of the reporters started to meet her half-way. "Hey! confound you, come down!" shrieked papa. "Miss Goodchild, we wished to ask you if you had been chosen as the first of the perfectly beautiful hundred. Now that we have seen you at close range, the question is unnecessary." She smiled slightly; then ceased to smile. The intelligent young man proceeded courteously: "Will you therefore kindly tell us when the wedding will be?" All reporters are psychologists in their interrogations. The other reporters ceased listening to Mr. Goodchild and as politely as the circumstances permitted took out paper and pencils. When an angry man is suddenly deprived of his audience he becomes a mental assassin. Mr. Goodchild blamed it on H. R. "She'll never marry that infernal idiot!" he shrieked. He was the head of the house. "Ah yes," said the diplomatist on the stair, looking as though he had memorized the exact words. "Ah yes! June! Thank you." He nodded gratefully at Mr. Goodchild, jotted down a date, and put the paper in his pocket. "Congratulations, Miss Goodchild," he said to her, with profound respect, and descended. In the hall he said to his colleagues: "Come on, boys. We've got the month. She _is_ Number One, and--" "If you dare to print anything I'll have you fired," fumed Mr. Goodchild. "If you were a younger man I'd tell you to fire your grandmother, sir. But I fear me she is, alas! no more. In the mean time, Mr. Goodchild, will you be good enough to pose for our artist? Look pleasant, please. You'll have to close your mouth to do it. Wilson, you may begin filming when ready!" he said to his photographer, who had just pushed past Frederick. Sounds of cheering and applause came from the street. The ultra-fashionable friends of Grace Goodchild, having been photographed, were shaking hands with the artists and spelling their own names to the reporters. The gaping proletariate, seeing such graciousness, recognized the aristocracy of the democracy and were cheering madly. An aristocracy whose sense of humor makes it kindly is lasting. "Them's real swells!" shrieked a red-headed girl who carried a large bandbox. More cheers. At that moment Grace Goodchild, impelled by an irresistible curiosity appeared at her door. "_There she is!_ Hooray!" proudly shrieked two hundred and eighteen potential Socialists, making room for Bishop Phillipson. Hoping they were not too late for the wedding, the throngs clapped furiously. Even at marriages there are encore fiends. "How do you do, my child?" inquired the Bishop, with a tolerant smile. "Please turn around, Bishop!" shrieked the _Journal_ artist. He was paid by the portrait. The Bishop did so, smiled benignantly, saw the shutter open and close, and then said, deprecatingly: "I do not wish my picture taken, sir." "No, sir. Will you give us another shot, Bishop?" The reverend gentleman waited a moment and then shook his head and turned his back rebukingly on the photographers, who a second time had not respected his wishes. "Such is fame, Bishop Phillipson," Grace told him, with a smile. "Reflected greatness, rather," said the Bishop, with his courtly kindliness. "It's an infernal outrage!" came in a husky voice from the house. "It's papa. He doesn't understand--" "He and I are too old, I fear," smiled the Bishop, mournfully. "And how is H. R., my dear?" She shook her head and frowned. Always that person! "A most remarkable young man," pursued the Bishop, congratulatorily. He had received three and one-half bushels of letters from utter strangers, commending his practical Christianity and his highly intelligent plan for feeding the hungry. Five vestry-men also had expressed their gratification that his name headed the list of the men who had made New York the greatest city of the hemisphere. It looked as though the hungry were to be fed. The Bishop and Grace moved out of the doorway to allow the reporters to pass, and were themselves about to enter the house when a sound of cheering made them halt in their tracks. A vast crowd was walking up the Avenue. In the van marched one of H. R.'s free sandwiches. He was dressed in crimson broadcloth (from Morton & Co. as per the next morning's accounts) and he wore a shining silk hat (Fox Brothers, as per same in the _Times_, _Herald_, and _Tribune_). The sandwich-board was a most gorgeous affair--a shield of burnished gold (by Cellini & Co., Florentine frame-makers) on which were the arms of the City of New York in heraldic colors. Beneath, in six-inch letters of glittering turquoise enamel, was: [Illustration: THE FIRST OF THE PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL 100 IS GRACE GOODCHILD OF 777 FIFTH AVENUE.] In front of the Goodchild mansion the stalwart free sandwich stopped, faced Miss Goodchild, raised his glittering top-hat, and held it in the air, Beau Brummelesquely. Andrew Barrett was immediately behind the herald of the free and intelligent people of the greatest city of the New World. A hush fell on the multitude. "Speech!" shrieked Andrew Barrett. "Speech!" shrieked twelve hundred and thirty-eight intelligent New-Yorkers and seven bankers. "There's Bishop Phillipson!" shrilled a correctly gowned elderly lady, pointing a jeweled lorgnette at the Bishop of New York. It meant the Church approved. "Hooray for the Bishop! Bishop! Bishop!" "_Vox populi, vox Dei_," murmured the Bishop to himself. "Say something, my child," he gently urged Grace. "After all, we may dislike the way it is done, but if the hungry are fed we may be forgiven." Grace Goodchild burned with desire to make a wonderful speech to prove that her greatness was her very own. They wanted her, not H. R., this time! It was _her_ triumph, not his. Alas! She did not know what to say. She did not even know how to say it. She therefore shook her head angrily. "Speech!" shouted the crowd, twice as vehemently as before. They always want to hear what you don't wish to say. The cameras were clicking away madly. They sounded like the telegraph-room of a national convention. Five-dozen healthy young persons began chanting, rhythmically: "Speech! Speech! Speech!--speech!--speech!" Grace thought they were saying: "His Peach! His Peach! His Peach! Peach! Peach!" She hotly resented the intimation of H. R.'s ownership, but the sincerity of the tribute paralyzed her. The sandwich-man had been amiably told by Andrew Barrett, "Hold the pose, you slob!" and did so. His immobility was most impressive. His shield dazzled Grace. She recalled, in a flash, Geraldine Farrar. She bowed to the sandwich, then to right and left, kissed her hand to the crowd of voters and not-yet voters, and ran blushing into the house. The storm of applause broke loose. The very house rocked drunkenly as the sound-waves dashed themselves against the façade. The strenuous, nerve-racking life of New York compelled the crowd to linger for an hour. It was not until they began to break off bits of the bronze railing and chip souvenirs from the portico columns that the Goodchilds' butler sent a hurry call for the police. The lieutenant's official version was cold and formal. XXI The Public Menu Commission had been having pitched battles. The Public Sentiment Corps had been bombarding the newspapers with letters asking for the official menu, but the commission refused to be hurried by popular clamor, and said so to the reporters. Their own sessions were held behind locked doors. Omelette soufflée au curaçoa was definitely stricken off Signor Piccolini's tentative menu, on the theory that the filling was not permanent. "Air is cheap," protested Piccolini, "and we have to consider the expense." "But we want something that will stay by the hungry more than fifteen minutes." "Then," said Piccolini, scathingly, "give them sliced rubber boots." "If _you_ prepared the sauce, dear master," interjected H. R., who happened to be present, "I'd rather eat it than any other artist's filet Châteaubriand aux--" Piccolini bowed to him profoundly. Then he shrugged his shoulders at the others. "Nevertheless," he said, with conviction, "Omelette soufflée--" "What can you expect from the other members?" whispered H. R. to him. "If we prolong the debate there won't be any hungry men alive to eat our dinner. Yield, dear master, for the sake of humanity." Then he said aloud, "Let's try beans." The Commission therefore reported progress and adjourned for the day. The newspapers, spurred thereto by the avalanche of letters and favorite recipes from charitable ladies in Brooklyn, who gave their names, addresses, and terms per week, devoted much space to the ideal hunger-appeaser. For the first time in history New York began to take an intelligent interest in menus. Everybody talked about eating as if Hungarian orchestras and Brazilian dances did not exist. Presently the newspapers announced on unimpeachable authority that serious dissensions existed among the members of the Public Menu Commission. It was hinted that resignations would be called for. Applications for the vacant places and suggestions from really competent men poured into the editorial rooms. It made the commission, as usual, an editorial target. More space! That impelled the Commission, speaking with difficulty by reason of the swollen lips of the chairman, to announce the menu. H. R. had it printed on academy board. New York, on the tiptoe of expectation to learn what an ideal hunger-appeaser would consist of, and how it could be done for twenty-five cents and how the commission could decide without bloodshed, made haste to read the menu: Soup à la Piccolini Entrée à la Hôtel Regina Roast à la Perry Vegetable à la Weinpusslacher Dessert à la Fitz-Marlton Bread à la Prof. Preston Milk à la Pasteur Coffee à la Manhattan Tea as Wanted O. K. H. R., _Sec._ The exact recipe of each dish would be made public after the Hunger Feast. It would remain a secret until then! More space! See? Could the newspapers help it? Didn't people have to have something to talk about? If they didn't, what could the editorial writers have to write about? Knowing that talk must continue in order that interest in the Hunger Feast might not abate, H. R. himself went to the shops on Fifth Avenue. The shops elsewhere would follow the Avenue fashions. He told each window-dresser the same thing. "I come to you _first_ because you are an artist concerned with color effects and striking arrangements. You also are a psychologist, since you compel people to halt on the sidewalk and then mutely induce them to use the doors. You really are the man who declares the dividends on the firm's capital stock. Yes, you do, and I'll see that the big chief acknowledges it, too. Now I've come to you--_first_! Whatever you do will be copied. It makes you plagiarizable, and that is merely the recognition of greatness. You have the window. In order to dissociate the idea of money from your shop in the public's mind I'm going to give you a chance to prove that you are above mere money-making, which is something no Fifth Avenue shop ever did before. Remember in this connection the psychology of the crowd and of the money they wish to spend and at the same time keep in their pockets. You and your windows are New York--the New York that draws the crowd of natives and Americans. Give a whole window, not to _my_ charity, but to New York's--to yours! Put this menu on an easel, with a background of that wonderful velvet you had the other day--the one that killed your competitors. It was wonderful!" Before the artist could draw his breath H. R. had warmly bid him good-by, leaving a menu in the astonished artist's hand. They did. It was original, as they explained to the boss. And even department-store bosses know that originality means novelty, and novelty is what New York pays for. Within six hours the first edition of menus was exhausted. In every shop window in New York the public could read the Public Menu Commission's masterpiece. Cost: $68.14 + H. R. The undoubted possessors of perfect beauty gave more trouble than the menu, and therefore got more space in the newspapers. A regular detail of police guarded not only the Allied Arts Building day and night, but also the honor and features of the Public Beauty Commission. Grace Goodchild was compelled to make use of her neighbor's house, Mrs. Vantine's, in order to reach the street. She used the Seventy-sixth Street entrance. Mrs. Vantine congratulated Grace each time on her deserved triumph and asked her to look at Louise, her youngest. H. R. had told Barrett to convey delicately to the press that the relatively young wife of one of the members of the commission had left for Reno. No name was mentioned. Therefore the portraits of all the male members were impartially published. A neat little interrogation-mark after each name did _not_ constitute libel. The commissioners were thereafter compelled to be particularly nice to their own wives in public. The theatrical profession howled individually, collectively, in person, in writing, by telephone, and through press agents. Nightly these favorites would ask, more or less nasally and slightly below pitch, whether they were not perfectly beautiful, and gave the audience the opportunity to judge of fifteen-sixteenths of their persons. And the unanimous reply was, "You are!"--from the claque. It became the topic of the day, and as such divided families and parted friends. At the end of three days H. R. diabolically announced that only sixty-eight had been selected. "Aren't there one hundred perfectly beautiful girls in Greater New York?" he feverishly asked the reporters. "Aren't there?" The literary misogynists propounded the same query--in the head-lines, at that! On the very morning that saw that insulting question printed it was estimated by one of the newspapers that 318,029 answered, "Present." It was probably an exaggeration, as there doubtless was some repeating. The Public Beauty Commission added fourteen to the list of utter pulchritudes. Names, addresses, and portraits duly printed. Elderly persons signing William H. P. or James G. C. in feminine hand-writing asked the most conservative newspapers whether there was nothing else fit to print but the disgusting travesty on charity or the appalling vulgarity of immodest females. The newspapers printed the letters. One of them, an afternoon sheet, stopped printing names and portraits of the successful. It stopped for one issue. The circulation department interviewed the city department. The paper went back, under a new city editor, to the business of printing all the news that was fit to print. The public demanded it. On Sunday all the newspapers published the full list of one hundred perfectly beautiful girls who alone would sell tickets admitting the holder to the Mammoth Hunger Feast in the capacity of spectator. One to each customer; no more. On Monday they printed a facsimile of H. R.'s ticket. [Illustration] No. 1 was a coupon to be detached by the seller. It was in the nature of both wages and a vote to show which was the perfectest of the perfect. It would mean the only fair election ever held in America. Only one ticket to each customer. There would be no rich man buying tickets by the thousand, no stuffing of the ballot-boxes by the gallant commander of a militia regiment, no undue influence on the part of high political officials. No man could resist a perfectly beautiful girl who asked him to buy one ticket for a quarter of a dollar, twenty-five cents. No bribing by kisses was necessary. The rest of the ticket was retained by the buyer. It bought what the masses were beginning to speak of as the dandy belly-filler for a hungry person who was warranted not to have any money. No. 3 coupon was to be detached by the doorkeeper at Madison Square Garden and returned to the ticket-buyer. If the holder of said coupon exercised his or her brains he or she would receive ten thousand dollars in cash. Conditions governing the collection of said ten thousand dollars would be published on Saturday morning. It would _not_ be a lottery. It now behooved charitable New-Yorkers to buy the tickets which would feed all hungry persons who positively had no money to buy food with, and at the same time receive ten thousand dollars in cash, brains being present--all for twenty-five cents. The ten thousand would be paid in cash, with United States Treasury notes obtained from the National Bank of the Avenue. This insured their genuineness. On Monday the perfectly beautiful started. It was, fittingly, a perfectly beautiful day. In automobiles (makers' names given, since it was for charity) decked with beautiful flowers (donating florists also honorably mentioned in the public prints, and paid advs. besides) the perfectly beautiful hundred went forth to appeal to the great heart of New York. They were indeed beautiful. At least the men, being blind and possessing the suffrage, thought so. Why, they even clamored to be allowed to buy. And found ways and means of repeating. They never can vote honorably. The newspapers reported that by 11 P.M. 38,647 tickets had been sold. Also they announced twenty-three engagements of perfectly beautiful ticket-sellers. Grace Goodchild's name led the list. This time Mr. Goodchild did not deny it. The reporters refused to listen to him, damn 'em! On Tuesday the receipts fell on. Only 7,363 were sold. No engagements. On Wednesday the sales rose. The _offers_ of marriage aggregated 18,889. Sixteen engagements of poor but perfectly beautiful girls to rich but devilishly wise old men! A truly remarkable thing happened. Everybody ceased to be concerned with the sales of tickets or the object thereof. Crowds before the newspaper offices patiently watched for announcements of fresh betrothals. Every time one went on the bulletin-board the spectators cheered as if it were a home run instead of a prospective marriage. The betrothed reported to H. R. that they found the display of the solitaires interfered with the sales of tickets. He advised them to remove it. They refused. "Well," he said, coldly, "the one who sells the most tickets will be declared the most beautiful of the hundred. Of course you don't care what men think of your looks so long as one man thinks you are the most beautiful. He must, since he is your fiancé. By all means show the solitaire. I respect your modesty. Besides, it keeps you from receiving offers that you cannot, with honor, entertain." They therefore removed their engagement-rings during business hours. In Thursday's papers were printed the facsimile of a certified check for ten thousand dollars signed by H. R. It was a sample prize. All checks would be exchanged for cash before the Hunger Feast began. _Save your coupons!_ This was already the commercial slogan of a great nation. On Friday H. R., knowing that even perfectly beautiful girls cannot hold the attentive interest of New York unless infractions of the Seventh Commandment are provided in relays, gave out a statement for the newspapers. The newspapers not only printed it, but featured it. Heretofore [said H. R.] when charitable folks have given money to organized charity they have never been able to feel certain that the money went to the right people. Organized charity has been compelled to be careful. While the merits of the case were under investigation it has frequently happened that the case has died of starvation. Now, genuine destitution needs not life-insurance examination, but common sense and ordinary Christianity on the jump. We have undertaken to feed the hungry who have no money to buy food with. If anybody out of the thousands who will be fed by us is proven to be an undeserving object of our charity I will give one hundred thousand dollars par value in gilt-edged securities to any organized charity approved by Mr. George G. Goodchild, president of the Ketcham National Bank, who, being my prospective father-in-law against his wishes, will be glad to have me lose the money. Modern methods of efficiency have been applied to charity for the first time. Hence this meal, scientifically studied, artistically concocted, digestible, delicious, and filling. There will be no graft, no throwing away of the public's nobly given money, no dietetic fads, no scientific sawdust, no waste, no salaries, no fraudulent hungers, no inhumanity, no maudlin sentiment, nothing but common sense now first applied to charity by New York. The Mammoth Hunger Feast, marking an era in the life of the great metropolis, will begin at 8.30 P.M. in order to give time for all ticket-holders to dine at home. Well-fed New-Yorkers will therefore be able to see with their own eyes how starving people eat--people who have no money to buy food with. Before each ticket-holder takes the seat to which he is entitled he, or more probably she, will receive ten thousand dollars in cash, by simply using brains. Let us see if New-Yorkers are as clever as they are charitable. Also, I shall marry Grace Goodchild in June. [Signed] H. R. A great many people announce an epoch-making idea and expect the world to remember it ever thereafter. H. R. knew that, living in a republic, he must iterate, reiterate, repeat, and sign every time. On Saturday morning the ninety-nine other perfectly beautiful girls were engaged. Grace Goodchild, when asked point-blank if she were engaged to H. R., now answered, "Do you see any engagement-ring?" Then she held up her slim and beautiful hands. No ring. All told, 186,898 tickets had been sold. It was plain that repeating had been indulged in. The fair sellers could not be blamed. "If susceptible men have bought more than one ticket," H. R. said to the reporters, "they need not think they will get more than ten thousand dollars. But the fact remains that we have more than enough money." This entitled H. R. to the respect of the most conservative dailies. And, moreover, he paid full rates for a half-page in which he printed this advertisement: HUNGRY PEOPLE WHO CAN'T BUY FOOD BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO MONEY WILL RECEIVE A FINE DINNER FREE BY GOING TO MADISON SQUARE GARDEN TO-NIGHT BEFORE 8.30. FOURTH AVENUE ENTRANCE. NO MATTER HOW YOU CAME TO BE HUNGRY AND PENNILESS; NO MATTER WHAT YOUR LIFE HAS BEEN OR WHAT YOUR RELIGION NOW IS; NO MATTER WHAT YOUR HABITS ARE OR WHAT YOUR POLITICAL OPINIONS MAY BE, WITHOUT REGARD TO YOUR JAIL RECORD, DISEASE, STATE OF MIND, OR FAVORITE NEWSPAPER, IF YOU ARE HUNGRY AND HAVE NO MONEY, COME AND EAT! TO THE PUBLIC: COME AND SEE THEM EAT YOUR TICKETS! UNDER THE AUSPICES OF THE SOCIETY OF AMERICAN SANDWICH ARTISTS. H. R., _Sec._ SPONSORS: THE MEN WHO HAVE MADE NEW YORK WHAT IT IS! Then followed three hundred and seventeen famous names. "What I have to say," H. R. modestly told the reporters, "I have stated in my advertisement. However, if you wish to ask any questions, or if you think the public is interested in any particular point--" "It is! We do!" exclaimed the reporters. "Tell us about the ten thousand dollars!" "It is very simple and very easy," said H. R., with the deadly earnestness of a man who knows he will not be believed when he speaks the truth in New York. "As each person passes the ticket-taker he will go, coupon in hand, into the superintendent's office. There he will be asked one question. It is not a catch question. No puns permitted. No double meaning. No particularly deep or recondite significance. It is a plain question, vital to the welfare of all New-Yorkers, affecting the destiny of the American nation. The answer is perfectly obvious. The Mayor has been invited to be present, and he will see to it that no fraud is perpetrated on the thousands of people who have bought tickets in good faith--" "I thought the object of the tickets was to feed hungry--" began a serious-eyed reporter. "It is; but charity carries a reward in cash. It is the modern way. You might add that there will be no reserved seats, no privileged classes. Where all men are alike charitable, all men are equal before God and man!" Napoleon revolutionized the art of war by moving quickly and overwhelming the foe with artillery. H. R. made charity a success by appealing not alone to the charitable instinct of New-Yorkers, but to every other instinct he could think of. Therefore everybody who was not hungry logically decided to go to the Mammoth Hunger Feast. The newspapers printed long and reassuring accounts of the police arrangements. H. R., being a republican at heart, had reserved the Imperial Box for Grace Goodchild and her friends, and ninety-nine Royal boxes for the other ticket-sellers and their fiancés. His free sandwich men occupied the front row of arena seats and had been coached by the leader of the Grand Opera claque. At a given signal they were to cheer Grace Goodchild. When the bugle announced H. R.'s entrance they were to go crazy. Ten beers _after_ the show. XXII At half after seven that night H. R., accompanied by eighteen contemporary historians and six magazine psychological portraitists, went to the entrance of the hungry. It was in the rear of the Garden and was dark and narrow. Symbolism! It was the same entrance that a few weeks previously had admitted the circus's beasts; only the beasts were not hungry. Fourth Avenue seethed with humanity. A blind man afflicted with stone deafness could have told that hungry people were there provided his nose worked. The street-cars had stopped running at 6.30 P.M., after the twenty-seventh accident. The crowd was orderly and silent, as really hungry people are. And they had good manners, as the physically weak always have. And they were not impatient, for the prospect of eating always makes the starving hopeful. A merciful darkness covered the hideousness of ten thousand faces. The reporters began to fidget like nervous women at a military play just before the execution. H. R., seizing the exact psychological moment, said to the reporters: "Let us press the button!" It is the modern way--the press and the pressure. He pressed the button. It turned on the lights of an electric sign hung above the entrance. The starving men read in blazing letters: IF YOU ARE HUNGRY AND HAVE NO MONEY WALK IN! By their light the reporters were able to see the faces of the crowd plainly. "My God!" said the young man from the _Times_. The dazzling invitation was so worded as to prevent unseemly haste and unnecessary crowding. It said, "_Walk_ in." "It is easy to assume, gentlemen," said H. R., calmly, to the reporters, "that all these people are hungry." "Yes, let 'em all in!" entreated those reporters who were not jotting down impressions. H. R. shook his head sternly. "We have our duty to the public to perform. We must determine whether they have no money." "Your duty is to feed them _all_," said the _Sun_ man. "You can't afford to make a single mistake. Did you see that white-haired woman--" "Come with me, gentlemen," cut in H. R., leading the way within. Streams of people began to flow in at each entrance, sedately; four big policemen, representing the majesty of the law, stood, two on either side of each entrance. The majesty was of locust wood, held in the air, ready to descend on the cranium of the lawless and even of the ill-mannered. As the starving entered the door they found themselves in a passageway with sides of heavy plank that narrowed until they were walking in single file, just as they do in abattoirs and sheep-dipping pens. One by one they thus came. There was a small inclosure on one side of the passage. There stood H. R. and his reporters. Beside them was a small table. A heap of shining silver quarters was on the table in plain sight of all. H. R. asked the first man, "Are you hungry?" "Yes. I haven't had a bite in--" H. R. held up a hand to check the autobiography. He inquired, sternly: "Got any money?" "Nope." "Sure?" "Yep." The reporters began to sneer. What did this H. R., who was said to be clever, expect such people to answer? That's the trouble with all wealthy philanthropists. They are damned fools. They don't know human nature nor their own compatriots. "Do you want a quarter?" asked H. R., kindly, at the same time lifting a big handful of silver to show there was plenty. "You bet!" "Wouldn't you rather have a dollar?" asked H. R. He picked up four quarters and jingled them in his open palm by bouncing them up and down in the air, gently, invitingly. The man stared at H. R. and refused to answer. It must be a trap! "Don't you or do you? Speak quickly!" said H. R., impatiently. "Of course!" "You'll have to let us search you to see how much you've got on you if you really want a dollar instead of the quarter." "Say, yous--" began the man. "Frisk him!" "To hell with your dollar," said the man, defiantly clapping one hand to his pocket. "I knew it was a plant!" "This way," politely said the plain-clothes men, leading away the pauper who didn't wish to be searched. The colloquy had not been overheard by the other hungry guests. The man was led into a storeroom, where he was kept so that he might not empty his pockets and come in again from the street for the dollar he did not really want. "You see how we will eliminate those who have money and--" But the reporters were not listening to H. R. They were too busy writing. This man was no philanthropist. He was intelligent. There were some guests who said they objected to the indignity of being searched, though they had no money. They joined the first man in the storeroom. "No taxpayers' subterfuges tolerated," H. R. said. But most of the hungry were perfectly willing to be searched and prove they had no money. They were told by H. R. to pass on. To those who asked for the money H. R. said, sternly: "Do you wish to swallow a quarter or do you want to eat food?" They grumbled. They were human. They passed on. They were hungry. Having shown the reporters how the undoubted penury of the deserving hungry was established, H. R. led them into the presence of the Infallible Booze-detector. "Yes, but when those poor people said they were willing to be searched and thereby prove they had no money, I notice you didn't give 'em the quarter," observed young Mr. Lubin of the _Onward_. "We never promised to give money. We asked them if they wanted a quarter and then if they wouldn't prefer a dollar." "Yes. But you cruelly raised their hopes," remonstrated Lubin. "These are human beings--" "And we are going to fill their bellies," interrupted H. R. "Giving _money_ to those who haven't any simply perpetuates Capitalism besides alienating the Christian vote. We _share_ food. That's Socialism. We do not give alms. That's insulting. Besides, we do not own the quarters. They're borrowed." Lubin was silenced. That silence from the Socialist reporter was H. R.'s greatest triumph thus far. As the penniless guests left the glittering heap of stage quarters unsearched they walked on along a gallery. At the end of it was another glittering electric sign. It said: THIS WAY IF YOU ARE HUNGRY! The hungry walked on eagerly. A few feet from the door that led into the arena where the waiting tables were they had to pass by a wide-open door. Within, in plain sight of the passers-by, was a long bar. Behind the bar were white-jacketed bartenders. The beer-kegs formed an inspiring background. On the bar itself stood dozens of big schooners--full. Above the bar could be read: FREE BEER! Frei! Gratis! A few walked on--straight to the dining-hall. But every one who walked into the free-beer room was told to go through a door on the left. "That way!" a policeman told the thirsty. The first man who went into the inner room found a policeman standing beside a table on which were a dozen full schooners. "If you drink now you don't eat," courteously said the cop. "Kismet!" said the starving man, and reached for a schooner. "It's for _after_ eating!" gently warned the policeman. "Life is uncertain. I'll drink now and--" "This way!" The policeman now spoke in his regular voice. He led the thirsty out of the room by another door which led into still another room used for storing the heavy circus impedimenta. "Do you see?" asked H. R., sweetly, to the reporters and the students of sociology from the magazines. "Do you?" "Mr. Rutgers, Columbus and his egg had nothing on you," said the earnest young theorist from the _Evening Post_. The others were busily turning out literature. "It won't cheat 'em out of a meal," H. R. whispered to young Mr. Lubin from the _Onward_. "But they don't eat with the others." That is how H. R. kept his promise to the business men of New York. He had circumvented fraud, which is the chief aim of modern charity. Also he had discouraged the formation of a professional pauper class--the one danger against which all commonwealths must guard. "I'd like to know what you are going to do with the culls," the _Sun_ man asked H. R. He had of late been trying to elevate the tone of the magazines with real fiction; which they refused to print. "Those who fell through thirst will be fed later," H. R. answered. "And those that wouldn't be searched? They looked mighty hungry to me." He was an expert in hunger. It drove him out of Literature. "We'll sell the left-over meals to them at cost. We are intelligent philanthropists. We shall now have a beer, gentlemen, and let us pass on." That beer had taken on a subtle quality of exclusiveness. All the reporters drank with gusto. XXIII At eight sharp the main entrance of the Garden was thrown open. The reporters promptly noted that the crowd of sight-seers exceeded the number of the hungry. It restored their belief in republican institutions. As each ticket-holder presented his ticket he demanded the instant return of the ten-thousand-dollar coupon. Even the skeptics who knew they'd never get the ten thousand dollars did this. The coupon-holder was then ushered into the superintendent's office, in which sat the Mayor of New York, the presidents of seven banks, the proprietors of six hotels, one United States Senator, H. R., and the reporters. Behind them was a large frame inclosing stretched white oil-cloth. Printed thereon in large black letters was this: YOU WILL BE ASKED ONE QUESTION. YOU WILL HAVE TEN SECONDS IN WHICH TO ANSWER. BRAIN-CAPACITY IS MEASURED BY THE QUICKNESS OF PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION. IF YOU CAN'T ANSWER IN TEN SECONDS, YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO THE $10,000 IN CASH. As the first coupon-holder entered H. R. rose and took from his pocket a huge roll of bills, all yellow-backs. He carelessly peeled off one of them and with a bow handed it to the Mayor. Everybody sat up straight. His Honor looked at it. It was for ten thousand dollars. He nodded and then silently passed it to a bank president, who in turn examined it, nodded, and passed it on to a colleague. The reporters pressed forward. "Experts in all kinds of small change," smiled H. R., pointing to the bankers. The reporters' eyes followed the return of the ten-thousand-dollar bill to the Mayor. They also decided that H. R.'s roll was the most impressive demonstration of brute strength ever seen in New York. Then H. R. asked his question, slowly, distinctly, enunciating carefully and smiling the while: "What is it we have all heard about from earliest childhood and that we acknowledge exists; that is neither a person nor a beast, neither a thing nor an object, but something that no man can kill, though it is dead to-day; that all men need and most New-Yorkers neglect; that should be present everywhere and is found in no trade? The answer is a word of five letters and begins with A--the first letter of the alphabet, the first of the five vowels. There is another word, a synonym, which is now obsolescent, though it is at times used in poetry. But while either word will win the ten thousand dollars in cash now in the custody of the Mayor of New York, the word I particularly have in mind has five letters, of which the first is appropriately A, the Alpha of the Greeks, the Aleph of the Hebrews, and now the first of all the alphabets of European languages. It is logically the first letter because it is the first sound that man naturally makes--'A' or 'Ah!' The first letter! What is the word of five letters beginning with A that will give you ten thousand dollars? With 'A'! _Now!_" Stop-watch in hand, H. R. began to move his left arm up and down like a referee at a prize-fight. He had astutely emphasized the fact that the word had five letters, of which the first was A. The mind of the coupon-holder was thus made to study the dictionary instead of thinking about the question itself. It was inevitable as fate itself. The first man could not guess. Neither could the second nor any of the thousands. But before the applicant's indignation at the unfairness of the question and the shortness of the time could grow into fury H. R. exclaimed, "Time's up." Approaching the non-guesser, he whispered: "The name of the unsuccessful will _not_ be given to the newspapers. Not by _us_! I thank you in the name of the poor starving people whose lives you have prolonged. That way to the seats. You can have your pick of the very best!" In that simple way was bloodshed and the cry of fraud averted at one and the same time. H. R. then delegated the task of propounding the aureate question to a dozen lieutenants. Without varying one word the lieutenants asked the men whose charity would feed the starving. Not one won the ten thousand dollars. One of the reporters with the air of a man whose life depends upon the bulletin-board asked H. R.: "What's the answer?" The others heard H. R. reply: "Ten thousand dollars in cash!" "Yes; but the word?" "It is worth ten thousand of my dollars. You can make them yours." "I guess it's a fake." "That begins with an 'F.' Mine begins with an 'A.' The Mayor has the cash." The reporter looked at the Mayor. His Honor's lips were moving inaudibly. He was going over all the words of five letters that began with an "A." Among them was _Agony_. Lubin again looked at the ten-thousand-dollar yellow-back and at H. R. and suddenly rushed out. On the way he collected nine erudite friends. They went to the nearest branch of the public library. Each got a dictionary and divided all the definitions under "A" into nine parts. Nothing doing! "I knew it was a fraud!" yelled the _Onward_ man. "It isn't in the dictionary." He fairly flew back to the Garden. H. R. was just about to go into the arena. Lubin yelled: "There is no such word in the dictionary. I protest against this--" "You talk like an old-school Republican," said H. R., coldly, to Lubin. It killed speech in the young man. The Mayor clenched his right fist tightly. The ten-thousand-dollar treasury note lay crumpled within. "Sir," said H. R. to him, with real dignity, "you have my word that the word _is_ in the dictionary." The Mayor, naturally thinking of political consequences, spoke, "Of course, Mr. Rutgers, I expect you to prove it." "Sir, I shall see to it that you are re-elected!" H. R. said this so positively that his Honor blushed guiltily. "I am not stupid enough to endeavor to perpetrate so transparent a fraud as this young man charges me with. But it would be even greater stupidity to be unfair to honest guessers by telling Mr. Lubin or anybody else what the word is. It is of five letters and begins with an 'A' and it is in the dictionary. But I will tell you, your Honor, and you, Mr. Lubin, what I will do. I shall ask the question and give the answer to a man who will say whether it is a fair question and whether the word is a fair answer. His decision will be final. He will not, I am sure, send for the ten thousand dollars after he hears the answer." The Mayor shook his head dubiously. "Who is the man?" Mr. Lubin, being young, went much further. "There is no man in New York whose word--" "Silence, sir! I know the man. If he says that the word answers the question, everybody in New York will be convinced--Socialists, Democrats, Republicans, Progressives, Suffragists, newspaper editors, and all." "There can't be such a man," said Lubin, decisively. H. R. smiled and turned to the Mayor. "Your Honor, the man whom I will ask to vouch for my honesty and intelligence after I have confidentially disclosed the word to him, is the Cardinal Archbishop of New York. His word will be enough, I take it." The Mayor beamed and said, "Certainly, Mr. Rutgers." He made up his mind then and there that H. R. must conduct his campaign for re-election. "Even young Mr. Lubin, I take it, will not doubt the word of his Eminence." Lubin was no fool. "Mr. Rutgers," he said, earnestly, "we hate our enemies, the capitalists. But we respect the only foes who are fighting us as we are fighting capitalism with honest convictions and real ardor. Of course, we think the Catholics--" "Hold on, Lubin," said H. R., "that policeman's name is Flannery." Lubin explained: "I was afraid you were going to give us a banker, Mr. Rutgers." "_Never!_" said H. R. so emphatically that Lubin extended his right hand. They shook warmly. A sound of applause came to their ears. The Mayor flushed with vexation. It was premature, he thought. He was wrong. It was Grace Goodchild. Andrew Barrett ran in excitedly. "Did you hear it?" he asked his chief. "Say, she is smiling to beat the band and the crowd is going crazy. Hear that?" And he began to dance a jig. H. R. seized him by the arm and said: "In exactly two minutes I shall enter." Andrew Barrett rushed away to tip on the _vox populi_. "Gentlemen," said H. R. to the reporters, "you had better go in." They obeyed him. They were escorted to their table on the stage. They found there seven military bands that had volunteered their services and also their own weapons. In the background of the stage was a huge placard: FIFTY THOUSAND PEOPLE CAN BE SERVED, FED, AND FIRED IN 6-3/4 MINUTES BY OUR SYSTEM! S. A. S. A., Dept. T. O. K. H. R., _Sec._ At each reporter's place was a typewritten sheet containing intelligent statistics of this stupendous charity. The reporters saw in the arena long strings of tables, each six hundred and eighteen feet long, and benches to match. Each guest was allowed nineteen and one-half inches. The dishes were of water-proofed paper stamped S. A. S. A. Above each table were aluminum-painted pipes with faucets every ten seats for soup, milk, tea, and coffee. "By keeping the tea, coffee, and soup in circulation wholesome warm drinks are secured," read the official statement, "besides obviating the assistance of eight hundred and sixteen waiters, who would have had to walk an aggregate of six hundred and seventy-seven miles from tables to kitchen." The solid food was brought to the scores of small serving-tables by means of overhead conveyors and traveling-cranes, a sort of gigantic cash-carrier system operated by electricity. The food came in individual covered dishes, also of water-proofed paper. Everything was automatic. The S. A. S. A. system prevented spilling, waste, delay, inefficient waiters, and the dissatisfaction of the guests. "You will observe," went on the official statement, "that for the first time in history the beneficiaries of the bounty of their fellow-men are treated as honored cash guests and not compelled to wait. The bread of charity is hard, but not when served by the S. A. S. A." Leaflets containing much the same information had been placed in each of the thousands of seats in the Garden in lieu of programs. As each man entered he saw the pipes and the traveling-cranes and the mechanical waiters, and read the placard on the stage. "Ain't it great?" inquired every charitable ticket-buyer. "_In six and three-quarter minutes!_ No regiments of waiters. Everything automatic. Say, that H. R. is a wonder!" It naturally took some time before they remembered to look at the starving people who were sitting at the long tables waiting to be fed. They saw haggard faces, sunken-eyed, pale-lipped men and women and children. They saw trembling hands that fidgeted with knives and forks that were obviously unnecessary. They saw women at the tables trying to still whining children. They saw gray-haired heads fallen on soup-plates utterly exhausted from inanition. They saw starving and penniless human beings by the thousand. And the spectators, hosts of these guests, ran over the faces and the forms of the men and women and children--all alike in that all were hungry and all were penniless. And the same thought struck them all, and they expressed it audibly, with gusto, as though they were original thinkers, with the modesty of professional epigrammatists. All the spectators said: "Say, it will be great to see them eat!" New York's great big heart had spoken in no uncertain accents! "And the greatest of these is charity." XXIV Just after the applause that greeted Grace Goodchild's arrival had begun to subside, and the public was about to demand that the feast, for which they had paid, begin a bugle blew. H. R., who was Fame since he was initials, entered the arena. Instantly the well-trained Public Sentiment Corps began to shout, angrily: "_Sit_ down! _Sit down!_" That, as intended by H. R., made all rise to their feet. Then, and only then, did H. R. advance into the arena, followed by the Mayor of the City of New York, the Bishop of the Diocese of the same, and the other dignitaries. The applause that came from the members of the Society of American Sandwich Artists was not applause. It was fervor, frenzy, fury. They yelled and shouted with the enthusiastic recklessness of free men who knew that after their throats went dry ten beers, also free, would cure. The audience, seeing and hearing their fellow-men applaud, felt themselves left out of something. They were free men. They therefore also applauded, even more frenziedly. No beers; not even knowledge; merely insistence upon political equality! In front of the Goodchild box H. R., whose progress resembled Buffalo Bill's minus the curls, paused. He looked intently at Grace Goodchild. She knew something was expected of her--something spectacular, thrilling, befitting the imperial consort. She stared back at H. R. agonizedly. Couldn't he prompt her? What was she to do, and how and when? "Grace! Grace! Grace!" shouted the free sandwiches. Instantly as well as instinctively the other ninety-nine beautiful perfections rose in their boxes and waved their handkerchiefs. The crowd, drawn thither by one of the noblest charities of the age, went wild. Grace was rich! She was theirs! They cheered what belonged to them! Grace Goodchild, actually urged by her aristocratic friends, rose and bowed to H. R. with a queenly air. H. R. bowed low to her and walked on. When he reached the stage all the bands began to play the national anthem almost together. A huge American flag was dropped from the middle of the roof to remind New York what its nationality was. When the bands finished playing there flashed a dazzling electric sign over the stage. In huge letters of light the people read: WELL DONE, NEW YORK! H. R. The great building rocked under the applause. New York can always be trusted to applaud itself. The lights of the sign went out. H. R. motioned to his stage-manager. In the back of the stage the curtain that told of the wonderful feeding system--50,000 people, 6-3/4 minutes!--fell. A hush also fell on the audience, for back of it was another white sheet on which everybody read: WATCH YOUR GUESTS EAT YOU ARE FEEDING THEM! H. R. The audience, metamorphosed against its will into charitable hosts, now remembered the starving fellow-beings who were there to eat. H. R. motioned. A bugler advanced to the front of the stage and sounded, _Charge_! The soup began to pour out of the faucets. In fourteen seconds 12,137 cups of steaming soup _à la Piccolini_ were before the guests. The audience applauded madly. It was perfectly wonderful what charity could do--in fourteen seconds! The guests were very hungry. The soup, however, was very hot. This made the drinking audible to the remotest recesses of the Garden. Again the bugle blew. The charitable crowd instantly ceased to look at their guests and gazed at the electric traveling-cranes carrying laden trays. Over six thousand well-fed spectators pulled out their watches and timed the entrée. It took twenty-nine seconds to place the entrée before the guests. "Quick work!" said the watch-holders, approvingly. It took the guests much less than twenty-nine seconds to eat the entrée. The bugle blew for the third time. The roast appeared. The rear curtain dropped. Behind it was another on which could be read, without the aid of binoculars: WATCH THEM EAT! YOUR TICKET DID IT! H. R. It happened exactly as H. R. had told Bishop Phillipson. Each charitable person thought of his particular ticket and looked for his individual guest among the 12,137. Each charitable person felt that his twenty-five cents had made possible the entire feast. At that moment H. R. could have been elected to any office within the gift of a free and sturdy people. The guests began to eat more slowly. The hosts, filled with kindliness and the desire to help their fellow-men by getting their money's worth, began to shout: "Keep it up!" "Go on!" "Eat away!" "Fill up! Fill up!" "It's free! It's free!" Charity is not dead, but sleepeth. When it awakens, it is ruthless. Presently men and women at the tables, who had thought they were in paradise surrounded by angels, began to throw up their hands and shake their heads helplessly. A storm of hisses greeted the ingratitude. Fat hosts began to shout: "Fakes!" "Fraud!" "Take 'em out!" In self-defense some of the guests began to rub their paunches. Here and there those who remembered close experiences with Christian mobs rose in their benches ostentatiously, let out their belts, and sat down again determinedly. The hosts clapped madly. They understood, and therefore forgave. Then the hosts began to think that fifteen cents would have been enough. The bugle blew. Dessert was served. It was determinedly put away. Having convicted themselves of both charity and extravagance, each host felt that he was not only a philanthropist but a New-Yorker. The bugle blew again. The paper dishes were gathered up, and also such of the knives and forks as the guests had not put in their pockets. The trays were whisked away by the traveling-cranes. Suddenly all the lights went out. With the utter darkness a hush fell upon the vast audience. Then from all the bands came a mighty crashing chord. Instantly there blazed an electric sign that stretched from one side of the Garden to the other above the stage. And both hosts and guests saw an American flag in red, white, and blue lights, and below it, in letters ten feet high, they read: AND THE GREATEST OF THESE IS CHARITY H. R. Everybody cheered, for everybody agreed with the sentiment. Some even thought it was original. Then all the lights were turned on again. The tables were carried away by the cranes. The guests, directed by H. R.'s lieutenants, formed in line and paraded around the Garden. The lame, the old, the young, the hopeless, the wicked, the maimed--all who had hungered--marched jauntily round the vast arena that their benefactors might see who it was that really had made the Mammoth Hunger Feast a success. They carried their heads erect, proudly, conscious of their importance in the world. The benefactors thereupon cheered the beneficiaries. By so doing they showed what they thought of the benefactors. It was none the less noble! The reporters looked at their watches. A full page on Saturday night is no laughing matter to the make-up man. One of them rose and asked H. R.: "Is this all? We've got to write--" "It is _not_ all!" answered H. R., and motioned to the trumpeter, who instantly blew the Siegfried motif. The crowd looked stageward. The rear drop-curtain showed in high letters: DANCING! The guests hesitated. The curtain was lowered a few feet. Above "Dancing!" the crowd now read: FREE OF CHARGE! Everybody started for the floor. H. R. left the stage and walked into the Goodchild box. Grace had been receiving congratulations all the evening until she had convinced herself that this was her dinner. It was all H. R. could do to force his way through the plutocracy in the Imperial Box. Talking to Grace at the same time were three young men who never before had accepted Mrs. Goodchild's invitations to marry Grace. But Grace was now the most-talked-of girl in all New York. And she was officially very beautiful and Goodchild _père_ was not enough. And Grace was very kind to all of them. All empresses are kindly when they haven't Dyspepsia or Dynamite Dreams. All unpleasant things seem to begin with a "D." There is Death and Damnation; also Duty. Mr. Goodchild frowned when he saw H. R. in the box. But when he saw that H. R. never even looked at him he became really angry. Mrs. Goodchild looked alarmed and hissed, "Don't you talk to him, Grace!" Grace, knowing herself desired by the most eligible young men in her set, decided to squelch H. R. in public. H. R., however, walked past everybody, looking neither to left nor right. Feeling themselves treated as so many chairs or hat-racks, the élite of New York began to feel like intruders. Then, as an imperial mandate is given, H. R. said to Miss Goodchild: "We're needed!" He offered her his arm. The young men rose and made room for him. Duty called, and they never interfered with duty. Grace hypnotically obeyed, for H. R. was frowning. Together they walked down to the floor of the Garden. The Public Sentiment Corps did their duty. They had not yet received the beer. They shouted, frenziedly: "H. R.! H. R.! H. R.!" The public took up the cheering. Thousands of outstretched hands reached out for his. But H. R. merely bowed, right and left, and walked to the middle of the floor. "Smile at them!" he whispered, fiercely, to Grace. She did. She knew then what it was to be a Queen. She felt an overpowering kindliness toward all these delightful, simple people. Reggie was not brilliant, but that wasn't expected of a Van Duzen. She did not love Reggie, but she _liked_ him. As Mrs. Van Duzen she would always have what she liked. She would never marry H. R.! It was preposterous. The band began to play. The crowd, instead of dancing, moved toward the sides--to give H. R. room to dance. Never before on Manhattan Island had such a triumph of personality fallen to the lot of any man. H. R. put his arm about Grace Goodchild. She shrank from the symbolism of bondage. "The world is looking on!" he admonished her. Knowing that she danced very well, she now had but one fear--that her partner might make her ridiculous. But H. R. was the best dancer she had ever honored. She felt her resolution not to marry him slipping away. He led divinely. She felt that she herself had never danced so well in her life. He brought out the best that was in her. "Ever try the Rutgers Roll?" he whispered, tensely. "N-no! she gasped. "Let yourself go!" When a woman lets herself go, all is over except the terms of the capitulation. She let herself go desperately, because she was forced to do it; fearfully, because of the appalling possibility of a fiasco. She did not know how it was done. She had looped the loop and was still dancing away--a new but unutterably graceful undulation of torso and rhythmical leg work and exquisite sinuous motions of the arms and hands. A storm of applause came to her ears, a hurricane steeped in saccharine. A man who could dance like that was fit to be any girl's husband! The élite flocked on the floor and began to indulge in old-fashioned specialties, some of which were nearly a fortnight old. You heard delighted remarks: "That's Mrs. Vandergilt!" "There goes Reggie Van Duzen!" "Look at Katherine Van Schaick!" Then the New York that Americans call ruffianly, impolite, vulgar, selfish, spendthrift, money-loving, self-satisfied, and stupid, also began to dance decorously! The veteran reporters did not believe their eyes, but they made a note of the fact, nevertheless. Grace was nearly out of breath. She said, "I'm--I'm--I'm--" "Certainly, dear girl." And H. R. deftly piloted her out of the crush. They stopped dancing, and he gave her his arm. She took it. "Grace," he said, "when will you marry me?" "Never!" she answered, determinedly. "And you must not call me Grace." "Right-O!" he said, gratefully. "I'll call to-morrow afternoon. Shall I speak to Bishop Phillipson, or will father--" "I said _never_!" she frowned. "I heard you," he smiled, reassuringly. "I--" Andrew Barrett and the reporters came up to him. "What about the men that fell for the beer?" "Oh, give 'em the left-over grub, if you boys think it's right. But don't print it. The W. C. T. U. would howl at the thought of giving food to people who had first wanted booze." Grace looked on, marveling at the way he ordered things done and at the way men listened to his words. "But what about that ten-thousand-dollar cash to the coupon-holders?" asked young Mr. Lubin, finally taking his eyes off the beautiful capitalist. Feeling that he was beginning to condone with capitalistic crimes, he spoke sternly to H. R. in self-defense. "Oh yes!" said H. R. and turned to Grace. "My dear, I'll have to leave you. Shall I take you to mother?" Reggie Van Duzen saved him the trip. "Say, Mr. Rutgers, could I have--" "Yes, my boy!" gratefully smiled H. R. He shook hands with Reggie and said, very seriously, "_I leave her in your care!_" Reggie, who was very young and careless, flushed proudly. Here was a man who understood men! He would protect Grace with his life. And it gave him a new respect for other women. "I don't blame you, Grace," he said, with his twelve-year-old's smile that clung to him through life and made even poor people like him. "He is a wonder! Beekman Rutgers had the nerve to tell me that all the Rutgerses are like H. R. What do you think of that?" Grace answered, "Certainly not!" She was not going to marry H. R., but if you intend to have it known that you have refused to marry a man who is crazy to marry you, the greater the man the greater the refusal. She added, with conviction: "There is only one Rutgers like that and his first name is Hendrik." Reggie nodded, looked at her, sighed, and began to dance. He didn't touch H. R. as a dancer. "Can you do the Rutgers Roll?" she asked. "No!" he confessed. She could never marry Reggie. She knew it now. But of course she would not marry H. R. In the mean time H. R., accompanied by the reporters, drove to the Cardinal's residence. They explained their mission to a pleasant-faced young priest and sent in their cards. The young priest began to make excuses and spoke of the lateness of the hour. H. R. said to him, deferentially: "Monsignor, we have come to the Cardinal because he is the supreme authority in this case. The Mayor of New York and the representative of the Socialist press, Mr. Lubin, here, have agreed to leave it to the decision of his Eminence." The Cardinal sent back word that he would see Mr. Rutgers. H. R. went in alone. He saw not the head of the Catholic hierarchy, but a man in whose eyes was that light which comes from believing in God and from hearing the truth from fellow-men who told him their sins. H. R. bowed respectfully before the aged priest. "How may I help you? asked the Cardinal. He was an old man and this was a young man. No more; no less; both of them children. "Your Eminence, I am the unfortunate American who in his misguided way has tried to feed the hungry in order that New York's grown children may realize that charity is not dead. If I have used the methods of a mountebank it is because I have labored where God had been forgotten, almost." "Generalities are not always verities, though they may come close to them. I know about your work. I shall be glad to do what I can for you." "Thank you, sir. I promised to give ten thousand dollars in cash to any New-Yorker who could answer this question: What is it we have all heard about from earnest childhood and that we acknowledge exists; that is neither a person nor a beast, neither a thing nor an object, but something that no man can kill, though it is dead to-day; that all men need and most New-Yorkers neglect; that should be present everywhere and is found in no trade? The answer is a word of five letters and begins with 'A.' There is a synonym that, though not exactly obsolete, is at least obsolescent." "Five letters? Is it in English?" smiled the Cardinal. "It is in every good English dictionary. I think the dictionary is the only place in which I can find it nowadays." "Oh no, my son." And the Cardinal shook his head in kindly dissent. "Reverend sir, I said anybody with brains could guess it." "It was not an ingenuous question, Mr. Rutgers." "It was a coupon that entitled anybody who held it to answer the question and get ten thousand dollars. It was part of a ticket for which the holder paid twenty-five cents to feed a starving fellow-being. But what I wish you to do is to assure the reporters that it was a legitimate question. The word is _Anima_." "I knew it." "Because you use it every day." "But your condition--" "New York's condition, your Eminence," corrected H. R., politely. "I said the synonym, _soul_, would answer. Nobody won the ten thousand dollars. New York will cudgel its brains because it did not win the ten thousand dollars. In searching for the missing word it may find something more precious--the missing _soul_." "Your way is not our way, but perhaps--" The Cardinal was silent, his kindly eyes meditatively bent on H. R. "The reporters, your Eminence--" began H. R., apologetically. "Ah yes!" And the white-haired prelate accompanied H. R. to the room where the reporters were waiting. "I have heard Mr. Rutgers's question. The word of five letters beginning with an 'A' I think answers it, from his point of view, which is not unreasonable. I cannot say that the inability to guess proves the non-possession of brains--" "The Cardinal knew at once," put in H. R. "But that nobody should have guessed is astonishing." "They were not all Christians," explained H. R. "What is the answer?" asked a reporter. "A word of five letters beginning with 'A,'" said H. R. "Can't we publish it?" "It is our secret now. New York is very rich. When it discovers that one word--or its synonym of four letters--it will be infinitely richer in every way." The reporters brightened up. They saw columns and columns of guesses. But the Cardinal looked thoughtful. Then he said to H. R.: "Come and see me again." "Thank you. I will, your Eminence." The Cardinal bowed his head gravely and H. R. and the newspaper men left. "Are you a Catholic?" the _World_ man asked. "No," answered H. R., doubtfully. "All roads lead to Rome," interrupted Lubin, with a sneer. "Excepting one, Lubin," said H. R., pleasantly. "Keep on going, my boy. It's nice and warm there." XXV The newspapers did nobly. Too many prominent names were involved for them not to print the news. There was an opportunity for using real humor and impressive statistics in describing the new labor-saving machinery. The marvelous efficiency of H. R. as a practical philanthropist, demonstrated by his elimination of people who had money with which to buy food, and the simple but amazing efficacy of his Thirst-Detector raised the story to the realm of pure literature. There was also a serious aspect to the entire affair. All the hungry men, women, and children in Greater New York that had no money had been fed. Assuming, as was probable, that most of the hungry were not bona-fide residents of New York, it showed that in the metropolis of the Western World less than one-thousandth of the total population were hungry and penniless. No other city in the world could boast of such statistics. But H. R.'s work was not done. Before he retired for the night, knowing that his position in society and in the world of affairs was established on an adamant base, he nevertheless composed thirty-eight communications for the Public Sentiment Corps to send out the next day to the newspapers. A sample will suffice: It has been clearly proven that New York is a great big city with a great big heart. As always, it responded generously to the call of Charity. The Hunger Feast at Madison Square Garden was an extraordinary bit of municipal psychology and an illuminating object-lesson. Why not make permanent a state of mind of the public which does so much to dispel the danger of a bloody revolution? Social unrest can be cured by only one thing: Charity! Man does not need justice. He needs the good-will of other men. The newspapers have it in their power to check the hysterical and un-American clamor against individual fortunes. They can throw open their columns! Treat Charity as if it were as important as baseball or at least billiards. Carry a regular Department of Charity every day. Give your readers a chance to be kind. It will be a novelty to many, but it will help all--the giver no less than the beneficiary. If you will agree, Mr. Editor, I'll send check. Other specimens emphasized the non-sectarian phase of such charities as that conceived and carried to success by one of the most remarkable men in a city where the best brains of the country admittedly resided. Intelligent charity, wisely discriminating, truly helpful, had been placed for all time among the possibilities. Systematized charities were delusions, chimeras, thin air. There was a demand for the opportunity to be decent and kind. Let the newspapers supply it. "If your readers want lurid accounts of murder trials and divorce cases, let them have them. If they want expert advice on how to help their fellow-men give it to them, also. It remains to be seen whether there is one newspaper in New York that knows real news when it sees it!" There were thirty-eight epistolary models in all. In the afternoon of the day following the Mammoth Hunger Feast H. R. called at the Goodchild house. "Frederick, tell Miss Grace--" "She 'as _gone_, sir!" said Frederick, tragically. "Did she leave word when she would return?" "She 'as _gone_, sir!" persisted Frederick, in abysmal distress at the news and at his inability to convey it in letters of molten meteors. He added, "To Philadelphia." It sounded to him like Singapore. He did not think there was much difference, anyhow. "Philadelphia?" echoed H. R., blankly. "Yes, sir!" said Frederick, with sad triumph. "Whatever in the world can she--" H. R. caught himself in time. He nearly had reduced himself to the level of humanity--well called dead level--by confessing ignorance aloud. "Mrs. Goodchild is at 'ome, sir!" suggested Frederick, ingratiatingly. "Damned good place for her!" muttered H. R., savagely, and gave Frederick a five-dollar gold piece. In some respects, Frederick admitted, America was ahead of the old country. H. R. walked away frowning fiercely. He went nearly a block before he smiled. Love always interferes with the chemistry of the stomach and hits the brain through the toxins. What an ass he was not to have realized the truth on the instant: _Grace had run away from him!_ He returned to his office and told Andrew Barrett to set the Public Sentiment Corps at work on the thirty-eight models he had prepared. Then he wrote forty-two more. The consciousness of Grace's confessed weakness gave him an eloquence he himself had never before known. They were masterpieces. The newspapers always know they have made a bull's-eye when they get letters from their readers. It is an obvious fact that a man who writes is a steady customer--at least, until his communication is printed. The Public Sentiment Corps merely started the ball rolling. An avalanche of letters from all sorts and conditions of men, women, and merchants descended upon the editorial offices. It became clear, even to the newspapers, that people in New York were willing to give, but they didn't know how. The papers, therefore, announced that they would thereafter run Charity as a regular department. It would be strictly non-sectarian. The world's greatest authorities and most eminent philanthropists had been asked to contribute--not money; articles. The _World_ printed a full-page biography of St. Vincent de Paul and satanically invited some of its pet aversions to send in their autobiographies. All the papers informed the charitable men and women of New York that checks, clothing, supplies, etc., could be sent to the Charity editor. All the papers, also, invited H. R. to accept the editorship of the page. His duties would consist of allowing his name to be printed at the top of the page. He declined their offers with profound regret, but promised to give interviews to the reporters whenever they wished. Personal matters precluded his acceptance of their kind invitations. The personal matters consisted of the boom in sandwich advertising. It was not uncommon to see "Sandwich-board Maker, approved by the S. A. S. A.," in signs in various parts of the city. A new industry! XXVI In the mean time Grace was in Philadelphia. She had gone there for sundry reasons. The telephone calls told on her nerves. Mr. Goodchild had to install a new one, the number of which was not printed in the Directory but confided to intimate friends. Requests for autographs, interviews, money, food, advice, name of soap habitually used, permission to name massage ointments and face lotions after her, contributions to magazines, and ten thousand other things had been coming in by mail or were made in person by friends and strangers until Grace, in desperation, decided to go on a visit to Philadelphia. She craved peace. Ruth Fiddle had long urged her to come. Grace had agreed to be one of her bridesmaids in June and Ruth naturally wished to discuss marriage, generally and particularly. Ruth delightedly met Grace at the station. Two young men were with her. One was her fiancé. The other was a very nice chap who had blood, brains, and boodle. His ancestors had been William Penn's grandfather's landlords in Bristol, England, and he himself had once written a story which he had sent to the _Saturday Evening Post_. His father was in coal, railroads, and fire insurance. They decided to adjourn to the Fairview-Hartford for luncheon. Before so doing they talked. Ruth asked a thousand excited questions about the Hunger Feast, fame, and the Rutgers Roll. Grace answered, and then confided to Ruth her iron resolve never to marry H. R. She admitted that he was as great as the papers said, even greater, and, besides, good-looking. But her determination was inflexible. Ruth, to show she approved, told Grace that Monty--the writer--was her fiancé's chum and African hunting-companion. Monty himself told Miss Goodchild that there was a good story in the whole affair. In fact, two stories. In both of them the heroine--he looked at her and nodded his head convincingly. "Drawn from life," he added. "Of course I'll have to know you--I mean, the heroine--better. But don't you think she'd make a great one?" She wasn't thrilled a bit. She was not even politely interested. What was such talk, Grace impartially asked herself, to one who had been madly cheered by thousands? Still, he was a nice boy, not so consciously clever as New-Yorkers who chose to regard themselves as vaudeville wits. Finally they got into the waiting motor and went to the Fairview-Hartford, where the eating is better than in any New York hotel. As they were about to enter the dining-room Grace Goodchild put on her restaurant look of utter unconsciousness and stone deafness and blindness, which had grown into a habit since she became famous. She entered the dining-room ahead of the others, as usual. She took nine steps before she stopped short. Her face went pale. Nobody had stopped eating! Nobody had turned around to stare! Nobody had stage-whispered, "There she is!" No woman had said, "Do you think she is as beautiful as the newspapers try to make out?" Not one imbecile male look; not one feminine sneer! Nothing! No fame! "What's the matter?" asked Monty in alarm. Grace felt an overwhelming desire to stand there until the people looked, even if it took a year. As the century-long seconds passed she barely could resist the impulse to shout, "Fire!" "Anything wrong?" whispered Monty, with real concern. "N-no-nothing!" she stammered, and followed Ruth, who had passed her, unnoticing. Her color returned as wrath dispelled amazement. For the first time since H. R. began to woo her in public places with sandwiches Grace Goodchild actually had to eat food in a restaurant. In New York famous people don't go to restaurants to eat. She was distraite throughout the luncheon. She thought Monty was an ass. And the other feeding beasts must have read the New York papers! There was absolutely no excuse. In the evening the same thing happened. That is, nothing happened. The Fiddles' friends tried to be particularly nice to her by talking of the opera, novels, the dancing-craze, the resurgence of the Republican party, and cubism. It only made it worse. And not one knew the Rutgers Roll! The next day Ruth and the young men took her to the Philadelphia Country Club. Same thing! And later to a dance at the Fitz-Marlton. Ditto! Her good looks, her gowns, and her nice manners made a very favorable impression on all of Ruth's friends, male and female, young and old. Hang 'em, that's all it did! It was like Lucullus being asked to eat sanitary biscuits. She had wanted peace. But not in a burial crypt. On the fourth day of extinction she said to Ruth after breakfast: "My dear, I must return to New York!" "Oh no! Grace, darling, I've accepted seventeen--" "I must, Ruth. I simply must!" "But Monty is coming at one to take us to his father's--" Grace felt like saying that Monty could take himself to Hades or to Atlantic City. But she merely shook her head. She dared not trust herself to speak. Ruth appealed to her mother. But Mrs. Fiddle shrugged her shoulders and said: "No use! New York!" She herself was a Van Duzen. And so Grace Goodchild returned home, five days before she was expected. "I couldn't stand it, mother," she explained, almost tearfully. "Very well," said Mrs. Goodchild. What else can a mother say in New York? And isn't it right to stand by your own flesh and blood? Grace hesitated, full of perplexities and unformulated doubts and an exasperating sense of indecision. She felt like opening the book of her soul to other eyes. To hear advice or, at least, opinions. "I want to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, mother," said Grace, hesitatingly. Then she apologized, self-defensively. "It concerns my future, dear." "Yes, darling," said Mrs. Goodchild, absently. "I don't think. I'd like it quite like Celestine's-- Grace, love, will you run over to Raquin's spring exhibition at the Fitz-Marlton and look at it? It is next to the black that Mrs. Vandergilt liked. I have an appointment with Celestine--" Grace knew that the selection of a husband could wait, for fashions in that line do not change so quickly as in skirts. She dutifully said, "I will!" She also had her eye on one. Before going to Raquin's display she stopped at Oldman's. The store flunky opened the door of her motor and smiled happily when he saw who it was. She was made subtly conscious that he was dying to announce her name to the world at the top of his enthusiastic voice. Life in New York had its compensations, after all. She entered. The shop-girls whispered to the customers on whom they were waiting. The customers turned quickly and stared at Grace Goodchild. "She often comes here!" she heard the pretty little thing in charge of seventy-two glove-boxes say proudly to a client. The girl who waited on Grace was a stranger. Nevertheless, when Grace told her "I'll take these!" the girl said, "Very well, Miss Goodchild." "Oh!" gasped Grace. "You know me?" "What d'ye t'ink I am?" said the girl, indignantly. "Say, it was great, Miss Goodchild!" The worship in the girl's eyes kept the language from being offensive. "Thank you!" "I hope you'll be very happy, Miss Goodchild," said the girl, and blushed. "Oh, I didn't mean to be--I--I couldn't help wishing it, Miss Goodchild!" "I'm sure I'm very grateful for your good wishes," Grace told her, graciously. The child's--age twenty-four--eyes filled with tears. As Grace walked away, Mayme's lips moved raptly. She was memorizing dem woids. On her way out Grace went through the same craning of necks, the same vivid curiosity, the same half-audible murmurs, the same spitefulness in the eyes of the women who, though rich, were not famous. Everybody is so disgustingly rich nowadays that society had begun to applaud such remarks as, "I've had to give up one of my motors," or, "Jim says he won't put the _Mermaid_ in commission this year; simply can't afford it." At Raquin's wonderful exhibition of models Grace saw exactly what she wished to see. It would be worthy of her and of her throat. One who is photographed many times a week has to have gowns; not to have them is almost immoral. Grace was so concerned with doing her duty toward the public that she forgot that she had come to see the third one, next to Mrs. Vandergilt's black. She was nearly half-way home before she remembered what her mother had asked her to do. Grace went back to the Fitz-Marlton. Dress was a public service. Mrs. Goodchild's clothes must tell the public whose mother she was. She told the chauffeur "Home," and began to think. Pleasure could be made a duty. Blessed indeed is she in whose mind, as in a vast cathedral, pleasure and duty solemnly contract nuptials. This beautiful figure of speech in turn made her think of marriage. If she married Reggie or Mr. Watson or Percival or one of the others, what would her married life be? What? One long visit to Philadelphia! "I could kill him!" she said to the flower-holder, frowning fiercely. Happening to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror for that purpose provided in an town cars, Grace smoothed her brow and smiled. A man would have required slathers of flattery to dispel ill-humor. With a woman, the truth is enough. A mirror does not lie. Providence is more than kind to them; even automatic. If she wouldn't marry Reggie or the others and did marry H. R.-- But how could she? She was an imaginative American girl with a sunshiny soul and much vitality who lived in New York. She thought of her marriage to H. R. She thought of the newspapers! The mound of clippings that instantly loomed before her made her gasp. What wouldn't the newspapers do when _she_ married H. R., especially if H. R., prompted by love, really made an effort? She was forced to admit that he was a remarkable man! "Papa," she said aloud, "will never consent!" Papa's life had been made miserable by H. R. Indeed, the only thing that reconciled him to the ungrateful task of living was the steady growth of the bank's deposits. It was due, Mr. Goodchild often declared, to his management. But he couldn't speak about H. R. without profanity. Parental opposition was not everything. Marriage was a serious thing. XXVII The motor stopped. She had arrived at her house. The car door was opened by H. R. She started back. Then she looked at him curiously, almost awe-strickenly, as though her wishes had taken on magical properties of automatic fulfilment. Was this the same remarkable person she had almost deified on the way from Raquin's exhibition? What would he say? She prayed that he might not spoil everything, by some inanity. He held out his hand to help her alight. Then he spoke. "It was time!" he said, and walked beside her--but a couple of inches ahead. That was because, though he was an American husband-to-be, he also was a man, a protector, a leader. Such men are cave-men minus the club. Grace at times was not a true Goodchild. This time she said nothing. Frederick opened the door. His face expressed no sense of the unusualness of the sight. H. R., with the air of a host, led Grace into the drawing-room. He stood beside her in the gorgeous Louis XV. room. "Grace," he said, gently, "for twenty-nine days I've been the unhappiest man in all New York. For five, the unhappiest in the entire world!" "Will you kindly release my hand?" she asked. No sooner had the words left her lips than she realized they were piffle. Then she began to laugh. It was the first official acknowledgment that no social barriers divided them. "Suppose," she asked, with a humorously intended demureness, "that I wished to use my handkerchief?" H. R. with his disengaged hand took his own out of his pocket and held it to her nose. "Blow!" he said, tenderly. "I don't want to," she retorted and tried to pull away her hand. He replaced his handkerchief in his pocket. "All over but the mailing-list," he said to her. "Sit down here; by me!" Something within her stirred to revolt. Unfortunately, he did not release her hand, but led her to the historic divan--part of the suite for which Mr. Goodchild had paid eighteen thousand five hundred dollars in the Sunday supplement. Marie Antoinette had been seated in that very place when de Rohan brought the famous diamond necklace to show her. (Same issue; third column, fourth page.) "I think that for sheer, unadulterated impudence--" she began, without any anger, because she was too busy trying to decide what she must do to him to put an end to a situation that had become intolerable--at least in its present shape. "Grace, don't talk nonsense. Just let me look at you." He held her at arm's-length and looked into her eyes. He saw that they were blue and clear and steady and looked fearlessly at him--the stare of a child who doesn't know why she should be afraid. If they don't watch out that fearlessness becomes anything but childish in New York. He continued to stare steadily, unblinkingly, into them. "I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" he said, hoarsely, and blinked his eyes. Then he closed them--tight. Coward! She had felt his keen eyes bore through her garments, through her flesh, into her very soul of souls--a look that frightened until it warmed; and after it warmed, it again frightened--in another way. She saw a wonderfully well-shaped head and very clean-looking hair and a very healthy-looking, clear-cut face and very strong shoulders and very masterful hands. And from all of him came waves that thrilled--the mysterious effluvia that compels and dominates the woman to whom Life means this life. At length he spoke with an effort. "We shall be married in Grace Chapel." He grew calmer, and added, "People will think it was named for you!" "I am not going to marry you," she declared, vehemently. "No. I am going to marry you. After you are my wife we naturally will talk about it. That will enable us to learn whether we shall stay married or not. Grace," he said, earnestly, "I'll do anything you wish." "Leave this house, then." "It's _your_ house, dear," he reminded her, gently, "and I am your guest. That puts it out of your power to enforce your desire. Don't you see?" She tacitly admitted that there was an etiquette of hospitality by asking, coldly, "Why should I marry you?" "I can't give you as many reasons as I might if you asked why I should marry you. The principal two are that I love you and that I am the only man whom Grace Goodchild can marry and still remain Grace Goodchild." It seemed to her impossible that he could be sitting beside her talking about marriage seriously, and more than impossible that she could be sitting there listening. "People know you as Grace Goodchild. After the marriage they will know you as the Grace Goodchild that H. R. has married. What would become of you if you cease to be Grace Goodchild?" She thought of Philadelphia, and shuddered. But he thought he had not convinced her. He rose and said to her: "Oh, my love! You are so utterly and completely beautiful that if I have a man's work to do I shall succeed only because the reward is you! I have come to the turning-point in my career and I must have the light of your eyes to guide me." She did not love him and therefore she heard his words very distinctly. But she was a woman, and she was thrilled by his look and his voice and by his manner. He was no longer a mountebank to her, but an unusual man. And when she thought of not marrying him her mind reverted in some curious way to Philadelphia and its subtle suggestions of sarcophagi and the contents thereof. But this man must not think that he could win her by stage speeches even though they might be real. She said to him, determinedly: "We might as well understand each other--" "I am the creature; you are the creator," he quickly interjected. "You are very beautiful, _very_! but you have much more than beauty. You have brains, and I think your heart is a marvelous lute--" "A what?" she asked, curiously. No woman will allow the catalogue to be skimped or obscured. "A lute, a wonderful musical instrument that some day will be played by a master hand. When you cease to be merely a girl and become a woman, with your capacity for loving when you let yourself go! Ah!" He closed his eyes and trembled. All women, at heart, love to be accused of being psychic pyromaniacs. "_There will I give thee my loves!_" he muttered, quoting from the "Song of Songs." She knew it wasn't original because he said it so solemnly. She dared not ask from whom the quotation was. It sounded like Swinburne. "Come!" He was not quoting this time. He stood before her, his face tense, his eyes aflame, his arms stretched imploringly toward her. She met his gaze--and then she could not look away. She saw the wonderful man of whom the papers had printed miles of columns, who had made all New York talk of him for weeks, who was young and strong and comely and masterful, who had an old name and a fighting jaw, whose words stirred the pulses like a quickstep on the piccolo. And his eyes made her understand what was meant by actinic rays. They were looking at her, piercing through her garments until she felt herself subtly divested of all concealments. And then she trembled as if his eyes physically touched her! She thrilled, she blushed, she frowned--for she felt herself desired. And her thoughts became the thoughts of a woman who is wooed by life, by love, by a man's red blood and her own. Her New York inhibitions turned to ashes. Life-long mental habits withered and shriveled and vanished in microscopic flakes until into her self-hypnotized consciousness there came the eternal query of the female who has stopped running, "What can I give to this man?" And Hendrik, seeing her face, held his shaking hands before her, impatiently beckoning to her to come. Some unseen spirit took her slim hands and, without consulting her, placed them in his. And then he kissed her. The heavens flamed. She pushed him from her and sank back trembling upon the divan on which Marie Antoinette was not sitting on the day when de Rohan did not bring the diamond necklace that did not cause the French Revolution, though Mr. Goodchild had paid eighteen thousand five hundred dollars for the historic suite, in the Sunday supplement. XXVIII It is difficult for a man to know what to do after the first kiss. A second kiss is not so wise as appears at first blush. It impairs mental efficiency by rendering irresistible the desire for a third. A banal remark is equally fatal. To tell her, "Now you are mine in God's sight," is worse than sacrilegious; it is conducive to acute suffragism and some polemical oratory. To say, "Now I am yours for ever," may be of demonstrable accuracy, but also conduces to speech. Hendrik Rutgers was no ordinary man. He knew that one kiss does not make one marriage nor even one divorce. But he knew that he was at least at the church door and he had a wonderful ring in his waistcoat pocket. He therefore became H. R. once more--cool, calm, master of his fate. It behooved him to do something. He did. He fell on his knees and reverently bowed his head. And then she heard him say, "Grant that I may become worthy of her!" Then his lips moved in silence. She saw them move. Her soul trembled. Was she so much to this man? Great is the power of prayer even in the homes of the rich, however cynics may sneer. He did not glance at her, feeling her eyes on him. When he judged it was time he looked up suddenly, rose to his feet, and, in a diffident, apologetic voice, observed: "Forgive me, dear! What did you say?" What could she say? She therefore said it: "Nothing!" very softly. "I was very far from New York--and yet you were with me, my love!" She thought of Philadelphia and her hand sought his with that refuge-seeking instinct which cannot be statuted away from them. He met her half-way. He raised her hands to his lips and his disengaged left sought his waistcoat pocket where the ring was. "She is in the drawing-room, sir, with Mr. Rutgers," came in faithful Frederick's warning voice, raised above the menial's pitch. "What!" they heard Mr. Goodchild ejaculate. Then the titular owner of the house entered. H. R. politely bowed. "How do you do?" he said, easily. "You are a trifle inopportune. Grace and I were talking over our plans." Mr. Goodchild turned purple and advanced. Grace rose hastily. H. R. meditatively doubled up his right arm, moved his clenched fist up and down, felt his biceps with his left hand, and smiled contentedly. Mr. Goodchild remembered his manners and his years at one and the same time. With his second calm thought he remembered the reporters. He gulped twice and when he spoke it was only a trifle huskily: "Mr. Rutgers, I have no desire to make a scene in my own house." H. R. pleasantly pointed to a fauteuil. "I must ask you--" "Sit down and we'll talk it over quietly. You will find," H. R. assured him, earnestly, "that I am not unreasonable. Have a seat." Mr. Goodchild sat down. H. R. turned to Grace and with one lightning wink managed to convey that everybody obeyed him--excepting one, whose wish was a Federal statute to him. She looked with a new interest at her father. It was, she realized, the eternal conflict between youth and age. Love the prize! _Gratia victrix!_ "I--I--am willing to admit"--Mr. Goodchild nearly choked as the unusual words came from his larynx--"that you have shown--er--great cleverness in your--er--career. But I must say to you--in a kindly way, Mr. Rutgers, in a kindly way, believe me!--that I do not care to have this--er--farce prolonged. If you are after--if there is any reasonable financial consideration that will--er--induce you to desist--I--you--" "You have relapsed," interrupted H. R., amiably, "into the language of a bank president. Suppose you now talk like a millionaire." It was not really a request, but a command. Mr. George G. Goodchild obeyed. "How much?" he said. Grace looked as she felt--shocked. She had not fully regained her normal composure. But this was a man who had kissed her. Was he to be bought off with money? The shame of it overwhelmed her. She listened almost painfully to H. R.'s reply. "I am now," H. R. impassively said to Mr. Goodchild, "waiting for you to talk like a father." Mr. Goodchild stared at him blankly. "Like a father; like a human being," explained H. R. "Grace is no bundle of canceled checks or a lost stock certificate. She is your daughter." "Well?" "Excuse me; I mean she is your own flesh and blood--the best of your flesh and blood, at that. Your wishes cannot be considered where her happiness is at stake. Therefore what you think best is merely your personal opinion and hence of interest to yourself and to nobody else." Mr. Goodchild quickly opened his mouth, but before the sound could come H. R. went on, hurriedly, "Suppose you had set your heart upon her becoming a mathematician. Would that make her one?" "Never!" instantly declared the non-mathematical Grace. Mr. Goodchild shook his head violently and again opened his mouth. But H. R. once more surpassed him in speed and pursued, calmly argumentative: "Or suppose you did not believe in vaccination. Is your opinion to be allowed to prevail against the advice of your competent family physician until Grace gets the disease and you are forced to acknowledge that you were wrong? Or would even the sight of the most beautiful face in the world pitted and pockmarked fail to shake your own faith in your own infallibility?" Grace shuddered. "_Father!_" she exclaimed, horror-stricken, and glared at Mr. Goodchild. She was now thinking of paternal opposition in terms of smallpox. "But--" angrily expostulated Mr. Goodchild. "Exactly," agreed H. R., hastily. "That's it. Now for a favor. Will you let me talk business with you? _My_ business!" Mr. Goodchild's business was to know all about the business of others. But he did not take it home with him. However, before he could do more than shake his head, H. R. went on: "I am organizing six companies." That sounded like good business. But Mr. Goodchild nodded non-committally from force of habit. "The S. A. S. A. Imperial Sandwich Board Corporation. Capital stock, one million, of which forty per cent. goes to the public for cash, forty per cent. given to me--" "Forty?" irrepressibly objected Mr. Goodchild. "Forty," repeated H. R., firmly. "I am no hog. I get what my ideas, designs, and patents are worth at a fair valuation. And twenty per cent. goes to the S. A. S. A." "Why?" came from Mr. Goodchild before he could realize that he was speaking bankerwise. "Because the S. A. S. A. will insist upon the company's boards being used by all our customers. And besides, as head of the S. A. S. A., I vote that twenty per cent. I thus control sixty per cent. and--" Mr. Goodchild brightened up, but remembered himself and said, very coldly: "Go on." "We shall manufacture sandwiches of all kinds, at from one dollar to ten thousand dollars and upward, and--" "Dreadful word! Loathe it!" "--The S. A. S. A. Memento Mori Manufacturing Company to manufacture and sell the statuettes of the Ultimate Sandwich. Same capitalization. Same holdings. You see, I have sold my ideas, designs, and patents so that later on nobody can say my companies were overcapitalized. There are also the Rapid Restaurant Service Appliance Company, and four others. Same capitalization; same holdings. The money is all raised. And let me say," finished H. R., sternly accusing, "that the people who furnish the cash and buy the stock get _something_ for their money." "That's all very well," began Mr. Goodchild, contemptuously, "but--" "Exactly," said H. R. "I propose to transfer all our accounts to your bank. You know you said you'd like to have mine when I became famous." "I know nothing about your companies, and care less. But I want to tell you right now--" "What interest are you going to allow us on our balances?" cut in H. R. "No interest!" said Mr. Goodchild in a voice that really meant "No Grace!" H. R. turned to his sweetheart and, desiring to forestall desertion, took her hand in his and said to her: "Grace, this house is a very nice house. You have spent many happy hours here. But it is, after all, only a house. And New York is _New York_!" And Philadelphia was _Philadelphia_! Grace's hand remained in H. R.'s. "You can't have her!" said Mr. Goodchild, furiously. "Who can't have whom?" asked Mrs. Goodchild, entering the room. H. R. released Grace's hand, approached Mrs. Goodchild, and, before she knew what he was going to do, threw his right arm about her and kissed her--a loud filial smack. She quickly and instinctively put one hand up to her hair, for the strange young man had been a trifle effusive. But before she could transform her surprise into vocal sounds the stranger spoke, in a voice ringing with affectionate sincerity not too playful, you understand, but convincing, nevertheless: "She inherits her good looks, her disposition, and her taste in dress from you. I saw it the first time I met you. Don't you remember? And I warn you now that if I can't marry Grace I'll kill that husband of yours and marry _you_!" To prove it, he kissed her again, twice. "How dare--" shouted Mr. Goodchild. "I am not sure," said H. R. to Mrs. Goodchild, "that I want Grace now. Between thirty-two and forty a woman is at her best." He patted her shoulder, as we paternally do with the young ones, and went back to Grace. It all had happened so quickly that only H. R. was calm. "My dear!" said Mrs. Goodchild, looking helplessly at Grace. "What is it, mother?" said H. R., appropriating the affectionate words. And as she did not answer he asked, generally. "What do you say to the eighth?" "An eighth?" echoed Mr. Goodchild, almost amiably, thinking, of one-eighth of one per cent. "Of June!" said H. R. "That gives you ample time for everything, Grace. And, remember, give the reporters the detailed list of the trousseau." "There isn't going to be any marriage. And there isn't going to be any nauseating newspaper articles with pictures of intimate lingerie enough to make a decent man blush." "A really decent man always blushes with shame when he does not give _carte blanche_ to his only daughter," said H. R. with great dignity. "Mr.--er--Rogers," said Mrs. Goodchild. "Rutgers," corrected her prospective son-in-law. "The 'g' is hard. It's Dutch, like Roosevelt, Van Rensselaer, and Cruger." "But we don't know anything about your family," she said, very seriously. "Do you know," asked H. R., pleasantly, "the Wittelbachs?" "It's beer, isn't it?" she said. It might be the best brewing blood in Christendom, but still it wasn't Wall Street or real estate. "Good shot!" exclaimed H. R., admiringly. "It is the patronymic of the reigning house of Bavaria. You know, Munich, where beer is the thing. And do you know the Bernadottes?" "I've heard of them," replied Mrs. Goodchild, made wary by her non-recognition of a sovereign house. "It is not French delicatessen, but the royal family of Sweden. And the Hapsburgs? The Emperor of Austria belongs to them. And Romanoff? The Czar of Russia would answer to that if he voted. And there are also the Hohenzollerns and the Bourbons and the Braganzas. And then," he finished, simply, "there is _Rutgers_!" "It seems to me," put in Grace, coldly, "that I have something to say--" "Empress, you don't. Just look," interrupted H. R. "Of course, the date is subject to your approval. I didn't have any luncheon. Will you tell Frederick to bring some tea and a few sandwiches--" "Damnation!" shrieked Mr. George G. Goodchild. "Is a man to be insulted in his own home? Get to hell out of here with your sandwiches!" "George!" rebuked Mrs. Goodchild, placidly. She never frowned. Wrinkles. "Yes, George!" maniacally mimicked her husband. "It's sandwiches! Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Everywhere! Yesterday I discharged my secretary. I told him to send out for a chicken sandwich for me and I heard him give the boy the order: 'Son-in-law for Mr. Goodchild. Cock-a-doodle-do!' At this week's meeting of our directors Mr. Garrettson asked me: 'How is the King of the Sandwiches? Living at your house yet?' And the other jackasses all laughed. _Sandwiches!_" He turned to his daughter, and fearing that she was in the conspiracy, asked her, vehemently: "Do you wish to be known all your life as the Queen of the Sandwiches? Do you? Do you wish your humorous friends to say to you, Grace, will you have a caviare husband?" "No!" replied Grace. Fame was fame, but ridicule was Hades. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Goodchild. "Tell Frederick," said H. R., fiercely, "to bring in fifteen Rutgerses, if you prefer to call them that." "That isn't funny," rebuked Grace, coldly. "I don't think you are accustomed to surroundings--" "No; it's hospitality. I'm starving." "You'll have sandwiches for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner, my child," Mr. Goodchild told Grace, angrily but intelligently. "In the newspapers!" "Of course I won't marry him!" said Grace, decisively. "It's preposterous." H. R. went up to her. She shook her head. He spoke very seriously: "Grace, when people tell you that I have given free sandwiches to New York they mean that I have taken the poorest of the poor, the pariahs of commerce, the despised of the rabble, poor human derelicts, souls without a future, without a hope, worse than dirt, poorer than poverty, and I have made them _men_!" "Yes, but s-s-sandwiches," blubbered Grace. "I took these victims of society and capitalism and organized them, and then I emptied them into the golden Cloaca Maxima that you call Fifth Avenue, and lo! they emerged free men, self-supporting, well-fed, useful, artistic. They have been the efficient instruments of fame. It is they who have made you known from one end of the city to the other." "Yes; but sandwiches!" doggedly repeated Grace. "I have worked," said H. R., sternly, "with human souls--" "Sandwiches!" corrected Mr. Goodchild. H. R. flushed angrily. "The sandwich," he told them all with an angry finality, "is here to stay. Our net receipts, after paying big wages, are over one thousand dollars a day. What do you think I am, an ass? Or a quick lunch? Or a bank president? _Pshaw!_ We've only begun! A capitalization of over five millions at the very start and the business growing like cheap automobiles, and me owning forty per cent. of the stock and controlling sixty per cent. in perpetuity! These men have made me their leader. I will not forsake them!" "Can you give me," said Mr. Goodchild, seriously, "evidence to prove your statements?" If the love affair was not to end in an elopement it would be wise to have a business talk with this young man, who, after all was said and done, had a valuable asset in his newspaper publicity. "You may be a wonderful man," said Grace to H. R., "but all my friends would ask me if I am going to have a mammoth sandwich instead of a wedding-cake! I ask you not to persist--" H. R. smiled sympathetically and said: "You poor darling! Is _that_ all you are afraid of?" She thought of Philadelphia and a quiet life, and she shook her head sadly. Why couldn't he have made her famous by unobjectionable methods. But H. R. said, "I'll guarantee that my name will never again be associated with sandwiches--" "You can't do it!" declared Grace, with conviction, thinking of humorous American girls. "When they are friends all you have to do is to take out the 'r' to turn them into fiends." Mrs. Goodchild said nothing, but frowned. It had just occurred to her that here they all were, amicably talking with the man who had made their lives grievous burdens. Mr. Goodchild also was silent, but shrewdly eyed H. R. "I'll do it!" repeated H. R., confidently. "How can you without killing everybody?" challenged Grace, skeptically. "Everybody knows you as the leader of the sandwich men, and if you form companies--" "My child," H. R. told her, gently, "I don't know anything about finance. That is why I want to get father's advice about my business. Every man to his trade. But I do know New York. I ought to, hang it! My grandfather owned what is now the Hôtel Regina, and-- Well, look here! If by the first of June nobody even remembers that I had anything to do with sandwiches will you marry me?" "Yes," said Mr. Goodchild. If H. R. could do that he was fit to be anybody's son-in-law. If he couldn't, the annoyance would end. "Grace?" asked H. R. "I'm willing to take a chance for two weeks," said Mr. Goodchild, feeling certain he was displaying Machiavellian wisdom. But Grace shook her head. "Everything you've done," she told H. R., "is child's play--" "What!" interrupted H. R., indignantly. "Make New-Yorkers give money for charity that they might have spent for their own pleasure?" "Nothing alongside of making 'em forget that you invented sandwiches. If it had been anything else, you might--I might--you--" She floundered helplessly. Her life for weeks had been so full of excitement that she could not co-ordinate her ideas quickly. "You don't know me, dear," said H. R. "I hate to say it myself, but, really, I'm a wonder!" He looked so confident, so masterfully sure of himself, so little like a dreamer, and so much like a doer, that Grace was impressed. "Can you?" she asked, more eagerly than Mr. Goodchild liked to see. But then H. R. had never kissed him. "With your hand for the prize and your love for my reward? Can you ask me if I can?" "Yes, I can. Can you?" "Yes!" he said. "But of course I'll need your help." "My help?" Doubt came back into her eyes. "Yes. This way." He took her in his arms and kissed her. Mrs. Goodchild stared, open-eyed. Mr. Goodchild grew purple, and shouted: "Here! This is--" H. R. turned to him and said, "This is all right." And again he pressed his lips to hers and kept them pressed this time. "I won't have it!" shrieked Mr. Goodchild, going toward the young people, one fist upraised. H. R. ceased kissing, and spoke rebukingly: "What do you want me to do? Kiss her in the vestibule before ringing the door-bell, as if we were plebeian sweethearts? Or in a taxi in the Park? Listen: _Fear not to intrust your daughter to a man who never kisses her save in the sight of those who brought her into this world!_" H. R. spoke so aphoristically that Mr. Goodchild thought it was a quotation from Ecclesiastes. H. R. took the ring out of his waistcoat pocket and gave it to Grace. "Here, my love!" It was a magnificent green diamond, the rarest of all. Mrs. Goodchild rose quickly and said, "Let me see it!" Mother-like, being concerned with her only daughter's happiness, she took the ring to the window. Grace followed. It was her ring. "Say, Big Chief," H. R. asked his prospective father-in-law, "do I get the sand--do I get some slices of bread with some slices of viands, two breads to one viand, and a cup of tea?" "Tea be hanged! Have a man's drink," hospitably and diplomatically said Mr. Goodchild. There was still a chance of escaping. He knew what violent opposition had done to sentimental daughters. "Yes, but you'll have to allow us a decent rate of interest on our balances." "How much do you carry?" asked Mr. Goodchild, carelessly. "Enough for Dawson to offer three per cent. But let us not talk business here. I'll call on you to-morrow. "All right. But Dawson can't do it, not even on time deposits, and--" "Scotch for mine," said H. R. "Is Frederick coming?" Mr. Goodchild was, after all, a gentleman. He rang for Frederick. He also was thirsty. "Hendrik, it's beautiful," said Grace, enthusiastically. "But are you perfectly sure you can--" "Empress, don't you wish it done?" "Of course." "Then, of course, it is done. You'll be able to yell '_sandwich_'! anywhere in New York and nobody will think of anything except that you are the most beautiful girl in the world. Give me another before Frederick brings 'em." "Brings what?" "Lamb chops!" answered H. R., who was a humorist of the New York school. "Quick!" And he kissed her twice. "We'll have tea up-stairs if you're really going to be one of the family," said Mrs. Goodchild, with the dubious smile so familiar on the faces of mothers of New York girls. "Come, Grace!" said H. R., taking her by the unringed hand. He knew better--by instinct. It was a very satisfactory day. Such was the compelling force of his self-confidence that before he left the house Mr. and Mrs. Goodchild sincerely hoped he could accomplish the impossible and wipe out the sandwich stain from the old Knickerbocker name of Rutgers. XXIX The next morning H. R. called Andrew Barrett into the inner office. "Shut the door," said he. Andrew Barrett did so and looked alarmed--alarmed rather than guilty. "To-morrow, and until further notice," said H. R., sternly, "you will tell the department-store sandwiches to parade in front of the various newspaper offices from morning until night." "But not in Park Row, surely?" "Exactly! And find out whether the business managers of the various newspapers have been holding conferences with the managing editors. They probably will--this afternoon or to-morrow." "How can I--" "By paid spies--office-boy scouts. Of course, lady stenographers being more in your line-- No! Look me in the eye!" Andrew Barrett blushed and said, feebly: "I am taking the count, Chief." "Very well. I shall now go out and do your work. See that you do mine!" And H. R. went out, leaving Andrew Barrett full of devastating curiosity. "I wonder what he has up his sleeve now?" mused young Mr. Barrett. "I'll bet it's a corker!" H. R. himself called on the head of one of the most progressive of New York's great department stores--a man to whom full pages on week-days were nothing. He, therefore, had heard of H. R., and also had used sandwiches. He greeted the founder of the S. A. S. A. with respectful interest. H. R. said, calmly: "I am here now to make you a present of from ten thousand to fifty thousand dollars a year--in cash!" Mr. Liebmann, of course, knew that H. R., though an aristocrat, was neither a fool nor a lunatic. He diplomatically asked, "And my gratitude for your kindness may be expressed just how, Mr. Rutgers?" "By accepting the cash and putting it in your pocket, to have and to hold until death do you part." "Mr. Rutgers, I am an old man and suspense is trying." And Mr. Liebmann smiled deprecatingly. "I have come to show you how you may save the amount I have mentioned in your newspaper-advertising appropriation. You big advertisers are now helpless to help yourself. There are no rebates and you can't play one paper against the others. Those days are over. Will you hear me to the end and not go on at half-cock while I am talking?" "Yes," promised Mr. Liebmann, impetuously. "Mr. Liebmann, you must write a letter to all the advertising managers of all the newspapers, saying that you have decided to discontinue all advertising in the daily papers as soon as your contracts expire. Hold your horses! Explain that you intend to reach your suburban trade through the fashion magazines, local papers, and circulars, and that for Manhattan and Brooklyn you have decided to use sandwiches--Don't talk yet!" "I am only listening," Mr. Liebmann hastened to assure him. "The newspapers know that you are a Napoleonic advertiser. They will pay to your communication the double compliment of belief and consternation. They know you know your business and that you are not only ultra-modern, but a pioneer. You have always been a highly intelligent advertiser. You will then let me supply you with one hundred of our best men, who will parade in front of the newspaper-offices in full regalia, and also in plain sight of your dear friends, the advertising managers. You know their psychology. Take it from me, you'll win. "The only thing you mustn't do is to call the reductions rebates. There is no way by which the papers can get back at you. If I can make New York feed the hungry, would it be very difficult for me to make the advertising managers act wisely? Of course, if your letter does not bring about a saving of not less than ten thousand dollars a year you will not have to pay a penny for the sandwiches. I wish nothing written from you. The word of a Liebmann is enough for a Rutgers. My family has been in New York long enough for you to know whether a Rutgers is a man of his word or not." "I'd rather shake hands with you than save a million a year in advertising," said Mr. Liebmann. H. R. looked him straight in the eye--suspiciously, incredulously, insultingly. Mr. Liebmann flushed and then H. R. said, earnestly: "I believe you, Mr. Liebmann!" and shook hands. Mr. Liebmann, bareheaded, proudly escorted him to the sidewalk. He thanked H. R. to the last. H. R. called on the other liberal advertisers and, with more or less ease, succeeded in impressing them as he had Mr. Liebmann. Then he visited the managing editors of all the daily papers. He began with the best. The managing editor was delighted to see the man he had helped to make famous. "I have come," H. R. told him, "to ask a great favor of you. I am, as you know, very greatly interested in charity work. Your paper has been good enough to publish my views." H. R. spoke with a sort of restrained zeal simply, not humorously, obviously as a one-idea man, a crank, still young and undyspeptic. The editor prided himself on his quick and accurate insight into character. He said: "Oh yes; I know about your work." "Thank you. Well, sir, I find my usefulness to the cause somewhat impaired by the persistence with which my name is associated with the merely commercial phase of sandwiching. You know the sandwich men commercially were vermin, and I have taught them to pay for their own food. I took paupers and unpauperized them." "And the signs in your parade were great. I told them at the Union League Club that at least one poor man's parade had shown brains. Not a single threat! Not one complaint! Not one window smashed! Not one spectator insulted! It showed genius!" And the editor held out his hand. "I am a Christian, sir," said H. R., gently. "Well, I'll shake hands, anyhow, if you'll let me," said the editor, cordially. H. R. took his hand and looked so embarrassed that the editor would have sworn he blushed. This was no publicity-seeker, no fake modesty. Yes, that must be it--a Christian, the kind editors seldom shake hands with. "And so," continued H. R., earnestly, "if you please, if you would only tell your reporters not to mention me in connection with sandwiches I could do more for the cause. You see, what I did with the sandwiches was merely the entering wedge. I don't want you to think I am complaining of your reporters, sir; they have been more than kind to me; but if you could see your way clear to not speaking about sandwiches as though they were my personal property--" "You are the man who gave free sandwiches to New York," smiled the editor, as though he had said something original. The situation was more serious than H. R. had believed, but he said, with dignity: "I made free men of pariahs, sir. That job is finished. The newspapers have helped nobly; and to-day, thanks to them, charity is brought daily before their readers." "But it is less picturesque than your courtship of Miss Goodchild with sandwiches." "There were"--and H. R. smiled deprecatingly--"peculiar circumstances about my personal relations with Mr. Goodchild. Of course, I also desired to prove to intelligent but not very original business men that sandwiching is the most effective form of advertising. It is like all art, sir. The personal quality gives to it a human appeal that no combination of printed words on a page can have." "How do you make that out?" asked the editor. "When you read a play you see the printed words; but when you see the same play well acted you find that the same words you have read and liked reach the public through the senses of sight and of hearing as well as through the intellect, and is thus trebly efficient on the stage. Now, sandwiching is beyond question the highest form of commercial advertising. It succeeds even in love! And--" "I congratulate you," said the editor, heartily. H. R. looked so serious that the editor found himself saying, with even greater seriousness, "What you say is extremely interesting." "I have long studied--in my humble way--the psychology of the crowd. I have discovered some very interesting things--at least they are interesting to me, sir," apologized H. R., almost humbly. "I am led to think, indeed I feel certain, that the art of sandwiching is in its infancy. The marvelous imagination of the American people, their resourcefulness and ingenuity, will make the development of artistic sandwiching one of the most extraordinary commercial phenomena of the twentieth century. But personally I am not interested in advertising, sir, except as in this instance as a means to an end. When the result is reached that is the end of my interest. And so, sir, though I feel gratitude for the noble work your paper is doing for the cause of charity, I really and honestly think that less attention should be paid to the business side of one of our successful experiments with the submerged tenth, and more to charity itself. Can't you tell your reporters that sandwiching at union wages has nothing to do with it?" "News is news," said the editor, shaking his head regretfully. "We print what is of interest to our readers." "If your readers were made to think of filling other people's stomachs instead of their own there would be less dyspepsia--and more newspaper-readers, sir. It is a discouraging fact that the world appears to be more concerned over making money than over the unspeakable folly of dying rich." "We can do without death more easily than without money," observed the editor, sententiously. "Oh no! Death was invented in order to teach men how to live wisely. This is the only reason why the cessation of the organic functions, which is life's one great commonplace, has at all times attained to the dignity of rhetoric. But I am taking your time. I hope you will be good enough to drop sandwiches and stick to charity. I thank you for your kindness; and--and," he finished, diffidently, "I should like to shake hands with you." He looked appealingly at the editor, who thereupon shook his hand warmly. "I'll do what I can for you, Mr. Rutgers. I am very glad to have met you. Anything we can do to help you in your efforts we shall gladly do. You are a very remarkable man and you have done greater work than you seem to realize." H. R. shook his head vehemently, however, and retired in obvious confusion. With a few trifling differences, due to the divers editorial personalities, he did the same thing to the other managing editors. All of them thought that none of the reporters really knew what manner of man H. R. was. Withal, all of them were right. He was a wonder! On the next morning the eyes of the business managers of the great metropolitan dailies, morning and evening, were made to glow by twenty-seven letters from their biggest advertisers. The tenor of the communications was that, as soon as existing contracts expired, the twenty-seven biggest would do their urban advertising by means of S. A. S. A. sandwiches. They expected to reach the suburbs through fashion journals, circulars, and local media. The advertising managers smiled, not only at the palpable bluff, but at the evidence of an infantile conspiracy. Before ten o'clock, however, the vast crowds in front of their very doors made them swear. Scores of sandwich men, advertising the said twenty-seven shops and the day's bargains, were parading up and down, causing said crowds to collect and to comment audibly and admiringly. The advertising managers rushed to the managing editors to tell than that something must be done to prevent their sudden death. The managing editors, to a man, recalled H. R.'s prophecy of the marvelous growth of the most effective form of advertising. "That H. R.," said the managing editor of the _Times_, "is a wizard!" "You fellows made him," bitterly retorted the business manager. "He's had more free advertising than I can book in a hundred and ten years!" "Why, he particularly asked me not to mention sandwiches!" "Well, by gad, you'd better not!" Then, "What d'ye want?" he snarled at his first assistant, who came in with a sheet of paper in his right hand and a look of perplexity in both eyes. The assistant silently gave him the copy: ALL THE LEADING SHOPS AND THE BIG DEPARTMENT STORES OF GREATER NEW YORK ARE USING OUR SANDWICHES. THEY EMPLOY THE BEST ADVERTISING TALENT IN THE WORLD. THEIR EXPERTS UNANIMOUSLY HAVE DECIDED THAT SANDWICHING IS THE HIGHEST FORM OF ADVERTISING YET DISCOVERED. IT IS THE CHEAPEST WHEN RETURNS AND RESULTS ARE CONSIDERED. ARE YOU USING OUR SANDWICHES, MR. MERCHANT? THEY WILL MOVE YOUR SHOP TO FIFTH AVENUE. TRY IT! EMPLOY ONLY UNION MEN. SOCIETY AMERICAN SANDWICH ARTISTS, ALLIED ARTS BUILDING. For the first time in history the familiar O. K. H. R., _Sec._ was absent. It bore out the managing editor's assertion of H. R.'s distaste of publicity. "Go out and lasso your maverick advertisers," said the managing editor, sternly, after he had read the S. A. S. A. advertisement--full-page, too! "I'll take care of the news columns." "The damned sandwich men are so thick in this town I'll have trouble in breaking through their lines." "Use dynamite!" said the managing editor, savagely. He owned ten bonds of his own paper. He then summoned the city editor and said, sternly: "Mr. Welles, under no circumstances whatever must this paper mention sandwiches or sandwich advertising or the S. A. S. A." "Did you see their latest exploit? Two hundred and seventy-six sandwiches to the block, by actual count. Talk about high art!" "They have commercialized it," frowned the managing editor. "Not a line--ever!" The same thing must have happened in all the other offices. The public talked about the advertising revolution and the wonderful new styles in boards; and they looked in the next morning's papers to get all the picturesque details, as usual. Not a word! XXX H. R. called, shortly after ten o'clock the next morning, at the Ketcham National Bank to discuss with his father-in-law-to-be interest rates on the balance he did not yet have. Mr. Goodchild had slept over the matter. He had spent an hour in going over his annoyances and humiliations, and had failed himself with a wrath that became murderous anger when he compelled himself to realize that H. R. had it in his power to intensify the troubles of the Goodchild family. The marriage of H. R. with his daughter became worse than preposterous; it was a species of blackmail against which there was no defense. He could not reach H. R. by means of the law or by speech or by violence. When his anger cooled, however, he saw that what he had done was to pay the young man the greatest compliment an elderly millionaire can pay anybody. The more formidable your enemy is, the less disgraceful is your defeat. Mr. Goodchild was as intelligent a man as one is apt to find in the office of the president of a bank; but he was susceptible, as all men are, to self-inflicted flattery. He therefore decided that H. R. was a problem to be tackled in cold blood, with both eyes open and prayer in the heart. The only plan of action he could think of was proposing to H. R. to accomplish an impossibility; in fact, two impossibilities. He also would treat H. R. amicably. "Good morning, young man!" he said, pleasantly. "Morning!" said H. R., briskly. "Now let's get down to cases. I expect you to--" "Hold on!" said Mr. Goodchild, coldly, in order to keep from saying it hotly. "Aren't you a trifle premature?" "No," said H. R. "I find I can give you a few minutes to-day." "You'll have to use some of those minutes in listening to me," said Mr. Goodchild, trying to look as though this was routine business. "I'll listen," H. R. assured him, kindly. "You will admit that you have given me cause to--well, not to feel especially friendly toward you." "Big men are above petty feelings," said H. R. "You will, in turn, admit that you made a mistake in not advancing me in the bank-- Wait! I'll listen later, as long as you wish. You object, I suppose, to my methods; but let me point out to you that I have arrived! Where should I be if I hadn't been talked about? And where shall I land if I keep on hypnotizing the newspapers into giving me columns of space? You know what publicity means in business to-day, don't you? Well, just bear in mind that I not only make news, but, by jingo, I am news! There is only one other man in the United States who can say that, and you may have to vote for him for President, notwithstanding your fear of him. Wait!" H. R. held up his hand, took out his watch, and went on: "For an entire minute think of what I have said before you answer. Don't answer until the time is up. One minute. Begin! Now!" H. R. held his hand detainingly two inches in front of Mr. Goodchild's lips. Mr. Goodchild did not open them. He thought and thought, and he became conscious that he had to argue with himself to find said answer. "Speak!" commanded H. R. when the minute was up. "The cases are not analogous. Publicity has its uses and--" "It has this one use--that you can always capitalize it. It spells dollars--and, more than that, easy dollars, untainted dollars, dollars that nobody begrudges you and that nobody wants to take away from you--not even the Administration at Washington. Think over that for two minutes. And he pulled out his watch once more. "Look here, I--" "Damn it, don't talk! Think!" said H. R. so determinedly that Mr. Goodchild almost feared a scene would be enacted which he should regret after seeing it in the newspapers. "You have wasted forty seconds in overcoming your anger at my manner of speech," continued H. R., reprovingly. "Begin all over. Two minutes. Now!" And before Mr. Goodchild's wrath could become articulate he rose and walked over to a window. H. R. stared across the street. It was there he had captured Fleming. How far away that day seemed now--and how far below! The two minutes were up. He turned to Mr. Goodchild. "Look here; you bank presidents are an unscientific lot. You ought to be psychologists instead of being merely bookkeepers. It is knowledge of people you need--not of human nature at its worst, or of political economy, or of finance, but of people--the people who vote; the people who in the end say whether you are to be allowed to enjoy your money and theirs in comfort or not. Study them! You sit here and disapprove of my methods because they violate some rule established years ago by somebody as radical then as I appear to be now. It is not a question of good taste or bad taste. It was good taste once to kill each other in duels, and to drink two bottles of port, and to employ children in factories. The suffragettes are attacked for methods--" "Do you mean to say you approve of their slashing pictures--" "That is beside the question. If the suffragettes stuck to ladylike speeches and circulars they would be merely a joke at the club. The right of women to vote is a problem. Well, the suffragettes have made themselves exactly that--a problem! If they have not a sense of relative values it is because they don't get me to run their campaign for them. I could succeed without destroying one masterpiece. Maybe I will--some day. And then I could marry ten bankers' daughters if I were not in love with one. Let's come back to our own business. Do you think I have brains?" "Well--" "No, no! Remember what I have said to you and consider whether it is asinine; and think of what I have done and ponder whether it shows hustling and executive ability, and those qualities that mean the power to develop the individual bank account. Am I an ass or have I brains?" "Yes; but--" "All men of brains at all times have had more buts than bouquets thrown at them. I tell you now that I have gone about this business for the purpose of getting there. To become news, to be interesting to the public in some way--in any way--is the quickest way. Then you can pick your own way, a way that will commend itself to the well-bred nonentities who never accomplish anything. Well, I am famous; and it's up to me to decide what I shall do in the future to take advantage of the fact that when people hear of H. R., or see those two initials in print, they look for something interesting to follow. The least of my troubles is that I shall become one of your respected depositors. I don't drink; I am healthy--no taint of any kind, hereditary or acquired; I don't have to lie to get what I want or cheat to get all the money I need--and I need a lot. I've got ideas, and I don't fall down in carrying them out, because I don't go on at half-cock. I never move until I see my destination; and if there is a wall ahead I have my scaling-ladder all ready long before I arrive at the wall." H. R. paused, and then went on more slowly: "When you get over your soreness at the raw deal the newspapers have given you, you will be glad to have a man of brains in your house. I don't want you to give Grace anything; but I tell you now I'm going to marry her, and you'd better begin to be reconciled to the idea of having me for a son-in-law. I want to be your friend, because I'm quite sure you will not enjoy having me for your enemy--not after I begin the counter attack." It is always the delivery that does it, as Demosthenes triply assured posterity. Mr. Goodchild's eyes had not left H. R.'s face and he had listened intently to the speech. He did not grasp in full all that H. R. had said; but what really had emptied Mr. Goodchild of anger, and filled him with an interest which was not very different from respect, was the delivery. H. R.'s faculty of knowing how to speak to a particular auditor was instinctive. It always is, with all such men, whether they are famous or obscure, orators or life-insurance agents. It is very simple when you are born with it. Mr. Goodchild, however, finding his own weapons of offense more dangerous to himself than to the foe, fell back on defense. To do so, he naturally began with a lie. That is the worst of verbal defenses. "I don't object to you personally. I--I even admit that I made a mistake in not promoting you, though I don't know what position you could have filled here that would have suited you--" "None; because you don't realize that banks need modernizing. None! Skip all that and get back to me as your son-in-law." Mr. Goodchild, thinking of his two plans which were his one hope, asked, abruptly: "Are you a man of your word?" "Since I have brains, I am. Are you?" "I object to your methods. Your speech I might overlook, though it comes hard. I am speaking plainly. Now you are known as the Sandwich Man. That would bar you from my club and from ever becoming a really--" "But that will stop. It will stop to-day. I have told Grace that within a month nobody will ever connect my name with sandwiches." "Will you agree not to marry or seek to marry my daughter, or annoy us in any way--in short, if a month from now you are still famous as the organizer of the sandwiches, will you stop trying to be my son-in-law?" "Sure thing!" promised H. R., calmly. Mr. Goodchild was distrustful and looked it, which made H. R. add, impressively: "I'll give you my word that after to-day I'll never even try to see you or Grace, or write to her, or revenge myself on you. So far as I am concerned I'll cease to exist for you. And here's my hand on it." He held out his hand in such a manner that Mr. Goodchild took it and shook it with the warmth of profound relief. Then he said, heartfully: "If you do that--" "Don't worry! It won't kill my business. I'll be just as famous as ever." "The newspapers made you. Their silence will unmake you." "Oh no!" And H. R. smiled as one smiles at a child. Mr. Goodchild almost felt as though his head had been kindly patted. "Why not?" he asked. "Sandwiching is here to stay and--and my companies are organized. I'll change the dummy directors as soon as you and I decide which of your friends and clients shall be permitted to buy some of the stock my men haven't sold. For cash, understand! The newspapers have done their work. The newspapers in this instance are like incubators. I put in an egg. The incubator hatched it. Then I took the chick out of the incubator. Suppose the incubator now refuses to keep up the temperature of 102-1/2 degrees Fahrenheit necessary to hatch the egg? Suppose the incubator gets stone cold? Well, let it! The chick is out and growing. And let me tell you right now that I am not going to let Wall Street financiers get their clutches on my chick. They'd caponize it. Talking about interest rates--" "How big a balance do you expect to keep with us?" asked Mr. Goodchild. He did not like to admit the surrender. "It depends on you." H. R. pulled out his watch, looked at the time, snapped it shut, and said: "I haven't time to go over the business; but I'll send one of my office men to tell you all you want to know. Listen to him and then ask him any questions you wish. So far as you and I are concerned we are beyond the sandwich stage. I'll send Barrett to you this afternoon. And, believe me, you are going to be my father-in-law. Good morning!" He left the office without offering to shake hands. On his way out H. R. stopped to speak to Mr. Coster, to whom he owed so much for having led him, as a clerk with the springtime in his blood, to the president's office to be discharged. "Well, old top, here I be!" said H. R., kindly humorous in order to remove all restraint. "How do you do, Mr. Rutgers?" said Coster, respectfully. The clerks looked at their erstwhile fellow-slave furtively, afraid to be caught looking. Was this Hendrik Rutgers? Was this what a man became when he ceased to be a clerk? Ah, but a salary! Something coming in regularly at the end of the week, rain or shine! Gee! but some men are born lucky! XXXI H. R. returned to his office feeling that the big battle was about to begin. The preliminary skirmishes he had won. He had captured fame and must now begin his real attack on fortune. He spent an hour dictating plans of campaign for his various companies. Shortly before noon he told the stenographer to call up Miss Goodchild and inform her that Mr. Rutgers would be there in half an hour. He had promised not to call on Grace for a month after that day. He must not make love to her. He was determined to keep his promise; but she must not forget him. He had accustomed her to his impetuous wooing. In thirty days of inaction much might be undone if he did nothing. He was punctual. He found Grace waiting for him, curious to know what had happened at H. R.'s conference with her father at the bank. Her curiosity made her forget many other things. She expected a characteristic greeting from H. R., but his face was so full of adamantine resolution that her curiosity promptly turned into vague alarm. She had told herself she did not love him, but instinctively she now walked toward him quickly. "What is it?" she asked. He waved her back and said, hastily: "Stop right where you are! Don't come any nearer. For the love of Mike, don't!" She had been thinking of treating him coldly, to keep him at a distance. "What is it?" she asked again, and again advanced. "Don't!" said H. R., with a frown. She now felt alarmed, without giving herself any reason for it. "Wh-what's the m-matter?" she asked. "You!" he answered. "You!" She stared at him. He was looking at her so queerly that naturally she thought something had happened to her face. She looked into the mirror on her right. It was not so. Another look fully confirmed this. So she looked at him. His expression had lost some of its anxiety. "I promised your dad," he explained, "that I would not see you after to-day, or call here, or try to make love to you by mail, or annoy you or him in any way until I had wiped the sandwich stain off your surname. I have a month in which to do it, and I promised all that! One month! Not to see you! But--" He looked at her so hungrily that, born and bred in New York though she was, she blushed hotly and turned her face away. Then she felt the thrill by which victory is made plain to the defeated. "But--but--" repeated H. R. through his clenched teeth, and took a step toward her. Whatever she saw in his face made her smile and say, challengingly: "But what?" Being very wise, he caught his breath and said, sharply: "Don't do that!" "Do what?" she asked, innocently, and kept on smiling. "I will not see you!" "You won't?" She ceased to smile, in order to look skeptical. "No, I won't; I'll keep my word, Grace." He was speaking very earnestly now. "I love you--all of you; the good and the bad, your wonderful woman's soul and your perennial childishness. You are so beautiful in so many ways that you yourself cannot know how completely beautiful you are. But I love more than your beauty. After it is all over you will realize that I can be trusted implicitly. Never has man been put to such a task. Don't you know--can't you see what I am doing?" She knew; she saw. She felt herself mistress of the situation. She therefore said, softly: "I shouldn't want you to commit suicide here." Hearing no reply, she looked at him. He was ready for it. She saw his nostrils dilate and his fists clench and unclench. "Then I won't see you. But--but you can see me," he said. She frowned. He went on: "I shall lunch every day at Jerry's--small table in the northeast corner. At one o'clock every day for a whole month." Did he expect her to run after him? She said, very coldly: "That wouldn't be fair." "If you go to Jerry's for luncheon with one of your girl friends, and you see me eating alone, keeping bushels of wonderful news all to myself, is that making love to you?" "Yes." "No!" he contradicted, flatly. "But I'll do more-- I'll let you tell Mrs. Vandergilt that you own the only engine of destruction available against man's stupidity." Knowing that he was alluding to her beauty, she said: "What are you talking about?" "Well, I belong to you, don't I? And if women are to get the vote can't you tell dear Ethel's mother--" "Do you mean old Mrs. Vandergilt?" she interrupted. "Yes." "Then say so." "I will," he meekly promised. "You tell the old lady that you will insure success for the Cause by lending me to her. I've got a scheme that will do more in a month than all the suffragettes have accomplished in fifty years. You might get Ethel interested in my plan--" "I won't!" She smiled the forgiving smile that infuriates. She lost her head. "You think I am jeal--that I'm--" "I think not of you, but of myself, and of how I may keep my promise to your father and survive. If you see me, and can talk to me, I shall live honorably. Will you shake hands?" He held out his right hand. She ignored it. He deliberately took hers and led her to a chair. "Will you do what I ask, dear?" he entreated, humbly. "No!" She stood there, cold, disdainful, refusing everything--even to sit down. "Then," he said, tensely, "then I must--" He seized her in his arms and kissed her unresponsive lips. "I am not making love to you," he murmured. "I am not!" And he kissed her again. "I promised not to see you; and I won't--not even if you see me." He released her and was silent. She looked up and saw that his eyes were tightly closed. "I'll be there," she said, triumphantly, "at one o'clock." "I am a man of my word!" he said, fiercely. "Every day!" she added, with decision. She did not know that this wifelike attitude thrilled him as not even the kisses had; but he said, earnestly: "No. I'm going now. It's good-by for a month. For a whole month!" "Northeast corner table," she said, audibly, as though to herself. "Northeast cor--" "Play fair!" he urged. "Amuse yourself with Mrs. Vandergilt." He looked at her as though he desired her to occupy herself with some hobby for thirty days. The sight of her face, and nothing else that she could see, made him say, "Good-by!" And he almost ran out of the room. She went up-stairs to get her gloves. On second thought she called Ethel on the telephone and invited her to luncheon at Jerry's. He was waiting for her at the northeast corner table when she and Ethel went in. Grace, who had been looking toward the southwest corner, where the exit to the kitchen was, turned casually and saw him. "There's Hendrik!" she said to Ethel. He had not risen. He looked up casually now and approached them. "I was born lucky," he told them, and shook hands with Grace. To Miss Vandergilt he said, very seriously, "Are you Grace's friend?" "I'm more than that," answered Ethel; "I am the best friend she's got." "Then I am doubly lucky. I have a table, Ethel. I want you to be a witness to the miracle." There was no reason why he should call Miss Vandergilt by her first name. Even Ethel looked it. But H. R. merely said: "Take this chair, Grace. Ethel--here." "It seems to me--" began Grace, coldly. "Your friends are my friends. The miracle, Ethel, is that I've promised not to make love to Grace for a whole month--thirty days; forty-three thousand two hundred precious wasted minutes!" "Don't you sleep?" interjected Ethel, curiously. "My poor carcass does, but not my thoughts of her. Now let us eat and be miserable." It was a wonderful luncheon. H. R. let them do all the talking. He was at his coffee when Ethel mentioned her mother. "Ah, yes!" said H. R. "By the way, has Grace told her?" "Told her what?" Grace caught his eye and shook her head with a frown. "Very well, dear girl," he said to her. To Ethel he explained, "She doesn't wish me to tell you of her plan." "Oh, do! Please!" said Ethel, eagerly. "I'm in training for the position of her husband, Ethel," H. R. told her. "She says no--that's all; plain no!" "Grace, tell him to tell me!" said Ethel. "Shall I, Grace?" smiled H. R. Ethel looked at her and smiled. It made Grace so furious that she said: "I have no control over his speech." "Then, Ethel, it is only that Grace has a plan for a suffrage campaign that--well, it isn't for me to boast of her strategy; but it's a sure winner. I thought she would tell your mother." "It doesn't interest me," said Grace, very coldly, being hot within. "It will after you're married," observed Ethel, sagely. "That depends on whom I marry," said Grace, casually. "So it does," assented H. R., calmly. "I agree with Hendrik," said Ethel, more subtly personal than Grace thought necessary; so she pushed back her chair and took up her gloves. "Same table, same time--to-morrow?" H. R. said this to Grace so that Ethel could hear it. "No," said Grace. "Very well," he said, meekly. "I'll be here just the same--in case." She shook her head. Ethel, who was carefully not looking, saw her do it. Grace did not appear the next day, but Ethel did, properly accompanied by her own mother. They walked toward the northeast corner, on their way to a near-by table. H. R. rose and approached them. "Just in time," he said to them. "Thursday always was my lucky day." They sat down. To the waiter he said: "Tell the chef--for three; for me." "Yes, Mr. Rutgers," said the waiter, very deferentially. "What have you up your sleeve, Mrs. Vandergilt? And how near is victory?" "You mean--" "The Cause!" said H. R., reverently. "I never heard you express an opinion," said Mrs. Vandergilt, suspiciously. "You have expressed them for me far better than I could. Mine isn't a deep or philosophical mind," he apologized to the mind that was. "I merely understand publicity and how sheeplike men are." "If you understand that, you understand a great deal," remarked Mrs. Vandergilt, sententiously. "Grace thought--" began H. R., and caught himself in time. "You haven't talked to her about it?" "Grace?" "Miss Goodchild." "No. Why should I?" "No reason--only that she has what I, as a practical man, in my low-brow way, think is a winner. Of course the suffrage has long since passed the polemical stage. The question does not admit of argument. The right is admitted by all men. But what all men don't admit is the wrong. And all men don't admit it, because all women don't." "That is true," said Mrs. Vandergilt, vindictively. "Any woman," pursued H. R., earnestly, "can make any man give her anything she wants. Therefore, if all the women wanted all the men to give them anything, the men would give it. A woman can't always take something from a man; but she can always get it. To put it on the high plane of taking it as a right may be noble; but what I want is results. So long as I get results, nothing short of murder, lying, or ignoble wheedling can stop me. Grace and I went all over that; but she seems to have lost interest--" "Yes, she has," confirmed Ethel, so amiably that H. R. smiled gratefully; and that annoyed Ethel. "You have asked for justice," pursued H. R., addressing himself to Mrs. Vandergilt; "but it is at the ignoble side of man that you must shoot. It is a larger target--easier to hit." "But--" began Mrs. Vandergilt. "If I were a woman my dream should be to serve under you and implicitly obey all orders. I'd distribute dynamite as cheerfully as handbills. Without competent marshals do you imagine Napoleon could have done what he did? "Don't I know it?" said Mrs. Vandergilt, bitterly. "How would you go about it?" interjected Ethel, who had grown weary of her own silence. "I'd get the marshals. I'd get subordinates that, when your mother said 'Do thus and so!' she could feel sure would obey orders. The general strategy must come from her." "I've said that until I was black in the face," said Mrs. Vandergilt. "I've told them--" And the great leader talked and talked, while H. R. stopped eating to listen with his very soul. With such a listener Mrs. Vandergilt was at her best. "Mother, the squab is getting cold," said Ethel. "The next time it will be cold in advance," said H. R., impatiently. "Go on, Mrs. Vandergilt!" But Mrs. Vandergilt, knowing she could not finish at one luncheon, shook her head graciously and invited H. R. to dinner the next evening. "I can hardly wait!" murmured H. R. XXXII The dinner at Mrs. Vandergilt's home was H. R.'s initial social triumph. The first thing he did was to confess to Mrs. Vandergilt that what he desired above all things was to be her military secretary. All he asked was to serve the Cause so long as she led, and no longer. "I hate failures," he told her. "I don't propose to be identified with any. If I did not see in you what I do I should not be here. I know creative genius when I see it. You paint the picture. I am only the frame-maker--necessary, but not among the immortals." "You are more than that," she assured him, with a smile. He shook his head. "I can fool the rabble; but you know the trick! Organize your personal staff. Fire them with your own enthusiasm. Of course they won't all have brains; but they will do to stop gaps and follow instructions." And Mrs. Vandergilt, in order that all might know that great minds acknowledged a greater mind, cracked up H. R. to the sky. H. R.'s success was all the greater since he made a point of declining most invitations. He was seen only where most people wished to be seen. That made him talked about. Grace heard about his stupendous social success. Since the demand for H. R.'s presence came from her social equals, he was at last a desirable possession. She stayed away from Jerry's in a mood of anger that naturally made it impossible for her to stop thinking of H. R. Meantime H. R. regularly, every day, sent a complete file of newspapers to the Goodchild residence. By his orders the Public Sentiment Corps bombarded the editors with requests for information as to the Society of American Sandwich Artists, and of sandwiching in general. He prepared learned and withal highly interesting articles on sandwiches, their history and development. He suggested over divers signatures that all court notices should be brought to the public's notice by sandwiches, thereby getting nearer to the picturesque town-crier of our sainted forefathers. Not a single communication was printed. The department stores were holding out for lower advertising rates. Many of the letters asked questions about H. R. in his capacity as the greatest living authority on sandwiches. These, also, were ignored. On the other hand, to show they were not prejudiced, the papers continued to run the charity page and used suggestions furnished by H. R., giving him full credit when it came to philanthropies that had nothing to do with sandwiches. The series of harrowing radiographs of diseased viscera, published with success by the most conservative of the evening journals, was one of H. R.'s subtlest strokes. And prominent persons took to contributing checks and articles, both signed in full, in response to H. R.'s occasional appeals in aid of deserving destitution. Then the Public Sentiment Corps began to ask, with a marvelous diversity of chirography and spelling, why H. R. did not undertake to secure votes for women and employment for men. Mrs. Vandergilt, when asked about it by the reporters, replied: "H. R. is my most trusted adviser. Just wait! When we are ready to move we'll begin; and there will be no stopping us this time!" They published her remarks and her photograph, and also H. R.'s. Mr. Goodchild had tried, one after another, to get all the newspapers to attack H. R. viciously--then to poke fun at him; and he had failed utterly. When he read the Vandergilt interview, on his way home that evening, he decided to speak to Grace. "Mrs. Vandergilt is crazy," he said. "Have they sent her away?" asked Grace, her face full of excitement. Poor Ethel! "Not yet; but I see she has taken up that--that--" "Hendrik?" asked Grace, and frowned. Mr. Goodchild nodded. Then he asked, suspiciously: "You haven't seen him?" "Yes; but not to--well, he hasn't made--he has kept his word to you. And the newspapers don't print anything about sandwiches." "No--damn 'em!" he muttered. "I thought you didn't want them to." "I don't want you to have anything to do with him. It is perfectly absurd to think of marrying a fellow like that--" "He can marry anybody now," she told him. Thinking of this made her so angry that she said, "He hypnotizes people so they think he is--" "I know what he is," he interrupted. "I'd like to--" "I suppose you would," she acquiesced; "but you can't deny he is an extraordinary person, and--" "Do you love him?" he interrupted. Grace hesitated. She had to in order to be honest. "I--I don't know," she answered, finally. "Great Scott! Do you mean to say you don't know that?" "No; I don't," she replied, tartly. She thought of H. R., of all he had done, of all he had said to her, of all he might yet do. And then she thought of the way H. R. had been taken up by the people at whose homes she dined and danced. She shook her head dubiously. "Well, finish!" said her father, impatiently. "He makes people do what he wants them to," she said, slowly; "though he says he will do what I wish him to do, and--" "Can you make him do what he doesn't want to do?" challenged her father, with his first gleam of sense. She thought of H. R.'s love of her. "Yes," she said, thrilled at the thought of her power. "Then make him give you up!" Her father permitted himself a smile of incredulity, which made her say: "I will!" Mr. Goodchild rose. He patted her cheek encouragingly and said: "I think you will, my dear." "I am going to make him--" "I beg pardon, but Miss Goodchild is wanted at the telephone, sir," announced Frederick. Grace went to answer the phone. It was Marion Molyneux who spoke. "Is it true, Grace, that your engagement with H. R. is off?" "Who told you?" naturally asked Grace before she could think of anything else. "Why, everybody is talking about it; and--" "Everybody knows my business better than I do." "Well, they say Mrs. Vandergilt doesn't give him time to--" "Is he engaged to her?" "Oh, dear! You are angry, aren't you? Well, I am glad it isn't true. Good-by." How could the engagement be off when it never had been on? Grace made up her mind to talk to him very plainly, for the last time, that evening. She knew he would be at the Vandergilts' dinner dance that night. Well, she was going there, anyhow. Therefore she went. She almost had to elbow her way to where he stood. Mrs. Vandergilt was beside him; but Grace could see that H. R. owned the house. "How do you do, my dear?" said Mrs. Vandergilt, so very graciously that Grace was filled with fury. It was plain that H. R. was making a professional politician of Mrs. Vandergilt. Grace smiled at her--that is, she made her lips do it mechanically. Then she addressed the fiancé to whom she was not engaged: "Hendrik!" That was all she actually said, but, with her eyes, in the manner known only to women who are sure they are not in love, she commanded him to follow her. "You see him all the time and we don't get a chance very often," protested a vulgar little thing whose father was a financial pirate of the first rank and had given her all the predatory instincts. "Go on, H. R.! Tell us some more. Do!" Grace's eyes grew very bright and hard, and her cheeks flushed. "I have news for you," she said to H. R., calmly ignoring the others. "I am sorry, children," said H. R., regretfully. "Business before pleasure." "Your business," persisted the vulgar little thing, "is to obey!" "Hence my exit," he said, and followed Grace. She led the way to the conservatory. She was conscious of her own displeasure. This enabled her to dispense with the necessity of finding reasons for her own feelings. She halted beside an elaborately carved marble seat, built for two, and motioned for him to sit down. He looked at her. She then said: "Sit down!" He obeyed. Then she sat beside him. The seat was skilfully screened by palms and ferns. "I had a little talk with father this morning," she went on, and frowned--in advance. "You poor thing!" he murmured, sympathetically, as though he were thinking of what she must have suffered. As a matter of fact his mind was full of the conviction that she herself did not know which way she was going to jump and it behooved him to pick the right way. "He asked me whether I loved you," she went on, sternly. "Well, the answer to that was an easy syllable. When we go back you tell Mrs. Vandergilt that you have decided to allow me to serve under her. Don't worry; I'll be the boss. Ethel has played up like a trump--" "I told him I didn't," she interrupted. "You couldn't have told him that!" He smiled easily. "There was no occasion for it. Now tell me exactly what you did say to him." He could see anger in her eyes--the kind of anger that is at least a first cousin to hatred. "I said--" "The exact words." The change in his voice made her look at him. His eyes, keen, masterful, were fixed on hers. They looked hard, yet not altogether ruthless; and particularly they looked as though they could read thoughts with no effort, which made it necessary to tell the truth. "I told him I didn't know," she said. To preserve her self-respect she sneered. "What a wonderful girl you are!" In his eyes she saw a great admiration. She could not tell what it was this man considered so wonderful; but, whatever it was, he knew exactly--and she did not! "If I really loved you, shouldn't I know it?" "Of course not. You are not the surrendering kind. The others are--born slaves, diminutive souls, toys, little pets. Souls like yours don't marry; they mate with an eagle! You will love me as I love you. And then there is nothing that we, together, cannot do! Nothing!" She opened her mouth, but he checked her speech by saying, sternly: "Why do you think it is that, having loved you, I cannot love any one else? Because I alone know what you are and what you will be! Grace, I promised your father I would not make love to you until I had deleted one word from our visiting-cards. It is done; but the month isn't up quite, and I won't make love to you. That's flat! I can't break my word." He looked so determined that naturally she looked away and said, very softly: "And--and if I should want you to?" "You should want me to make love to you, but not to break my word!" "But you say you love me," she complained. "Love you!" It flamed in his eyes and his hand reached for hers; but he checked himself abruptly. She extended her hand, but he edged away from her. She drew nearer to him. He retreated to the very edge of the seat. She was pursuing now. He bit his lip and frowned. She no longer thought of other things. She knew he could not retreat any farther. She covered his hand with hers. He suddenly clutched it so tightly that he hurt her, and that gave her the fierce joy of success in love as she understood it. She felt like shouting: "Hurt me! Hurt me! I've got you!" But what she did was to murmur: "Hendrik!" "What?" he said, hoarsely, resolutely keeping his eyes from looking into hers. "Hendrik, do you really love me?" "My promise!" he whispered, tensely, and looked at her pleadingly. "Don't, dear!" She understood him perfectly; so she smiled. It was her iron will against his. He must do what he did not wish to do, and do it because she wished it! She did not wish to kiss him; but she wished, hypnotist-like, to compel him to kiss her. With her eyes she beckoned him to come closer. Knowing that this would clinch it he stared back at her with a pitiful appeal in his troubled eyes, and shook his head weakly, as though his soul, thinking of his honor, was saying: "No, no! Please don't!" Her face moved toward him a little and stopped. Something within her was stamping its foot, saying: "Yes! Yes!"--like a peevish child. H. R., continuing to follow the subtle strategy of the reversed position, stared fascinatedly at her lips. Then slowly, like a man in a trance, his face moved toward hers. On the very brink he paused and said, brokenly: "No! Oh, my darling! No! No!" She said nothing, in order not to commit herself; but she smiled at him, while her eyes, luminous and blue, pounded away on his resolve, battering it to pieces. Nearer his face came--nearer--until his lips reached hers. His honor had been wrecked on the coral reef; but all she knew, and all she cared to know, was that she had won! She was so certain of it and showed it so plainly that he knew he had better make it doubly sure; so he pressed his cheek against hers, that she might not see his face while he murmured: "Now you can't cast me off!" It was an entreaty, with the nature of which she was familiar from her literary studies; and her answer, eminently feminine, was: "Never, dearest!" He started to his feet abruptly. "Don't follow me!" he said, harshly, and walked away very quickly. When she rejoined the crush in the drawing-room she learned that H. R. had excused himself on the plea of urgent business and had gone. "What is he going to do?" they asked her, eagerly. They were sure it was something picturesque, but she saw in their excited wonderment the appraisal of her victory. The displeasure and suspicion in Mrs. Vandergilt's eyes gave her intense joy. She was willing to pay for her victory. He loved her! She could make him do whatever she wished. It did not matter whether she loved him or not. There was now no reason, that she could see, why she should not marry him--if the worst came to the worst. XXXIII Grace did not hear from H. R. the next morning as she fully expected. Since expectation is disguised desire, she was vexed by his silence. She had conquered. Why did he not acknowledge? She obeyed what she would have called a sudden impulse of no particular significance and called up his office. Andrew Barrett answered. He told her that H. R. had gone away--nobody knew whither--and would not return until the following Thursday. H. R.'s move was so mysterious that it could mean but one thing: He was running away! Merely to make sure of it, she went to Jerry's at one o'clock. The northeast corner table was there, but not H. R. However, she sat down and waited. She ordered her luncheon herself, irritated at having to do what he should have done. If it was business that kept H. R. away, she ought to know it. The right to know everything was part of the spoils. When he came back there would be no more ignorance--ever again! At three o'clock she went home. But as the days passed she became uneasy. H. R. was the only human being she completely dominated. Brooding on his inexplicable absence, her thoughts came more and more to take the form of the question that victrices always ask of high Heaven: "Have I lost him?" That made her love him. At noon on the 20th of May he telephoned to her: "Meet me at the Plaza at four--for tea. Don't fail! Good-by!" "Wait!" she exclaimed, angrily, rebellion surging within her by reason of his dictatorial tone of voice. She had been very anxious to see him, but not at that price. He had wisely hung up the receiver, however. That compelled her to do what he had told her to do. She had something to say to him. She found him sitting at a small table in the Palm Room. Ethel Vandergilt and Reggie Van Duzen were with him. She approached him frowning, because she ran the usual gantlet of stares, and overheard the usual murmurs: "That's Grace Goodchild! Do you think she is as pretty as--" Ethel greeted her affectionately, and Reggie looked proud to be there. He was a worshipper of the dynamic H. R. But all that H. R. himself said, in his exasperatingly peremptory voice, was: "Month is up to-day. Now for the test! Tell Ethel you want some sandwiches!" Grace started slightly and realized that Ethel had not overheard H. R.--he had taken care that she should not. "No! I--I'm afraid, Hendrik," she stammered, turning pale. Women love to gamble--in their minds, when alone. "You? Afraid? Of anything?" He looked at her in pained amazement. "Look at me!" She did. "I--I'll marry you any--anyway," she said, to show it was not cowardice, but the reverse. "Play the game!" he said, sternly. Before she knew it she obeyed. She sat down limply and said: "Ethel, I w-want a s-s-sandwich!" "You poor thing! You're actually faint with hunger. Don't you want some bouillon? Waiter!" "No; I want a sandwich!" said Grace, loudly. You would have thought she had said, "_Jacta est alea!_" Ethel and Reggie heard Grace use that word. People all about them knew who she was and had proudly told their out-of-town companions all about H. R. and Grace Goodchild. They, too, heard Grace say she wanted a sandwich. Not a soul smiled! Not having seen anything about it in the newspapers for a month, New York had forgotten that H. R. had wooed Grace with sandwiches. H. R. was as famous as ever, but his fellow-citizens no longer knew why or how. The waiter took the order with unsmiling respect. Grace looked at H. R. almost with awe. He smiled reassuringly and asked her: "Aren't you going to ask Ethel?" "Ask me what?" said Ethel. Grace was silent, because she was blushing like a silly thing in public. "On the eighth of June," said H. R. "I suppose you won't mind being a--" Ethel naturally interrupted him by saying to Grace: "I'm so glad! Is it announced?" "You're the first one we've told, dear girl," H. R. declared, solemnly. "Reggie, you will give me courage at the altar?" "Will I?" chuckled Reggie, proudly, and insisted on shaking hands. H. R. rewarded him. He said: "Reggie, I'm going to let you help me in my campaign. I'm going to the Assembly in the autumn." "Albany!" said Reggie, enthusiastically. "First stop on the way to Washington! There was Cleveland--and Roosevelt; and now--" "Oh, Hendrik!" gasped Grace. She would help him all she could--at the receptions. Then she looked at Ethel to see whether she, also, understood national politics. Ethel did. She said, with conviction: "And we'll all vote for him, too!" The waiter laid a plate of sandwiches before Grace. H. R. stared at them--a long time, as though he were crystal-gazing. He saw the labor-unions, the churches, the aristocracy, the bankers, the newspapers, the thoughtless, and the hungry; and all were with him and for him. He was the only man the Socialists really feared. If he was H. R. to New York, why should he not become H. R. to the nation? He saw himself on the steps of the Capitol on a 4th of March. It was typical Rutgers weather. The mighty sun was trying its best to please him and incidentally tranquilizing Big Business by shining goldenly. The clouds, however, were pure silver--with an eye to the retail trade. In the distance he saw the monument erected with infinite pains to the one American who could not tell a lie. It was a great white finger pointing straight at heaven. It was as though George Washington's stupendous gesture meant, "That is where I got it from!" That is the place from which everything good comes. It should not be difficult, H. R. thought, to convince his fellow-Americans of it. They had been accustomed to reading, every day, "In God we trust." It was on all the dollars. "Hendrik!" said Grace. H. R. started from his dream and passed his hand over his eyes. "Grace," he said to her resolutely, "my work is just beginning!" THE END 
41242	----	file was produced from images generously made available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) [Transcribers notes: Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained. Unusual spellings in dialogue have also been retained. Page 147 "." added ("BISHOP HARDBROOKE.") Page 170 "And" replacing "nd" ("And now a living thing.") Page 198 "." added ("EGERTON.") Page 252 "Harry" replacing "arry" ("HARRY EGERTON.") Page 259 "." added ("Bishop Hardbrooke.") Page 259 "." added ("We have been busy.")] THE AMERICANS THE AMERICANS By EDWIN DAVIES SCHOONMAKER NEW YORK MITCHELL KENNERLEY 1913 COPYRIGHT 1913 BY MITCHELL KENNERLEY PRESS OF J. J. LITTLE & IVES COMPANY, NEW YORK TO MY FATHER AND MY BROTHER FRANK AUTHOR'S NOTE The drama here published is logically the third in a series of racial dramas, as follows: 1. _The Saxons_ 2. _The Slavs_ 3. _The Americans_ 4. _The Hindoos_ Of this series _The Saxons_, dealing with man's struggle for religious liberty, has already been published. For reasons that need not be given, it has been thought best to postpone _The Slavs_, which will present man's battle for political liberty, and offer _The Americans_, the theme of which is the industrial conflict that is now raging. _The Hindoos_, a drama of spiritual unfoldment, will come in its order. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA J. DONALD EGERTON Lumber king and mill-owner AUGUSTUS JERGENS A partner SAM WILLIAMS Leader of the strikers GENERAL CHADBOURNE In command of the State Militia CAPTAIN HASKELL Second in command REV. EZRA HARDBROOKE Bishop of the Diocese JOHN. W. BRADDOCK Governor of the State RALPH ARDSLEY Editor of the Foreston Courier CHIEF OF POLICE Coöperating with the Militia GEORGE EGERTON Son of Donald Egerton HARRY EGERTON Son of Donald Egerton HARVEY ANDERSON Former cowboy and Rough Rider BUCK BENTLEY One of the Militia WES DICEY A walking delegate JIM KING Supporter of Dicey ROME MASTERS Supporter of Dicey CAP SAUNDERS An old miner BILL PATTEN Striker, off in search of work SILAS MAURY Striker, off in search of work WILLIE MAURY Son of Silas Maury MARY EGERTON Wife of Donald Egerton GLADYS EGERTON Daughter of Donald Egerton SYLVIA ORR Friend of Mrs. Egerton A chauffeur, a butler, a doctor, a nurse, two maids, two detectives, two sentries, strikers, strike-breakers, militiamen, guests at the reception, etc. A land is not its timber but its people, And not its Art, my father, but its men. --HARRY EGERTON. THE AMERICANS ACT I THE MINE _Scene: On the mountains in a timber region of north-western America. In every direction, as far as the eye can see, a wilderness of stumps with piles of brush black with age and sinking from sheer rottenness into the ground. Here and there a dead pine stands up high against the horizon. In the distance, left, cleaving the range and extending on back under an horizon of cold gray clouds, is seen the line of a river of which this whole region is apparently the watershed, for everywhere the land slopes toward it. In the remote distance, beyond the river, innumerable bare buttes, and beyond these a gray stretch of plains. Down the mountains, left, six or seven miles away, the river loops in and a portion of a town is seen upon its banks. At this end of the town, upon a hill overlooking the river, a large white mansion conspicuous for the timber about it. At the farther end, a huge red saw-mill occupies the centre of a vast field of yellow lumber piles, the tall black stack of the mill clearly outlined against the gray of the land beyond._ _Back, a hundred yards or so, a road, evidently constructed years ago when the logs were being taken out, comes up on the flats from the direction of the town, turns sharply to the right and goes toward the ridge. Beyond this road, just at the curve, standing out among the stumps, an old stationary engine eaten up with rust and an abandoned logging-wagon, the hind part resting upon the ground, the two heavy wheels lying upon it. Farther back a small cabin falling into decay. Here and there patches of creeping vines and rank grass cover the ground, hiding in some places to a considerable depth the bases of the stumps. But to the left, where it is evident a steep slope plunges down, and also in the foreground, are open spaces with boulders and, scattered about under a thin loam of rotted needles and black cones, the outlines of a few flat stones. In the immediate foreground, left, a huge boulder, weighing possibly four or five tons, barely hangs upon the slope, ready at any moment, one would think, to slip and plunge down._ _Two men, Cap Saunders and Harvey Anderson, the latter down left, the former to the right and farther back, are slowly coming forward. Each has a camping outfit, a roll of blankets, etc., upon his back, and carries in his hands a plaster cast of what would seem to be a cross-section of a log. It is about two feet in diameter and three inches thick. As they come along they try the casts on the various stumps and carefully turn them about to see if they fit, then chip the stump with a hatchet to indicate that it has been tried._ _Time: The evening of a day early in November in the present time._ HARVEY ANDERSON. And say two dollars profit on each log. CAP SAUNDERS. That's low enough. HARVEY ANDERSON. Suppose a man could walk Over the mountains with a great big sack And pick two silver dollars from each stump. It's forty miles to where the trees begin, And on each side the river eight or ten. Think what he'd have. CAP SAUNDERS. He's made work for them, Harvey. HARVEY ANDERSON. Have millions, wouldn't he? Cap Saunders. I suppose he would. But where would this land be? There'd be no homes. And what are forests for but to cut down? HARVEY ANDERSON. You wouldn't hear him say, 'Now, Harvey, you Go in and get your sack full; I'll stay out'; Or 'Now it's your turn, Cap.' Not on your life. He'd walk his legs off, but he'd have them all. Or what's more likely, he'd let others walk, And send his wagons out and get the sacks And have them brought in to him. CAP SAUNDERS. For myself I'd rather be out here though on the mountains Than live in his big mansion. HARVEY ANDERSON. So would I. But that don't mean I'd rather tramp the flats Picking up dollars for some other man. And I suppose the mill-boys feel the same. CAP SAUNDERS. A fellow has to do the best he can. If he can stake himself, then off, I say, And pan for his own self. That's been my way. Sometimes I've struck pay dirt and sometimes not. And then I'd go and dig for a month or two For the other boys until I'd got my stake---- HARVEY ANDERSON. Here is another like the one back there; Goes half way round as clean as anything; And the bark seems the same; but on this side---- CAP SAUNDERS. (_Who has left his cast and is hurrying forward excitedly_) Hold her a minute! HARVEY ANDERSON. No, it don't fit, Cap. The same old finger width it's always been. When the curve matches, then there's some damn knot; And when the knot's not there, it's something else. No, you can't stretch it. Now it's this side; see? 'Twas best the way I had it. There you are. Might as well mark her. CAP SAUNDERS. It's a close miss, sure. It's like the one I found upon the ridge Week before last. HARVEY ANDERSON. The place where it don't match Is always on the side that you don't see Until your heart's jumped up. (_Chips the stump_) That ends the day. CAP SAUNDERS. I think I'll work a while. (_Starts back_) HARVEY ANDERSON. The sun's gone down. CAP SAUNDERS. I haven't heard the whistle of the mill. HARVEY ANDERSON. Nor like to. CAP SAUNDERS. Ah! I keep forgetting that. When a man's heard her blow for years and years He can't be always thinking that she's stopped. I wonder how the strike is getting on. HARVEY ANDERSON. As everything gets on that's Egerton's. He'll cut them down as he's cut down the trees. (_Sits upon a stump and looks off up the valley, then turns and watches the old man busy with his cast_) HARVEY ANDERSON. Your old bones must be tired, Cap. CAP SAUNDERS. How so? HARVEY ANDERSON. How long have you been hunting for this thing? CAP SAUNDERS. Before this search, you mean? HARVEY ANDERSON. Yes. CAP SAUNDERS. Off and on, Thirty or forty years. HARVEY ANDERSON. And won't give up? CAP SAUNDERS. Not till I'm dead. HARVEY ANDERSON. You ought to have been an ox. You've got the wrong form, Cap. You think you'd be As patient if the prize was for yourself? CAP SAUNDERS. When one's been on a trail for years and years It ain't the game he cares for; it's the chase. And like as not when he's brought down the buck He'll leave the carcass lying on the rocks, Taking a piece or two, then off again. As for what's done with it, I don't care that. But I would like to know where that tree stood. HARVEY ANDERSON. And you think the boys down there should be the same, The boys that saw the dollars from the logs, Sacking the silver up, be satisfied To have him take the silver, leaving them The bark on either side? CAP SAUNDERS. I don't say that. HARVEY ANDERSON. Give me the carcass when you find it, Cap, And you can have the chase. I'd like to know For one time in my life just how it feels To have your pockets full and taste the towns. And I think the boys that saw the logs down there Are more like me, Cap, than they are like you. (_Picks up his cast and comes forward_) CAP SAUNDERS. Egerton ain't a-holdin' them. They can go If they ain't satisfied. HARVEY ANDERSON. Yes, they can go. They're like the red men, they can always go. (_In an open space in the foreground he puts his things down upon the ground. He goes right to a pile of brush, pulls out a black limb, and proceeds to break it across his knee, throwing the pieces in a little heap upon the ground_) They've got a Mayor down there, I suppose. What if he said, 'If you don't like my way, If you ain't satisfied, there's the road off there?' Or say the lad we've got in Washington-- What if he said, 'If you don't like my way, There's ships there in the harbor?' Think we'd leave? You've had your eyes, Cap, on the ground so long That you've forgotten there's such things as men. (_The old man comes down to the stump which he and Anderson tried earlier in the scene. Anderson picks up his kindling and goes left and proceeds to start a fire. The night gathers quickly_) CAP SAUNDERS. (_Trying the stump_) Be careful, Harvey, or they'll see the flame And think it's found already. HARVEY ANDERSON. I don't care. 'Twould serve them right. CAP SAUNDERS. They're watching at this hour. HARVEY ANDERSON. 'Now we've got millions!' then say 'April Fool.' God, I don't blame them though; I'd do it too. (_Picks up a blanket and, sticking pieces of brush in the ground, hangs it between the fire and the town_) CAP SAUNDERS. Aug. Jergens he'd be mighty mad, I tell you. HARVEY ANDERSON. If I could put men out, you bet I would. And when I found the gold I'd make her fly. You wouldn't catch me quarrelling with a lot Of fellows for the bones, I tell you that. I'd take a rump or two, then say, 'Light in And fill your bellies'; or, 'Come on; I'm rich; Let's take a turn together.' And I'd buy A train or two and we'd all take a spin Around the world. I'd make their hair stand up. I'd show those eastern fellows once or twice. (_Goes left and climbs up on the boulder and looks back over the waste_) CAP SAUNDERS. (_Coming forward_) You'll have that rolling down if you don't mind. HARVEY ANDERSON. And that's one reason I'll be always broke, For I know how to spend, while Egerton And Jergens and those fellows down there don't, In spite of their big houses. They know how To quarrel with men and squeeze their last dime out, But they don't know how to say, 'By God, come on; Let's have a drink together; we're all friends.' (_The old man busies himself about the fire, preparing the evening meal. Anderson sits down on the boulder and looks off up the valley. Where the town was seen, lights begin to appear_) HARVEY ANDERSON. You'll wake up some day, Cap, and look about And Harvey will be gone. CAP SAUNDERS. You don't mean that! You ain't took no offence at what I said? HARVEY ANDERSON. Mad as the Devil, Cap. CAP SAUNDERS. Don't you know, Harvey, About the rolling stone? HARVEY ANDERSON. There's some stones, Cap, Would rather have the motion than the moss. CAP SAUNDERS. You're sure a wild one, Harvey; that you are. You'd stir a muss up, that's what you would do. (_Goes to the boulder and stands beside Anderson, and they both look off up the valley_) HARVEY ANDERSON. The mansion all lit up--what's going on? (_They are silent_) It's a strange world, Cap, it's a funny world. You throw a piece of bread down; it draws ants, Red ants and black ants, little ants and big, And if you'll keep it up you'll have them here Building their hills about you; you know that. CAP SAUNDERS. (_Returning to the fire_) It's wonderful how much some men can do. HARVEY ANDERSON. Well, men are ants, and Egerton he's had bread. And he's kept throwing it down there in the valley, First crumb by crumb and later chunk by chunk, Until he's drawn them round him, thousands of them, And when they've come he's put them all to work. And to see them at it! I could spend my life Sitting upon the mountains on some rock That hangs above the town, watching them drudge. 'Get me my logs out;' and they get his logs. 'Now saw them; make me lumber;' and they do it, 'Build me my railroad;' and they blast the rocks. 'Now up with my big mansion on the hill, And carve me all my ants upon the walls, Some sawing logs, others with axes raised Hard at the big round boles, some half cut down; Make her look like a forest through and through.' And they've tugged at it till they've got it done. And all they've chopped and sawed and built is his, And he puts it in his pocket and sits down And they can't help themselves. They've got to eat, And Egerton he's the man that's---- (_He has risen and stands looking back through the darkness_) CAP SAUNDERS. What do you say, Harvey, let's spend the night back in the cabin. It ain't the cold I mind, but from the air I wouldn't be surprised if it would snow. HARVEY ANDERSON. By God, Cap! CAP SAUNDERS. Eh? HARVEY ANDERSON. Looks like the boys had found it. CAP SAUNDERS. You don't, don't say! (_Goes to the boulder_) HARVEY ANDERSON. Off there, beyond the knob. (_Bill Patten comes through the darkness, rear right. He looks about, then spies the men_) BILL PATTEN. You got some grub that you can spare, boys? (_Goes near the men and gets their line of vision_) That? It's the moon rising. CAP SAUNDERS. Ah, I'm glad, I'm glad! HARVEY ANDERSON. Against the sky it looked like some far fire. (_Gets down from the boulder_) BILL PATTEN. You're of the force that's huntin' for the mine? HARVEY ANDERSON. That's 'hunting' for it, yes. BILL PATTEN. You'll find it. HARVEY ANDERSON. Why? BILL PATTEN. Egerton's luck. (_Calls back_) O Silas! (_To Anderson_) 'Tain't no use A-fightin' that old wolf or 'spectin' God To put his hand between J. D. and gold. He's got a devil that takes care of him. (_Silas Maury and his son Willie, a boy of twelve or thirteen, enter rear_) BILL PATTEN. And the same devil blacks Aug. Jergens' boots. I'd like to get that man in some lone spot. (_They sit down. The workmen seize food and eat ravenously_) HARVEY ANDERSON. Mill-hands? (_Patten nods_) How's the strike? BILL PATTEN. I ain't a man To show the white while there's a chance to win. SILAS MAURY. They've got till sun-down to report for work. BILL PATTEN. They'll feel like dogs, too, goin' in that gate, After the bluff they've made, lickin' his hand. Me for some other town. I'd rather starve. SILAS MAURY. They're 'ranging to bring in a lot of scabs To-morrow, when the Governor will be there. BILL PATTEN. Much as to say, 'Now knock 'em!' Son of a bitch! HARVEY ANDERSON. The Governor? CAP SAUNDERS. What's the trouble? BILL PATTEN. Cakes and pies. SILAS MAURY. It's Egerton's big reception. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_To Cap Saunders_) Explains the lights. They're getting things in shape. SILAS MAURY. Yes. (_He and Anderson walk a little way left and look back toward the mansion_) BILL PATTEN. When the boys First talked of strikin' when they made the cut I said, 'Don't do it. Egerton's a man-- You'd better fight the Devil than fight him. He'll show no mercy on you if you cross him.' I guess they know by now that Bill was right. Sam Williams though he thinks he knows. 'Hang on.' All right, hang on; but you will see what comes. It's hell. I'd rather die out on some rock. SILAS MAURY. There ain't no room for poor men in this world. I don't know what God ever made us for. (_He and Anderson return to the fire_) BILL PATTEN. The man that's got no home's a lucky man. SILAS MAURY. I said to Willie, 'I'm glad mother's dead.' (_A pause_) WILLIE MAURY. Think she can see us, pa? SILAS MAURY. I don't think so. BILL PATTEN. She's better off. SILAS MAURY. That's true. I hope she can't. She died a-thinkin' Willie would be rich Some day, if they ever found the mine. BILL PATTEN. (_Bitterly_) Give 'em your apples and expect the core. SILAS MAURY. It came so quick, though, Bill; he didn't think. BILL PATTEN. If he had just kept still and called to Chris And had him help and roll the log aside And then at night let some of us men know, We could have slipped it out and hidden it, And gone to Egerton and said, 'See here, We've found the log that you've been lookin' for These years and haven't found it----' CAP SAUNDERS. You don't mean---- BILL PATTEN. 'And if you'll do the square thing we'll cough up; If not, we'll go and find the mine ourselves.' CAP SAUNDERS. You don't mean 'twas the boy that found the log! SILAS MAURY. Willie here found it. CAP SAUNDERS. Well, well, well! H-u-rrah! Hurrah, I say! (_Throws his hat into the air. Harry Egerton comes through the darkness rear right_) CAP SAUNDERS. If I could call the men, Call up the men, my son, who've spent their lives Tryin' to get a peep of that there trunk-- You hear that, boys, you up there in the air? BILL PATTEN. He'd come to terms, all right, you bet your life. HARRY EGERTON. Good evening, men. I'm turned around a bit, Or seem to be. Just where is Foreston? HARVEY ANDERSON. You see those lights down there? (_He walks back, left. Harry Egerton joins him, going across rear_) HARRY EGERTON. That's east? HARVEY ANDERSON. Correct. HARRY EGERTON. And how far am I from it? HARVEY ANDERSON. About six miles. HARRY EGERTON. From Foreston, I mean? HARVEY ANDERSON. Six miles or more. HARRY EGERTON. So far! (_He walks back a little way, then stops and looks off up the valley. Harvey Anderson comes forward and begins to break some brush to replenish the fire_) CAP SAUNDERS. Who is it, Harvey? HARVEY ANDERSON. I don't know. CAP SAUNDERS. And it had the sign cut in the bark, eh? SILAS MAURY. Yes. WILLIE MAURY. Two X's and a spade. CAP SAUNDERS. That's it, that's it! 'Two X's and a spade, then dig nine feet.' There's two bits, son. How did it happen, dad? SILAS MAURY. It came up into the mill with the other logs, Lookin' just like 'em, but Willie spied the sign-- WILLIE MAURY. Just as it was goin' into the saws. SILAS MAURY. And shouted to Chris Knudson. Chris shut down; There was a crowd; and then Aug. Jergens come And had it hauled away. CAP SAUNDERS. If you and me Had been out here, son, when all these were trees And you'd a-spied that sign, I tell you what, I'd hung some nuggets round this little neck. HARVEY ANDERSON. You'd better wait until the moon comes out. It's a rough road back there. HARRY EGERTON. There is a road? HARVEY ANDERSON. A logging road. HARRY EGERTON. (_Coming forward, notices the casts upon the ground_) You're searching for the mine? HARVEY ANDERSON. Cap and I here. These men are from the mill. HARRY EGERTON. (_With interest_) From the mill down in Foreston, you mean? HARVEY ANDERSON. Leaving in search of work. HARRY EGERTON. Are things so bad Down at the mill, my friends, that you must leave? Are others leaving? Have the men gone back? (_The men glare at him_) CAP SAUNDERS. They'll have to soon, they say; their grub's give out. HARVEY ANDERSON. The Company has given them till to-morrow night To come to work or be shut out for good. HARRY EGERTON. Have they brought in more men? HARVEY ANDERSON. They're arranging to. HARRY EGERTON. I do not see, friends, what you hope to gain By leaving Foreston and wandering off In search of work. In the first place I know, As you perhaps do not, that Egerton Has given orders to the neighboring plants To take on no more men until this strike Is settled, till it's won. And, as you know, For forty miles around the mills are his, The camps are his. And where his power ends, Others begin that work in harmony With Egerton and Company. They are one, And have an understanding in some things Far more than you suspect. (_Patten and Maury rise and walk aside and whisper together_) And they all know Whatever be the outcome of this strike The effect of it will reach them all at last. If you men win, mill-workers everywhere Will take new heart and stand for better things. But if the Company wins, others will say-- And with no little weight--'We cannot pay The present scale of wages and compete With Egerton and Company.' So it will go Until the farthest mill in all this land Puts in its hand and takes a ten per cent Out of the wages of its workingmen. And there's no power on earth that can prevent it. (_Willie Maury rises and joins his father and Patten_) But even were this not true, were places open, The same conditions would confront you there As now confront you here. At any time Those who employ you have you in their power And can reduce your wages when they choose, Lay on you what conditions they see fit, And you must either yield or be turned forth To wander on again. I do not know Whether you men have families or not, But others have, and their cause is your own. You cannot wander on for evermore, Picking up here and there a chance day's work And hoping that to-morrow things will change, For changes do not come except through men. (_The men return to the fire_) And so I do not see just what it is You hope to gain by leaving Foreston. You cannot spend your lives on highways, friends. Where will you go? Have you some place in mind? BILL PATTEN. It's none of your damn business where we go. We don't wear no man's collar. SILAS MAURY. Bill is right. BILL PATTEN. Nor Egerton's, nor no man's on this earth. HARRY EGERTON. I beg your pardon, friends, I did not mean---- BILL PATTEN. We're twenty-one years old and we're free men. HARRY EGERTON. I did not mean you had no right to go. You have. BILL PATTEN. You bet we have. SILAS MAURY. You can't get men And want to scare us back, that's what you want, Talkin' as how the mills will shut us out. HARRY EGERTON. I have no wish to scare you back, my friend. BILL PATTEN. Then what's your proposition? HARRY EGERTON. I have none. BILL PATTEN. Come up to shake hands, eh, and say, Good-bye? HARRY EGERTON. I chanced upon you here. BILL PATTEN. 'Chanced' hell! We know. SILAS MAURY. If it's my rent you're after, if it's that, I think you might at least let that much go For what my boy did, findin' of the log. HARRY EGERTON. Friends, you misunderstand me if you think That I am here to speak for any man, Or round you up, or lift one hand to stay Your coming or your going. You are free And can do what you please. BILL PATTEN. You bet we can, For all your bayonets. HARRY EGERTON. _My_ bayonets? BILL PATTEN. Yes. SILAS MAURY. Think we don't know you, eh? HARRY EGERTON. I do not know, I do not know what I can say to you. I understand just how you---- SILAS MAURY. (_Plucks him by the sleeve and points off up the valley_) There's your home, Off there in that big mansion on the hill. Go there and live your life; you're none of us. HARRY EGERTON. My father is my father; I am I. (_The men prepare to leave. Cap Saunders rises and begins to pack up the things_) HARRY EGERTON. We do not choose the gates through which we come Into this world, my friends. Nor you nor I Selected who should cradle us nor what home Should give us shelter. 'Tis what we do that counts, Not whence we come. Do not misjudge me, friends. Because I am a son of Egerton Deny me not the right to be a man. SILAS MAURY. You wear our sweat in your fine clothes all right. HARRY EGERTON. I wear, my friend, what my own hands have earned. Where will you go? SILAS MAURY. We'll go where we can find---- BILL PATTEN. Don't tell him, Si. Don't you see through his game? Keeps askin' where we're goin'. Don't you see? He's a spy of the Company. HARRY EGERTON. Ah, you do not know Why I am here. God knows I did not come---- WILLIE MAURY. Thought we wouldn't know him. SILAS MAURY. Poor men are fools. WILLIE MAURY. He's been Doggin' our footsteps. BILL PATTEN. You've been followin' us To find out where---- CAP SAUNDERS. Don't quarrel, men. BILL PATTEN. It's a good thing Your old man crushed me till I pawned my gun, Or, God, I'd kill you. Do you understand? HARRY EGERTON. Hold on there, pard. BILL PATTEN. So he could have the mills Blacklist us. Curse you! And curse all your kind! You've ground us down until we're dogs, damn you. SILAS MAURY. Come sneakin' round to---- HARRY EGERTON. Friend, I did not come To spy on any man or seek you out Here on the mountains. For my hope has been---- BILL PATTEN. We'll blow you up some day, you mark my word. HARRY EGERTON. That never one of you would leave the ranks In your great struggle in the valley there, But that you would stand fast, and somehow win In spite of everything, starvation, death. And I have done all that I could to help you. But you, my friends, O you must understand, As there are some things that you cannot do, So there are things I cannot. CAP SAUNDERS. Get the pot. (_The boy picks up the coffee pot_) HARRY EGERTON. How I came here I do not know myself. Some Power has led me though I know not why. I half remember that I could not sleep For voices round me in my father's hall, And rose and wandered forth, fleeing from something That seemed to follow me across the waste, A sighing and a thundering of men. All day, it seems, I've wandered over the mountains And all last night. Then from afar I spied Your fire here and came to learn my way. SILAS MAURY. Your way lies that way and our way lies this. (_Patten, Maury, Cap Saunders and the boy go off through the darkness, right rear_) HARVEY ANDERSON. You must be hungry, pard. HARRY EGERTON. No, thank you, no, Nothing to eat. HARVEY ANDERSON. 'Tain't much, but what it is You're welcome to it. HARRY EGERTON. (_Calling after the men_) And you will go away And leave this great cause hanging in mid air? VOICE OF SILAS MAURY. Tend to your business and we'll tend to ours. HARVEY ANDERSON. Don't mind them; they're damn fools. HARRY EGERTON. _You_ understand What I have tried to say unto these men; You understand, I know. HARVEY ANDERSON. I think I do. HARRY EGERTON. And something tells me we shall meet again. HARVEY ANDERSON. Who knows? I'm tramping round, to-day one place, To-morrow another. I'm a rolling stone. I never have been one to keep the trails. Just knock about the States and watch the plains For something--I don't know--and yet 'twill come, And when she comes she'll shake her good and hard. I don't know what you're rolling in your mind, But, as you say, it's a great land we've got. I like to lie and feel her under my back And know she tumbles to the double seas Up to her hips in mile on mile of wheat. Beyond that moon are cities packed with men That overflow. The fields are filling up. They're climbing up the mountains of the West---- HARRY EGERTON. (_Looking after the men_) And going on beyond them. HARVEY ANDERSON. It's all right. They'll reach the coast off there or reach the ice, And then they'll have to turn or jump on off. And they won't jump off. It's too fine a land. Men throw away the hoofs but not the haunch. I sometimes see them in the dead of night Crawling like ants along her big broad back, With axe and pick and plow, building their hills And pushing on and on. It's a great land. And bread tastes good that's eaten in her air. And there's enough for all here---- HARRY EGERTON. Yes, ah, yes! HARVEY ANDERSON. If we could just turn something upside down. I don't know what you've heard along the waste, But when you think it's time to ring a change, And when you draft your men and call the roll, Write Harvey Anderson up near the top. And here's my hand, pard. You can count on me. HARRY EGERTON. We'll meet again. HARVEY ANDERSON. Hope so. I like your face, And like the way you talk. Good-night. HARRY EGERTON. Good-night. (_Harvey Anderson takes up his pack and cast and goes off through the darkness after the other men. For a long time Harry Egerton stands looking after him. The fire has burned low_) HARRY EGERTON. Not that, not that! And yet I know 'twill come. My God! my God! Is there no way, no way? (_Walks left and looks off up the valley_) My father! O my father! (_He breaks out crying and, staggering about, falls first upon his knees, then face forward upon the ground. Instantly it becomes pitch dark_) THE DREAM VISION (_During the following, a shaft of light, falling upon Harry Egerton, shows him lying near the boulder. As he cries out, he partially rises, his form and face convulsed with anguish_) FIRST VOICE. (_From up the mountain, full of pleasure_) Harry! Harry! Come to the heights! SECOND VOICE. (_From the valley, full of sorrow_) Harry! Harry! Come to the valley! THIRD VOICE. (_From far back, full of peace_) Harry! Harry! plunge into the darkness, The abysses and the waterfalls and silence! THE THREE VOICES. (_In chorus_) We are Realities! We are Realities! VOICE. (_From above_) One life to live! FIRST VOICE. Come to me, Harry! SECOND AND THIRD VOICES. She will grow old. VOICE. (_From above_) One life to live! SECOND VOICE. Come to me, Harry! FIRST AND THIRD VOICES. You cannot help them; you've no power. VOICE. (_From above_) One life to live! THIRD VOICE. Come to me, Harry! FIRST VOICE. (_Gayly_) Fool! fool! SECOND VOICE. You cannot die; there is no death. VOICE. (_From above_) Decide! HARRY EGERTON. My God! VOICE. (_From above_) Decide! HARRY EGERTON. My God! VOICE. (_As of a drunkard singing_) If you was in the gutter, Bill, And I was on the roof---- VOICES. You're going mad! You're going mad! HARRY EGERTON. Mother! mother! (_Presently, about twenty feet up in the rear and on either side, faint lights begin to appear and faint sounds of music are heard. Gradually the lights brighten a little and the sounds of music become more and more audible until one becomes conscious that on the left an orchestra is playing and to the right a piano. One also becomes conscious of a vast and beautiful hall over the floor of which, as the music plays, the forms of dancers are gliding. Occasionally from here and there flashes a sparkle as of diamonds, and low rippling laughter is heard. In the foreground for a space of twelve or fifteen feet, cut off from the main hall by the faintest outlines of an immense arch, small groups of elderly people stand about watching the dancers, or saunter right and left into the adjoining apartments. In these apartments also people are seen moving about, and there is a hum of voices as of men and women in conversation. At no time does it become very light, and all that passes seems to pass in a dim shadow world._ _It is sufficiently light, however, to enable one to discern the grotesque richness of the hall which, as one sees at a glance, is an elaborate representation of a pine forest, the boles of the trees standing out in beautiful irregularity along the walls, the boughs above in the semi-darkness seeming to disappear in some sort of cathedral roof. There, all about, singly and in clusters, innumerable small globes as though the cones were illuminated. Between the trees, also in relief and life-sized, figures of men at work getting out timber. Forward right, teams dragging logs, and, on the opposite wall, a distant view of a river with rafts floating down. Standing on stumps, huge figures support the arched doorways, of which there is one in the rear wall right, and one centre in each of the side walls. Left rear, the grand staircase with the glow of some hidden lamp shining upon the landing. Here the carved scene upon the wall is that of an inclined trestle-work, with logs going up apparently into some mill above. Below, crouched upon the newel-post and the lower rail, the carved figure of a large mountain lion with a frosted light in its open mouth. Forward from the arched doorway, left, there is no wall from about four feet up, and through this open space, faintly illumined by small hidden lamps, a greenness as of palms and flowers._ _The music ceases and the couples break up. Later, the piano begins again, and just inside the main hall Gladys Egerton, in low décolleté and holding her skirts above her ankles, appears dancing ravishingly to the music of the piano_) FIRST LADY. Isn't she charming! SECOND LADY. And that's George that's playing. (_Holding her skirts high the girl executes a graceful high kick and there is a clapping of hands_) MEN'S VOICES. Bravo! bravo! Once more like that, my kitten! THIRD LADY. Dear, you may have my Chester! (_Laughter_) FOURTH LADY. You dance superbly. GLADYS EGERTON. I'll take your husband. (_Continues dancing_) MRS. EGERTON. Why, Gladys Egerton! A MAN'S VOICE. Just any time you want him, Gladys. GLADYS EGERTON. All right. A MAN. (_Appearing forward right_) Ladies, the Governor is telling stories. Out of politeness let's give him a crowd. (_Some of the ladies start right, others begin to move about_) FIFTH LADY. She'd make a good catch. SIXTH LADY. Either she or George would. THIRD LADY. (_Calling aloud_) Here is another! Now there are thirteen of us. (_Laughter_) FOURTH LADY. There you're on my toes. Marjorie's after George. SIXTH LADY. Your Marge, my dear---- (_Glances in the direction of Mrs. Egerton, then whispers_) Your Marge may have the other. FOURTH LADY. Thank you, dear Mrs. Casper, we'll have--gander. (_Laughter. They go out right_) SEVENTH LADY. To have a son like that! EIGHTH LADY. Yes, what a pity. NINTH LADY. He hasn't anything like the grace of George. SEVENTH LADY. Nor the accomplishments. EIGHTH LADY. Nor the education. SEVENTH LADY. He belongs down in the mill among the men. EIGHTH LADY. One would have thought, though, at the first reception-- If only for his mother's sake. SEVENTH LADY. That's true. NINTH LADY. How old she looks to-night. GLADYS EGERTON. (_Who has been skipping to the music, whirls in from the main hall_) Mother is old. NINTH LADY. I did not mean for you to overhear that. GLADYS EGERTON. O that's all right. We always do that way. (_Continues dancing_) If you had on your heart what mother has You'd look old, too. EIGHTH LADY. What did she mean by that? GLADYS EGERTON. Leave us alone here just a little while. (_The women go out right_) GLADYS EGERTON. Mother! MRS. EGERTON. Yes, darling. GLADYS EGERTON. Mother, where is Harry? (_Dances_) MRS. EGERTON. I do not know. GLADYS EGERTON. It's very embarrassing. People are whispering. Mother, has no word come? MRS. EGERTON. Have you asked your father? GLADYS EGERTON. Yes. (_Dances_) Mother, I'm sure Something has happened to him. MRS. EGERTON. Don't, my child, Don't say that. GLADYS EGERTON. (_Mysteriously_) Why? MRS. EGERTON. Go, child; people are watching us. GLADYS EGERTON. _I_ know why! _I_ know why! (_Dances_) Let go! let go! MRS. EGERTON. And please tell Donald that I'm waiting for him. GLADYS EGERTON. You're going after flowers, mother; _I_ know. MRS. EGERTON. Flowers, my child? What for? GLADYS EGERTON. For Harry's grave. MRS. EGERTON. Why Gladys, Gladys Egerton! GLADYS EGERTON. (_Whirling back into the main hall_) _I_ know. (_She disappears into the conservatory, left. Alone, Mrs. Egerton stands a pathetic figure. She walks back into the deserted hall and stops and listens as though to the upper part of the walls. She then turns slowly and comes forward again. George Egerton enters quickly from the conservatory_) GEORGE EGERTON. Mother! MRS. EGERTON. Yes, George. GEORGE EGERTON. This is disgraceful, mother. MRS. EGERTON. I cannot help it, George. GEORGE EGERTON. Where did he go? MRS. EGERTON. I've told you, George. Now please don't bother me. GEORGE EGERTON. People are whispering. MRS. EGERTON. But what can I do? GEORGE EGERTON. Call to them that he's up in bed with fever, Or say that he was brought home from the river drowned. MRS. EGERTON. (_Calling aloud_) It's none of your business, people! Harry's my son. (_She comes forward_) GEORGE EGERTON. That wasn't what I said. You are just like him. (_He turns back and re-enters the conservatory. Mrs. Egerton passes into the room forward right. The lights in the hall become dimmer_) VOICES. (_From the walls_) Sam! Sam! Sam! (_There is a silence, then a sigh as of innumerable voices, then a silence and another sigh and still another_) HARRY EGERTON. My father! O my father! (_From the conservatory comes a sound of laughter, and a beautiful girl runs in. A moment later the bloom of a large white chrysanthemum is thrown in after her. A young man enters. Other couples come in. George Egerton, evidently master of ceremonies, moves about here and there. A tuning of instruments is heard. People come from the side rooms. When all is in readiness, while the dancers, who have taken their positions, stand waiting for the music to begin, the sighing is again heard_) GEORGE EGERTON. (_Exasperated by the delay_) What's the matter there, Melazzini? (_Excusing himself to his partner, he goes toward the conservatory, where the orchestra is stationed. As the sigh is repeated the couples gather together. At the third sigh they scatter, some of them running out through the middle door right, others hurrying forward, one or two of the girls laughing hysterically_) GEORGE EGERTON. It's just the wind that's blowing through somewhere. (_The people disappear into the apartment right. Charles, the butler, and two maids, badly frightened, come in rear_) GEORGE EGERTON. Close that door, Charles. CHARLES. There's no door open, sir. (_The four come forward, the butler and maids briskly, George Egerton more slowly and with a sort of defiance. They, too, pass out right_) VOICES. (_From the walls_) Sam! Sam! Sam! (_The sighs are repeated_) HARRY EGERTON. My father! O my father! (_The mountain lion upon the newel-post spits the light from his mouth and it breaks upon the floor. The monster then gets down_) LION. Chris! A VOICE. Yes. LION. Mike! A VOICE. Here. LION. Wes Dicey! A VOICE. Sure. HARRY EGERTON. (_As though a roll were being called_) Harvey Anderson! LION. Whose voice was that? A VOICE. Who's Harvey Anderson? SECOND VOICE. There's some spy here. LION. Come down, comrades! VOICES. (_Above_) We're fast! we're fast! Nails in our hands and feet! THIRD VOICE. Who's that? VOICES. (_Below_) They've danced upon my face! And mine! And mine! And mine! And mine! And mine! A VOICE. I've been a door-jamb years and years! VOICES. (_From round the walls_) We've held these arches up for ages! VOICES. (_From far below_) We're the foundations! Help us, comrades! Down on the rock here--deeper! deeper! VOICES. Help us, Sam Williams! Help us, Sam Williams! LION. Come down, comrades! VOICES. (_From far away_) We're the windows! They made us sand, then made us shine! We've touched their faces and their hair! VOICES. (_From up the stairs_) We're coming, and there's thousands of us! VOICES. (_Far up_) We're holding up the roof! LION. Come down! You've held her up too long already! (_There has been a pounding of hammers and a creaking as of timbers being loosened. Sighs and groans fill the hall. The lights burn unsteadily, flashing or going out or glowing with a tint of blue_) VOICES. Help us, Sam Williams! Help _us_! Help _us_! OTHER VOICES. Let 'em alone! They're scabs! They're scabs! (_Carven figures, still rigid, come from the walls. From everywhere they come, in the most fantastic postures, some hopping with one leg lifted, some gliding with raised axes, others bent and in pairs carrying cross-cut saws, still others with peavies in their hands. Up through the floor all round come dark figures with torches in their caps. Stealthily and with muffled voices they gather about the Lion. Suddenly the pounding ceases and all is still_) A VOICE. He's coming, and the Powers are with him! SECOND VOICE. Justice is all we want! SEVERAL VOICES. Right! Right! LION. Are we one, comrades? ALL. We're one! We're one! A VOICE. Ask him to release us, Sam! (_Donald Egerton, with Governor Braddock and Bishop Hardbrooke at his heels, comes hurriedly through the centre door right_) DONALD EGERTON. (_Peering about, sees the Figures_) What does this mean? Back to the walls! LION. We are the walls! FIGURES. We are the walls! DONALD EGERTON. I made you what you are! LION. That's true! And we made you! FIGURES. And we made you! LION. We made each other! You are our father and we your mother! FIGURES. That's true! That's true! LION. And now make us as we made you! GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Be careful, Colonel Egerton. See that one there with axe uplifted! DONALD EGERTON. Braddock, as a citizen of this commonwealth I call upon you to enforce the laws! GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. My friends and fellow citizens. This is unwise, this course you are pursuing, And cannot in the end but injure you. The laws were made for these disputes, And you like others must obey. LION. He made the laws! FIGURES. He made the laws! DONALD EGERTON. Hear that, Braddock! This is anarchy! GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. I urge you to go peaceably to your homes! LION. Our homes? FIGURES. What homes? LION. We have no homes! (_Egerton says something to the Governor_) GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Then by the---- BISHOP HARDBROOKE. One moment, brother Egerton; One moment, Governor; let me say a word. (_Steps toward the Figures_) My brothers, If hunger hath driven you here, then know I speak For one whose self was hungry, Jesus Christ; Yet was he meek and lamb-like. Why do you not Go to those places that have been prepared By charitable, Christian men and women For this very purpose, to relieve distress? If you are worthy you will there be fed. FIGURES. Whited sepulchre! He's a whited sepulchre! (_They advance toward him_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. How dare you, armed with Labor's sacred tools Which our Lord's father sanctified when he Wrought at his wood in Nazareth, how dare you, With envy in your hearts, on murder bent, Intrude upon the quiet social hour Of honorable, law-abiding men? God sees you with your axes lifted there. And though you fear not law nor anything Of man, fear God, for he hath power And he can reach you in the uttermost Parts of the earth or air, as David saith. FIGURES. The rich man's friend! The rich man's friend! GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Then by the power vested in me---- FIGURES. We are the power! We are the power! GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. As Governor of this commonwealth I will call out the military! FIGURES. We are the military! We are the military! GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. (_Calls_) General Chadbourne! PEOPLE. (_Who have been peering in forward right_) Chadbourne! Chadbourne! (_Egerton and the Bishop follow the Governor out centre right, and the people disappear_) FIGURES. (_Aloud_) Release, release us from this spell! LION. Release yourselves! FIGURES. (_With tremendous surprise_) We can! We can! (_There are shouts and a thunder of tools falling upon the floor_) SHOUTS. We're free! We're free! OTHER SHOUTS. And seize the throats that nailed us fast! HARRY EGERTON. Forget the past! Forget the past! SHOUTS. An enemy! He's an enemy! HARRY EGERTON. Release your brothers! SHOUTS. To hell with the scabs! (_They rush through the house, right_) VOICE OF DONALD EGERTON. Fire on them! VOICE OF MRS. EGERTON. No, no, Donald! Shed no blood! Think of their children! VOICE OF DONALD EGERTON. Fire, I say! MEN'S VOICES. We are your fathers and your brothers! A DEEP VOICE. Fire! (_A pause_) CRIES. Treason! Treason! THE DEEP VOICE. Shoot them down! (_Shots are heard and noises as of a riot_) HARRY EGERTON. My God! My God! (_The noises die away. In the darkness the walls are heard sighing_) HARRY EGERTON. My father! O my father! (_A pause_) VOICE. (_Forward right, in the darkness_) It's mine! SECOND VOICE. It's mine! FIRST VOICE. Let go that hand! SECOND VOICE. I had it first! FIRST VOICE. Hain't you the rubies? (_Sounds of quarrelling here and there_) THIRD VOICE. (_Centre right_) Shut up your mouths! You'll have the police here! VOICES. (_From the walls_) Brothers, help! We're fast! We're fast! FOURTH VOICE. Pick up the rug, Pete! Let's be off! (_Forms of men loaded with the spoil of the mansion are seen hurrying out left_) VOICES. (_Entering right_) 'Tain't fair! 'Tain't fair! FIFTH VOICE. (_Left_) Make for the river! SIXTH VOICE. Sam, this ain't fair! SAM. (_Entering right_) Hold on there, comrades! VOICES. Some's got it all and some ain't none! SAM. Put down that stuff! CRIES. That's right! That's right! An equal divvy! An equal divvy! OTHER CRIES. No, no, you don't! That's mine! That's ours! SAM. Comrades, we're one! CRIES. (_Of those who have nothing_) We're one! We're one! OTHER CRIES. (_Of those with their arms full_) Every man for himself! Every man for himself! (_Sounds of scuffling and fighting_) CRIES. Let loose, God damn you! Knock him down! (_The sounds die away left_) CRIES. (_Far left_) 'Tain't fair! 'Tain't fair! (_The walls are heard sighing_) VOICE. (_From above_) Who will go down Where all is sorrow, woe, and strife, Where unshaped things are jostling into life? Who will go down? HARRY EGERTON. I will. VOICE OF MRS. EGERTON. (_Full of anguish_) Harry! Harry! (_There is a thundering and crashing in the darkness_) HARRY EGERTON. (_Quickly staggering to his knees, then to his feet_) Here! here! Mother! mother! (_Instantly the darkness disappears. Morning is breaking over the mountains_) HARRY EGERTON. (_Looks about. Clasps his head in his hands_) Horrible! horrible! HARRY EGERTON. (_Sees the ashes of the fire. Recalls the incidents of the early night_) And went away. (_Notices that the boulder is gone. Looks down the slope, left_) The boulder thundering down the steep. I must have slept upon the ground. Ah, what is this? (_Gets down on his knees where the boulder lay_) The Mine! _The Mine!_ THE MINE! ACT II THE MILL _Scene: A street showing, right, the great lumber plant of the Egerton Company. Centre, occupying the greater part of the space between left and right, a sort of common, overstrewn, as such places usually are, with sawdust and waste sawings of the mill, extends back a hundred yards or so to where the river sweeps in from behind a rising slope on the left and disappears behind the high fence of the mill-yard on the right. Across the river, right, the same denuded mountains as were seen in the preceding Act, and, centre, the alluvial stretches of the valley widening out into the plains. Left rear, on this side of the river, a sort of hill comes in and upon its rather steep slope are rows of roughly built plank houses which have evidently been standing many years. They are all of one design and rest in the rear upon the ground, the front being propped up on posts, in some cases six or eight feet high. Of two or three of these shacks it would seem that the occupants had tried to have a garden, for here and there are small green patches as of late turnips, also tall stakes with withered bean vines clinging to them. From the numerous footpaths that come down toward the mill-gate it is evident that these shacks are the homes of the employees of the Egerton Company. The mill-yard on the right is surrounded by a high board-fence. New planks have recently been put in here and there, and on top of the fence, apparently just strung, are several rows of bright new barbed wire. Over the top of the fence and through the open gates of the driveway which is in the corner, a portion of the latter having been cut off for this purpose, are seen countless lumber stacks, and beyond these, far back and facing left, a section of an enormous mill. Along the comb of the roof, doubtless running its full length, is a large red sign with white letters of which one sees only: RTON AND CO._ _Before the entrance to the mill-yard two of the State militia with rifles upon their shoulders patrol the property, one of them pacing right and left along the street in the foreground, the other backwards and forwards in the open space that goes toward the river. About twenty feet from the entrance stands a large red automobile, under which, stretched upon his back, lies the chauffeur, with his hands up fixing something._ _As the Scene opens, the two sentries, one of them rolling a cigarette, the other with his gun behind his head and with his arms hanging over it, stand listening back toward the mill, where a number of voices are singing, 'There'll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town To-night.' When the song is finished a cheer goes up._ _Time: The afternoon of the next day about four o'clock._ FIRST SENTRY. All I say is, keep your tobacco dry And don't go wiring the folks at home To have your supper warm to-morrow night. CHAUFFEUR. They'll be to work, all right, you take my word. FIRST SENTRY. There's such a thing as eating words until Your belly cries for something solider. CHAUFFEUR. (_Pointing toward the mill_) You see that smoke back there. FIRST SENTRY. That's all right, too. A kid can start a fire. CHAUFFEUR. Wait and see. A MILITIAMAN. (_Who, half way back toward the mill, has climbed upon a lumber stack_) I nominate J. D. for Governor. A VOICE. (_Farther back, commandingly_) Shut up your mouth up there! SECOND VOICE. _Will_ you be good? (_The militiaman gets down from the stack_) SECOND SENTRY. How large a force is it they're counting on? CHAUFFEUR. It's not the force. It's the effect 'twill have. You let a dog run for another's bone, You'll see the last dog do some running too. FIRST SENTRY. And do some fighting, maybe. CHAUFFEUR. That's up to you. The law protects men in their right to work. (_The sentries whisper together_) CHAUFFEUR. The old man knows his business. All he says Is simply this, 'I'm bringing in the men. It's up to you to get them to the mill.' You see you don't know everything, my boy. FIRST SENTRY. You work for Egerton, and I don't blame you, But when you come right down to solid facts-- And if you'll clear your eye a bit you'll see it-- He's got his match in this man Williams. CHAUFFEUR. What! SECOND SENTRY. He's got his match in this man Williams. CHAUFFEUR. C-h-rist! FIRST SENTRY. Figure it out yourself. (_He sees Wes Dicey who, with Jim King and Rome Masters, has just come in, right_) What do you want? DICEY. He knows me. CHAUFFEUR. He's all right. (_Careful to keep out of sight of the shacks on the slope, Dicey and his companions whisper together near the fence. The Second Sentry, as though he had been neglecting his duty, goes out right, patrolling his beat_) FIRST SENTRY. It's easy enough To figure it out, I say. There's thirteen men Returned to work in five weeks. In an hour You calculate four hundred will return. You fellows couldn't count nine pins for me. (_Dicey and his companions pull their hats down over their eyes, their collars up about their necks, and make briskly for the gate_) FIRST SENTRY. (_Starts back on his beat_) Talk of a man like that running the State. He'd better learn to run his business first. (_George Egerton, looking spick and span, comes out of the mill-yard, putting on one of his gloves. He glances at Dicey and his companions as they pass in. Suddenly he turns and whistles after them and saunters back into the mill-yard as if to speak with them_) GEORGE EGERTON. (_Coming out a little later_) O Jack, will you tell mother---- CHAUFFEUR. Yes, sir. GEORGE EGERTON. (_Provoked_) What? Why do you put it that way? Now I've forgot. (_Continues putting on his glove_) Tell mother I've inquired of the men And they've seen nothing of him. CHAUFFEUR. Yes, sir. GEORGE EGERTON. What? CHAUFFEUR. Nothing of Harry, sir. GEORGE EGERTON. (_Walks left, then comes back_) Jack. CHAUFFEUR. Yes, sir. GEORGE EGERTON. Jack. (_Looks over in the car_) Did you find any hair-pins in the car This morning? CHAUFFEUR. Not this morning. GEORGE EGERTON. (_Takes a coin from his pocket and hands it to the chauffeur_) You'll take care. (_He goes out left, examining his face in a small mirror which he has taken out with the coin. The Second Sentry has come in right and stands reading a notice which is tacked on the fence_) CHAUFFEUR. By sun-down, don't it? SECOND SENTRY. Something of the sort. CHAUFFEUR. And the wind sharpening up across the plains. They'll think twice, won't they, before they stay out? SECOND SENTRY. Who signed this name here? CHAUFFEUR. Eg--the boss himself. SECOND SENTRY. Hell of a hand he writes. CHAUFFEUR. Your partner there Knows about as much of the situation here As a sea-turtle knows of sassafras. Talks of a match. There's been no match at all. The old man's never tried to start the mill. But let a thing like that go up some day. (_Buck Bentley with an empty nail keg in his hand comes from the mill-yard and sits down with his back to the farther gate-post and begins to fill his pipe_) CHAUFFEUR. If you've heard thunder, one of those loud claps That ends the winter, and if you'd lived here And knew the old man's power, then you'd know I'm shooting low when I say they'll be here, If they don't all fall dead upon the way. They've got to make hay now. Days don't stand still When the old man is moving to and fro. (_Goes about oiling the machine_) FIRST SENTRY. (_Coming forward_) If Williams comes, I'll tell you what he'll do. With the big force he'll have behind his back, He'll lock these gates and coop the old man up With Jergens and the Chief and all the rest. Then say, 'Now take me home.' You know the way. You'll take him to the big house on the hill. (_The Chauffeur turns and looks at him half in anger, half in contempt_) FIRST SENTRY. You won't dare look at him that way. SECOND SENTRY. Dan's right. You fellows, you that shove those things about, You have a way of knowing who's the lord. FIRST SENTRY. Exactly. And this man Williams up and down Is big as Egerton. And the old man's 'spike' Will touch him where the tailors say it should. And if it's lined with silk Williams won't care. He'll steer the big blow-out this afternoon And they won't know the difference. It's the front And the big planet here that people see; And Williams is as broad as Egerton. (_A militiaman comes hurrying from the mill-yard_) MILITIAMAN. Who's got a cigarette to trade for news? You couldn't guess it in a thousand years. SECOND SENTRY. We're going home. MILITIAMAN. Guess high; guess something great. FIRST SENTRY. The boys have met the strikers at the station And we're all going into action. MILITIAMAN. Nope. Something the old man's done. SECOND SENTRY. What? MILITIAMAN. Put her there. (_The Sentry gives him a cigarette_) Ordered us down a big red tub of punch, With six or eight kegs of the foaming stuff. (_The Sentries stare comically at one another_) MILITIAMAN. Well, my tin soldiers? Under a shot like that To stand as cold as you do! (_Shouts in the ear of the First Sentry_) Punch, old man! (_To himself_) The wind of liquor and they've gone dead drunk! FIRST SENTRY. (_Starts for the mill-gate, then turns_) Who said 'shut up' when some man back there cried 'Hurrah for Egerton'? MILITIAMAN. Cap. Haskell. FIRST SENTRY. (_To the Second Sentry_) Eh? SECOND SENTRY. Haskell to hell. FIRST SENTRY. (_Shouting toward the mill_) Hurrah for Egerton For Governor! SECOND SENTRY. Hip hurrah! FIRST SENTRY. Up with you, Buck! We'll have no traitors in the camp, by God. Up on your pins and shout 'Hurrah!' three times. (_He seizes Bentley and they wrestle into the mill-yard_) SECOND SENTRY. Eight kegs, you say? MILITIAMAN. (_Slapping him on the back_) And punch, old man, and punch! Reception punch! (_He hurries out toward the mill. Bentley enters, followed by the First Sentry_) SECOND SENTRY. What do you think of that? FIRST SENTRY. (_To the Chauffeur, with affected disdain_) Talk about Williams downing such a man! FIRST SENTRY. (_Nodding toward the Chauffeur_) And he, too, in the employ of Egerton! CHAUFFEUR. Fine pair of knaves! You'll drink his wine all right. SECOND SENTRY. (_On his way out, points to the notice_) Look what a damn fine hand the old man writes. (_Goes out right_) FIRST SENTRY. (_On his way back, to the Chauffeur_) It's a good thing that some men never tell. (_Walks slowly, rifle up; then from rear_) Hurrah for Egerton for Governor! VOICE OF SECOND SENTRY. (_Out right_) Halt! (_A pause_) _Halt!_ (_Buck Bentley rises from the keg and comes forward_) DO YOU HEAR! (_The Chauffeur leaps from the car and hurries forward. There is a shot_) FIRST SENTRY. (_Running forward_) Who is it? MILITIAMAN. (_Hurrying from the mill-yard_) What was that? (_Voices are heard right. A moment later the Second Sentry enters with Harvey Anderson, who carries in his arms fragments of the cast that has been broken by the shot_) SECOND SENTRY. Where in the hell have you been living That you don't know enough to stop when---- HARVEY ANDERSON. Pard, If I'd stop every time some man said stop, I'd still be standing somewhere. (_He walks left, away from the others, who exchange glances as if amazed at the man's audacity. He lays the largest of the pieces upon the ground, then looks among the others in his arms. Donald Egerton and General Chadbourne, both evidently dressed for a function, the latter being in full military uniform, brand new, come quickly from the mill-yard, followed by Jergens and the Chief of Police_) CHADBOURNE. What's the trouble? SECOND SENTRY. This man came through the line. I called three times. CHADBOURNE. (_To Harvey Anderson_) Don't you know better than do such a thing? CAPTAIN HASKELL. (_Comes from the mill-yard, then turns and calls back_) Stay where you are. We'll attend to this affair. EGERTON. What business have you here? HARVEY ANDERSON. I just came down To look about a bit. JERGENS. To look about! You think we're running a menagerie? Didn't you see these soldiers? What do you mean? HARVEY ANDERSON. (_To the Chief of Police_) Just step back, pard. I'm neither dog nor bear. (_Back in the mill-yard militiamen are seen climbing on top of lumber piles to see what the trouble is_) EGERTON. Came down from where? HARVEY ANDERSON. From up there on the mountains. JERGENS. To look about for what? HARVEY ANDERSON. Just anything-- Just anything that's 'round to see. (_He gets down and begins to fit the pieces together. The men watch him. Suddenly he stops and looks about him_) Did I---- (_He rises and goes right to where a piece of the cast lies upon the ground_) CHIEF OF POLICE. Shall I take charge of him, Mr. Egerton? I'll lock him up if you say so. CHADBOURNE. (_As Anderson returns_) Don't you know That when a sentry challenges a man He's got the right to shoot him in his tracks? HARVEY ANDERSON. The risk's on me, pard. CHADBOURNE. Eh! HARVEY ANDERSON. The risk's on me. CHADBOURNE. You take care, sir, how you're addressing me. (_Jergens walks rear, takes from his pocket some field glasses, which he polishes with a handkerchief. The Chauffeur joins him. Chadbourne turns and says something vicious to the Second Sentry_) EGERTON. How came you by this thing? HARVEY ANDERSON. I'm of the men That Egerton sent out. EGERTON. Jergens, is he One of our men? HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Glancing up_) You Egerton? CHIEF OF POLICE. He is. JERGENS. There's many of them that I never saw; But he's got that, so I suppose he is. (_He searches the mountains with his glasses. The rest contemplate him in silence. In Anderson's eyes, as he watches them, there is a strange, glad light. Indeed throughout the Scene his manner is that of a man who is hiding a tremendous triumph_) HASKELL. He's out here with his glasses every day. CHADBOURNE. One of the richest mines in all the West---- EGERTON. Very rich mine. CHADBOURNE. So I have been informed. CHIEF OF POLICE. Been lost for fifty years. CHADBOURNE. But with this thing---- (_Indicating the cast_) You're almost sure to find it. SECOND SENTRY. (_To First Sentry, evidently meaning Chadbourne_) A damn fool. EGERTON. Yes, we expect the signal any day. (_Dicey, King, and Masters appear just inside the mill-yard and, catching the eye of the Chauffeur, point to Jergens, who, later, hands the glasses to the Chauffeur and goes to Dicey in the mill-yard_) CHIEF OF POLICE. The citizens had arranged a demonstration. Flags were to go up that day and cannon boom, And Colonel Egerton was to make a speech. EGERTON. Yes, Clayton, and I'll tell them something, too. CHIEF OF POLICE. I guess they'll be ashamed to have it now. EGERTON. Why didn't you stay out on the mountains? HARVEY ANDERSON. Well---- EGERTON. Get tired? JERGENS. Chief! HARVEY ANDERSON. Can't say---- EGERTON. Then what's the trouble? (_The Chief of Police joins Jergens and with the three men they disappear in the mill-yard_) HARVEY ANDERSON. Well, you see, Mr. Egerton, it's this way: A man can piece together things like this, But somehow you can't get hold of that in here That goes to pieces when your faith breaks up. EGERTON. What do you mean? HARVEY ANDERSON. I never could find gold; It don't run in our family. EGERTON. Rather late In your discovery, it seems to me. Why didn't you think of it when you first went out? HARVEY ANDERSON. Well, you know how it is. You've seen a stone Hang on a mountain side for years sometimes; You don't know why; you just don't notice it Until some morning--jump! she thunders down And wakes a whole town up; then you remember. (_He comes forward and looks off in the direction from which he came as though he were expecting someone_) EGERTON. (_To Chadbourne_) A sort of luck, you see, this getting on. CHADBOURNE. Predestination. EGERTON. Yes; if a man's rich He couldn't help but be. There's some old lamp, An heirloom in his family, that he rubs. And if he's poor, 'Hard luck.' CHADBOURNE. Or been 'ground down.' EGERTON. They're told so. CHADBOURNE. Egerton's heel. EGERTON. _Old_ Egerton's. (_They walk toward the automobile_) CHADBOURNE. I don't know what the country's coming to. EGERTON. Merchants are merchants, Chadbourne. CHADBOURNE. I suppose. Captain, will you get my overcoat? (_Haskell, who with the Chauffeur has been looking through the glasses, goes into the mill-yard. A number of militiamen who have been hanging around the gate gather about Anderson and they are soon having a good time together_) EGERTON. What do they care for Country or for Art, Or any of the higher things of life? 'Give us this day our daily trade.' We live, We manufacturers, to fill their tills. CHADBOURNE. They're sowing dragons' teeth and they don't know it. EGERTON. You'll see them to-morrow when I start the mill; They'll tip their hats when I pass through the streets. And you could comb the town: they never heard of Any petition to the Governor, Nor any contributions, not a one. They're all staunch friends of mine, and always have been. 'Why, Colonel Egerton, he built this town, Our leading citizen.' I'll get them though. CHADBOURNE. If you could shut down for a season, say. EGERTON. That's just what I've been wanting to do, Chadbourne. Unfortunately, just now we're in a place Where we can't do as we would like to do; Or rather Jergens is. CHADBOURNE. He told me. EGERTON. Yes, He's got to meet his margins. CHADBOURNE. It's too bad. (_The militiamen laugh out at some story Anderson is telling them_) EGERTON. So I can't strike them without striking him. CHADBOURNE. I hope you'll find the mine. A MILITIAMAN. (_Appearing at the gate_) 'Phone, General. EGERTON. I'll show them though that J. D. don't forget. CHADBOURNE. Pardon me. (_He starts for the mill-yard. With a wave of his hand he orders the militiamen back through the gate_) HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Aloud, as they draw away_) And we charging up that Hill As if we didn't know what canned beef was, We, when we'd had slow elk[*] out on the plains. [*] _Stolen cattle_ (_Egerton goes rear to the Chauffeur and himself adjusts the glasses to his eyes_) A MILITIAMAN. (_As they pass through the gate_) Stay and have one with us. HARVEY ANDERSON. After business hours. EGERTON. Where did you leave off? HARVEY ANDERSON. Where the big rock hangs On the south slope up yonder. (_Dicey, King, and Masters come from the mill-yard, followed by Jergens. Dicey is dividing money with his companions_) DICEY. Thank you, boss. JERGENS. Then call me up. DICEY. I will. HARVEY ANDERSON. It ain't there now. (_The three men go out around the corner right. Jergens joins Egerton and the Chauffeur. Harvey Anderson watches them in silence_) HARVEY ANDERSON. And that's another reason I came down To hear those cannon boom and see those flags. You'll have a band play too? (_With his eyes fixed upon them he slowly shoves his foot through the cast and it falls to pieces. He stands still for a moment. He then picks up his hatchet and roll of blankets, and, going to the gate, throws them into the mill-yard. He does the same with the fragments of the cast, first carrying an armful which he empties inside, then coming back and picking up the last two or three pieces, which he jerks in after the others._ _The First Sentry, coming from rear, signals to the Second Sentry, who is passing on his beat. The latter waits and, having heard what the former had to say, starts off_) SECOND SENTRY. (_Evidently quoting Chadbourne_) 'Tried to get smart And hit the cast to see the pieces fly.' (_The First Sentry starts back on his beat, laughing_) HARVEY ANDERSON. (_As the Second Sentry passes him_) It's steel you're shooting, ain't it? SECOND SENTRY. Go to hell. (_Goes out_) HARVEY ANDERSON. It's all right, partner. (_Like a great boy he stands tossing his hat into the air and trying to catch it. Egerton and Jergens regard him and seem to be saying something about him. Jergens goes into the mill-yard_) EGERTON. (_Comes to Anderson_) In the line of work, What have you ever done? HARVEY ANDERSON. Most everything, From punching cattle down to hunting gold. But chiefly knocked about among the States. EGERTON. Drinking and gambling? HARVEY ANDERSON. Some of that in too. (_The Chauffeur goes into the mill-yard_) EGERTON. There's something in you that I like, my man. You go about things in a way. And then The daring that you showed. You're full of life; A man can see that. Tended cattle, eh? Think you could govern men and round them up If need be? HARVEY ANDERSON. I don't know. (_Tosses his hat into the air_) EGERTON. You don't belong To a Union? HARVEY ANDERSON. No. EGERTON. You're not the sort of man To stand dictation. You've a work to do, Men of your type. I think I heard you say That you were with the rangers at San Juan? HARVEY ANDERSON. I did some time down there. EGERTON. Well spent, my boy. I had a brother in the Civil War. (_Watches Anderson catching his hat_) That was a good one. I know how you feel; So full of life you don't care what comes on. 'Out of the way!' It's rare enough these days. You'd be surprised what cowards most men are, Big six foot fellows who want to go to work; Offer it to them and they shake their heads Because they see some pickets round the corner. HARVEY ANDERSON. 'Fraid of your soldiers? EGERTON. Pickets; Union men. They'd fly to arms quick enough if Charlie Hare-- Charlie's our Mayor--said 'No more free speech.' But Williams he can say, 'No more free work.' They'd rather talk, you see, than be free men. HARVEY ANDERSON. That's a good phrase, 'Free Work.' EGERTON. A good 'phrase,' yes. HARVEY ANDERSON. We ought to put that in our Bill of Rights. EGERTON. Our Bill of Rights, my boy, 's no more than air. It's men to back it up. We've gone to seed In Sabbath speculations on men's rights. What we need now is Monday morning's work. HARVEY ANDERSON. This Williams, I suppose, has gotten rich Controlling all these men? EGERTON. That I don't know. It's not so much the few that he controls As the large numbers they intimidate. HARVEY ANDERSON. Got to accept his terms or not work, eh? EGERTON. They have a thing they call the 'Union Scale.' (_Looks at his watch_) HARVEY ANDERSON. And these men that can't work, they stand for that, Having no voice at all in their affairs? EGERTON. They don't see; they're a lot of ignorant men. HARVEY ANDERSON. Why don't you show them? (_Egerton smiles, walks to the gate and listens, then comes back_) EGERTON. Out on the plains, my boy, Tending your cattle, did you speak with them And reason with them? HARVEY ANDERSON. With the cattle? EGERTON. Yes. HARVEY ANDERSON. It all depends upon the mood they're in. Sometimes a man can just sit on his horse, If the feed's good; and sometimes in the night, If a storm's brewing, then it's best to sing; Go round them this way-- (_Circles and sings one of the strange melodies of the cowboys_) for they're restless then. EGERTON. Sing to your cattle? HARVEY ANDERSON. Let them know you're friends All out together and a big storm on. EGERTON. That's interesting. (_Anderson comes forward and looks off right, the direction from which he came, as though he were expecting some one_) EGERTON. We've got an opening here I think would suit you. HARVEY ANDERSON. Well. EGERTON. In half an hour, Or less than that, there'll be a lot of men Come from the station, the force I'm bringing in, Guarded by soldiers; then, if I guess right, The Union--they'll be crowding here for work, Wanting to go to work, you understand, But with their eye on Williams. He'll say 'No.' But there's another faction will say 'Yes.' HARVEY ANDERSON. And while they're balanced---- EGERTON. That's just what I want. You've got a good cool head, and you know men. And then you have a way of putting things. HARVEY ANDERSON. Make 'em a little speech? EGERTON. I don't care how. HARVEY ANDERSON. Just get 'em in your pen, eh? EGERTON. It's their last chance. And I can say, my boy, if you make good And prove to be the man we're looking for, I'll push you on as fast as you can go. My partner here was one that proved himself. And then next year we'll take my other mills And break this Union thing or we'll know why. A shot or two for your own land, you see. HARVEY ANDERSON. Free Work. EGERTON. Free Mills. HARVEY ANDERSON. Free men. (_Starts left_) EGERTON. You know the way? (_Egerton turns and goes into the mill-yard_) SECOND SENTRY. (_Comes in right and meets the First Sentry, who has just come forward_) Damn stuck-up fool! Just because Egerton Invites him to his house. FIRST SENTRY. He's got a corn. SECOND SENTRY. I hope they'll tramp it off. (_The First Sentry quickly signals that some one is coming toward the gate_) SECOND SENTRY. God, I don't care. (_The Chauffeur comes hurriedly from the mill-yard and goes and gets into the car. A moment later General Chadbourne and Captain Haskell appear_) CHADBOURNE. And I'll be there till nine or ten o'clock, Or even later, for we've some important Matters to attend to. And besides It's going to be a very fine affair. HASKELL. All right, sir. CHADBOURNE. You won't need me, though, I'm sure. Things seem to be all quiet at the station. SECOND SENTRY. (_As he goes out_) Ass! HASKELL. We'll break camp to-morrow, I suppose CHADBOURNE. _That's_ what I had in mind a while ago! I'm glad you spoke of it. When they pass these gates, You be here, Haskell, and you get me word. I want to be the first to break the news To Egerton and the Governor; want to say: 'I have the honor to report to you, Your Excellency, And it gives me pleasure to announce to you Upon the occasion of the opening Of your new mansion, Colonel Egerton, This bit of news, sir, from the military, And I offer it with our congratulations, The strike is over----' VOICE OF JERGENS. (_Back in the mill-yard_) General Chadbourne! CHADBOURNE. Yes!-- 'The men have yielded and have gone to work; And all's been done without one drop of bloodshed, Thanks to the Governor and to your co-operation And to the splendid service of the boys. To-morrow we break camp and go our ways. Health to you and long life and peace hereafter In your new home.' Or something of the sort. I haven't whipped it into final shape. HASKELL. And got off, I suppose, with glasses lifted. 'Twill be a nice green feather in our cap. CHADBOURNE. And duty done, it's well to have big friends. There's that old question of the armory; I'm going to try to jam it through this session. And besides that-- (_Calls toward the gate_) What's up? JERGENS. (_Enters with the Chief of Police_) How large a force Did you send to the station? CHADBOURNE. Why do you ask? JERGENS. There's talk of violence among the men. CHIEF OF POLICE. Some even go so far as to advocate Marching upon---- JERGENS. That, Chief, may all be bluster. For this man Dicey--these men have a way Of making things look bad to extort money And earn them credit if they turn out well. CHIEF OF POLICE. As a precaution though. JERGENS. I've no objection. (_Egerton comes from the mill-yard_) CHIEF OF POLICE. You'd better throw a guard about the house. You see it's out of my jurisdiction. EGERTON. Coming to see me, eh? JERGENS. I don't believe it. (_Chadbourne talks aside with Haskell_) CHIEF OF POLICE. To see the Governor, they say. EGERTON. All right. (_Gets into the automobile_) They'll find him in the southwest room upstairs When the train comes. Have them clean off their feet. RALPH ARDSLEY. (_Who has just come in, left_) Clean off whose feet? EGERTON. Yours, Ardsley. Step right in. (_The Chief of Police goes out, left_) RALPH ARDSLEY. What's the news now? EGERTON. The news is that you've got Barely an hour to get on your togs. (_Ardsley unbuttons his light overcoat and shows his full dress_) EGERTON. You editors are smart men. (_Chadbourne gets in behind with Egerton, Ardsley in front with the Chauffeur_) CHADBOURNE. (_As they go out right_) Don't forget, Haskell. (_Jergens lingers about as though undecided what to do. Finally he goes left and saunters down the street. Haskell enters the mill-yard. Later an old woman, who has evidently been waiting till the mill-owners left, comes down the hill-side rear left and begins to pick up sticks that lie scattered about in the sawdust_) FIRST SENTRY. (_Who finally sees her_) Get out! OLD WOMAN. They're thrown away. BUCK BENTLEY. (_Who has come from the mill-yard and resumed his seat on the keg_) Let her alone. OLD WOMAN. God help us if we can't have even sticks That's thrown out. FIRST SENTRY. Let your old man go to work. OLD WOMAN. Then let 'em pay fair wages. Ain't they all Wantin' to work? What's the poor to do, Things goin' up an' wages goin' down? What's the poor to do? FIRST SENTRY. That's your look-out. Move on! (_He starts toward the old woman. Buck Bentley knocks the ashes from his pipe and goes toward the First Sentry_) SECOND SENTRY. (_Who has been watching_) Know what you're doing, Buck? (_There is a fight. Bentley takes the rifle from the First Sentry who, in a rage, starts for the gate_) FIRST SENTRY. If this goes by I'll show the regiment a thing or two, I'll jump the Service, that's what I'll do. (_He hurries into the mill-yard. Bentley helps the old woman pick up the sticks_) OLD WOMAN. I thought they'd never go. God bless you, son. (_Starts up the slope_) SECOND SENTRY. We'll see, by God, who's running this shebang. OLD WOMAN. You ain't heard nothin' from the station yet? BUCK BENTLEY. No, mother. (_The old woman goes out. Bentley comes to the gate and sets the rifle against the fence_) SECOND SENTRY. (_Talking into the mill-yard_) He even helped her fill her apron. HASKELL. (_Entering with the First Sentry_) Have you gone crazy, Buck? What do you mean? BUCK BENTLEY. (_Fills his pipe_) Is this the Company's property out here? HASKELL. We've got our orders and that settles it. Don't settle it with you, eh? A MILITIAMAN. (_From the top of a lumber stack_) Here they come! FIRST SENTRY. In other words you'll do as you damn please. (_Haskell comes forward and looks down the street, left_) HASKELL. Now shut your mouths. FIRST SENTRY. I'm not through with this yet. (_Picks up his rifle and goes back on his beat_) SECOND SENTRY. Damn pretty soldier you are. HASKELL. Do you hear? (_Militiamen are seen climbing on top of the lumber stacks. Others appear at the gate. Captain Haskell walks left where a noise is heard down the street. Presently a squad of militia enters with fifteen or twenty strike-breakers. Behind them, with the officer in charge, comes Jergens, who is speaking to the crowd of strikers that follows. In front of the crowd walks Sam Williams. Mingling among the men are seen Dicey, King, and Masters. Some women and children straggle in and linger, left. On this side of the crowd, silent, watching everything, is Harvey Anderson_) JERGENS. The world is big and we can get the men. SAM WILLIAMS. That's all right, Mr. Jergens. JERGENS. All we want, And more too. SAM WILLIAMS. That's all right. JERGENS. We've shown you that. If not, stick it out; that's all I've got to say. SAM WILLIAMS. The point is now about the saws. Will you Put the guards on? VOICE. (_From the crowd_) There where the boys were killed. JERGENS. We will or will not, as it suits ourselves. VOICE. (_From the crowd_) About our places, Sam. SAM WILLIAMS. If they come back, You'll give the boys the places that they had, All of them? (_The militia, with the strike-breakers, pass into the mill-yard_) VOICE. (_From the crowd_) Will we get our places back? JERGENS. The places that have not been filled are yours. As for discharging men that we've brought here, Not one. (_He says something to Haskell, then turns to the crowd_) Now just one word. When these gates close, You're out. You understand that, do you? Out Not for to-day, to-morrow, or six weeks, But all time. You've got just ten minutes left. Then, Captain, close these gates. HASKELL. All right, sir. (_Jergens passes into the mill-yard_) VOICE. (_From the crowd_) Well? ANOTHER VOICE. What do you say, Sam? JIM KING. Williams has had his say. And you see where we are. ROME MASTERS. Hear Wes! JIM KING. Wes! SEVERAL. Sam! SAM WILLIAMS. I don't know, comrades, as I ought to say, Seeing as I don't gain or lose in this. For I'm of them that have no place in there. But if you want my---- CRIES. Yes, go on! Go on! SAM WILLIAMS. Well, comrades, it's the Union first with me. That props the rest. You take that prop away And everything comes down. We've climbed a bit Since we first organized. And what we've won, What is it that keeps it won? The Union, comrades, Is just another name for all of us. JERGENS. (_Appearing at the gate_) Another thing. If you don't come to work We'll want those shacks up there. Remember that. (_Goes out_) SAM WILLIAMS. And we need something bigger than we are, Don't we, if they do with their mills and lands? You heard Aug. Jergens what he said just now When Chris here called to him, 'But you unite.' You heard him say, 'That's none of your affair.' Then how's it their affair if we unite? Logs you can't handle, but you saw them up, Then you can handle them. It's the same with us; They want to handle us to suit themselves. Comrades, I don't see if you go in there How you'll not have to come out here again; Unless you mean to bear whatever comes. You'll hear no big voice, 'Then we'll all go out,' That's kept their hands from off you many a time. Or is it their mercy that you're counting on? Poor hold you've got there. One window yonder Of Egerton's big house would put the guards About the saws. But you hear what he says. And it's our lives he's talking of. A WOMAN. (_To another who begins to cry_) Never mind. SAM WILLIAMS. What is it that gives him power to talk that way? Why is it he can do that, (_Lifts his hand_) and trains come in With soldiers? We can't do it. And they're two And we're four hundred. JIM KING. That don't get us bread. SAM WILLIAMS. Is it because they own the mills and lands? It's only when they own us that they're strong. Comrades, you've come now where the ways divide. There's bigger gates than these stand open here If you'll just stick together. 'Tain't to-day I'm thinking of. There's a green shore somewhere If you'll just turn your faces from that gate. But if you're going to give your Union up When they say if you don't we'll close these gates, You'll have no peace. They'll hold it over you To force you down. Comrades, the day will come When you'll regret it if you go in there, Giving your Union up. But that's with you. CHRIS KNUDSON. Sam's right. We can't be slaves, men. KING AND MASTERS. Wes! Hear Wes! CHRIS KNUDSON. Let's march on out to Egerton's big house And call the Governor out and lay our case Before him. CRIES. Right! That's right! A VOICE. First let's go home And get the women folk and all march out. MIKE HAWLEY. You talk like fools. Ain't Braddock, too, a slave? He's 'bout as big to Egerton as your thumb. WES DICEY. It seems to me like, boys, we're in a boat. We've pulled together hard as any men Tryin' to make the shore off there. But here She's leakin' and our biscuits have give out. The question now is, hadn't we better make For this shore here? It ain't the one we want; But here there's bread and water. But they say-- And this it is that seems to rub Sam most-- 'Scuttle your boat or you don't land here.' Well, Scuttle her, then I say. (_Hisses from the crowd_) Now you hold on. I love the Union much as any man. And I've stood by her, too, through thick and thin. Ain't I stood by her, boys? JIM KING. Wes is our friend. WES DICEY. And will again. Then what do I mean? Just this: It's a queer shore ain't got a cove or two Where you can hide her. I don't mean to say That Sam ain't done his best to captain us; He has. But here she is, she's goin' down, So I say land. For bread tastes mighty good, And air this time o' year won't keep you warm If you're turned out. Later, we get our strength, We'll patch her up and make for that green shore Sam talks of. But just now it's this or this. (_Points toward the mill, then to the ground_) And if we go down, then where's your Union? Eh? A VOICE. He's right. ROME MASTERS. But if we live, then it lives too. WES DICEY. So it's the Union that I'm speakin' for. JIM KING. He's speakin' for our wives and children too. A VOICE. What about us whose places have been filled? ANOTHER VOICE. You want us all to go down, eh? SAM WILLIAMS. No! SEVERAL. No! HARVEY ANDERSON. Pards, I'm one of Egerton's men, if you'll let me Butt in here just a minute with a word. You've seen two sides of this thing, but there's three. There's one big black one you don't face at all, Even your Captain here. You're all right, pard, In what you say about their mills and lands Not giving them power; it's their owning you. And if you'll just tear up that bill of sale And call the deal off, Egerton's big shadow That fills the valley, lengthening year by year Until your hair stands up, you'll be surprised How you can cover it with a six-foot pole. For it's on you he's standing. WES DICEY. Who are you? HARVEY ANDERSON. But look here, pards, are you calling off this sale Or simply trying, as it seems to me, To make him take the goods at the old price? HASKELL. What have you got to do with it? HARVEY ANDERSON. And what's the price? Where's all that gone? (_Points to the mountains_) Were those just weeds up there That's been cleared off to get a better view? Or Christmas trees? JIM KING. Who are you? HARVEY ANDERSON. And loaded, too, With food and clothes and homes and silks and gems And punch that bubbles till she runs down here, Flushing the soldier boys until they're gay And on their mettle. Is his name Egerton That planted all those pines? (_Points to the sky_) WES DICEY. What's it to you? HARVEY ANDERSON. Worked all these years and yet you've got no bread? HASKELL. (_Coming toward him_) What business is it of yours what these men do? HARVEY ANDERSON. Handled all that and yet you've got no roof To cover you! BUCK BENTLEY. (_Following Haskell_) Look here, Cap. HARVEY ANDERSON. And this man comes And cracks his whip, 'We'll oust you.' What do you say? BUCK BENTLEY. We came down here to see the square thing done, Not to take sides and try to break this strike. (_Haskell stares at him in amazement_) HARVEY ANDERSON. What's your name? BUCK BENTLEY. Bentley. HARVEY ANDERSON. I'll remember that. And my name's Anderson. (_They shake hands_) HASKELL. (_Beckoning to the militiamen about the gate_) Three or four of you. I give you ten days in the guard house, Buck. HARVEY ANDERSON. You won't be there two hours, pard, take my word. There's something going to drop here pretty soon. HASKELL. (_Calls after the militiamen_) Tell Mr. Jergens to step here a minute. (_Bentley is led away into the mill-yard_) HARVEY ANDERSON. (_To the crowd_) God playing Santa Claus among the pines-- Why ain't you fellows had your stockings up? Or if you have, what are you doing here Weighing yourselves out on the same old scales, Men against bread? Pard, let me ask you this: Suppose you do land with your Union boat, The bosses on the shore saying all right; What is it you land for? Grub for another cruise? And you'll go back then to the fishing grounds And sink your nets again? Who'll get the catch This time? Them that's had it all these years? You've made a big haul here, it seems to me, Minnows and all. Hundreds of miles like that. When are you fellows going to dry your nets, Haul up your boat and say, 'Let's weigh the fish'? What do you say, pard? SAM WILLIAMS. You a Union man? HARVEY ANDERSON. I don't know much about your Union, pard. It's all right, I suppose, far as it goes. But tell me this--and here's your black side, men-- Long as they own the sea (_Points to the mountains and the plains_) and own the shore, (_Points to the mill_) You think they'll care much, pard, who owns the boat? And how'll they not own you? You tell me that. (_Williams and the crowd stand silent_) HARVEY ANDERSON. What do you say? HASKELL. (_Watch in hand_) You've got two minutes left. HARVEY ANDERSON. Two minutes left of freedom. What do you say? You've got no North to look to, you white men. A WOMAN. (_With a child in her arms_) If you go in there, John, don't you come home. HARVEY ANDERSON. Bully for you, sister! THE WOMAN. Don't you dare come home. We ain't starved with you, you to sell yourself. WES DICEY. It's either go back, boys, or we'll be tramps. HARVEY ANDERSON. There's thousands of them off there good as you. You'd sell your soul to Egerton for bread. They keep theirs and go round the back door. VOICE. (_From the crowd_) Well? JIM KING. Listen to me. SAM WILLIAMS. Comrades, they can't start up; They've not the men. WES DICEY. Suppose they _don't_ start up? Suppose they shut down till the ice blocks there? Then where'll we be? JIM KING. You'll hear the children cry. HARVEY ANDERSON. Shut up your mouths or, if you're married men, Let your wives speak. 'You'll hear the children cry!' Where in the hell do you hail from any way? Or have they starved you till you've lost your grit? HASKELL. One minute. VOICE. (_From the crowd_) Bread! ANOTHER. What will we do, Sam? ANOTHER. Vote! SAM WILLIAMS. I've said my last word. WES DICEY. We've no time to vote. VOICE. (_From afar, right_) Wait! JIM KING. Be quick. HARVEY ANDERSON. Hold on! WES DICEY. Boys, suppose they say, 'First come, first served, and we don't need the rest'? JIM KING. (_Calling attention to the first flakes of snow_) Look at these flakes, men! (_There is a stampede for the gate_) AN OLD WOMAN. Run, Tommy! HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Drawing from his pocket a long blue revolver_) Halt! The first man puts his foot inside that gate I'll kill him. VOICE. (_Right as before, now near by_) One word before you go in there! (_Harry Egerton enters breathless_) HARRY EGERTON. Pardon me; I have run some seven miles To be here ere the sun went down, for I Knew what it meant to you. (_Stands for a moment collecting himself_) Men, my friends, What is it you are about to do? HARVEY ANDERSON. They're going back. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_As Harry Egerton seems about to speak_) Now listen, boys, for now you'll hear a word That you'll remember till the crack o' doom. HARRY EGERTON. I wouldn't do it, friends, if I were you. What will to-morrow be and the next day And years to come if you surrender now? You have your strength and right is on your side. I in my father's offices have struck The balances between you men and him. I know what part you've had of all these trees And what part he has had, and in my heart I know there is a balance on your side. Things can't go on forever in this way. HARVEY ANDERSON. Now the snow falls they're afraid the wolf will howl. HARRY EGERTON. Will you be stronger then a year from now, Your Union broken up, your wages less, And this defeat behind you dampening all? Or do you intend henceforth never to lift The voice of protest, silent whatever comes? God will provide, my friends. Do not give up. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Comes to him_) Tell 'em about it, partner. HARRY EGERTON. Not yet. HARVEY ANDERSON. Why? HARRY EGERTON. Their enemies would say it was the gold. And we must show them that they're wrong. A WORKMAN. Look out! JERGENS. (_With a stick he has picked up comes from the mill-yard_) What do you mean by interfering here? (_He discovers Harvey Anderson talking with Harry Egerton and turns, evidently for an explanation, to Haskell_) HARVEY ANDERSON. You've filed your claim though? HARRY EGERTON. Yes. (_Jubilant, Harvey Anderson turns and, catching up one of the mill-boys, lifts him over his head and slides him down his back, holding him by the feet. Jergens advances toward him_) A WORKMAN. Look out, comrade! HARVEY ANDERSON. I wouldn't try it, pard, if I were you. JERGENS. (_To the men_) You'll rue this day! (_To Harvey Anderson_) We'll fix you! (_To the militia_) Close these gates! (_Glowers at Harry Egerton_) Clear these streets, Captain! HARRY EGERTON. Stand where you are, my friends. JERGENS. Captain, I order you to clear these streets. HARRY EGERTON. Be careful, Captain Haskell, what you do. This is a public place. A MILITIAMAN. What's the word, Cap.? HASKELL. (_To the militiaman, irritably_) Who's in command here, I should like to know? JERGENS. Your father will attend to you, young man. (_Beside himself with rage, disappears down the street, left_) HARRY EGERTON. Now then go quietly to your homes, my friends, And I to-night will see what I can do. SAM WILLIAMS. (_Comes toward him_) Mr. Egerton. (_Holds out his hand_) HARRY EGERTON. Yes, Sam. (_Takes his hand_) SAM WILLIAMS. (_To the crowd_) Comrades, I never thought we'd live to see this day. (_The men crowd about them_) HARRY EGERTON. Some of you men are hungry. THE MEN. We're all right! We're all right, Mr. Egerton! HARRY EGERTON. But never mind. We will begin a new age in this land. HARVEY ANDERSON. Up with your hats, pards! God's on the mountains! (_Tosses his hat into the air. The workmen, in an almost religious ecstasy, go out left, crowding around Harry Egerton and Harvey Anderson. Dicey, King and Masters remain behind, whispering together, then follow the crowd. The militiamen, most of them silent with amazement at the scene they have witnessed, gradually disappear into the mill-yard_) FIRST MILITIAMAN. I'm for young Egerton if it comes to that. SECOND MILITIAMAN. Most of us boys are sons of workingmen. THIRD MILITIAMAN. I never thought of that. FOURTH MILITIAMAN. Buck's about right, too, kids. We came here to see the square thing done, Not to be half-sole to the old man's boot. FIRST MILITIAMAN. Let's set Buck free. SECOND MILITIAMAN. What do you say, kids? (_They go into the mill-yard, talking earnestly_) SECOND SENTRY. Dan! (_The First Sentry joins him and they whisper together_) FIRST SENTRY. (_Starts with the other for the gate_) I've nothing against Buck. SECOND SENTRY. Haskell's too fast. (_They enter the mill-yard_) ACT III THE MANSION _Scene: The great reception hall in the Egerton mansion. One sees at a glance that this is the original of the shadow hall shown in the Dream-Vision in the First Act. The carved mountain lion crouches upon the newel-post, and upon the walls the figures of men at work among the pines are identical with those of the Vision. But here, seen under a natural light, the grotesque grandeur of it all stands out in clear relief. Forward, left and right, just where the great arch separating the main hall comes down, groups of little pines in tubs lend a freshness to the scene._ _A brilliant company is gathered. Everywhere, from gestures and lifted eyes, it is evident that the mansion, especially the strange scene upon the walls, is the chief topic of talk among the guests. Centre right, about the piano, a number of young people are watching a couple that is out upon the floor, apparently practising a new step. Near the pines, forward left, General Chadbourne turns from the butler, with whom he has been speaking, to shake hands with some ladies. Later, Ralph Ardsley appears just inside the door, forward right, and holds up a glass of wine. Two or three men notice him and nudge their companions, and one after another saunter past Ardsley into the side room._ _Time: The same afternoon about five o'clock._ RALPH ARDSLEY. Get me the eye of Chadbourne. FIRST MAN. General! (_Out on the floor the couple that is waltzing jostles an elderly lady_) LADY IN BLACK. Why can't they wait until---- ELDERLY LADY. Now run away. You've got all night for this tomfoolery. MRS. EGERTON. George! (_The young people gradually drift out into the conservatory_) CHADBOURNE. (_Rejoining the Butler_) For it's something that concerns the strike. BUTLER. Yes, sir. CHADBOURNE. And it's important. BUTLER. Yes, sir. SECOND MAN. General! CHADBOURNE. And I'll be right out---- (_Sees the lifted hand_) I'll be right in here. (_Joins the Second Man, and the two, with Ardsley, disappear into the side room_) YOUNG MATRON. Why do you men keep going out that way? THIRD MAN. (_With a wink_) The Governor wants to see us. (_They go into the room, forward right_) LADY WITH CONSPICUOUS COIFFURE. (_Entering forward left with Pale Lady_) Indeed it would; To just have all the money that you want. PALE LADY. And her new necklace, did you notice it? LADY WITH CONSPICUOUS COIFFURE. Her mother's plain enough. PALE LADY. There she goes now. (_They pass rear and mingle with the throng_) FIRST MAN. (_Appearing forward right with a glass of wine_) You ladies, I presume, are temperance workers. (_'The punch! The punch!' is whispered about, and the people begin to pass out centre and forward right_) FAT LADY. I mean to just taste everything there is. (_Goes out_) LADY IN BLACK. Isn't it just too grand for anything! PALE LADY. At night, though, I should think 'twould scare a body With all those horrid things upon the walls. (_They go out. A moment later Mrs. Egerton comes in and looks about as though she were seeking some one_) MRS. EGERTON. (_To her daughter, who passes toward the conservatory_) Please don't keep showing it, Gladys. GLADYS EGERTON. Marjorie! (_She enters the conservatory_) MRS. EGERTON. (_Beckons to some one in the room forward left. The Butler appears_) Has no word come? BUTLER. Jack says that Mr. George inquired And they've seen nothing of him. (_He goes back into the room, forward left. Mrs. Egerton lingers a while, then returns to the room, forward right. Here, a moment later Ralph Ardsley appears_) RALPH ARDSLEY. (_Calls to a group of four men back near the stairs_) Laggards! laggards! (_Bishop Hardbrooke and a fellow-townsman, each with a man who is evidently a stranger, come slowly forward_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Isn't there aspiration in all this, (_Indicating the house_) A reaching out toward God, and a love, too, Of all that God hath made? FELLOW-TOWNSMAN. The river there. RALPH ARDSLEY. The walls will be here when the wine is gone. FIRST STRANGER. But public sentiment. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. _Vox populi_. FELLOW-TOWNSMAN. People don't stop to think of what he's done. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Exactly. When an axe falls on one's toes, The service that it's been, that's out of mind. And yet you throw the bruise, the moment's pain, In one side, and in the other a cleared land With homes and fields---- SECOND STRANGER. That's true. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. And populous towns. The balance will be struck up yonder, brother. RALPH ARDSLEY. Show me one man that's in the public eye Because he stands for something, towers above them, That hasn't had them yelping at his heels. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. You know the Editor of the Courier? (_The Strangers shake hands with Ardsley_) SECOND STRANGER. You didn't come back. RALPH ARDSLEY. I've troubles of my own. (_Walks back in the hall_) SECOND STRANGER. We were together in the Legislature. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. (_Stopping near the door, forward right, as if for a final word_) Speaking of Egerton, some years ago I saw that statue in the New York harbor, The sea mists blown about it, now the head And now an outflash of tremendous bronze About the waist. 'Is that the thing,' said I, 'They talk so much about?' Next day 'twas clear. FIRST STRANGER. Looked very different. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. It's the same with men. (_They go out_) SECOND STRANGER. You going in? RALPH ARDSLEY. I've got to find a man. (_The stranger goes out_) (_Ardsley calls toward the room, forward left_) What's the news from the mill, Charles? BUTLER. (_Appears at the door_) I haven't heard, sir. You reckon they'll go back, sir? RALPH ARDSLEY. Sure. Where's Gladys? (_The Butler walks back toward the conservatory_) Just tell her I asked about her. BUTLER. Yes, sir. RALPH ARDSLEY. Thank you. (_He goes into the room, forward right. The Butler returns to the opposite room. All the people have now withdrawn with the exception of Mrs. Orr, who has come in, centre right, and who lingers about as though she were listening to the upper part of the walls. Later, Mrs. Egerton re-enters, forward right, and glances back into the room from which she has come, to satisfy herself that her guests are occupied. Seeing her, Mrs. Orr comes forward, shaking her head_) MRS. EGERTON. No? MRS. ORR. No. MRS. EGERTON. Nothing at all? MRS. ORR. Nothing at all. MRS. EGERTON. I never have been sure myself. Sometimes I've thought I heard it. MRS. ORR. I can understand How one could easily imagine it. MRS. EGERTON. If you could be here when the house is still, Alone---- MRS. ORR. In certain moods, perhaps I should. For certainly the trees seem most alive. I never would have thought it possible To make a forest live and life go on In wood as it does here. 'Tis wonderful. (_Mrs. Egerton glances across into the room, forward right, from which comes a sound of merriment_) MRS. ORR. The very squirrels upon the limbs--see there, The young one with the pine cone in its mouth. And the faint far-awayness of the wood. MRS. EGERTON. (_Confidentially_) Sylvia---- MRS. ORR. Just now as the couple passed Practising, I overheard the girl, 'It almost seems the real pines are here Dropping their needles on us while we dance. As Lillian says, you feel them in your hair.' Now, to my way of thinking, it would be Far easier to hear the pine trees sigh Than feel the needles. MRS. EGERTON. It was not the pines. MRS. ORR. You said a sighing. (_Mrs. Egerton says something to her_) Why, Mary Egerton! How horrible! MRS. EGERTON. It worries me at times. MRS. ORR. You do not mean it! And the house just built! You foolish dear. MRS. EGERTON. I know. MRS. ORR. (_Aside_) How horrible! MRS. EGERTON. Harry has always been a strange, strange boy; So different from the rest. What is it you hear? MRS. ORR. Why, nothing, nothing at all. My dear, this is Really ridiculous. If it were old And there were cobwebs here and musty walls And rumors had come down of some old crime But with the timber, every stick of it Fresh from the forest, you might almost say Picked from your very garden, a pure bloom, Fashioned and shaped by your own husband's hand: How any one could fancy such a thing Is past my comprehension. (_A medley of voices is heard, forward right_) MRS. EGERTON. Here they come. A VOICE. Cover his eyes, some of you. MRS. EGERTON. Let's not be seen. (_She starts back for the door, centre right_) MRS. ORR. But we can't talk in there. MRS. EGERTON. I'll slip away. (_They go out centre right. Amid laughter and a confusion of voices Ralph Ardsley and a fellow-townsman enter forward right leading Governor Braddock, whose eyes are blindfolded. Following these come Donald Egerton, General Chadbourne, Bishop Hardbrooke, members of the Governor's staff in uniform, and other guests_) GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. You'll pay for this, gentlemen, you'll pay for this. RALPH ARDSLEY. Further, Great Master? (_Egerton points back toward the centre of the hall. Himself and the group about him remain more in the foreground_) EGERTON. That will do. (_They remove the handkerchief from the Governor's eyes_) GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Hi yi! RALPH ARDSLEY. You see you wake in Paradise. FIRST GUEST. Didn't expect it? (_Laughter_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Your incorruptible administration. FIRST STAFF MEMBER. You mean to tell us that you planned all this? EGERTON. No, I conceived it, Weston; it's alive As I hope to show you. But more of that anon. (_Calls back to the Governor_) Does it meet your expectations? STAFF MEMBERS. (_Who have gone rear_) Splendid! Splendid! FELLOW-TOWNSMAN. And in the second story he's got his mill. SECOND STAFF MEMBER. (_To Egerton_) You don't have strikes up there? GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Well, Egerton, This is the grandest thing I ever saw. EGERTON. I made my mind up, Braddock, years ago That when I'd sawed my fortune out of lumber I'd build a mansion where a man could see Just how I'd done it, starting with the raw, The standing timber, every phase of it; A sort of record of these busy times: For they won't last forever, these great days. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. We never see the giants till they're gone. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. The day will come when we'll appreciate them. RALPH ARDSLEY. Three cheers for one of them. GUESTS. Hurrah! Hurrah! EGERTON. (_Goes back a little, the group following him, and points right rear_) Back there you see the swamper clearing brush, Man's first assault upon primeval forests. And then the feller with his broader stroke Hewing a way for apple trees and cities, And incidentally moving on himself. And here you see my teams. And, by the way, They talk of how the horse has followed man In his march across the ages, but the tree That sheltered the lost saurian, think of that! GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. You must have been a tree in some past life; You seem to love them so and understand them. EGERTON. There's nothing in this world so beautiful As a pine forest, gentlemen, just at dawn; The infant breathing of a million needles. It's like our organ, Bishop, those soft tones. (_Comes forward_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. He ought to have lived in old cathedral days. EGERTON. And here the rising rollways; then the drive, The river man. (_Points across left_) GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Come out to get a view, A broader view. THIRD STAFF MEMBER. You had men pose for this? EGERTON. I'm following the tree. FOURTH STAFF MEMBER. That fellow's face. EGERTON. These 'broader views' don't interest me much. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. And you think this idea's capable of extension? EGERTON. How do you mean? GENERAL CHADBOURNE. (_Returning from a word with the Butler, to Ardsley who comes to meet him_) I don't see what's the matter. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. A while ago you said---- RALPH ARDSLEY. O it's all right. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. You were the first Captain of Industry In all America to build a house. That has a meaning in it. EGERTON. That's what I said; That has the least relation to the land. RALPH ARDSLEY. This snow you'll see will bring them to their senses. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Suppose you'd made your fortune out of copper? FIRST STAFF MEMBER. Yes, we all build our houses out of timber. SECOND STAFF MEMBER. Or cotton? GUESTS. Ha, ha, ha! RALPH ARDSLEY. Or oil? SEVERAL. Yes. RALPH ARDSLEY. How would you spiritualize the oil business? EGERTON. Ardsley here wants to quote me in his paper. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. The Lumber King upon the late decision. EGERTON. It's Art, not rebates, that I'm speaking of. Couldn't I show my derricks on the walls? And back there red-skins striking fire from flint? Then our forefathers with their tallow-dips Watching the easy drills slip up and down? The tanks here--Ah, you laugh, you dilettanti. I'll tell you gentlemen what the trouble is: You're frightened by our natural resources, And you despise the life of your own land, The crude, tremendous life we're living here. The force is too much for you. You want polish. O I can prove it to you. RALPH ARDSLEY. Now you'll get it. EGERTON. Yes, Braddock, there's that Capitol Commission. I'd be ashamed. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. I knew 'twould come. EGERTON. And we Breathing the electric air of this great West, As rich in life as timber, herds and hops, Wheat fields and mines, and all these things to be Raised and translated by the brains of men. Think of a State dotted with lumber camps And buzzing day and night with saws and saws, And as far as the North Pole from old world customs, Wearing a capitol with Grecian columns With an old Roman Justice on her comb! You'd scorn to come here in a gaberdine Made by some dago in the days of Pompey. And yet you dress the State up in these things. No independence. RALPH ARDSLEY. Governor? FIRST STAFF MEMBER. Call the troops! EGERTON. I'd rather cut the timber of this land And coin its spirit in a thing like this Than be a Roman Cæsar. RALPH ARDSLEY. Hip hurrah! That's what I call a fellow countryman. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. You see we're all Americans down here. SECOND STAFF MEMBER. Now, Governor Braddock, show your stars and stripes. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Yet you don't seem to dwell in unity. I recollect, and it's not years ago, Receiving a petition, and a large one-- Some six or seven thousand? THIRD STAFF MEMBER. About that. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Demanding a withdrawal of some troops. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. We're not responsible for our lower classes. EGERTON. (_Significantly_) You didn't withdraw them. (_An embarrassing silence_) RALPH ARDSLEY. (_Slaps the Governor on the shoulder_) Good American! FOURTH STAFF MEMBER. (_To Bishop Hardbrooke_) Jesus of Nazareth was a foreigner. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. The Bishop would hardly say so though. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. And you, You, Governor, do you go before the people With all you know? No secrets, not a one? GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. O I'm not saying. EGERTON. Editor Ardsley? RALPH ARDSLEY. Here. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. It eases the heart, brother, to confess. RALPH ARDSLEY. It's my stockholders, Bishop. (_Points to Egerton_) EGERTON. General Chadbourne? GENERAL CHADBOURNE. I, Colonel, get my orders from above. (_Points to the Governor_) GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. We all do. (_Points to Egerton_) RALPH ARDSLEY. Egerton? EGERTON. Then come along. I've got some good Americans up here Who don't send in petitions. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. A model mill. FIRST STAFF MEMBER. Non-Union? RALPH ARDSLEY. They're united in the walls. (_Laughter_) EGERTON. (_As they start for the stairs_) Never you mind, gentlemen, 'twill not be long Until the model that I've built up here Will be the model everywhere. GUESTS. (_Led by Ralph Ardsley_) Hurray! (_Attracted by the shouting, some ladies look in, forward right_) A LADY. They do have such good times. (_They withdraw_) GENERAL CHADBOURNE. (_From the steps to the Butler_) I'll be upstairs. (_Seeing the hall empty, the young people who have looked in occasionally from the conservatory, enter and take possession_) RALPH ARDSLEY. (_From the landing_) Hello, Gladys! GLADYS EGERTON. Hello, Ardsley! RALPH ARDSLEY. (_Touching his throat_) Stunning. GLADYS EGERTON. Thank you. (_Ardsley disappears after the others. Mrs. Orr enters, forward right, and is later joined by Mrs. Egerton_) MRS. ORR. You surely have not spoken of this to him? MRS. EGERTON. The other night I started to. MRS. ORR. How could you! (_Mrs. Egerton glances back uneasily into the room_) MRS. ORR. They're all right. Let's go here behind the pines. MRS. EGERTON (_Beckons to the Butler_) Serve them the lunch now, Charles. (_The Butler goes into the room, forward right. The two women pass left, where they are somewhat shut in by the pines_) MRS. ORR. What did he say? MRS. EGERTON And then--I don't know--something in his face-- Perhaps the wonder that I knew would come That such a thing--If people only knew-- Donald is not the hard unfeeling man-- And knowing this---- (_She hesitates_) MRS. ORR. And knowing what, my dear? MRS. EGERTON. My heart rose up and I--I simply said That Harry had heard a sighing from the walls. I told him so much, for it's worried me. And he at once---- MRS. ORR. (_With spirit_) I know. 'The pines!' MRS. EGERTON. 'The pines!' MRS. ORR. I knew it! MRS. EGERTON. 'The pines!' And walked the floor and laughed; And such a heart-free laugh I have not heard In twenty years. 'The pines!' MRS. ORR. 'The pines!' Of course. MRS. EGERTON. Feeling---- MRS. ORR. Yes, yes! MRS. EGERTON. He had caught the very soul Of the forest. MRS. ORR. And the triumph of it all! MRS. EGERTON. Ah, no one knows how many, many years Donald has dreamed of this, how all his thought And all his---- (_Stands regarding the young people dancing_) MRS. ORR. One has but to look at it. MRS. EGERTON. Yet not for it as his, not that at all, But for the building of it. MRS. ORR. Of course. MRS. EGERTON. And now That it has taken form you cannot think How like a boy he is, how eagerly He flees here from the business of the day And how he walks about enjoying it. 'Tis like the sea. When he is here alone The burden of his great business falls away And he is young again. I sometimes feel, Lying in bed at night and knowing he Is walking here alone, the lights turned low, And listening for the sighing of the pines, That somehow 'tis a woman he has made And that she whispers to him in these hours, Comes to him beautiful from out the pines After his long, long wooing of her---- MRS. ORR. I see! Beautiful, beautiful! I see! I see! It needed that one breath to make it live. MRS. EGERTON. To Donald, yes. MRS. ORR. Before it was a house, And now a living thing. I see! I see! (_Kisses the little pines_) MRS. EGERTON. If one could only know it is not God Whispering through the walls of our new home Some dreadful word, and yet with voice so low. MRS. ORR. My dear, your words are perfect Greek to me. MRS. EGERTON. You know they say the men are suffering so. And Donald does not seem to see. MRS. ORR. (_Vaguely_) The men? MRS. EGERTON. Yes; Harry says that some are without bread. And we here--and the music and the lights. MRS. ORR. (_In utter astonishment_) Why, Mary Egerton! You do not mean-- You cannot mean that that suggested this, That vulgar thing, this beautiful idea! MRS. EGERTON. If one could only help them, only help them! MRS. ORR. The hunger of a lot of stupid men Who wish to tell your husband what to do, And he with a brain like this, and they with claws! MRS. EGERTON. It all depends upon such little things, Things that we've never earned---- MRS. ORR. (_Mysteriously_) Harry, you say? MRS. EGERTON. That fall right at our feet we don't know how. The chance of birth! What right have I to this Who've never done one thing to help the world, While they who work their lives out---- MRS. ORR. 'Help the world!' MRS. EGERTON. Can't even have the food and clothes they need. People have asked me why--that's why it is I've done my shopping in the city lately. You meet them in the stores and on the streets. And they're so thin, so worn with the long strike. Just think of children crying for mere bread! It's horrible. I thought this afternoon As I stood at the window looking out-- Through the first snow the motor cars came up. I don't believe they even noticed it. It means so little to them. It's just snow. But in the workers' homes--I just can't think Of God as looking down with unconcern. I couldn't love Him if I thought He could. MRS. ORR. I don't know what we're ever going to do. MRS. EGERTON. If only some strong, gifted man would come And show us how, show us all how to live. We'd all be so much happier than we are. MRS. ORR. I wish to goodness I could shut my ears And never hear that 'Help the world' again. You can't pick up a book or magazine, Even a fashion journal, or go out To see your friends, it seems---- (_The men are seen coming down the stairs, the Governor and the Bishop on either side of Egerton. They are all laughing and having a good time_) MRS. EGERTON. I'm very sorry. It isn't the place. But I've been so distraught. Let us go in and put it all away. And you must never mention it. I can't bear To think of people talking. MRS. ORR. Hear them laugh! I wouldn't live with such a wicked man. MRS. EGERTON. That isn't kind in you. MRS. ORR. In twenty years We'll all be wearing grave-clothes. MRS. EGERTON. Sylvia! MRS. ORR. There'll not be one retreat where we can go, We ladies of the _ancien régime_; We'll all be out, with not a single place Where we can make the tables ring with cards And laugh and just be gay. Even the pines, The beautiful pines, are tainted, and the snow. The winter long I'll never dare go out. I'll be afraid I'll catch this 'Help the world' And come home hearing things. You precious goose! You just shan't give way to this silly mood. And at the moment when you have about you The money and the best names in the State; Just everything that mortal heart can wish. (_They watch the men coming down the steps_) You ought to be so proud. MRS. EGERTON. I am. (_The piano stops_) A GIRL. (_Who has been waltzing_) O pshaw! MRS. ORR. Even the Governor--don't you see, when he's with Donald And when his wife's with you, how they both show How all they are and all they hope to be They owe to Donald? MRS. EGERTON. I know, I know. A YOUNG MAN. Come on! MRS. EGERTON. And he's so good, so good in many ways. (_The young people make for the conservatory_) MRS. ORR. And yet so gay, so sensible with it all. MRS. EGERTON. It isn't that I'm ungrateful, Sylvia. I'm never done with thanking God for all The blessings that I have. MRS. ORR. Children and wealth. MRS. EGERTON. And Donald, too. MRS. ORR. O really! A YOUNG MAN. Bring the score! MRS. EGERTON. I can't help wishing, though, that he would see And do for others as he does for us. (_They stand listening_) EGERTON. Just let your minds go out about the mountains. (_A pause_) Have you had too much punch, or what's the trouble? (_Laughter_) MRS. ORR. Just hear how joyous hearted! Promise me---- MRS. EGERTON. (_In alarm_) He's telling them of the pines! MRS. ORR. What would you do? MRS. EGERTON. (_Beckons to the Butler, who is passing_) Tell Donald that I wish to speak with---- MRS. ORR. Stop! EGERTON. It's something, gentlemen, that we all have need of. MRS. ORR. Dear, if you ever dare tell Donald this And pass this ghastly whisper to his heart, I'll be the Secret Lady of the Pines; I'll whisper something. What if Donald knew Who's kept the strike afoot? The great unknown Contributor to the Citizens' Relief? Who had twelve hundred dollars in the bank, A present from a Christmas long ago? Twelve hundred and twelve hundred----! MRS. EGERTON. It can't be! MRS. ORR. We bankers' wives---- MRS. EGERTON. A mere coincidence. MRS. ORR. It's not; he's checked it out. So! If you care Nothing for Donald's happiness, I do. (_She leaves Mrs. Egerton standing near the pines. Other ladies have begun to come in_) RALPH ARDSLEY. What's underneath the forest? MRS. ORR. (_With a strange smile, calling back_) I really will. EGERTON. You give it up? MRS. EGERTON. My noble, noble son! GENERAL CHADBOURNE. He's waiting, gentlemen, till he finds the mine. EGERTON. The man of parts! SEVERAL. Of course. EGERTON. That's why I can't Take you down now. But when I find the mine And get the gold to puddling in the pots, If I can find me plastic metal workers That I can mould and hammer while they mould And hammer out my vision on the walls, I'll show you through some subterranean chambers Will set your eyes a-dazzle. In the dark, Lit by the torches in the miners' caps, You'll see the world of metals moving up Through human hands as here you see the tree. That's why my basement isn't finished yet. CRIES. Good luck! Good luck! EGERTON. I hope you'll be alive. (_He leaves the group and comes forward_) GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Magnificent conception. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. A great man. EGERTON. (_To the Butler_) Call them in, Charles. Have all of them come in. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. Metals, then trees, then mills, then books and pictures. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Raw matter on its spiral up to spirit. EGERTON. While we're at riddles, gentlemen---- (_Ladies come in, centre and forward right_) EGERTON. Come right in. If you'll allow me, friends, suppose you stand Where you can have my forest in your eye. (_He arranges them to face right_) I don't see, ladies, how you ever endure The dulness of these males. We've been at riddles. Come in. I've kept my best wine for the last. (_He steps back near the door, centre right_) Suppose you'd made an Adam out of clay, Worked years to get it to your satisfaction, And now you're looking at it, hands all washed And mind confronting, weighing what's been done. Suddenly you're aware of something standing by you That whispers in your left ear: 'Make a wish Within the power of God.' What would it be? BISHOP HARDBROOKE. To see it walk about the garden, brother. EGERTON. Suppose your Adam was a pine-wood, Bishop, That couldn't walk. MRS. ORR. (_Ardently_) Then just to hear it breathe. EGERTON. A woman's intuition! (_Looks to see who it is_) Sylvia Orr! BISHOP HARDBROOKE. _Sylva_ a forest. EGERTON. An old friend of mine. (_He gives a signal to some one_) A clear day in the pine-wood. (_Suddenly the hall is beautifully illuminated_) GUESTS. Ah! EGERTON. With clouds, The dawn just breaking. (_The hall becomes gray and shadowy_) Ancient silence. MRS. EGERTON. (_Half in terror_) Donald! EGERTON. Let us be quiet now. (_The silence is broken by the ringing of a telephone bell in the room forward left_) GENERAL CHADBOURNE. Ah! MRS. ORR. (_Across to Mrs. Egerton_) Don't you dare! (_The Butler goes out to answer the telephone_) GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. This age of bells and whistles. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. (_Comes forward and takes his stand near the door forward left_) Just in time! EGERTON. They don't concern me. We are far away With quiet all about us and the woods. (_The silence is intense_) GENERAL CHADBOURNE. (_Rehearsing his speech_) ... And it gives me pleasure to announce to you Upon the occasion of the opening Of your new mansion, Colonel Egerton, This bit of news, sir, from the military; And I offer it with our congratulations: The strike is over; The men have yielded and have gone to work. And all's been done without one---- (_Enter the Butler hurriedly_) GENERAL CHADBOURNE. Here I am. BUTLER. (_Passing him_) For Mr. Egerton. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. No! BUTLER. (_In a low voice over the crowd_) Mr. Egerton! GENERAL CHADBOURNE. Isn't that Captain Haskell? BUTLER. Mr. Jergens. (_Egerton comes forward, making his way through the crowd_) GENERAL CHADBOURNE. Butler! (_The Butler goes to him and they talk_) RALPH ARDSLEY. (_Calls after Egerton as he goes out left_) Good luck! (_Calls to Chadbourne_) This probably ends it. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. What's your opinion of these mysteries, Bishop? BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I'm one of those that simply stand and wait. GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. You don't believe in modern miracles. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. There are miracles and miracles, Governor Braddock. I try to keep elastic in these things, Steering a middle course with open mind. RALPH ARDSLEY. (_Calls to Chadbourne_) Needed just this to crown the time we're having. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. We are living in an age in many ways Without a parallel. I sometimes think-- If I may say it not too seriously-- Of those last days we read of when the world Goes on its way unconscious of the end. We give and take in marriage, eat and drink, And meet our friends in social intercourse, And all the while a Spirit walks beside us, Enters our homes and writes upon our walls. There are whispers everywhere if we could hear them; And some of them grow louder with the days; And pools of quiet ruffle and show storms. You, Governor, feel the popular unrest As it manifests itself in politics, The shift of parties and of principles, Rocks that we used to think would never change. And brother Egerton in industry; He feels it. EGERTON. (_Appearing at the door, excited, and keeping back so as not to be seen by the people_) Chadbourne! (_The General joins him and they disappear_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I sincerely hope We're on the eve, however, of a day When trouble-makers in the ranks of Labor, Not only here in Foreston but elsewhere, May find it to their interest to respect, Nay, reverence as a thing ordained by God, The right of men to earn their daily bread, As well as profitable to obey the laws Without the unseemly presence of armed men. (_There is a clapping of hands. General Chadbourne appears just inside the door and beckons to Ardsley, who goes in to him_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. And I will take occasion here and now To say what you've been thinking all this while, And in the presence of the man himself: We are fortunate, my friends---- RALPH ARDSLEY. (_Appears and calls to one of the guests farther back_) The Governor. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. In having at the helm of our great State One who loves order more than he loves votes. (_General clapping of hands_) SEVERAL. Good! GUEST. (_In a low voice over the crowd_) Governor! SEVERAL. That's good! (_The Governor bows_) CRIES. Speech! Speech! GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. My friends, I quite agree with the Bishop. SEVERAL. Ha, ha, ha! GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. I don't mean in his estimate of me. (_More laughter. The Governor catches sight of the guest beckoning to him_) GOVERNOR BRADDOCK. But here's my better half. You might ask her. Pardon me till I see---- RALPH ARDSLEY. (_Calls urgently to the Bishop in a voice that is barely heard_) Go on! Go on! BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Society, my friends, is like this house, This mansion that we all so much admire. (_Ardsley stands impassive till the Governor has gone out and the Bishop has again got the attention of the people, then goes quickly into the side room_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Imagine what a state of things we'd have If every wooden fellow in these walls, Not only here but in the mill upstairs, Should lend his heart to tongues of discontent Until his very tools became a burden. A VOICE. Anarchy. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Very true. Where would this be, This beautiful thing that Colonel Egerton Has built with so much labor and so much taste? And out there in the world where we all dwell, Where all of us have places in the walls, Some working with their hands on farms, in mines; Some building; some at forges; at machines Weaving our garments; others more endowed Loaned to us from the higher planes of being, Men of the Over-Soul, inventors, dreamers, Planners of longer railroads, bigger mills, The great preparers for the finer souls That build the dome, the finishers of things, Prophets of God, musicians, artists, poets, As we've all seen how Colonel Egerton In his third story has his books and pictures-- Suppose a bitter wind of discontent Should shake the great walls of this social order, Set the first story men against the second, The second against the third, until the mass, Throwing their tools down on the world's great floor, Should clamor up the dome for pens and brushes, Shutting their eyes to the cold facts of life That we climb up Life's ladder by degrees-- (_His attention is attracted for a moment to a group of men that has been collecting forward centre, evidently concerned with whatever it is that is going on in the side room_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. (_Recovering himself quickly_) But I'm afraid, my friends---- SEVERAL. Go on! Go on! BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I'm wasting good material for a sermon. A MAN'S VOICE. Pearls before swine. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I started to say brethren. (_Laughter_) A LADY. (_In the foreground_) Isn't he just too bright for anything! BISHOP HARDBROOKE. But now---- A MAN. (_Joining the group_) What's up? BISHOP HARDBROOKE. To come home to the task That brother Egerton lays upon our ears. We have all of us read stories and seen things. (_Laughter_) A VOICE. But ghosts of trees? (_General laughter_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. That, I admit, is rare. (_Mrs. Egerton, who, since the ringing of the telephone bell, has shown an increasing anxiety as to the message that has come, unable longer to contain herself, comes hurriedly forward through the people_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Don't let us scare you, sister Egerton. (_Laughter. The people turn just in time to see Governor Braddock, General Chadbourne, and Ralph Ardsley with overcoats on and hats in their hands, stealing across to get out forward right. Mrs. Egerton hurries into the room from which they came_) RALPH ARDSLEY. It's nothing. (_The three go out_) VOICES. What's the matter? What's the matter? PALE LADY. It's something terrible, I know it is. LADY IN BLACK. We always have to pay for our good times. (_George Egerton and Gladys Egerton come quickly from the conservatory and enter the side room_) ELDERLY LADY. I shouldn't wonder if those horrid strikers Were burning the mill. LADY IN BLACK. Or may be some one's hurt. LADY WITH THE CONSPICUOUS COIFFURE. Provoking, isn't it? FAT LADY. What would we better do? YOUNG MATRON. (_Calling out_) Please tell us what's the trouble. (_A silence_) PALE LADY. I shall faint. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. (_Coming forward_) It has been suggested, friends, in view of this Personal something that has happened here-- I don't know what it is, but we all know In trouble how we like to be alone. Later I'll call them up and for us all Extend our sympathy when we know the cause. (_There is a movement of people departing_) PINK LADY. I wonder who it is? FAT LADY. They've shut the door. LADY WITH THE CONSPICUOUS COIFFURE. 'Twas more like anger; didn't you see his face? LADY IN BLACK. When everything was so, so beautiful! (_They vanish with the other guests. A minute or so later the Butler enters, right rear, and walks as though dazed through the empty hall_) A MAID. (_Appearing right rear_) Charlie! SECOND MAID. (_Appears beside her_) What is it? BUTLER. (_Without turning_) Trouble at the mill. FIRST MAID. Charlie! BUTLER. That's all I know. SECOND MAID. A riot? GLADYS EGERTON. (_Appearing forward left_) Gone! Father, they've gone! GEORGE EGERTON. (_Comes in quickly_) Look in the rooms. (_Goes rear_) GLADYS EGERTON. (_Looks in the room forward right_) They've gone! GEORGE EGERTON. (_Calls into the conservatory_) Chester! Marjorie! Well, I'll be damned! GLADYS EGERTON. I hate him, O I hate him! GEORGE EGERTON. That's what comes! GLADYS EGERTON. What will we ever do! Just think of it! GEORGE EGERTON. (_To the Butler_) Why do you stand that way? (_Comes to the door forward left_) O do shut up, Mother. (_Donald Egerton comes in, putting on his overcoat_) MRS. EGERTON. (_Following him_) Remember, Donald, he's our son. GEORGE EGERTON. Always defending him! You make me sick. MRS. EGERTON. You've always said you never in your life Lost hold upon yourself. GLADYS EGERTON. No dance to-night. EGERTON. (_To the Butler_) Tell Jack to bring the car to the front door. (_The Butler goes out centre right_) GEORGE EGERTON. Wait, father, till I get my---- (_Starts for the room forward left_) MRS. EGERTON. If he's done it-- He has some reason, Donald. And you know Jergens has never liked him. (_Harry Egerton comes in right rear, his hat and shoulders covered with snow_) MRS. EGERTON. Harry! Harry! (_She hurries to him and embraces him_) HARRY EGERTON. Mother! MRS. EGERTON. My son! HARRY EGERTON. I'm sorry. (_George Egerton reappears_) GLADYS EGERTON. I just hate you! You selfish thing! See what you've done! HARRY EGERTON. I'm sorry. GEORGE EGERTON. (_With a sneer_) He's very sorry, sister. EGERTON. A pretty son! HARRY EGERTON. I hadn't the least intention, father---- GEORGE EGERTON. Damn you! HARRY EGERTON. Who 'phoned it in? MRS. EGERTON. What is it you've done, Harry? GEORGE EGERTON. (_To the Butler and the Maids who have appeared at the doors_) Get away from there! HARRY EGERTON. Father---- (_Egerton Tosses His Overcoat Into the Side Room_) MRS. EGERTON. Harry, is it true You kept the men from going back to work? HARRY EGERTON. I wanted to have a talk with father first. EGERTON. Um! GEORGE EGERTON. (_To his mother_) There! MRS. EGERTON. But hear him, Donald. HARRY EGERTON. All my life I've wanted to say something to you, father; Especially since I went to work. You once, When I came home from college, you remember, And hadn't made my mind up what to do, What my life work should be---- EGERTON. A pretty son! HARRY EGERTON. We talked together and you said that now Three things lay open to me, that I could choose And that you'd back me up. First, there was Art. And though you didn't say so, I could see You'd have been glad if I had chosen that. I had a talent for it, so you said, And I could study with the best of them. You'd set aside a hundred thousand dollars; And I could finish up by travelling, Seeing the beautiful buildings of the world; That I could take my time, then settle down And glorify my land: that's what you said. Then there was Public Life. You'd start me in By giving me the Courier. That, you said, Would give me at once a standing among men And training in political affairs. And that if I made good you'd see to it I had a seat in Congress, and in the end That probably I'd be Governor of the State. And then you paused. You didn't like the third. Business, you said, was an unpleasant life. 'Twas all right as you'd used it, as a means, But as an end--And then you used words, father, That changed my life although you didn't know it-- 'Business, my son, is war; needful at times, But as a life,--you shook your head and sighed. With that we ended it, for some one came And I went out. Six years ago last June, The seventh of June; I can't forget the day. The sun was shining but a strange new light Lay over everything. All of a sudden It dawned upon my mind that I'd been reared Inside a garden full of flowers and trees, And only now had chanced upon the gate And stepped out. There was smoke upon the skies And a rumbling of strange wagons in the street. I was afraid. For every man I met Seemed just about to ask, 'What side are you on?' And I was twenty-one and didn't know. EGERTON. You seem to have found out since you've been away. HARRY EGERTON. I'd always thought 'twas garden everywhere. I walked on up the river and sat down Upon the logs up there, and night came on. And in the waters flowing at my feet The lighted land went by, cities and towns And the vast murmur and the daily life Of those that toil, the hunger and the care. And in my heart I knew that it was true, That what you said was true. And I came back Filled with such peace as I had never known. 'I'll enter business, father.' And I did. I started at the bottom in the mill Helping the engineer, and from the saws Carried the lumber with the other men. Then in the yard. You always praised my work. I'm in the office now at twenty-seven, And Secretary of the Company. I think I know the business pretty well. You've said so. But somehow---- (_He pauses_) MRS. EGERTON. What is it, Harry? HARRY EGERTON. In Public Life, if I had chosen that, And after six years' work that you approved, If one day I had come---- EGERTON. You want the mill. HARRY EGERTON. 'Father, I can't go on; my way is blocked And all my hopes are falling to the ground.' There's nothing, not one thing you wouldn't have done. Or if I had a building half way up, My masterpiece, a mighty capitol That finished would be known throughout the land, And I had met with interference, men Who had no vision--you know what I mean-- And I had come to you, 'Father, I'm thwarted,' O I can see with one sweep of your hand How you would clear the skies. EGERTON. You want the mill. HARRY EGERTON. Yes, father. EGERTON. I thought so. HARRY EGERTON. I want the mill. GEORGE EGERTON. And thought you'd blackmail father. HARRY EGERTON. Listen to me! For probably in all my life I'll never Speak to you as I'm speaking now, my father. MRS. EGERTON. Donald, I beg of you---- GEORGE EGERTON. Well, I'll be---- MRS. EGERTON. George! HARRY EGERTON. In these six years for one cause or another There've been three strikes that have cost the Company thousands In money, to say nothing of those things That all the money in the world can't buy. Now let me ask, my father, if this loss, Instead of springing from these strikes, had come Through breakdowns of the machinery, or in the camps Through failure to get the timber out in time, Wouldn't you have dismissed the man in charge? Then why do you let Jergens run the mill? Hasn't he failed, and miserably, with the men? GEORGE EGERTON. What have you to do with it? EGERTON. I'll attend to this. (_George Egerton walks away and stands by the pine trees, picking off and biting the needles_) HARRY EGERTON. Is it because the earnings have increased? Think what it's cost you, father. In every mill Jergens has touched he's left a cursing there That's all come back on us. Why, my father, Our name's become a by-word through the State, 'As hard as Egerton.' And when I think Of what might be, the good-will and the peace, The happiness! There's not the least excuse For this cut in wages, father, and you know it. EGERTON. Um! HARRY EGERTON. You can't help but know it. You've the books; You know what you've been making. But that aside: To come to what I would say: You've won this strike. You have the men in your power and you can say, 'Go back,' and they'll go back. But you won't do it. EGERTON. Won't I? HARRY EGERTON. Will you, when you know you're wrong? When you know you're losing friends who love what's right? Think of the sentiment against you, father. No, father, you don't know what's going on. EGERTON. It seems I don't. HARRY EGERTON. If you knew how they live And the hard time they have to get along. It isn't fair, my father, it isn't fair. GLADYS EGERTON. (_In tears, to her mother_) Yes, you don't care. HARRY EGERTON. Father, you love this land. There's never been a day in all your life, If there'd been war, you wouldn't have closed the mill And gone and died upon the field of battle If the country had called to you in her need. And I can see you how you'd scorn the man, If he were serving as a General, Who'd keep his rank and file as poorly fed And ragged as he could. (_The telephone bell rings_) GLADYS EGERTON. They're calling up To know about it! GEORGE EGERTON. (_Starts for the room, then stops_) What shall I tell them, father? GLADYS EGERTON. O have them come back, papa, have them come back! EGERTON. (_Keeping his eye on Harry_) Tell them what you please. (_George goes out_) HARRY EGERTON. Father, buy Jergens out. GLADYS EGERTON. (_Calling into the room_) Tell them it's all right, brother, that it's nothing. HARRY EGERTON. Give him his price and let him go his way---- EGERTON. (_Calling toward the room_) A misunderstanding. HARRY EGERTON. And let me run the mill. And let us see, my father, you and I, If we can't make that place of work down there As famous for its harmony as this house. A land is not its timber but its people, And not its Art, my father, but its men. Let's try to make this town a place of peace And helpfulness. What do you say, my father? EGERTON. And that's your life work! (_Gladys goes into the room_) MRS. EGERTON. (_Approaching him_) Donald---- EGERTON. Go away. MRS. EGERTON. You've asked me why it is I cannot sleep. It's that, Donald, it's that! Give him the mill. They're human beings, Donald, like ourselves. EGERTON. And you've been planning this! HARRY EGERTON. I had hoped, my father, That things would so arrange themselves that I-- That you would make me manager of the mill. MRS. EGERTON. Donald, it's your nobler self you hear. EGERTON. (_Looks at him a long time_) What a fool---- (_Turns away_) what a fool I've been! (_Walks about_) VOICES OF GEORGE AND GLADYS. The mine! Father! (_They come running in_) The mine! A rumor that the mine's been found! EGERTON. Who is it? GEORGE EGERTON. I don't know. They're on the wire. (_Egerton goes out_) GEORGE EGERTON. All over town, they say. (_Brother and sister wait near the door, tense, listening_) MRS. EGERTON. (_With a sigh_) Everything! GLADYS EGERTON. (_Under her breath_) George, Think of the things we'll have! GEORGE EGERTON. Be still! MRS. EGERTON. (_Turns and looks at Harry, whose face shows the sadness he feels at his father's refusal_) Harry. Harry, are you well? HARRY EGERTON. Yes, mother. (_A pause_) Mother---- (_Distant cannon are heard_) GEORGE EGERTON. Hark! GLADYS EGERTON. (_Starting back through the house_) The mine! the mine! (_The servants appear_) Father has found the mine! (_Further booming is heard_) GEORGE EGERTON. There go the guns! They're celebrating, father! (_He starts for the stairs and goes bounding up three steps at a time_) GLADYS EGERTON. (_Calling after him_) We'll have them back and announce it! We'll have them back! HARRY EGERTON. Mother, I've found the mine. GLADYS EGERTON. (_Whirling round on her toe_) Now, now you see! HARRY EGERTON. This morning on the mountains. MRS. EGERTON. Can it be! GLADYS EGERTON. (_Comes running forward_) I'll have my car now, won't I, daddy, daddy? (_She disappears into the room, forward left_) MRS. EGERTON. (_Strangely_) I knew it! O I knew that He would come! (_Turns upon her son a look of awe_) Harry! Harry! HARRY EGERTON. Father must do what's right. MRS. EGERTON. You'll build a mill. HARRY EGERTON. The ground is white with snow. (_Egerton appears in the doorway and stands looking at his son_) GLADYS EGERTON. (_Clinging to his hand_) What is it, papa? What's the matter, daddy? GEORGE EGERTON. (_Appearing upon the stairs_) They've run the flag up on the Court House, father! EGERTON. That's what it means! HARRY EGERTON. Father, I'll buy the mill. EGERTON. That's what it means! GLADYS EGERTON. What, daddy? EGERTON. You'll hold my men! HARRY EGERTON. I'll mortgage the mine and pay you, father. GLADYS EGERTON. Oh! EGERTON. And if I don't you'll back the men, eh? GLADYS EGERTON. Oh! (_She backs toward George, who has come down the stairs_) HARRY EGERTON. I'll pay you twice its value, father. GEORGE EGERTON. (_At a word from Gladys_) What! (_Egerton drops his eyes for a moment and stands as though in deep thought_) MRS. EGERTON. Be careful, Donald! GLADYS EGERTON. (_To Harry_) I hate you! GEORGE EGERTON. (_With a sneer_) Big man! EGERTON. George, Get Jergens. GEORGE EGERTON. (_To Harry_) Mill-hand! (_Goes out left_) EGERTON. Tell him to lock the mill And have this notice tacked up on the gate, 'Closed for a year.' VOICE OF GEORGE. Good! GLADYS EGERTON. Good! EGERTON. I'll let her rot. HARRY EGERTON. And winter coming on! GLADYS EGERTON. I'm glad! I'm glad! EGERTON. War or submission, eh? HARRY EGERTON. (_Goes to his mother_) Mother. (_Kisses her_) EGERTON. I'll show you---- HARRY EGERTON. (_Starting for the door_) Father, you'll remember in the years to be How I came to you one November day And asked your help to give this country peace. EGERTON. Go to your rabble! GLADYS EGERTON. (_Breaks out crying_) Think of it! EGERTON. I'll show you How you can buy me and my property! HARRY EGERTON. (_From back in the hall_) Property was made for men. EGERTON. And don't you ever Darken that door! HARRY EGERTON. And you can't keep it idle While men depend upon it for their bread. (_He goes out_) EGERTON. (_Roaring after him_) You dare to lay your hands upon that mill! (_He stands staring at the door_) MRS. EGERTON. (_Wonderingly_) It wasn't our son! It wasn't our son! (_The cannon are heard in volley upon volley as of a town giving itself up to celebration_) EGERTON. (_Calls into the room, left_) Tell him to go right down, that probably There'll be an attack upon it. GLADYS EGERTON. (_Shaken with sobs_) Think of it! MRS. EGERTON. (_As before_) That gleam about his brow! And now he's gone! (_She wanders back in the hall as in a dream_) EGERTON. And to see Chadbourne----Are you listening? VOICE OF GEORGE. Yes. EGERTON. To Chadbourne that he has authority from me-- From Egerton, to treat them all alike. MRS. EGERTON. (_Vacantly, to her husband_) What have you done, Donald! EGERTON. That I expect The mill defended, let it cost what may. GLADYS EGERTON. I hate him, O I hate him! MRS. EGERTON. (_Who has come forward and stands facing him_) What have you done! ACT IV THE LIVING MILL _Scene: Inside the mill, showing in front a sort of half storeroom, half office shut in from the main body of the mill by a railing in the centre of which is a gate that swings in and out. Far back in this main body of the mill one sees a number of great gang saws from which off-carriers, with freshly sawed slabs and lumber upon their rollers, branch right from the main line that runs the full length of the mill. Through an opening in the far end, whence the logs are drawn up an incline to the saws, one sees as through a telescope a portion of the river and of the mountains on the opposite bank. Up toward the front, left, in this main body of the mill is a wide door that opens outside. In the foreground, within the space partitioned off by the railing, a pair of stairs, evidently connecting with the outdoors on the ground floor, comes up rear left. Centre, against this left wall, a pole six or eight inches in diameter, and to all appearances only recently set, goes up through a hole in the roof. Upon the floor at the foot of the pole, from which two long ropes hang down, lies a large American flag partially strung upon the rope. Forward from the pole is a door which apparently is no longer in use, a strip being nailed across it. About this end of the enclosure are piles of window sash and kegs of nails. Centre rear, at right angles to the side walls, so that one sitting upon a stool may look back into the mill, is a long checkers' desk with two or three stools before it and with the usual litter of papers, books, and a telephone upon it. In the right wall, rear, where one coming up the stairs may walk straight on and enter, is a door connecting with the main office._ _As the Scene opens, something very important seems to be going on in this main office. A crowd of men, workmen and militiamen together, are packed about the door, intent upon whatever it is that is transpiring inside. Forward, away from the crowd, a small group, mostly of militiamen, is gathered about two guards with rifles in their hands, who have evidently just come in. Back, beyond the railing and close to the crowd, a group of workmen about Wes Dicey is engaged in a heated argument. And farther back in the mill, especially about the large door, left, are bodies of men talking together. As the Scene opens, and for a few minutes afterwards, some one up the pole is heard singing._ _Time: Saturday afternoon the week following the preceding Act._ A WORKMAN. (_Comes from the crowd to the militiamen_) Servin' the papers on the mine, you think? MILITIAMAN. He's too damn proud to play the constable. SECOND MILITIAMAN. Maybe it's terms from Egerton. THIRD MILITIAMAN. (_To Fourth Militiaman, who has just come up the stairs with his shoulders hung with knapsacks_) Chadbourne's here. SECOND WORKMAN. Egerton makes no terms till he's on top. FIFTH MILITIAMAN. He'll have his hands full. Seen the evening papers? (_He unfolds a paper and a group gathers about him_) CRIES. (_Near the door_) That's right! that's right! THIRD WORKMAN. (_From the edge of the crowd_) What are they sayin', Mike? FOURTH WORKMAN. (_On the edge of the crowd, looking toward the group about Dicey_) We can't hear nothin' with that racket there. FIRST MILITIAMAN. It's his lost sheep he's after. SECOND MILITIAMAN. Let him bark. FOURTH WORKMAN. You've stood by us, boys, and we'll stand by you. VOICE. (_From back in the mill_) Tell him we won't, no matter what he says! (_The Sixth Militiaman comes up the stairs, with four or five bugles, and shows surprise to see the crowd gathered_) THIRD MILITIAMAN. (_In the group about the paper_) And Smith and Balding Brothers! FOURTH WORKMAN. Lemme see it. FIFTH MILITIAMAN. Give him a rouse. What say you. One, two, three. SEVERAL. Hurrah for Harry Egerton! Hurrah! VOICE. (_Rear_) Hurrah for the Living Mill! A GENERAL SHOUT. (_Back in the mill_) The Living Mill! FIFTH MILITIAMAN. I guess, by God, he knows where we stand now. (_They join the crowd about the door. Jim King comes through the gate in the railing, followed by Rome Masters, who is considerably intoxicated_) JIM KING. And hug 'em round the neck, if I was you. That's what I'd do. ROME MASTERS. Now you just stop that, Jim. JIM KING. Why did you tell Aug. Jergens that you would? ROME MASTERS. I ain't said nothin' about backin' down. But I ain't nothin' agin him. JIM KING. There you go! It does beat hell. You just keep saying that, That you ain't nothin' agin him, and you'll see. VOICE. (_Near the door_) Who's to be judge what's for the Public Good? ROME MASTERS. I ain't said that I wouldn't do the job. JIM KING. (_Stands on tip-toe and looks over the crowd, then turns back to Masters_) Didn't you think and didn't I think and Wes That when they cut the pie we'd get our share, One big long table with no head and tail But all the boys the same, and everything Piled on it and divided? (_The group about Dicey become more noisy_) VOICE. (_From the crowd_) Put him out! (_Dicey comes from the centre of the group and catches sight of King, who beckons to him_) FIRST WORKMAN. (_From the group_) If you don't like it, Wes, why don't you leave? SECOND WORKMAN. (_Following Dicey_) Why in the hell don't you leave? We're free men. (_Dicey, King and Masters walk over to the pile of sash, left_) THIRD WORKMAN. (_Of the Dicey faction_) Offer 'em coppers for their Union cards. FOURTH WORKMAN. And where's the mine that you was goin' to share? FIFTH WORKMAN. You want old Egerton to have it, eh? VOICE. (_Back in the mill_) Bring on the Constitution and let's vote! CHRIS KNUDSON. (_Comes out of the crowd_) Don't use that name. (_To the Dicey faction_) Let's have no trouble, men. This ain't no time to quarrel among ourselves. (_To the other party_) Try to remember, boys, it's his name, too. (_Suddenly there is a tremendous cheering by those about the door. A militiaman hurries from the crowd, grabs a bugle from the Sixth Militiaman and, darting out centre, starts to blow it_) SIXTH MILITIAMAN. (_Excitedly_) Don't do that! Here! MILITIAMAN. (_With the knapsacks_) Don't do that! (_The crowd begins to break up, many of the men climbing back over the railing into the mill proper_) MILITIAMAN. (_Comes sliding down the pole_) What's the trouble? JIM KING. (_Returning with Dicey and Masters_) They're out for their selves, damn 'em; we'll be too. SEVENTH MILITIAMAN. (_Coming away with two or three others_) Young Egerton's pure gold if ever was. WES DICEY. Don't make no move, though, Jim, till we see first. (_He separates himself from the other two, and they mingle with the men_) EIGHTH MILITIAMAN. That's just the way they did the old man's farm. We had a place and didn't want to sell. That made no difference. Eminent Domain. 'Out of the way there, home!' VOICE. (_From back in the mill_) What did he say? VOICE. (_Near the door_) Then if the Company can take men's lands To build their railroads through---- SECOND VOICE. That's a good point! FIRST VOICE. And if you say the Law's the same for all, Then why can't we take theirs when we need bread? FIFTH MILITIAMAN. (_Getting a group together_) Be smoking when he comes out. FIRST MILITIAMAN. Stamper! Kids! THIRD VOICE. (_Rear_) What Egerton wants, that's for the Public Good! CHRIS KNUDSON. There, there you're not remembering it again! (_General Chadbourne comes from the office, followed by Captain Haskell, and after these Harry Egerton, Sam Williams, Harvey Anderson, Buck Bentley, and others. The militiamen make a big smoke_) GENERAL CHADBOURNE. You'll not lay hands on property in this State. HARRY EGERTON. The right of men to work is just as sacred As is the right of property, General Chadbourne, And more important to the general welfare. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. These gates have stood wide open here for weeks. SAM WILLIAMS. And on whose terms? WORKMEN. That's the point; on whose terms? GENERAL CHADBOURNE. Of course you'd like to make the terms yourselves. HARVEY ANDERSON. Why shouldn't they? HARRY EGERTON. What would you have men do? HARVEY ANDERSON. You say the State's been fair with them. All right. But it ain't the State that feeds them, it's the Mill; And it ain't the State that clothes them, it's the Mill; And it ain't the State they think of when they think Of better homes hereafter, it's the Mill. And there ain't no fairness that ain't fair in here, And there ain't no freedom that ain't free in here, Though there ain't no use of saying that to you. SAM WILLIAMS. We have to live. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. (_Ignoring Anderson, as he does throughout_) Employers have the right To buy their labor in the open market, And if you fellows here can't meet the price---- VOICE. (_From the crowd_) You'd have us starve? GENERAL CHADBOURNE. You'll have to step aside And give way to some stronger men that can SAM WILLIAMS. And you expect men to obey a law That gives no hope of anything but this? GENERAL CHADBOURNE. You'd been to work and you'd been satisfied If some outsiders hadn't come along And fired your ignorant minds. (_Murmurs in the crowd_) CHRIS KNUDSON. Hold your tongues, men. HARRY EGERTON. Pardon me, General Chadbourne-- HARVEY ANDERSON. (_To Buck Bentley_) Land o' the free! HARRY EGERTON. We are all of us outsiders in a way, Yourself as well as Harvey here and I. But in a way there's no such thing. We're men, And that which injures one injures us all. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. I'm here on duty; quite a different thing. HARRY EGERTON. What I have done I have done not without cause Nor hastily. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. You know yourself these men Would have been to work. SAM WILLIAMS. We'd had to---- GENERAL CHADBOURNE. There you are! SAM WILLIAMS. If it hadn't been for Mr. Egerton. HARRY EGERTON. Yes, probably they would. HARVEY ANDERSON. That's just the point. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. Then who is responsible? HARVEY ANDERSON. They'd gone to work. HARRY EGERTON. For this, I am. But for conditions here---- GENERAL CHADBOURNE. (_To Captain Haskell_) Remember that. WORKMEN. No! We! We seized the mill! HARRY EGERTON. I led them. BUCK BENTLEY. It was we unlocked the gates. WORKMEN. But we marched in, so we're responsible. HARVEY ANDERSON. We won't dispute about who did it, partners. There's glory enough for all. (_Cheers_) I'm in it too. (_He laughs_) HARRY EGERTON. But for conditions that produced this strike God knows and I know it was not these men. I only wish that that was farther off. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. If wrong's been done there's legal remedies. HARRY EGERTON. Conditions, General, that outreach the law. SAM WILLIAMS. For it's that 'open market'---- VOICE. (_From the crowd_) Who makes the law? SAM WILLIAMS. Their legal right to buy the cheapest men And drive them just as hard and just as long As they can stand it. BUCK BENTLEY. And no troops are sent. CRIES. (_Some militiamen joining in_) That's right! WORKMEN. No troops for us! No troops for us! (_This cry is caught up by the crowd and is carried on back through the mill. Chadbourne looks at the militiamen and unbuttons his overcoat and feels about in his pockets_) HARRY EGERTON. Pardon me, General, if I speak right out, But I've seen wages lowered to buy lands, And I've seen bread taken from these men here To gamble with. There are some things, General Chadbourne, That can't go on. We've but one life to live And we just can't stand by and see some things And live. It's not worth while, it's not worth while. BUCK BENTLEY. And while you're here I want to say a word, For possibly we won't see you any more, And they'll be asking of us up the State. I never thought of it---- GENERAL CHADBOURNE. (_Handing Haskell a notebook_) Take down their names. BUCK BENTLEY. Till Mr. Egerton made his talk that day; But it's a fact and it stares you in the face: When Companies are wronged, or think they are, They touch the wires and the troops are sent, But when the men are wronged, or think they are, It's 'legal remedies.' SAM WILLIAMS. That's well put, Comrade. HARVEY ANDERSON. That don't mean anything. FIRST MILITIAMAN. (_To Haskell_) John Stamper. FIRST GUARD. I Guess you know me. SECOND MILITIAMAN. And you can take mine, too. HARVEY ANDERSON. Who ever saw the like of this before! THIRD MILITIAMAN. Kelley. SECOND GUARD. And mine. HARRY EGERTON. A hundred years from now They'll write them in the larger book of Fame. FOURTH MILITIAMAN. This is the third time we've been out this year. HARVEY ANDERSON. You look like Israel Putnam and Paul Jones. BUCK BENTLEY. We came down here to see the square thing done; But it's got to work both ways. SIXTH MILITIAMAN. And mine. SEVENTH MILITIAMAN. And mine. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_To Chadbourne_) You're all right, partner, only you don't see The inside of this thing that's happened here. The day's gone by when two or three big men Could ride her to and fro for their own gain And lay her up and starve the crew. That's past. We're going to take the flags down of the Kings, Kings of Lumber, Kings of Cotton, Kings of Coal, From one end to the other of this land, And we'll all be Americans, North and South And East and West until you touch the seas. And there's the thing that's going to fly the mast. (_Points to the flag on the floor_) And when she climbs you'll hear the guns go off Announcing a new Independence here. (_Tremendous cheering_) (_Two militiamen are seen coming up the stairs, the one loaded with blankets, the other with ten or twelve rifles_) GENERAL CHADBOURNE. (_To Harry Egerton_) And this is final, eh? VOICE. (_From the crowd_) We'll hold the mill! WORKMEN. (_Catching sight of the two militiamen_) And the mine too! That's right! And the mine too! (_Tremendous cheering_) HARRY EGERTON. If you have any way to guarantee That these men who have worked here many years And faithfully, as I know, will have their right To work respected and at an honest wage, And that while there are profits to be shared There'll be no starving time among these men---- GENERAL CHADBOURNE. Don't think because you're Mr. Egerton That you're immune. You'll find the laws the same Whether you're Mr. Egerton or not. (_Starts for the stairs_) If need be I'll call out ten thousand men. VOICE. (_Back in the mill_) Bring on the Constitution and let's vote! FIFTH MILITIAMAN. (_With the paper_) You'll have your hands full if reports are true. HARRY EGERTON. We none of us can tell what men will do. The times are changing and the days bring light. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. You mean you'll stir up mutiny again? HARRY EGERTON. I'll see they get the truth, then let them choose. That is a right we all have, General Chadbourne. GENERAL CHADBOURNE. You'll have no chance to see them. (_Goes down the stairs, the two guards leading the way_) HARRY EGERTON. Very well. Just say to Governor Braddock it's with him. We'll keep right on at work. The gates shall be Open and the men shall come and go. CAPTAIN HASKELL. (_To two militiamen who are busy stringing the flag on the rope_) Damn pretty men you are to raise a flag. You ought to have a red one. FIRST MILITIAMAN. Go on, Haskell. SECOND MILITIAMAN. We'll see what kind of men dare take it down. CAPTAIN HASKELL. Wait till Court Martial sits. (_Disappears down the stairs. There is a movement of the workmen back into the mill_) HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Shouting_) Now let's to work! (_The militiamen gather left, and to some of them the rifles, knapsacks, etc., are distributed. Buck Bentley, who has taken the bugles in his hands, walks to and fro_) HARVEY ANDERSON. You'd better be off, Bentley, don't you think? They'll turn Hell upside down to get that mine. BUCK BENTLEY. He wanted to say something to me. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Calls rear left to Harry Egerton, who is engaged with Dicey, a number of workmen being gathered about them_) Partner! (_They stand silent, watching the group_) BUCK BENTLEY. Harry's too easy with him. A WORKMAN. (_Leaving the group and passing rear, calls to Anderson_) The same old sore. HARVEY ANDERSON. You've noticed any change these past few days? BUCK BENTLEY. In Egerton, you mean? Ain't it the strain Of breaking with his family? (_Harry Egerton starts toward them, but Dicey keeps after him, the men following_) BUCK BENTLEY. (_To Anderson, who has turned aside and half pulled from his inside pocket a legal looking document_) What---- HARVEY ANDERSON. His will. HARRY EGERTON. (_To Dicey_) It's a new day, my friend, a glorious day. VOICE. (_Back in the mill_) 'Twill soon be night! HARRY EGERTON. Try to forget the past And everything except that we are men Working together for the good of all. WES DICEY. That ain't the point though, Mr. Egerton. SAM WILLIAMS. You've got your vote, Wes, same as we have ours, You and your friends have. Why ain't that enough? Or is it that you think the few should rule? WES DICEY. There's got to be good feelin' all around If it's to hold together as you say; It's got to be plumbed well. And I don't see, If it's to be a workers' commonwealth, How you can keep the mine out. Course it's yours And in a way you can do as you please, That is, if you was like most men you could; But bein' different, standin' for the right, We don't just see how you can say 'We'll keep The mine out and devote it to the Cause.' If the boys ain't the Cause, tell us what is. Maybe it's as we're ignorant and don't know. HARRY EGERTON. Please do not put things in this bitter way. The Cause is what you've fought for all these years, A chance to live a freer, larger life. But in this struggle are you men alone? And shall we as we climb to better things Reach down no help to others, but hold fast To all we get? SEVERAL. No! No! HARRY EGERTON. Would that be right? WES DICEY. Another point. For years and years we've had A Union here, and when the fight came on, 'Twas as a Union that we made the fight. And Sam knows this is true, 'twas not so much The cut in wages, though, that took our strength, As 'twas their breakin' of the Union up As made us say 'By God, we'll fight or die.' Ain't that true, boys? TWO OR THREE. That's true. WES DICEY. And then you come And took the stand you did as they'd no right To make slaves of us, closin' of the gates To make us knuckle down. And you said 'Come,' And the boys followed you, and here they are. And many of 'em, if I sound 'em right, Are wonderin' what we're here for. I'll ask Sam If he's in favor of the Open Shop. SAM WILLIAMS. We formed our Union, Wes, when we were slaves, Same as in war times armies are called out. But when the war is over they go back. WES DICEY. 'Go back.' SAM WILLIAMS. We're free men now. CHRIS KNUDSON. We've no foe now Except ourselves. WES DICEY. All of which means you'll vote In favor of admittin' every man To full rights here. HARVEY ANDERSON. Look here, pard---- WES DICEY. Are you Sam? HARVEY ANDERSON. If it's the soldier boys you're knocking at, They don't intend to stay, most of them don't. But as I think they'll be invited to. (_Cheers_) Didn't they leave _their_ Union? A MILITIAMAN. The damned dog. SAM WILLIAMS. I mean to vote, Wes, for that Living Mill That Mr. Egerton has told us of. For that's the thing, or something like that thing, We've worked for all these years. And now it's come, A place where we can work and be free men, Having a say in things, as Harvey says, God help us if we can't get on as friends. (_Jim King takes Dicey aside, where Masters joins them_) HARRY EGERTON. (_Coming to Bentley and the militiamen_) I want to thank you, Bentley, and you men, I want to thank you for the help you've been. You've played the noblest part I ever knew. BUCK BENTLEY. We followed you. HARRY EGERTON. No. We have interests here, The rest of us have interests here; we've homes And families, and the fight was ours. But you, You'd never seen a one of us before. And you came here honorable men, and now You're traitors through the State, and mutineers. BUCK BENTLEY. It's all right. HARRY EGERTON. Yes, indeed, it is all right. FIFTH MILITIAMAN. They'll be more, too. SIXTH MILITIAMAN. He'll never call them out. HARRY EGERTON. You've helped to make the history of this land, And there's not one of you will not be known And honored for it. A MILITIAMAN. Half as much as you. HARRY EGERTON. And now a little toast before you go. (_Shakes hands with them_) Bentley, Kelley, Stamper, and you all, Sam, and you, Harvey, Chris, and Mike, and Wes, You'll join us, you and Jim and Rome? (_The three remain aside talking together_) HARRY EGERTON. And you, And you back there, you of the Living Mill-- For all time, shall we say it? SUBDUED VOICES. For all time. HARRY EGERTON. (_With a swift glance toward Dicey, King and Masters_) And give our lives, if need be, for this thing? SUBDUED VOICES. And give our lives, if need be, for this thing. HARRY EGERTON. This is a glorious day. MILITIAMEN. (_Leaving_) So long! So long! HARRY EGERTON. Wherever men get free they'll think of us. WORKMEN. So long! So long! BUCK BENTLEY. And there was something else. The General came while you were speaking. HARRY EGERTON. Ah! BUCK BENTLEY. Something about some bugles you said get. HARRY EGERTON. Yes, I forgot. I meant to show you these That a Committee brought this afternoon. (_Takes a paper from his pocket_) Read them in the meeting, Harvey. CRIES. Read them now! HARRY EGERTON. Some resolutions of the citizens, Who are glad we've gone on peaceably to work. And if at any time we need their help---- SAM WILLIAMS. (_Taking a bugle and holding it up to the crowd_) The citizens say blow these if we need help! Because we've gone on peaceably to work. (_Cheers_) It's work, you see, that wins, comrades. CHRIS KNUDSON. That's right. HARRY EGERTON. I trust, though, that they'll never need to blow. BUCK BENTLEY. 'Twill set the land on fire if they do. A WORKMAN. The workingmen throughout the State will hear. HARVEY ANDERSON. They'll blow in relay, pards, from sea to sea. (_Harry Egerton stands and watches the militiamen depart. As Bentley goes down the stairs he turns and looks at Harry Egerton, who lifts his hand to his head in a sort of military salute_) CHRIS KNUDSON. That's what they say about us, Wes, you know That when the thing we've fought is taken away We'll fight among ourselves. WES DICEY. (_To Harry Egerton_) I ain't a man, And never have been one, to set my views Against the boys' views. If they're satisfied And think the new way's better than the old, And if they'll vote for it, Wes and his friends Will have no grouch. SEVERAL. That's all right. A VOICE. Then come on. HARRY EGERTON. To get along together, as Sam says, That's what we seek, my friend. The rest will come. WES DICEY. It's for the boys I took the stand I did. (_The workmen go back into the mill. Harry Egerton watches Dicey until he is lost among the men that pass out rear_) HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Who has been watching him_) Partner. HARRY EGERTON. (_Who has started to follow the men_) What is it, Harvey? HARVEY ANDERSON. What's this mean? HARRY EGERTON. We cannot be too patient with these men. It's a free mill we're trying to build, Harvey. HARVEY ANDERSON. 'Tain't that I mean. (_Takes the will from his pocket_) Why did you give me this? HARRY EGERTON. As a precaution, Harvey. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_To Jim King, who lingers about beyond the railing_) We'll be there. HARRY EGERTON. If anything should happen to me, you know, My father would inherit everything. HARVEY ANDERSON. Yes. HARRY EGERTON. And God meant the mine for other things. And as administrators you and Sam And Buck I knew would carry on the work. HARVEY ANDERSON. But why just now? Come on and tell me, partner. There's something up. You ain't been like yourself. There's something on your heart. What is it, partner? It ain't the faction? HARRY EGERTON. No. HARVEY ANDERSON. About the mine-- That lie they told is eating in your heart. HARRY EGERTON. Have I done anything that you know, Harvey, That could have wronged the men or any of them? HARVEY ANDERSON. You wronged them? What you mean? HARRY EGERTON. In any way? HARVEY ANDERSON. Why they'd die for you, partner. What you mean? HARRY EGERTON. Come here to-night when we can be alone. There are some things I want to tell you, Harvey, That you and Sam and Buck must carry out. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Looks at him a long while, then lays his hands upon his shoulders_) We're on the eve of seeing things come true And there ain't nothing that can stop it, partner. HARRY EGERTON. I don't know what I'd do without you, Harvey. (_They go back through the gate in the railing and out through the great door, left, whence the crowd has passed. Rome Masters comes furtively up the stairs and looks about. He then comes past the sash to the door, forward left, and begins to pull off the strip that is nailed across it. He has just loosened it when Jim King appears upon the stairs and gives a low whistle. Rome Masters quickly joins him and together they hurry back through the mill and out the great door, left. A moment later the First Guard comes up the stairs, followed by Ralph Ardsley and Bishop Hardbrooke_) FIRST GUARD. I'll find him. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. If you please. (_The Guard goes back through the mill_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I don't like this. The atmosphere's too charged with victory. RALPH ARDSLEY. I don't believe they even know it's cold. (_Looks about_) It's wonderful the way he's handled things. It's that, I think, as much as anything That's won the confidence of the citizens. I was just sure they'd have a riot here. (_He gets up on one of the stools before the desk and takes from his overcoat pocket a newspaper which he spreads out before him_) I've thought about it, Bishop; don't you think That that injunction Egerton got out Against the mine, considering everything, The public feeling--if he has good grounds For claiming that his own men found the mine-- Aside from the reflection on his son-- A tactical mistake, don't you think so? BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Best not allude to that. RALPH ARDSLEY. I think so too. (_He reads the paper. The Bishop stands listening to the indistinct noises that come from the crowd outside_) RALPH ARDSLEY. And yet you can't blame Jergens very much. Something has got to happen pretty soon. Amalgamated's off again, I see. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Who is this Harvey Anderson? RALPH ARDSLEY. He's the rough That kept the men from going back that day. Drew his revolver. Big man here now. You see He'd been out on the mountains with a cast, One of the men the Company had out. So it's quite possible, as Jergens claims, That Anderson found the mine. For gold these days-- To get possession of a mine like that-- Men have been killed for less. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. But Harry---- RALPH ARDSLEY. That, That's what I can't get down me, his collusion---- (_Cheers outside_) It's probably Anderson haranguing them. I don't myself believe that Harry'd do it. (_Tremendous cheering_) There's certainly enthusiasm there. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. What is it, Editor Ardsley? RALPH ARDSLEY. I don't know. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. What's it all mean? What's underneath it all? RALPH ARDSLEY. We're neither of us, Bishop, what we were. We've lost our power. Something's happening That we don't understand. (_A pause_) And done by men That live right here and walk the streets and talk, Buy vegetables and pass the time of day. I tell you, Bishop Hardbrooke, you can't tell. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. (_Half to himself_) As though they had the Ark of the Covenant. RALPH ARDSLEY. If any one had said to me last week That that despondent crowd of shabby men, After six weeks of battle against odds, And beaten into silence, starved and cold, Had in them the capacity for this-- Who was it said we're always in a flux, That nothing's fixed? We don't know anything. It's like a case of type; to-day it spells Egerton and to-morrow M-o-b. To think of Donald Egerton at bay! Egad! BISHOP HARDBROOKE. These shouts once rose about the Church, But somehow we don't hear them any more. RALPH ARDSLEY. Don't think for a moment, Bishop, that you're alone. We never had the tumult and the shout That you had in old days, but it's all the same. The 'Power of the Press'! It makes me laugh. If I could find a little farm somewhere, I'd sell my stock to Egerton and get out And let the world go hang. I'm tired of it. (_Cheers outside_) Yes, there's a ring about it you don't hear Even in Conventions. (_The Guard enters the mill, back left, and comes through the gate in the railing_) GUARD. In a moment. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Thank you. (_The Guard goes out down the stairs_) RALPH ARDSLEY. What's your opinion of the trouble, Bishop? (_To himself_) To think of Donald Egerton at bay! BISHOP HARDBROOKE. We've had the matter up in Conference Several times. RALPH ARDSLEY. Yes. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. But I somehow feel We don't get hold of it. The lower classes-- They're going off. I don't believe it's Christ. You say they're leaving you; and General Chadbourne-- Two thirds, I think you said, of his command. RALPH ARDSLEY. Facing State's prison, too (_Cheers outside. The two men remain silent_) RALPH ARDSLEY. And Egerton-- They certainly have left him. I thought last night As I sat looking up toward that new home-- (_Cheers outside_) They'll never light it up again that way, The way it was that day. Did you ever see Anything to equal that reception hall? BISHOP HARDBROOKE. What's in the boy that these men follow him, And all his life so quiet, almost timid? RALPH ARDSLEY. 'What go ye out into the wilderness for to see?' BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Yes, if his cause were better. RALPH ARDSLEY. There you are. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. But this audacious, this deliberate Stealing--though I hate to use the word-- This seizing of the mill---- RALPH ARDSLEY. Here he comes now. (_He gets down from the stool_) You do the talking, Bishop, the heavy part. (_Harry Egerton enters_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Harry. HARRY EGERTON. Bishop Hardbrooke. RALPH ARDSLEY. You don't seem To mind the cold or anything down here. HARRY EGERTON. We have been busy. RALPH ARDSLEY. I should think so. Yes It's wonderful the way you've plunged right in To business. HARRY EGERTON. Yes. RALPH ARDSLEY. Things going pretty well? HARRY EGERTON. Yes. RALPH ARDSLEY. I'm glad. HARRY EGERTON. You sent for me. RALPH ARDSLEY. Yes. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Harry, We've come to see if something can't be done To end this controversy and bring peace, An honorable peace to all concerned. A permanent state of strife is far from pleasant. There's nothing sadder in the life of man Than to see towns disrupted, classes arrayed Against each other, to say nothing, Harry, Of this far dearer tie that's straining here, That pains us all far more than we can tell. We've often had these troubles in the Church, Mostly in the past, of course, men differing Upon some point of doctrine or government. And my experience is that at the bottom There's something that at first was overlooked, Then, in the strife that followed, overwhelmed. There's common ground, there must be in these things. Look at the world; we pass along the street. We don't confront each other and block the way. Each yields a bit and so we all pass on. And in relationships it must be the same. We're one, my brother. RALPH ARDSLEY. Like our fingers here. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. And when we're not, when interests seem to clash, It's just as sure as Death or anything Some law of God is being tampered with. And so we thought we'd come---- RALPH ARDSLEY. And now's the time. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. For, as you know, in town the feeling's growing That there's a sword impending over us Which the least breath will bring down on our heads. RALPH ARDSLEY. And not in the town alone, but the whole State-- They seem to have their eyes upon us here. You've seen the papers how the strikes are spreading. The mills at Upton and the plant at Sawyer, And down the State there's Smith and Balding Brothers, Heacox and Knight, twelve hundred men gone out, Demanding unconditionally the mills. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Think of it, Harry, think of what this means! RALPH ARDSLEY. Not satisfied with wages any more. HARRY EGERTON. Pardon me. (_Walks rear and listens_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. He doesn't listen to what I say. RALPH ARDSLEY. Not that you are to blame for it, we don't say that. But probably without your knowing it A fire or something's going out of you That's kindling this industrial upheaval; For it's your name they've made the war-cry, Harry. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. He even smiled when you spoke of the mills Closing. RALPH ARDSLEY. I don't think he meant it so. His heart's out there, though, that's as plain as day. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Harry, if these shouts mean a final step, A closing up of things which if once closed Will render of no use any labor of ours, I beg of you to call this meeting off, At least until we see what we can do. RALPH ARDSLEY. Postpone it, Harry, say till Monday morning. You know yourself how dangerous it is To wake men's hopes to a wild dream of power. They're never afterwards content with less Than that wild something that could never be. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Yes, brother, let the Lord's day with its peace Breathe on this quarrel. Why do you say too late? HARRY EGERTON. (_Who has come forward_) Because it's up there, Bishop, it's up there Above mere bread. RALPH ARDSLEY. What does he mean by that? BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I trust, my brother, that it is up there. RALPH ARDSLEY. We don't just see what it is you are trying to do. HARRY EGERTON. The statement I gave out last Saturday---- RALPH ARDSLEY. That was a week ago. HARRY EGERTON. Yes. RALPH ARDSLEY. And since then Reports have come out that there's a move on foot To organize--I know not what to call it---- HARRY EGERTON. A Commonwealth of Workers. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Then it's true! RALPH ARDSLEY. Your purpose then is to retain the mill? BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Purchase it? HARRY EGERTON. I don't know. We'll do what's fair. We've had to think first of supplying bread. That's left but little time for other things. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. But if the Company shouldn't choose to sell? HARRY EGERTON. That is with them. RALPH ARDSLEY. You mean you'll still hold on? HARRY EGERTON. That will be my advice, yes. RALPH ARDSLEY. But the Law. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. 'Thou shalt not steal.' (_Harry Egerton walks rear and listens_) RALPH ARDSLEY. Doesn't that beat the world! BISHOP HARDBROOKE. It's his association with these roughs. RALPH ARDSLEY. And they'll never dare lay hands upon them, Bishop. I tell you the Commonwealth's afraid to move. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Has God no place in business, my young brother? HARRY EGERTON. (_Returning_) Yes, Bishop Hardbrooke, and it's very strange You've never thought of that until to-day. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. A hidden meaning couched in that, I think. HARRY EGERTON. This is the first time you've been in this mill Or near these workingmen in all these years. And now you come to plead my father's cause. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I come for peace. HARRY EGERTON. Then why not weeks ago When there was strife? You heard the cry of the poor For six weeks, Bishop, and you never came. Why wait until the starving time is past? BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I've rather arduous duties, my young brother. Besides my Church work there are Boards and Boards And meetings of this Charity and that That you in business know but little of. My interest in the poor is not unknown. HARRY EGERTON. You've been in father's confidence for years. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I'm proud to say I have. HARRY EGERTON. There's seldom passed A Sunday that he's not been in his pew. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. A creditable record. RALPH ARDSLEY. I should say. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. And one that any son might emulate With profit, I should think. HARRY EGERTON. It's very strange My father doesn't know some things are wrong. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. You mean he doesn't see things as you do. HARRY EGERTON. Yes, all my life I've wondered when I've seen Check after check go out with father's name To help along some Mission over sea Or roof some rising Charity at home, I've often wondered that he's never seen Those little shacks upon the hill out there Nor heard the cry of widows from these saws. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I would suggest, my brother, that we leave The deeper things of God for quiet times And turn our minds to something nearer home. HARRY EGERTON. I know of nothing nearer home than this, The cry of men for justice at our doors. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Suppose we get the Company to agree To let bygones be bygones with the men, And to restore conditions as they were---- RALPH ARDSLEY. In other words to meet the men's demands. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. And put the guards they ask about the saws. That would remove the causes, would it not, Of the misunderstanding? RALPH ARDSLEY. Every one. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Would there be any valid reason then Why Peace should not return and all be friends As formerly? HARRY EGERTON. For weeks they waited for it. (_Listens back_) BISHOP HARDBROOKE. What's time to do with right and wrong, my brother? HARRY EGERTON. But men in misery often have a vision Beyond the eye of prosperous days to see. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. If it was fair last week, then why not now? HARRY EGERTON. They're building something fairer. (_Walks back_) RALPH ARDSLEY. It's no use. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. On what foundations, Harry? All about I see the wreck and ruin of our land; Her altars down, her sacred institutions---- (_Cheering outside_) Harry, I beg of you to stop and think What it has cost, this Law that you defy And cast before the swine of riotous feet. (_Continuous cheering_) I appeal to you, my brother---- HARRY EGERTON. Bishop Hardbrooke---- BISHOP HARDBROOKE. In the name of everything that you hold dear---- HARRY EGERTON. There's nothing you could say that could persuade me---- BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Think of your country plunged in civil war! HARRY EGERTON. To stay even with a word what's rising there. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Think of your mother, think of how she feels Sitting---- RALPH ARDSLEY. Here's Anderson! HARRY EGERTON. What is it, Harvey? HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Hurrying in_) Well, President of Free Mill Number One And many more hereafter! (_Goes quickly left and, seizing the rope, pulls the flag up on the pole_) Up the mast, My beauty! Now you'll hear 'em raise the roof. HARRY EGERTON. And Dicey----? HARVEY ANDERSON. Moved to make it unanimous. No opposition. (_Tremendous cheering outside_) HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Comes right and takes Harry Egerton's two hands in his_) Well, boy? RALPH ARDSLEY. It's no use, Bishop. HARVEY ANDERSON. You've dreamed it and it's a fact now, partner. HARRY EGERTON. Yes. HARVEY ANDERSON. The years will multiply 'em. HARRY EGERTON. Hear! Just hear! (_Prolonged cheering_) RALPH ARDSLEY. Let's leave 'em and let 'em stew in their own juice. HARRY EGERTON. The Living Mill! (_A volley of shots_) HARVEY ANDERSON. There goes the boys' salute! (_Seizes Harry Egerton by the shoulders and lifts him off his feet_) Up with you, up into the skies with you! We've lived to see a day will live forever. And you come right on out and make your speech. (_Hurries back through the mill_) HARRY EGERTON. I'll be there shortly, Harvey. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. I suppose There's no use in our talking any more. HARRY EGERTON. I'm sorry, Bishop. BISHOP HARDBROOKE. Then--Good-bye. HARRY EGERTON. Good-bye. (_The Bishop and Ardsley go out down the stairs. Harry Egerton starts back toward the gate_) JIM KING. (_Suddenly appears just beyond the railing_) There was a call just now 'fore you came in. I think it was your mother. (_Harry Egerton turns back to the desk and takes up the telephone. Jim King vanishes through the great door, left_) HARRY EGERTON. Forty-nine Grand View, please. Yes. (_A pause_) Mother? I knew your voice. You called me up, one of the men said. No? (_A pause_) Or some one else. (_A pause_) Yes, mother, very well. You're going to the city? (_A pause_) That was it. I thought perhaps you had called me up to ask. (_A pause_) Four or five hundred pounds. (_A pause_) Mixed, I should say. And such toys as you think children would like. (_A pause_) O you know more about such things than I. (_A pause_) Yes. (_A pause_) Mother, while I think of it, has father Had any trouble with Jergens? (_A pause_) Ah, I'm glad. I overheard him talking with some men The other night, and thought from what he said It might be father they were talking of. (_A pause. The door, forward left, opens slowly and Rome Masters comes stealthily in with a bar of iron in his hand, and moves toward Harry Egerton, whose back is to him_) HARRY EGERTON. I'm very glad. You might ask father though. (_Cheering outside_) I'll have some news for you when you return. (_A pause_) Here in the mill. And I'll be Santa Claus. (_A pause_) That will be beautiful. (_A pause_) And, mother---- (_Masters strikes him_) HARRY EGERTON. Ah! (_He sinks to the floor. Masters, iron in hand, flees down the stairs. The cheering outside continues. Then, as the noise subsides, there is heard a steady buzzing of the telephone as though some one were trying to get connection_) ACT V CHRISTMAS EVE _Scene: Inside the large room of a newly built board cabin up at the mine. Centre, rear, the open mouth of the tunnel, with the wall resting upon the rocks above. Left, in this same wall, near the corner, a door opening outside. Right, near the other corner, about four feet up from the floor, a small oblong window through which one sees the snow lying thick upon the mountains, and beyond the snow the dark of the sky with the winter stars shining brightly. In the right wall, well back, a door opens into a bedroom. Centre, in the opposite wall, a second door opens into a sort of woodshed. Left, a little way to the rear from the centre of the room, a heavy iron stove with chairs standing about. A woodbox is over near the wall, left. Forward right, a table with a bugle lying upon two or three sheets of loose paper, and, farther over, a heap of ore samples in which, with the light of the near-by lamp falling upon them, the gold is plainly visible._ _Harvey Anderson, his hat pulled low over his eyes, sits with his back to the bedroom, staring at the stove. The only motion discernible is an occasional pressing of the lip when he bites his moustache. Later, Mrs. Egerton, careworn and evidently in deep distress, enters from the bedroom and starts to say something to Harvey Anderson, but decides not to. Instead she goes to the window and stands looking out as though she were anxiously waiting for some one._ _Time: Christmas Eve._ MRS. EGERTON. (_In a low voice_) It's after midnight, for the lights are out Down in the town. It must be after one. (_Speaks back as though into the bedroom_) You think the guard would let him come right through? HARVEY ANDERSON. Yes, mother. MRS. EGERTON. I didn't mean to wake you, Harvey. HARVEY ANDERSON. I ain't been sleeping. MRS. EGERTON. But it seems so long. (_Turns again to the window_) HARVEY ANDERSON. The snow's so deep upon the mountains, mother. And Sam and Chris--I know they'd hurry on-- They ain't come either. NURSE. (_Entering from the bedroom_) It's stopped snowing now. HARVEY ANDERSON. It's getting colder. How's he seem to be? NURSE. There's very little change. What time is it? HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Looks at his watch_) Going on half past three. (_They look at one another_) NURSE. Don't think such things. (_Anderson goes to the woodbox and looks in_) MRS. EGERTON. (_At the window, to herself_) If I only knew! If I only knew he'd come! NURSE. (_As Anderson goes into the woodshed_) He may have telegraphed for specialists. (_She glances toward Mrs. Egerton, then goes quietly to the door, rear left, and looks out_) NURSE. (_Comes back_) I wish that there was something that I could do. MRS. EGERTON. You made it plain that he must come at once? NURSE. Yes, Mrs. Egerton. I told the truth. Some think it's better to deceive. I don't. And I find that people thank you in the end. MRS. EGERTON. And they've been gone since nine. NURSE. Lie down a while, Won't you? I wish you would. MRS. EGERTON. Isn't that some one? NURSE. (_Goes to the window_) It's Mr. Bentley with the guard, I think. (_Mrs. Egerton leaves the window and walks about the room_) MRS. EGERTON. (_Half to herself_) The stars are so low down, so beautiful; And the world so full of joy. Isn't it strange? To-day we're here and to-morrow somewheres else. (_She stops by the bedroom door and stands looking in_) NURSE. He's so your boy. MRS. EGERTON. Yes, yes. NURSE. And he loves you so. It's always 'mother' when he speaks at all; You and the mill. (_A pause_) And then you'll always know There's never been a man in Foreston Been loved as he has been. MRS. EGERTON. But he's so young! And his work--He'd just begun. So little chance! NURSE. I've nursed so many cases of old men, And men in prosperous circumstances, too, Who've had no friends at all, just relatives. (_Mrs. Egerton walks about_) NURSE. And friends are so much closer, don't you think? MRS. EGERTON. Has he never, never mentioned Donald's name In his delirium? NURSE. (_Shakes her head_) But then you know Those first weeks at the Hospital were a blank, Or almost so. And then when he came to After the operation---- MRS. EGERTON. Donald! Donald! NURSE. I being a stranger, just a nurse, you know. In delirium of course it's different. But then I'd left the case. (_Harvey Anderson enters with an armful of wood_) NURSE. I was surprised When I got word from Mr. Anderson That you had let him--It's so far up here. MRS. EGERTON. He wanted to so much. NURSE. They always do. But they don't always know what's best for them. HARVEY ANDERSON. But he was getting on so well. NURSE. I know. HARVEY ANDERSON. There was no fever till four days ago. NURSE. (_To Mrs. Egerton_) When I got here he was quite rational. HARVEY ANDERSON. And talked about the mine here and the mill. And figured out the timber that we'd need For next year's run. I don't know what it was. (_Quietly replenishes the fire_) MRS. EGERTON. (_At the bedroom door_) He hasn't moved. NURSE. It quite exhausted him. MRS. EGERTON. You think he recognized me? NURSE. I don't know. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Who has come to the table, picks up one of the sheets of paper_) And he was planning homes here for the men Upon the valley land, with flowers and trees. NURSE. Wasn't it strange that he should hear the bells? HARVEY ANDERSON. I hadn't heard them till he spoke. NURSE. Nor I. HARVEY ANDERSON. He seemed to know that it is Christmas Eve. MRS. EGERTON. His speaking of the toys! NURSE. Lie down a while. HARVEY ANDERSON. It's all right, mother, it's all right. NURSE. Won't you? We'll call you when he comes. BUCK BENTLEY. (_Entering hurriedly from outside_) Here comes a light. MRS. EGERTON. (_Collecting herself_) If there's anything, Harvey, anything I can do To help the work along, you'll come to me. Promise me that. And you must keep right on. HARVEY ANDERSON. Yes, mother. We talked of that. (_Mrs. Egerton kisses him and goes into the bedroom_) BUCK BENTLEY. How is he now? NURSE. About the same. (_She goes to the window_) BUCK BENTLEY. You didn't think he'd come. HARVEY ANDERSON. He's been six weeks, almost. But that's all right. Is the Doctor with him? BUCK BENTLEY. Yes. (_Starts for the door_) I'll tell the boys. HARVEY ANDERSON. Then come back, Buck. BUCK BENTLEY. I will. (_He goes out. Anderson stands staring at the door_) NURSE. I'm so, so glad. These weeks and weeks----It's been so hard to bear. You see when Death comes, Mr. Anderson-- It ought to be a lesson to us all. You'll stay, of course. HARVEY ANDERSON. I? Sure. NURSE. He's felt so hard, So bitter toward you. (_Buck Bentley enters quickly. Looks from Harvey to the Nurse_) HARVEY ANDERSON. What?---- BUCK BENTLEY. It's Sam and Chris. (_Sam Williams and Chris Knudson come in with a lantern_) HARVEY ANDERSON. See anything of Egerton coming up? (_The men show surprise_) BUCK BENTLEY. They sent for him. SAM WILLIAMS. Is he as bad as that? HARVEY ANDERSON. He hasn't been himself. (_To Bentley, who starts out_) Then come back. BUCK BENTLEY. Yes. (_Anderson turns and shakes his head at the Nurse, who goes into the bedroom, closing the door after her_) HARVEY ANDERSON. He spoke of both of you. CHRIS KNUDSON. Too bad! too bad! HARVEY ANDERSON. I thought you'd like to be here. (_They sit silent about the stove_) HARVEY ANDERSON. Colder. CHRIS KNUDSON. Yes. (_They are silent_) HARVEY ANDERSON. Things going all right, Sam? (_Sam Williams nods_) HARVEY ANDERSON. And in the camps? CHRIS KNUDSON. Hundred and fifty men. (_They are silent_) SAM WILLIAMS. There's a report That Masters will turn State's evidence. HARVEY ANDERSON. Good news. CHRIS KNUDSON. The citizens are pressing on the case. HARVEY ANDERSON. They'll find the trail leads where we said. CHRIS KNUDSON. That's sure. SAM WILLIAMS. His throwing down the silver don't help though. (_They are silent_) HARVEY ANDERSON. You see about those young pines, Chris. With spring We'll begin setting out as partner wished, And start all over with the land all green. (_They are silent_) CHRIS KNUDSON. The boys will be so sorry. HARVEY ANDERSON. I don't mind, Now that it can't be, telling you of a plan---- (_There is a slight noise in the bedroom. Anderson turns and listens; but everything becomes quiet again_) HARVEY ANDERSON. Of a surprise he had for Christmas day, For all of us and the families of the men. NURSE. (_Appears at the door and calls quickly_) Harvey! (_Anderson starts for the bedroom. Suddenly Harry Egerton appears struggling with his mother and the Nurse. His head is bandaged and his face is covered with a six weeks' beard_) HARRY EGERTON. No, no! See there! see there! see there! They're here already! (_A shadowy line of workmen with their wives and children in their Sunday clothes comes in left_) HARRY EGERTON. (_Shouting right_) In the dry-kiln, Sam! And fetch the other barrel, Harvey. MRS. EGERTON. Harry! HARRY EGERTON. A Merry Christmas, friends, to all of you! I'm glad you've come! (_Shaking himself free_) It's all right, it's all right! Candy, candy, candy, children! (_The children crowd about him_) MRS. EGERTON. Harry! HARRY EGERTON. Let them come! let them come! There! there! there! HARVEY ANDERSON. Partner! HARRY EGERTON. (_Laughing_) Isn't it wonderful! MRS. EGERTON. It's mother, Harry! HARRY EGERTON. And here's a little doll and here's a sled! I brought them down over the chimney tops! (_Laughs. A little boy remains after the other children have gone back to their parents_) HARRY EGERTON. A little horn? HARVEY ANDERSON. Partner! HARRY EGERTON. What golden hair! (_The little boy returns to the others_) HARRY EGERTON. (_Advancing and shaking hands with the men and women, who file by him and pass out rear_) Next year, my friends, if everything goes well, We'll have some homes to hang up on the tree With big yards where the little ones can play. But this is children's day. (_Last in the line comes a figure in the garb of a workman, but with the tender, bearded face of the Christ_) HARRY EGERTON. (_Looking at his brow_) Have you been hurt? (_The figure holds out both hands to him_) HARRY EGERTON. (_At first wildly, but with growing calmness_) Harvey! Buck! Mother! (_The figure looks back one moment, then vanishes. Harry Egerton is seen falling into the arms of Harvey Anderson, who carries him into the bedroom. His mother and the Nurse follow. Sam Williams and Chris Knudson stand staring across at the door_) SAM WILLIAMS. Our leader's gone, Chris. CHRIS KNUDSON. Yes, I fear so. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Coming in and closing the bedroom door after him_) Partner's gone. A GUARD. (_Pushing open the outside door_) Egerton's come. (_Donald Egerton enters, followed by the Doctor and two strange men, apparently surgeons, one of them carrying an instrument case. Egerton glances about and instinctively locates the bedroom, and at once goes toward it_) HARVEY ANDERSON. (_To the Doctor_) Too late. DOCTOR. Dead! HARVEY ANDERSON. Just this moment. VOICE OF MRS. EGERTON. (_As Egerton opens the bedroom door_) Donald! Donald! (_The Doctor follows Egerton into the bedroom_) CHRIS KNUDSON. (_Looking toward the door that the Doctor has shut_) Peace and good will on earth. HARVEY ANDERSON. He stood for that. (_They stand silent about the stove. Anderson picks up two chairs, which he takes over to the two strangers, who are standing by the table_) CHRIS KNUDSON. There's things about us here that we don't see. SAM WILLIAMS. (_Looking toward the bedroom_) I'm sorry--for his sake. CHRIS KNUDSON. What will we do? SAM WILLIAMS. You'll not desert us, comrade, now he's gone. HARVEY ANDERSON. 'For all time; shall we say it?' CHRIS KNUDSON. That last day. HARVEY ANDERSON. 'And give our lives, if need be?' SAM WILLIAMS. He gave his. (_Takes up the lantern_) HARVEY ANDERSON. He hasn't left the Cause, Sam. SAM WILLIAMS. True. CHRIS KNUDSON. That's true; He hasn't left the Cause. HARVEY ANDERSON. Here just last week, Sitting about the table, planning things, 'The Cause will be here, Harvey, when we're gone, A beautiful river flowing through the land.' CHRIS KNUDSON. There was the noblest boy this land's brought forth. HARVEY ANDERSON. And we must make it wider, Sam. SAM WILLIAMS. Yes, yes. HARVEY ANDERSON. Till the whole land is free. That's our work now. SAM WILLIAMS. Yes, we must keep right on. HARVEY ANDERSON. That was his wish, That we should keep right on; and his mother's, too. Tell the boys that. SAM WILLIAMS. We will. CHRIS KNUDSON. There ought to be A public funeral so the men could march. HARVEY ANDERSON. I'll speak to Mr. Egerton. FIRST STRANGER. (_Indicating Anderson_) That's him. (_The two workmen go out_) HARVEY ANDERSON. Stop by the cabins and tell Buck. Good-night. (_He shuts the door and walks about, stopping occasionally by the stove, absorbed in thought_) SECOND STRANGER. He'll hardly use us now. FIRST STRANGER. Probably not. (_They take up pieces of the ore_) FIRST STRANGER. (_To Anderson, who is walking about_) How much does this assay? SECOND STRANGER. He didn't hear you. EGERTON. (_Enters with the Doctor and speaks with him aside_) Drive down a mile or so and wait for me. (_Mrs. Egerton and the Nurse come in. Both are dressed for travelling_) MRS. EGERTON. (_Walks toward the outer door, then suddenly turns_) O Donald, Donald, this is Christmas Eve! Think of this night in years gone by! EGERTON. (_Tenderly_) Mary! NURSE. 'Thy will be done.' HARVEY ANDERSON. It's all right, mother. MRS. EGERTON. Harvey! (_She embraces him and goes out with the Nurse_) EGERTON. (_To the Doctor_) And you'll attend to everything? DOCTOR. Yes, Colonel. (_The Doctor goes out. Egerton shuts the door and stands for a moment apparently waiting till those who have just left get farther from the cabin. He then starts pacing to and fro as though he were undecided what to do. As he walks left toward Harvey Anderson his brow darkens. But as he turns right and draws near the bedroom the hard lines of his face relax. It is clear that a terrible struggle is going on within him_) EGERTON. (_To Harvey Anderson_) You here alone? HARVEY ANDERSON. Yes, Mr. Egerton. But that don't matter if there's anything---- (_Egerton stands for a moment, then resumes his walk_) HARVEY ANDERSON. Is there something I can do? EGERTON. (_Stopping midway between the bedroom and Anderson, to the strangers_) What do you say? FIRST STRANGER. We'll do the best we can. (_The Second Stranger removes his overcoat. The First lifts the instrument case upon the table and begins to open it. Egerton walks toward the bedroom_) HARVEY ANDERSON. (_Following him_) I don't believe-- I don't believe, though, Mr. Egerton, It's any use. FIRST STRANGER. (_Suddenly covering Anderson with pistols which he has taken from the case_) Keep those hands where they are. Bolt that door, Ned. (_The Second Detective bolts the outside door. He then comes to the table and takes from the case two pairs of handcuffs, a long black mackintosh, and a black cap_) FIRST DETECTIVE. Search him. SECOND DETECTIVE. (_Feels about Anderson's hips and sides_) Slip on this coat. HARVEY ANDERSON. (_To Egerton, while the detective puts the coat on him_) Well, partner, I've seen men where Hell was loud Shoot from behind dead bodies but, by God, I've never seen them shoot from such as him. (_Nodding toward the bedroom_) FIRST DETECTIVE. Quick now. EGERTON. You know the way? HARVEY ANDERSON. You beat them all. FIRST DETECTIVE. We keep the road to the left. EGERTON. Over the mountains. You'll probably have some trouble. FIRST DETECTIVE. We'll get there. EGERTON. I'll have the Express wait for you at Lucasville. You ought to reach there---- (_Looks at his watch_) It's now five o'clock---- By ten or eleven. FIRST DETECTIVE. At the outside. (_The Second Detective hands to Egerton his son's will, which, in buttoning the coat up about Anderson, he has found in the latter's pocket_) EGERTON. (_Looks into it a moment_) Um! SECOND DETECTIVE. The guard will be off duty? FIRST DETECTIVE. I think so, But we've no time to lose. (_The Second Detective handcuffs himself to Anderson on the left side. The First Detective puts the cap on Anderson so that with the high collar of the coat turned up, only his eyes are visible under the poke_) HARVEY ANDERSON. The black cap, eh? (_The First Detective then handcuffs himself to Anderson on the right side_) EGERTON. You wire me when you reach the Capitol. FIRST DETECTIVE. Yes, Mr. Egerton. EGERTON. Go briskly now. FIRST DETECTIVE. (_Showing Anderson his pistol_) Now not a word from you, you understand. (_He puts the pistol in his side overcoat pocket and keeps his hand on it_) EGERTON. 'Twill soon be morning. HARVEY ANDERSON. Yes, you'd better leave Before the land wakes up. (_The detectives, with Anderson between them, go out_) EGERTON. We'll see, my man-- (_Puts the key on the outside of the door_) How you'll shake down the pillars of this land. (_He goes out and locks the door after him. A few moments pass. Suddenly at some distance outside a shot is heard. Again a few moments pass. Then, with a crash, the door is broken in and Buck Bentley, with the will in his hand, pulls himself hurriedly through the hole. He staggers to the table and seizes the bugle and blows a loud blast, then reels and, trying to steady himself, falls dead upon the floor, taking the table down with him. There is a clattering of the ore samples and a breaking of glass, and the lamp goes out, leaving the room in darkness. A half mile or so away, in the direction of Foreston, a bugle is heard, then, farther away, another, and fainter, another, and still another. And out through the window in the starlight of the Christmas morning soldiers with rifles in their hands are seen running rear left through the snow_) 
41181	----	+-------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's note: | | | |Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ THE GREAT STRIKE ON THE "Q" WITH A HISTORY OF THE ORGANIZATION AND GROWTH OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEERS, BROTHERHOOD OF LOCOMOTIVE FIREMEN, AND SWITCHMEN'S MUTUAL AID ASSOCIATION OF NORTH AMERICA. BY John A. Hall, _Ex-Yardmaster C., B. & Q. Railway_. 1889. ELLIOTT & BEEZLEY, CHICAGO AND PHILADELPHIA. COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY JOHN A. HALL. DEDICATION. A history of the spoliations, robberies, and oppressions of corporate capital in America, is a history of shame, degradation and disgrace, not to be obscured in the halo of great achievements in material progress, though adorned by the splendid triumphs of science and art. It is the impersonation of the passion of avarice, and no more soul-debasing passion afflicts the human race. It becomes more ravenous the more its maw is gorged; it always and everlastingly wants more; in growth it never reaches maturity. The only firm and determined resistance that has ever confronted this power has come from the widely extended but fraternally combined labor organizations of the country; though not always successful in resistance, they have ever left the enemy too feeble to follow up a technical victory. To that mighty bulwark that will yet stem the tide of corporate greed, and insure to the laborer a fair share of the produce of his toils, this book is respectfully dedicated. PREFACE. The cause of right is but the cause of reason. Let all men reason together, and be brothers. Let all help each other and it will be easier for all. We are all victims of monopoly, and it lies within our own efforts to reform a system which enslaves the many and makes heartless misers of the few. We must not fear a thing because it seems radical; truth is always radical, and every advance that humanity has ever made has been born in radicalism. To act upon the dictates of reason is to be radical. This fearful thing called radicalism is the hope of society. With it you will bury monopoly, injustice and oppression. Him the world calls Master, because of His worthiness, nobleness, manhood and justice, was far from being conservative. He espoused the cause of the poor, the weak and the helpless against the rich, the strong, and the powerful. Instead of favoring and fostering the existing evils of society, He sought to reform them, and set into motion the great wheels of Christianity that are rolling over the whole earth. Let those who call themselves His followers, strive to make His commands practicable. Let them have more of justice, charity and humanity. ORGANIZATION. To obtain justice, and obtain it legally, the weak must organize. Whatever may be the ideal to which labor reformers aspire, the first step must be organization. This is living protest against monopoly and injustice, and the means by which we must reform our social system, if we would last as a nation. A tramp at the base of the social pyramid, and a millionaire at the top, argues ill for the middle classes. With the foundation rotten, and the summit top-heavy, the whole structure must fall or be rebuilt. Much of the matter contained in this book came under the personal observation of the writer; more was furnished by the Brotherhoods and the correspondence of the strikers. Thanks are due to Chairmen Hoge and Murphy, for kindness and favors rendered. Yours Truly, JOHN A. HALL. THE GREAT STRIKE ON THE Q. This work should properly begin with a short history of the origin and growth of the three Orders whose members were connected with the strike upon the Burlington system. Naturally the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers should come first, as the strike originated with them, and was brought about by the injustice and oppression of the Burlington Officials toward this Order. The organization of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers originated in the State of Michigan, in the year 1863. For some years before that time, the locomotive engineers on various roads throughout the country had cause for serious complaints owing to the treatment they received at the hands of railroad officials. It was felt that the men handling the locomotives on the growing railroad system of America were performing important duties that required good, responsible men, and deserved fair and honorable treatment, which, in many instances, was not given. The tendency of many railroad officers, in fact, was to degrade engineers, and refuse them the justice and fair dealing which is their just due. The immediate cause of the formation of the Order was the harsh treatment received by the engineers employed on the Michigan Central Railroad from the superintendent of motive power of that road. The disposition manifested by him to wage a remorseless war upon the best interests of labor, and especially his incroachments upon the established rights and usages of the engineers in the employ of that company, and the reduction of their pay, at length became insufferable, and the engineers, as a class, became satisfied that the safety of their pecuniary interests demanded a unity of purpose and combined organization. A meeting was held, composed of engineers employed by the Michigan Central Railroad, and the result of their deliberations, at this primary meeting, was a call for a Convention of Engineers, to meet in the city of Detroit, on the fifth of the ensuing month, May. The call was extended only to the engineers on the following roads: The Michigan Central, Michigan Southern & Northern Indiana, Detroit & Milwaukee, Grand Trunk on the American side, and the Detroit Branch of the Michigan Southern. At the Convention, the Michigan Southern & Northern Indiana was represented by F. Avery, L. Wheeler and John Kennedy; the Detroit Branch of that road by T. Wartsmouth and E. Nichols; the Detroit & Milwaukee by H. Higgins; the Grand Trunk by B. Northrup; and Geo. Q. Adams represented the Eastern Division of the Michigan Central, and W. D. Robinson the Middle Division of the same road. With but little formality in their organization, these delegates entered upon their duties. A Constitution and By-Laws, embodying the fundamental principles of our present organization, was adopted. The necessity of something further on the part of engineers than the common consent to become and remain members of this organization so long as suited their convenience, and no longer, became apparent to minds of the delegates, and an obligation, as a bond of union, was unanimously adopted, and on the 8th of May, 1863, a band of twelve engineers, the delegates included, joined hands and pledged themselves to support the Constitution and By-Laws then adopted, and to resist the wrong and maintain the right. Officers were elected, and Division No. 1, of Detroit, Brotherhood of the Foot-Board, stood forth as the pioneer in the work of the regeneration and elevation of the locomotive engineers on this continent, eager to extend the hand of fellowship and alliance to all worthy members of the craft who had any faith in their rights as a class and a belief that in organized action alone rested a hope of vindication. The organization of Divisions soon began, and in three months ten Divisions had sprung into existence. At this time, the Chief Engineer of Division No. 1 issued a call for a meeting of one delegate from each Division, to meet at Detroit August 18, 1863, for the purpose of forming a Grand National Division, Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers. At this meeting, the Constitution and By-Laws were changed and provisions made for the formation and government of a Grand National Division. W. D. Robinson was elected Grand Chief Engineer of the Order, and served in that capacity until August 20, 1864, at which time there were thirty-eight Sub-Divisions, covering the railroads from Michigan, through Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York. Charles Wilson, the second Grand Chief Engineer, was elected to succeed W. D. Robinson, and continued in office until February 25, 1874. At a special session of the Grand International Division, held in the city of Cleveland, P. M. Arthur, the present incumbent, was elected his successor, and re-elected at the close of each term of three years to the present time, executing the duties of the office with such success and judgment that the Order has continued to grow and improve, until it now numbers three hundred and sixty Sub-Divisions with 25,000 members, and covers every railroad and every State and Territory in the United States, as well as a large part of the British Provinces and Mexico. We believe that the law of the Order, enforced by him, of "doing by others as we would be done by," is the only true solution to the labor problem of the present day. In these days of strikes and increasing labor agitation, the course adopted by them has proved to be unquestionably the best, and to that alone we ascribe the great success that has attended their efforts and made their Order known and respected everywhere. This course is, that any differences between members and their employers shall be settled by arbitration. St. Paul says, "Come, let us reason together;" and this advice they have found to be so good that they have it to say, that never since its adoption by them have they resorted to a strike when the officials of a company where dissatisfaction existed would receive and treat with our committee. Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen. The organization known as the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen was organized at Port Jervis, N. Y., December 1, 1873, and is consequently fifteen years old. The following "Preamble" to the Constitution explains the aims and objects of the Order: For the purpose of uniting Locomotive Firemen, and elevating their social, moral and intellectual standing, and for the protection of their interests and the promotion of their general welfare, the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen has been organized. The interests of our members and their employers being identical, we recognize the necessity of co-operation, and it is the aim of the Brotherhood to cultivate a spirit of harmony between them, upon a basis of mutual justice. Realizing the fact that our vocation involves ceaseless peril, and that it is a duty we owe to ourselves and our families to make suitable provision against these disasters which almost daily overtake us on the rail, the necessity of protecting our interests as firemen and of extending to each other the hand of charity, and being sober, industrious and honorable men, becomes self-evident: And, hence, the Brotherhood has adopted as its cardinal principles, the motto: "Protection, Charity, Sobriety and Industry." The organization was formed by eleven men on the Erie Railroad, and the first Lodge numbered eleven men. Its growth and development has been phenomenal; starting with that first Lodge of eleven men in New York, the organization expanded into immense proportions, with lodges in every State and Territory of the Union, covering Canada and extending into Mexico. There are at present 385 subordinate lodges, with a membership of 19,000 men. The rapid growth fully demonstrates the necessity for its existence. It might be supposed that this phenomenal increase would be a source of weakness, instead of strength. Such, however, is not the case. The Brotherhood of Firemen has never, at anytime, been unwieldy, but on the contrary the addition of each new lodge has been so well assimilated by the whole, that this body of 19,000 is as compact, firm and as thoroughly under control as a division of the Regular Army. Another grand element of strength is the fact that there is no aristocracy in the Order. It must not be thought that all has been clear and smooth sailing with the Brotherhood of Firemen; this great result has been won by years of incessant labor by earnest, determined men, with confidence in themselves and in the justice of their cause. Probably no organization has had a harder struggle for existence; it has experienced serious reverses; the year of its birth was the year of the great commercial panic. Born and nurtured in adversity, it has steadily worked its way to the front. In 1877 the country was agitated from Maine to California by labor troubles, and labor organizations received a severe check, and an unsettled condition existed for several years. "Seventy-eight" and "'79" were critical periods, and were years of anxiety for the safety of the Brotherhood. Starting in 1873 as a purely benevolent institution, it developed into a labor organization in 1885, retaining, however, all of its moral and benevolent features intact. There are no State organizations in this Brotherhood. It is governed by a Grand Lodge composed of a Grand Master, Vice-Grand Master, Grand Secretary and Treasurer, Editor and Manager of the Magazine, Grand Executive Board of five members, and a Board of Grand Trustees, consisting of three members. OFFICERS. The first Grand Master was J. A. Leach, now residing in Kansas City; the first Grand Secretary and Treasurer was Wm. N. Sayre, of Buffalo, N. Y.; second Grand Master, W. R. Worth, followed in succession by F. B. Alley and W. T. Goundie (now General Manager of the New York Elevated Railway), and F. W. Arnold. S. M. Stevens, of Lowell, Mass., was, for several years, Grand Organizer and Instructor, succeeded in 1885 by J. J. Hannahan, of Englewood, Ill., who now holds that office in connection with that of Vice-Grand Master. The present officers are: F. P. Sargent, Grand Master, Terre Haute, Ind.; J. J. Hannahan, Vice-Grand Master and Grand Organizer and Instructor, Englewood, Ill.; Eugene V. Debs, Grand Secretary and Treasurer, Terre Haute, Ind.; H. H. Walton is Chairman of the Grand Executive Board, Philadelphia, Pa.; W. E. Burns, Secretary, Chicago, Ill.; the Grand Executive Board is composed of J. J. Leahy, Philadelphia, Pa.; W. H. McDonnell, Scranton, Pa.; F. Holl, Minneapolis, Minn., and C. W. Gardner, Fort Dodge, Ia. The circulation of the Magazine, the official organ of the Brotherhood is 26,000 copies. BENEVOLENCE OUTSIDE OF THE ORDER. Standing squarely on the broad principles of Benevolence and Human Justice, this Order has ever extended the helping hand and given counsel and assistance to the laboring man in his struggle for independence. The Brotherhood of Railway Brakemen owe much to the B. of L. F., and never in its history has the B. of L. F. opposed itself to labor organization. Remembering their own desperate struggle for existence, charity, sympathy and aid have been freely given to younger organizations. Ever foremost in the battle for justice and right, it was the first to call attention to the imperative necessity for federation of railroad employes. The strike upon the "Q" has demonstrated the absolute need of federation. GRAND MASTER SARGENT. The following extract from the address of Grand Master Sargent, at Minneapolis, three years ago, covers many of the points in controversy to-day, and will be found interesting to the public: The Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen ask nothing that is not just; we do not want one penny more than we rightfully earn; we believe that our calling is one that should command good wages for faithful service, and we desire also that all our members shall render such service. We recognize the fact that our employer has certain rights that we, as employes, are bound to respect, and it is never our purpose to antagonize. Justice is our motto--justice not only to ourselves, but to our employer. I believe that if organizations of labor keep in mind that great principle, and are officered by men that are conservative, that are willing to work at both sides of a question and settle on a basis of equal justice to both employer and employe, and when the employer will be willing to treat his employe with that spirit of fairness which is due all faithful workmen, recognizing in them men of intelligence, capable of knowing right from wrong, that strikes and strife will seldom come, and if they do, it will be when every well-thinking man that has the true principle of manhood will endorse the organization struggling for its rights. I desire the members of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen to so conduct themselves that when they go before a General Manager, Superintendent or Master Mechanic, they will meet with those courtesies due a manly man. I want General Managers, Superintendents and Master Mechanics to feel that they have in a member of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen a faithful employe, one they can place confidence in, and when he comes to them in a respectful way, and lays before them a grievance, that they will give him a hearing and render him justice. Our system of adjusting grievances is by arbitration, believing this is the only sure method of preserving harmony between employer and employe. If at any time we feel aggrieved, we make a statement of our grievance and place it in the hands of the Grievance Committee of the local Lodge. The chairman of this committee, through its secretary, calls the committee together, and examines into the merits of the grievance, and if considered just, the committee so reports to the Lodge with proper recommendations, and if the Lodge considers the grievance worthy of action, it orders the committee to proceed to adjust the matter. The committee then calls on the Master Mechanic and Superintendent, and in a gentlemanly manner lay the grievance before them, and if possible arrive at a satisfactory settlement. If the Master Mechanic and Superintendent have not the power, or show no disposition to treat with the committee, they go to the General Manager, from him to the President, and so on until all means have been exhausted to secure an adjustment. If they fail, they then send for their chief executive, and on his arrival, he, in conjunction with the committee, again uses all means within reason to effect a settlement. Failing again, it then lies in the power of the Grand Master to order the men to quit work, or, in more plain terms, to strike. Now, the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen have been in existence nearly thirteen years, and during that time we have not been involved in a single strike. We believe that the conservative stand that has always been taken, and the intelligence of the men that have been our leaders and committees have been the means of making this record. It has been said that firemen would never be recognized by railway officials in the adjustment of wages or the settlement of grievances. I desire to dispel any such opinion from the minds of all. During the last year we have had a large number of our committees wait on Presidents and General Managers, and in every instance they were cordially treated and received a satisfactory advance of pay, and the result is that firemen are looked upon by officials as men capable of reasoning, that they are qualified to go before a President or General Manager and discuss questions relative to their vocation better than men that are not following the same occupation, even though they ride upon the same engine. The Brotherhood feels proud of its record, and it is our purpose to carry forward our good work in the same straightforward manner. We ask nothing of our employer but what is reasonable, believing that it is the policy of the railway managers of the present day to treat with their employes in a fair and liberal manner. It has been my experience, during the limited time that I have been connected with railroads, that most of the dissatisfaction that arises between employer and employe originates from the overbearing, tyrannical action of some petty foreman, ofttimes a Master Mechanic, and employes censure the officials, and sometimes affairs assume a serious aspect, when, if the employe would go to the proper authority--the President or General Manager--and lay his grievance before them, he would get immediate satisfaction. Ofttimes the officials know nothing of the existence of any dissatisfaction until they are informed that the employe has struck; then it is too late to present the true situation to the official, who, having had no intimation of trouble, feels greatly incensed at the action of the employe, and immediately turns against him, when, had the facts been presented to him, the foreman or the petty boss that caused the dissatisfaction would have been looking for employment, while the employe would have had justice. There is only one way to adjust our grievances, and that is by a careful statement to the proper authority. Then, if we fail to obtain satisfaction, we can feel that we have done our duty, and the responsibility rests with employer, not employe. During the past few months we have observed in many localities troubles between employer and employe. The cry has always been, Labor fighting capital. Capital is not the enemy of labor; it is not capital that labor is opposing; it is the monopolist, and such a monopolist grinds down the laboring man to starvation wages in order that he may enrich his own coffers. Labor is the creator of capital, and as such there can be no strife between them. It is the monopolists that control capital that antagonizes the laborer, and compels him to work for scarcely enough to keep his family in food; and it is those monopolists that to-day have capital bound in chains and separated from its creator--labor. For years laboring men have been subject to reductions in wages until, in many instances, the amount of their daily earnings would scarcely buy food sufficient to sustain life. Men of liberal views have observed this state of affairs, and many of our great thinkers have examined into this question, and, becoming convinced that it was wrong to allow their fellow-men to be trodden down by a class of men that have only one ambition, and that is to control all the capital of the land, have organized for the purpose of getting for the laborer, the creator of the vast wealth of this country, a reasonable day's pay for a reasonable day's work; not to antagonize capital, but to ask that he who creates the wealth of the land shall have at least enough to clothe and feed his family and live in a respectable little home. To be sure, there have many things occurred during the past few months that have caused some of these organizations of labor to be looked upon with suspicion, and there are many that stand ready to condemn them. But let us not be too severe; we have all made mistakes, and we should always be willing to concede to others what we ask for ourselves--charity; and let us be charitable to those that during the past year have been involved in difficulties with their employers. The members are not to be censured for all that is done by these organizations. Officers that wield the power can involve an Order in difficulty by making unjust demands. Men ought never to be placed at the head of these labor organizations who are unprincipled or unjust. Place men there who will work to the interests of those they represent, and at all times avoid conflict when it is uncalled for. I am convinced that the labor troubles of the past few months have been beneficial to us all, notwithstanding there have been many wrongs committed, many lives lost and much property destroyed. This we all deplore, and any Order that sanctions any such actions on the part of its members should be condemned. We believe that the trouble we have experienced will teach a lesson to all organizations of labor. We cannot be too careful whom we admit to our Order, one bad man may ruin a whole Lodge. Look well to a man's character and standing before you admit him, and then you will find that in all his duties he will do right and bring credit to himself and the Order. In admitting only such men, we may hope to receive the endorsement of all good people. We turn to our Constitution, and there read in the preamble: "For the purpose of effecting a unity of Firemen, and elevating them to a higher social, moral and intellectual standard, and for the promotion of their general welfare, and the protection of their families, the Brotherhood has been organized." Let these words be engraven upon the hearts, not only of our membership, but the great public, so that our aims may be understood and our ambitions appreciated. Our preamble voices the sublime sentiments of our fraternity, and we trust they may touch a responsive chord in the hearts of all good people. Switchmen's Mutual Aid Association of North America. This Association is growing rapidly in influence and numbers. It is now one of the most powerful labor organizations on this continent. The large field from which it draws its membership, the character of its members, and the care exercised in admitting none but the right type of men, the energy and determination of each individual, and, above all other considerations, the absolute equality guaranteed by its Constitution and unwritten laws, warrant the assertion that this Association must soon stand among the first in the list of labor organizations. OBJECT. The preamble to the Constitution reads as follows: 1st. Is to unite and promote the general welfare and advance the interests, social, moral and intellectual, of its members. Benevolence, very needful in a calling as hazardous as ours, has led to the organization of this Association. 2d. Believing that it is for the best interests, both of our members and their employers, that a good understanding should at all times exist between them, it will be the constant endeavor of this Association to establish mutual confidence and create and maintain harmonious relations between employer and employe. 3d. Such are the aims and purposes of the Switchmen's Mutual Aid Association of North America. Benevolence is its corner-stone,--to relieve the distress of disabled brothers, to care for their widows and orphans, and to see to the decent burial of deceased members. The National Association, strong as it is in numbers, is but little over three years old. The first Switchmen's Union was founded in Chicago, on August 18, 1877. That was a local society, and was chartered by the State of Illinois. The charter members were--Edward W. Jennings, Thos. Griffin, James Cullerton, Wm. Hopper, Thaddeus Boyd, Thos. Green, Edward Scanlon, John Kenny, Wm. Short, Chas. Richardson, Wm. Rosencranse and John Reily. The officers were--Wm. Hopper, President; Thaddeus Boyd, Vice-President; Thos. Griffin, James Cullerton and Edward Jennings, Trustees. While for several years the Union made little headway, it succeeded in maintaining a nucleus for something better. In 1884, new life was instilled into it by the demands and spirit of the times, coupled with the selection of a set of officers with unusual energy, ability and determination. Rapid growth, and the creation and dissemination of sentiments of organization were the immediate results. Other cities followed Chicago's example, and very soon there were a number of flourishing Unions throughout the United States. Then the necessity of a National organization became manifest. Several Unions, moved by the same spirit, took hold of this matter about the same time. A call for a meeting of delegates of the various local bodies, to meet at 112 East Randolph street, Chicago, on February 22, 1886, was issued, and in response thereto a large assemblage of representative switchmen met at the place on the day named. The meeting lasted eight days, and was quite harmonious and exceedingly enthusiastic. The Convention was called to order by Mr. John Drury, who stated that the object was to amalgamate the different organizations into one grand body, whose authority should extend throughout the United States. The Convention was duly organized by the election of Mr. John Drury as Chairman, Mr. James A. Healey, of Chicago, as Secretary, Mr. Joseph D. Hill, of Kansas City, Reading Clerk, and Mr. M. J. Keegan, Sergeant-at-Arms. A Constitution and By-Laws were adopted, and the following grand officers elected for the current year: Grand Master, James L. Monaghan; Vice-Grand Master and Instructor, John Drury; Grand Secretary and Treasurer, John Downey. Board of Directors, M. J. Keegan, of Chicago; James A. Kelly, of Chicago; W. A. Simmons, of Chicago; James A. Healey, of Chicago; Joseph D. Hill, of Kansas City; J. L. Hyer, of Rock Island, and W. R. Davison, of Joliet. A great deal of important business was transacted in secret session pertaining to the Order, after which the Grand Lodge resolved to aid Mr. C. R. Wooldridge in the publication of a monthly magazine devoted to the interests of the Order. A uniform pin was adopted, and an invitation to attend the second annual ball, given by local Lodge No. 1, in honor of the Grand Lodge, was accepted with thanks. The Convention then adjourned, to meet in Kansas City, Monday, September 20, 1886. James L. Monaghan, the first Grand Master, graduated from the public schools of Philadelphia, and studied law for two years. Bad health, however, compelled him to abandon an indoor life, and he took to railroading. He first did duty as a clerk, but found that was little better for him than the law, and he then entered the service as a switchman on the P., W. & B. Ry. He came West in 1879, and has been prominently identified with the switchmen and their organizations until November, 1888, when he was elected to the lower house of the Illinois Legislature. He was succeeded in the office by Frank Sweeney, of Minneapolis. John Drury, the first Vice-Grand Master, is an Englishman. He first entered upon railroad work as a brakeman on the Grand Trunk of Canada. As an organizer during the early days, John Drury was eminently successful, and the Association progressed in a surprising manner during the first year of its National existence. The First Annual Convention was held at Kansas City, September 20, 1886, and was composed of delegates from twenty-five Lodges. This represented the growth of the Order for one year. The important business of the complete reconstruction of the Constitution and By-Laws to keep pace with the growing propensities of the Association, was the result of that body's deliberations. The Second Annual Convention was held at Indianapolis, September 19, 1887. The result of this meeting was a still further revision of the laws, and the election of Wm. A. Simsrott as Grand Secretary and Treasurer. At the Third Annual Convention at St. Louis, in September, 1888, Frank Sweeney, of Minneapolis, was elected Grand Master; John Downey, of Chicago, Vice-Grand Master; Geo. S. Bailey, Grand Organizer and Instructor. John W. Callahan, Chicago, Ill.; Edward Hutchinson, Chicago, Ill.; S. K. Hardin, St. Louis, Mo.; John M. Kelley, Fort Wayne, Ind.; Jas. F. Scullen, Omaha, Neb., Grand Board of Directors. Grand Master Frank Sweeney was born in Zanesville, O., in 1855. His parents moved West in 1860, and located at Monroe, Wis. He received a common-school education, and for a time studied medicine. He disliked the profession, however, and soon abandoned it and entered the railway service. His first railroading was in the capacity of brakeman on the M. & St. P. After braking on several roads for the period of four years, he began switching in the yard of the Minneapolis & St. Louis in 1886. At that time there were but three switch engines in Minneapolis. He has been in the yard service in that city ever since, until elevated to the position of Grand Master of the Order. He was one of the active men that organized Lodge No. 30, and was elected a delegate to the Second Annual Convention, held in Indianapolis, in 1887. At that session he was elected Vice-Grand Master of the Association, and his recent elevation to the highest position in the Order speaks better than words as to what opinion the switchmen have of him. He was instrumental in organizing the Northwest, and won the admiration of the switchmen of the country by his intelligent and conservative handling of questions that arose in that locality. Grand Secretary and Treasurer William A. Simsrott was born in Chicago in 1861, and has the hustle characteristic of the average Chicagoan. He received a common-school education, and began his railroading in 1878 as a clerk on the P., Ft. W. & C. Railway. In 1882 he entered the yards of the Chicago & Western Indiana Railway as a switchman. In 1883 he entered the service of the L., N. A. & C. Railway, and continued with that road until elected to the office of Grand Secretary and Treasurer. He was a yardmaster at the time of leaving the company's employ. He was accepted in Lodge No. 1 in 1883, and in a few months elected to the office of Financial Secretary. Mr. Simsrott was one of the thirteen that established the Association as a National organization, and was a delegate from Lodge No. 1 to the First Annual Convention at Kansas City in 1886. At this Convention he was chosen as one of the Grand Board of Directors, and at the Second Annual Convention, held in Indianapolis in 1887, he was elected Grand Secretary and Treasurer. None have shown a higher regard for the good of the Association than this officer. Vice-Grand Master John Downey was born in Cleveland, Ohio, October 12, 1853, and came to Chicago in the fall of 1858. He received a common education, and in the winter of 1869-70 commenced railroading. He first began braking on the P., Ft. W. & C. road, but soon went to switching in the Ft. Wayne yards. He had not been there long, however, before he had his left thumb completely shot off by the accidental discharge of a shotgun he was handling. In September, 1871, he lost two fingers off of the right hand, after which he went to tending switches on the Ft. Wayne. In 1872 he had his right foot caught and lost part of it, and 1875 he had his left foot caught and so severely injured that it laid him up for six months. In 1876 he went braking on passenger on the Ft. Wayne, where he remained for nine months, when he went braking on freight, and 1879 went back switching in the Ft. Wayne yards, where he has remained ever since. John Downey joined Lodge No. 1 in September, 1884, and was soon afterward elected Treasurer of the Lodge, a position he held continuously until October, 1887, when he resigned. He was elected Grand Secretary and Treasurer of the then Switchmen's Mutual Aid Association of the United States of America, at its first Convention, held in Chicago, February 22, 1886. He served for some time in this capacity, but was forced to resign, owing to ill health, and when W. S. Condon absconded with all the money of the Grand Lodge he was asked by the Board of Directors of the Grand Lodge to fill out the unexpired term as Grand Secretary and Treasurer, and straighten out the tangled financial affairs of the Grand Lodge. He responded with that patriotism he is noted for, and won encomiums from all connected with the Association for his work. He has represented Lodge No. 1 in the Grand Lodge twice--Kansas City in 1886 and St. Louis in 1888. Grand Organizer and Instructor George S. Bailey was born in Edgar County, Illinois, in 1858. After receiving a common-school education, he studied law for some time, but had to abandon his studies on account of ill health. He commenced railroading in 1878 on the I. & St. L. Railway, braking on local freight. He was employed as a switchman in East St. Louis a number of years, and was prominent in the great railroad strike of 1886. When the "Q" strike occurred, he was selected to go over a portion of the road and address the railroad men. He spoke at Kansas City, St. Joe, Council Bluffs and other western points. He was a delegate from Lodge No. 37 at the Convention of 1888, and was then elected to his present position. He was a member of the Illinois Legislature in 1886, and made a creditable record. He introduced, and had passed through the House, "House Bill No. 268," which provided for a State Board of Arbitration, but before it reached the Senate the General Assembly had adjourned. Mr. Bailey is full of energy and ability, yet does not allow his enthusiasm to overbalance his good judgment. He has the faculty of controlling men and at the same urging them on to a sense of the duty they owe to themselves and those dependent upon them, as well as to their employers. It has been but a few months since the Convention of 1888, and already fifteen new Lodges have been organized, while about a dozen others are ready and are clamoring for admission to the Association. The whole Eastern section of the country yet remains to be organized, and the switchmen throughout that section are fully alive to the needs of the hour. The present year will witness the addition of several thousand earnest men to the Association. One grand element of strength is shown by this organization--namely: The absolute equality of its members. They have not permitted designing men to foster and establish a set of so-called "High-Class Runs" among them to breed discord and disunion. One switchman is the same as another, and a thousand are but as one, in all the essential points that originally brought them together. Other railway labor organizations have allowed grades and castes to grow up in their Orders, those of the lower grade having scarcely any rights that the others are bound to respect and assist them to maintain. Not so with the switchmen; the young blood in their Association will enable them to steer clear of the rocks and shoals that are sadly trying the timbers of the older Orders. In the strike upon the Burlington system this Association was not officially connected, and had no part whatever in the management or final settlement of that trouble. "We know what Master laid thy keel, What workman wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast and sail and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge, and what a heat, Were shaped the anchors of thy hope." THE GREAT STRIKE. In order to give our readers an intelligent understanding of the causes that led to the strike, it will be necessary to state that for a number of years an iniquitous system of classification had been in vogue on the Chicago Burlington & Quincy lines--a system under which gross injustice was done to engineers and firemen, in that they were so graded that their wages were reduced far below the average of the recognized standard of pay on ninety per cent of the roads in the United States and Canada. For years the men were dissatisfied; all along the lines could be heard the mutterings of discontent. The complaints touching the grievances were universal; and these complaints expanded into proportions of the gravest character. The tendency of the agitation was toward organized action. Engineers and firemen realized the necessity of co-operation, and, as a consequence, committees of the two Brotherhoods were convened in Chicago, in the month of January, 1888. Joint action was decided upon as the basis of operation. S. E. Hoge was selected as Chairman of the Engineers' Committee, and J. H. Murphy as Chairman of the Firemen. The following schedule of grievances was prepared, which met with the unanimous approval of the joint committees. This schedule was presented to the officials of the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy road in a spirit of moderation and fairness. Every proposition had been carefully considered, and there was no disposition to take any undue advantage of the company. BROTHERHOOD'S SCHEDULE. _Revised Schedule of Wages Governing the Pay of Engineers and Firemen on the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad and Operated Lines, Presented to the General Managers on February 15, 1888, by Committee of Engineers and Firemen._ _Article I._ No engineer or fireman shall be suspended or discharged without just or sufficient cause; and in case an engineer or fireman believes his discharge or suspension to have been unjust, he shall make out a written statement of the facts in the premises, and submit it to his Master Mechanic, and at the same time designate any other engineer or fireman (as the accused may wish) who may be in the employ of the Company; and the Master Mechanic, together with the engineer or fireman last referred to, shall, in conjunction with the Superintendent, investigate the case in question without unnecessary delay, and render a prompt decision; and in case the aforesaid discharge or suspension is decided to be unjust, he (the accused) shall be at once reinstated, and shall be paid for all time lost on such account. _Article II._ SECTION 1. Engineers and firemen shall be called at a reasonable time before leaving time. The caller shall have a book, in which the engineer and fireman must register their names and time when called. Engineers' and firemen's time shall commence when they take charge of the engine; or, if the engine is not ready, the time they report at the office for duty, and shall end at the time designated on roundhouse register as arriving, or otherwise relieved from duty. Time shall be taken from roundhouse register, instead of conductor's register or train-sheet. SEC. 2. When engineers or firemen are ordered out, and not used on account of train being abandoned, or other causes, the engineer or fireman called on duty shall receive pay for one-half (½) day for five (5) hours or less, and stand first out. _Article III._ SECTION 1. All passenger engineers running four-wheel connected engines shall receive three and one-half (3½) cents per mile; six-wheel connected engines, three and eight-tenths (3-8/10) cents per mile. All passenger firemen firing four-wheel connected engines shall receive two and one-tenth (2-1/10) cents per mile; six-wheel connected engines, two and one-fourth (2¼) cents per mile. One hundred miles or less to be considered a day's work; over one hundred miles, at the same rate per mile. SEC. 2. All freight engineers running four-wheel connected engines, four (4) cents per mile; six-wheel connected engines, four and three-tenths (4-3/10) cents per mile. All freight firemen, firing four-wheel connected engines, two and four-tenths (2-4/10) cents per mile; six-wheel connected engines, two and six-tenths (2-6/10) cents per mile. One hundred miles or less to constitute a day's work. Over one hundred miles at the same rate per mile. SEC. 3. Engineers running consolidated (eight-wheel connected) engines, four and one-half (4½) cents per mile. Firemen firing consolidated engines, two and four-tenths (2-4/10) cents per mile, two firemen on each consolidated engine. One hundred miles or less to constitute a day's work. Over one hundred miles at the same rate per mile. SEC. 4. On freight runs which occupy more than ten (10) hours to the one hundred miles, overtime shall be paid at the rate of forty (40) cents per hour for engineers, and twenty-four (24) cents per hour for firemen. SEC. 5. Local freight runs on Middle Iowa Division will be allowed one trip and one-half (1½) each way; overtime to be allowed after being on the road fifteen (15) hours. _Article IV._ SECTION 1. In computing the delayed time, the first hour shall not be counted, but if delayed one hour and thirty minutes, shall be counted as two hours, and any fraction of thirty minutes, or over, thereafter, shall be considered one hour. Engineers on freight to be paid forty (40) cents per hour; firemen on freight, twenty-four (24) cents per hour. Engineers on passenger, thirty-five (35) cents per hour; firemen on passenger, twenty-one (21) cents per hour. This article refers only to delays before starting and after arriving at terminals. SEC. 2. Engineers and Firemen called to go to Transfers or Junction Points before card time, delayed time shall commence from time of leaving roundhouse. _Article V._ On passenger runs that do not exceed three dollars and seventy-five cents ($3.75) per day, engineers shall receive three dollars and seventy-five cents ($3.75), and firemen two dollars and twenty-five cents ($2.25) per day; overtime shall be allowed in same proportion when on duty over twelve (12) hours in making such runs. In case actual mileage exceed $3.75, actual mileage at the rate of three and one-half (3½) cents for engineers, and two and one-tenth (2-1/10) cents for firemen per mile shall be allowed. _Article VI._ Short freight runs of less then eighty (80) miles when doubled within twelve hours, mileage allowed according to Sec. 2, Article III, and if not doubled within twelve hours to be allowed one day each way. _Article VII._ All engineers and firemen of work trains or helpers to be paid three dollars and fifty cents ($3.50) per day for engineers, and two dollars and ten cents (2.10) per day for firemen; twelve hours or less, one hundred miles or less, to be called a day's work. If the run should exceed one hundred miles, full freight rates as per class of engine for the entire run. _Article VIII._ SECTION 1. Engineers in snow-plow service (when on duty) shall be paid at the rate of six ($6.00) dollars per day, and firemen in snow-plow service shall be paid at the rate of three dollars and sixty cents ($3.60) per day; ten hours or less to constitute a day's work; all over ten hours to be paid at the rate of sixty (60) cents per hour for engineers, and thirty-six (36) cents per hour for firemen. When engines in snow-plow service are held in roundhouse subject to call for service, the engineer of said engine shall be paid four dollars ($4.00), and firemen two dollars and forty cents ($2.40) per day, of twenty-four (24) hours or less. SEC. 2. Engineers and firemen on weed-destroying engines shall be paid at the same rates as in snow-plow service. SEC. 3. Engineers and firemen on suburban trains between Chicago and Downers Grove will receive, the engineer one dollar and seventy-five cents ($1.75), and the firemen one dollar and five cents ($1.05) for each round trip. _Article IX._ Switch engineers to receive three dollars and firemen one dollar and eighty cents per day, of twelve hours or less; all over twelve hours to be paid, the engineer thirty cents per hour and the fireman eighteen cents per hour; except in Chicago and Kansas City yards, where ten (10) hours or less will constitute a day's work, at $3.00 for engineer and $1.80 for fireman per day; thirty cents (30) for engineers and eighteen cents (18) for firemen per hour for all over ten (10) hours. Any fraction of thirty minutes, or over, shall be counted one hour. They shall have regular engines, and shall not be taken off to give work to extra men. _Article X._ Where engineers and firemen are compelled to double hills, they shall receive one hour's pay per double, at the rate of forty cents for engineers and twenty-four cents for firemen. _Article XI._ Hostlers shall be paid at the rate of two dollars and forty cents per day; twelve hours or less to constitute a day's work. All over twelve hours to be paid at the rate of twenty-four cents per hour. They shall not be required to knock fires. Hostlers to be provided at all terminal points. In all cases where engineers and firemen have to watch their engines, they shall be paid at the full rate per hour. _Article XII._ SECTION 1. Engineers and firemen taking light engines over the road, or dead-heading over the road on company business, will be paid passenger rates; and where light engines are taken over the road, a flagman is to be furnished. In case engineers or firemen are to attend court, or on any company business, engineers to receive four dollars per day and expenses, and firemen two dollars and forty cents per day and expenses. SEC. 2. That no engineer or fireman be required to pull any train without a conductor, or a man to take charge of said train. _Article XIII._ Engineers and firemen will run, first in, first out, and, as far as practicable, on their respective divisions; and where engines are pooled, not to be governed by train department. _Article XIV._ Rights to regular runs, when ability is equal, will be governed by seniority. Engineers and firemen having regular runs up to the Agreement of 1886 will not be affected by this Article. _Article XV._ No more extra engineers or firemen will be assigned than is necessary to move the traffic with promptness and dispatch, and should any engineer or fireman feel himself aggrieved by the assignment of too many men, he can proceed as in Article I, but will receive no pay for loss of time. Galesburg Division engineers and firemen will not be required to run east of Aurora. _Article XVI._ No road engineer or fireman will be expected to do regular yard work at terminal stations. In the event of their being called upon to do said work, the engineer shall receive forty (40) cents per hour, and the fireman twenty-four (24) cents per hour. _Article XVII._ No fines shall be assessed against engineers or firemen. _Article XVIII._ That engineers and firemen and their families be given transportation when applied for, and that some arrangement be made to pass Brotherhood men over the road. _Article XIX._ SECTION 1. That where time is not allowed, the Master Mechanic shall cause the trip report to be returned to the engineer or fireman sending it in, stating why the time is not allowed, as soon as practicable. SEC. 2. All officers, engineers and firemen will observe strict courtesy of manners in their intercourse with each other. _Article XX._ All road engines will be provided with cracked coal suitable for firing, and the company shall do all outside cleaning, and where engines are pooled, the company to do all the cleaning. _Article XXI._ Engineers and firemen shall not be required to go out when they need rest, and they are expected to judge for themselves whether they need rest or not. _Article XXII._ It is understood that there will be no more examinations or tests, except such as are agreed upon by the General Manager and the General Grievance Committee. _Article XXIII._ That on the adoption of this schedule, it shall be kept posted in a conspicuous place in all register rooms on the line of road. All previous schedules and contracts shall be considered void. (Signed) S. E. HOGE, _Chairman Engineers_. J. H. MURPHY, _Chairman Firemen_. It will readily be seen that the engineers and firemen request that the compensation be fixed by the mile, as that is the method adopted by nine-tenths of the railroads in the United States. The Burlington officials have said that this compensation was sought by the Brotherhoods without regard to other conditions or circumstances. This position of the company will not bear inspection. For instance: in cases of high-class runs which they have cited, taking only a few hours for the trip, engineers and firemen have been compelled to care for their own engines; in fact, keep up the repairs of the engine, thereby saving to the company the cost of a hostler, and keeping the engine in constant use without the aid of the machinist. It was not sought by the Brotherhoods to create these high-class runs; on the contrary, the desire was to do away with them. Article XI. of the foregoing schedule plainly says that hostlers must be provided at terminal points, and where absolutely necessary for the engineer and fireman to perform this duty, that they be paid the full rate per hour. It was evidently the desire of the men to force these so-called high-class runs off the schedule, while the company desired to retain them. It is also seen that while the Brotherhoods asked for compensation according to the miles run, the trip pay could still have been continued, providing that the company did not require them to do the work of roundhouse men and machinists. The only question involved here is, that this company should pay as much per trip of equal length as is paid by the other important lines of the country. If the desire had been to pay the men honestly and fairly, it was immaterial whether the compensation be by the trip or mile. To illustrate: If a passenger engineer runs one hundred miles, this schedule calls for three dollars and fifty cents. This rate is paid by the C., R. I. & P., A., T. & S. F., Wabash, and in fact ninety per cent. of the great railway systems in the United States. The Burlington, not desiring to pay upon a basis that would make a fair comparison of wages with those of other companies, abandons the mile schedule, and simply says: "We will pay you three dollars for the trip;" in other words, three cents per mile for the same service for which other roads pay three and one-half cents. It is true that the Brotherhoods have demanded in this schedule "a considerable average increase of pay," but the public must understand that they did not demand this increase from the Burlington over what is paid by its competitors in business. Had the Burlington conceded this increase of pay, it would only have been called upon to pay precisely what its neighbors and rivals have been paying for years. A large average increase of pay must be made before the employes of this road are placed upon an equal footing with those of other roads. For many years the Burlington road had the advantage of a first-class equipment of enginemen at rates of pay far below what its competitors have been compelled to pay for the same service. In strict justice, these men might have demanded restitution, but they only asked for honest treatment in the future. They did not ask for the abolishment of classification based upon merit, age or experience. The proposition is substantially this: If an engineer is compelled to pull the best train on the Burlington road, he should have the best pay. It is not material whether he has been an engineer one year or ten years--competency alone is the requisite. When the company places a man in charge of one of its great express trains, and intrusts to his skill and judgment the lives and property of its patrons, by that very act it certifies that he is a first-class engineer, and entitled to receive pay accordingly. A first-year man is not necessarily a man of inferior ability; the company would not risk its own property and reputation, nor would the public risk their lives, with third-rate men. Why, then, should the company insist on paying them third-class wages? It is injustice, imposition, and avarice! The man who is able to perform the work of a first-class engineer should receive first-class pay, whatever that may be; and he is a slave who accepts less. On the other hand the company takes this position: It places a man in a position which requires at his hands the skill, knowledge and ability of a first-class engineer. The first year it pays him much less than a first-class engineer's wages; the second year it slightly advances his wages, but still keeps them below that of the first-class; the third year he is paid their highest wages to an engineer (which is still less than that paid by other roads), having done the same character and quality of work for three years. The result is that the company is continually gaining from the men who are in their first and second year's service a large per cent of wages. It thus gains all the percentages in this scheme, because a number of men who work the first or second year do not remain long enough in the employ of this company to be entitled to the wages that are paid to the men who have served their third year. These first and second year men who resign to accept better positions on other roads, enter other occupations in life, or are crippled, killed, or discharged by the company, are replaced by other first and second year men, and the company is thus enabled to keep a large percentage of employes at greatly reduced rates of wages. No objection could be offered to paying those who had been employed on the road a long time an extra gratuity if so desired, nor could complaint be made if, in its generosity, the company wished to pension men who had served it faithfully a number of years; but when this gratuity (?), this generosity (?), is only a small portion of the sum stolen from the same employes, the men were only human and failed to appreciate the kindness intended. One of two things must be true: either that the engineers were first-class men entitled to first-class pay, or that the public was deceived when it was asked to travel upon or risk property on trains run by second and third grade, and, consequently inferior men. The latter could not be maintained by the company. Every General Manager in the Western country knows that the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy road was equipped with first-class men in these departments, second to none anywhere. This is clearly proven by their general eagerness to re-engage the former employes of this company. Mr. Jeffrey, General Manager of the Illinois Central road, and Chairman of the General Managers' Association, stated that in the future all vacancies upon his line would be held for the ex-employes of the Burlington road. Nor is Mr. Jeffrey an exception in this matter; the C., R. I. & P., C., S. F. & C., C. & N.-W., C. M. & St. P., Wisconsin Central, M. & N. W., C., A. & St. L., together with the Eastern lines, are rapidly receiving these men into their employ. What has been said in relation to the engineers applies also to the firemen, because upon all the roads the fireman's wages is based upon those of the engineer, and he receives from fifty-five to sixty per cent of the wages that is paid to the engineer; therefore, a shaving down of the engineer's pay means also a shaving down of the amount paid to the fireman, so that on all sides the peculiar system adopted by the Burlington road robs both classes and enriches its own treasury. In the circular issued by the company it says: "The company reserves the right to ascertain by whatever examinations it may think advisable, whether its employes of all classes are capable of fulfilling the duties they undertake, and the public also demand that the railroad company shall take every precaution to employ only those men who can safely perform the work entrusted to them." This was one of the main points at issue. When the company had made such examinations, and found that an engineer or fireman was capable of taking charge of an engine, and that he was competent to fill the company's obligation to the public, what right, in justice, had they to ask that the man accept a lower grade of compensation? He performed the same service rendered by the older men, or those who had been longer on the road, and, in justice, should have received the same pay. If sent out on freight runs, he performed harder service, and a service that required skill and judgment equal at least to the passenger engineer, and should have been paid accordingly in strict sense of justice and equity. The question now arises, had these men just cause to complain? Were the engineers and firemen of the Burlington road seeking to take any undue advantage of that corporation? Were they as well paid as the employes of other roads performing similar services? We invite the attention of the public to the following comparisons: On the "Q" road there is a round trip between Rockford and Aurora which is made twenty-six times a month by the engineer. On the North-Western road there is a round trip between Rockford and Chicago which is also made twenty-six times per month. The North-Western round trip is twenty-two miles greater than the "Q" round trip. The North-Western engineer travels 572 miles per month more than the "Q's" engineer. At the rate of compensation asked by the engineers--viz: 3½ cts. per mile--the North-Western road should only pay $20.02 per month to the engineer on the Rockford-to-Chicago trip greater than that paid to the "Q" engineer who runs on the Rockford-to-Aurora trip. But the fact is that the "Q" road pays its engineer $104 per month, while the North-Western pays its engineer $175. The "Q" engineer holds just as responsible a position as the engineer on the North-Western. He has to cross three intersecting roads in the making of his trip, and, in addition to his work as an engineer, the labor of hostling or caring for the engine is imposed upon him, while the engineer for the North-Western is not obliged to care for his engine. The latter's work begins when he jumps on the engine at one end of the trip, and ceases when he delivers it at the other end. The engineer on the Sterling Branch run draws $84.10 for ninety-eight miles. He stops in Rock Falls six hours, and takes care of his own engine. The engineer that runs the Batavia and Geneva accommodation receives $87.10, and the Chicago & North-Western pays for like runs $96.20, the distance being two miles greater on the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy. The reason we ask more pay for the branch runs is to compensate the men for the extra work done on account of the engineers having to do the work of a machinist. The engineer on the Rockford way-freight runs nightly (twenty-six nights constituting one month), for which he receives $56.00; fireman, $35.00 per month. The engineers on the fast mail, Chicago, Burlington & Quincy, 125 miles per day, receive $97.50 for twenty-six days' time. The engineers on the Chicago & North-Western, for the same service, receive $120.00. The runs on the main line of the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy, 125 miles per day, thirty-five days per month, amount received, $131.00. On the trunk lines out of Chicago, for the same service, the engineers receive $161.00. The engineers on the Buda and Vermont Branch of the "Q" line, 188-3/10 miles per day, twenty-six days constituting one month, receive for same $125.50. The Chicago & North-Western Railway pays for like service $181.00. We desire further to state that no first-class engineer on the Chicago & North-Western receives less than $96.20 for twenty-six days' work, if ready for duty. The Rock Island road pays its engineers on all of its passenger trains $3.60, and its firemen $2.15 for the 100-mile run. The Quincy road only pays $3.50 for this same run to the engineers on a few of its heaviest trains--like the Kansas City one--and on all other trains it pays only $3.37½. It only pays its firemen $2.00 when with the engineer who is paid $3.50, and $1.90 when with the engineer who receives $3.37½. The Rock Island road pays $4.15 for a run of one hundred miles to its freight engineers, and does not require them to act as hostlers for their engines. The Quincy road pays its freight engineer on the 101-mile run from Galva to New Boston $3.75. This run is on a branch road, and the engineer is compelled to do hostler's duty for his engine at both ends of his run. Let us compare two short runs: The first is on the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul road. The round trip between Chicago and Elgin is seventy-four miles, for which the engineer is paid $3.70. The engineer has full control of his time every second day, and has not to act as hostler for his engine. The second is on the "Q" road. The round trip between Chicago and Aurora is seventy-seven miles. The engineer is paid $3.35. He has to "hostle" his engine, and his entire time belongs to the road. Some days he has to be under the orders for eighteen hours per day. Complaint is made in the road's circular because we asked that "Galesburg Division engineers and firemen be not required to run east of Aurora." The idea sought to be conveyed by the company is that this request is unreasonable, and calculated to impose greater expense on the road. The fact is that compliance with this request will not impose one cent of extra expense on the road. No objection has been offered to running the engines through from Galesburg to Chicago. The change of crews--engineers and firemen--at Aurora will not increase the company's outlay. There are about 300 of the engineers and firemen who live in Aurora. Many of these men own homes; some of these homes, however, are not entirely paid for. If they are compelled to run from Galesburg to Chicago and return, they would have to sacrifice their property, and remove either to Galesburg or to Chicago. They ask that the crews be made to run on the one end of the route only from Chicago to Aurora and return, and on the other end only from Galesburg to Aurora and return. If we were paid on the mile system, the change of crews would not cost the road one cent. It is also complained that we ask that some arrangements be made in relation to passing Brotherhood men on the "Q" trains. We make no demand in this regard. Our purpose in making this request was to get some uniform rule put in force on this road, the same as prevails on other roads. We have no right to demand this. We did not demand it; our desire was, while we were negotiating, to get this question, now unsettled, so determined that the conductors would hereafter know precisely what to do, and thus be able to avoid conflicts. On the Pan Handle road the freight engineer who runs from Indianapolis to Bradford, a distance of 105 miles, receives $4.25 for the trip; his fireman receives $2.15. On the "Q" road the round trip run from Galesburg to Peoria is 105 miles, for which the engineer receives $3.60 and the fireman $2.10. From Quincy to Colchester the round trip is 107 miles. The "Q" road pays its engineer for that trip $3.75, and its fireman $2.15. For runs of 100 miles on the Union Pacific road the engineer on passenger trains receives $3.85. The "Q" road is a competitor of the Union Pacific, and for a long distance travels over parallel lines through country of precisely the same character. Yet we have only asked $3.50 per 100 miles for a passenger engineer on the "Q" road. SUBMITTING THE PROPOSITIONS. The requests of the men were met with indifference at the hands of the Burlington officials. Not the slightest encouragement was given to the Committees. They were given to understand, substantially, that no concessions on the part of the company need be expected. The abominable system of classification, the chief source of complaint, would be continued, and the protests of the men, however emphatic or unanimous, would not prevail. FURTHER EFFORTS TO SECURE JUSTICE. The Committees having exhausted every expedient to effect an amicable adjustment, appealed to their Grand Executive Officers to come to the rescue. Grand Chief Arthur and Grand Master Sargent responded to the call. The Joint Committee was convened by the Grand Officers, and a careful analysis of the grievances was made. Having satisfied themselves that the demands of the men were reasonable and just, the Grand Officers, accompanied by the Joint Committee, called upon the officials of the C., B. & Q. system. A protracted interview followed, which resulted practically in a failure, as the officials declined to accede to a single proposition of the Committee, notwithstanding numerous modifications were made in the interest of harmony. The interview ended abruptly upon the declaration of General Manager Stone, that he would not accede to any part of the proposition bearing upon classification. In this, he was emphatic and uncompromising. This ended the conference so far as General Manager Stone was concerned, and the Committee respectfully withdrew. STILL FURTHER EFFORTS IN THE INTEREST OF HARMONY AND JUSTICE. Grand Chief Arthur and Grand Master Sargent, realizing that the difficulty had assumed a most serious phase, decided, upon consultation, to make a final effort to avert what now seemed inevitable--a strike. A telegraphic dispatch was transmitted to President Perkins, at Boston, appealing to him to do justice by his men and avert the impending strike. His answer was evasive, indefinite, showing an utter indifference as to what the result might be. NEARING THE CRISIS. Having now been cut off from every avenue leading to an honorable adjustment of grievances, having exhausted every reasonable expedient to prevent trouble, the Committee, with the sanction of the Grand Officers, decided that the engineers and firemen should withdraw in a body from the service of the company, at 4 o'clock, on Monday morning, February 27, unless some disposition was shown to remedy the grievances of the men. On Sunday, February 26, the day previous to the inauguration of the strike, Chairmen Hoge and Murphy called upon General Manager Stone, and informed him of the action of the Committee, again appealing to him to render justice to the men. The General Manager arbitrarily declined to make any concessions, or to give the Committee any satisfaction, and here the matter ended with the final conference, with the strike inevitable and its consequences in full view. THE STRIKE. On Monday morning, the 27th instant, at 4 o'clock, the strike began, all engineers and firemen on the entire system withdrawing from the service of the company. All trains on the road at that hour were taken to their terminal points. The men had exhibited throughout, patience, prudence and forbearance, and the strike at once became monumental of an infamous policy on the part of a rich and powerful corporation to rob its trusted employes of money earned, that it might increase its profits, and with equal distinctness does the strike record the fact that a great body of workingmen sought by every honorable means to secure their rights, preferring to suffer than to be longer degraded. THE PRESS. No sooner was the strike inaugurated than the press began to manipulate public opinion. The most sensational reports were concocted and published throughout the length and breadth of the land; and while at the inception of the strike there seemed to be a disposition to treat the men fairly, it was not long be fore a change of sentiment pervaded the utterances of the press, and fair-dealing and honest criticism gave place to the grossest misrepresentations, with the evident purpose of arousing public opinion against the strikers, thereby making them the victims of the corporation they were struggling against, and of which it was the subsidized agent and representative. When the switchmen joined the engineers and firemen, March 23, for a short time there was a change in the tone of the press reports. They evidently feared a repetition of the lawlessness of the strikes of 1877, but when they found that the switchmen, too, were a law-abiding class of men, they again acknowledged allegiance to the corporation. Reporters were sent to the meetings of the strikers, who, believing that they would be fairly dealt with, had appointed a Press Committee. In almost every instance the papers failed to print the matter as given to the reporters, and in many cases did print exactly the reverse. This Press Committee, composed of conservative men, soon learned that the reporters went directly from them to the Burlington officials, where the interviews were inspected and put in proper shape to answer the purposes of the company. An effort was then made by the Press Committee to get their communications directly to the papers, without the use of the reporters. In a short time this also failed. Chiefs Arthur and Sargent and Chairmen Hoge and Murphy, at the Grand Pacific Hotel, had a similar experience. It was impossible to get proper representation of the facts printed. March 26 one paper accepted and printed a communication from the Press Committee, but from that time on nothing was printed verbatim. The article referred to is herewith given: "As the Burlington Bureau of Information has ceased to give out facts, but are drawing on advertising material, we wish to state the causes of their trouble with the switchmen. They have not struck, but have left the service of that company. 'Self-preservation is the first law of nature.' This is the reason in a nutshell. For the past week every switch engine in the house has been out. Three have gone in again disabled, and less than half of the regular work has been done. As long as the company were satisfied to let the men take time to insure safety there was no trouble. But as the cars accumulated in the yards, they considered it necessary to push the men beyond the point of safety, against their protests, and the 'strike' or stoppage was the result. A few of the engineers and firemen are locomotive men, but the majority are not, and all are ignorant of our signals and methods of work. In switching cars there should be no one in the cab but the engineer and fireman, and both should be watching the movements and signals of the switchmen. As it is now, the fireman stands in the gangway, while his seat is occupied by two or three Pinkerton men. No signal can be seen from that side of the engine. The engineer keeps his window closed, to shut out the taunts of passers-by, and the switchmen are left to take their chances. As long as he was allowed to pull pins with the train at a stand-still, and make couplings with the engine attached, he could do the work with reasonable safety, but this is not the manner of handling cars on our western roads, and would not have been tolerated one month ago. Aside from pulling pins and coupling cars, there is the continual danger of collisions, as at Hawthorne, last Thursday night, when switch engine 176 was run through by a road engine and train, whose engineer did not see stop signals nor the headlight ahead of him on a straight track. The tracks in and about Chicago are cut up with railroad crossings, semaphores, connections and the interlocking switch systems. These new engineers know nothing about them, and are continually running through and under them, to the imminent danger of themselves, switchmen and opposing trains. These varied sources of danger to life and limb are so great that the men are undoubtedly justified in leaving the service of that company." THE FIRST BOYCOTT. From a circular issued in June, by the Brotherhood of Engineers the following is taken: "Shortly after the inauguration of the strike, reports were received at headquarters to the effect that certain lines of railway, parallel to the C., B. & Q., were hauling the cars and handling the traffic of that company. These reports created decidedly bitter feeling on the part of the striking employes, and ultimated in the convening of the chairmen of the Grievance Committees of the several systems complained of. At this meeting, which took place at Chicago, on March 5, it was agreed that the engineers and firemen employed on said systems should serve notice on their respective officials, through the proper committees, that while they were willing to perform all their legitimate duties, they would decline thenceforth to haul C., B. & Q. cars, or transact any of the business properly devolving upon that company, as by so doing, they would virtually be taking the positions vacated by their striking brethren, and by that means contribute to their defeat, while at the same time they would be giving aid and comfort to the corporation against which they were struggling for their rights. THE QUESTION OF LAW INTRODUCED. "Out of this action of the Committees arose a series of the most threatening complications, which it may be well to explain at this point. It should be understood, in the first place, that there is upon the statute books of Illinois a law which provides that any officer, chairman or leader of a labor organization, association or combination, who advises or causes a body of employes to withdraw their services from any company or corporation, thereby crippling the business or interfering with the operations of the said company or corporation, shall be deemed guilty of conspiracy, and shall be fined or imprisoned in proportion to the extent of the injury caused. It will be observed that the provisions of this law were exceedingly embarrassing to the Grand Officers; and upon taking legal advice they found, to their discomfiture, that they were even then occupying untenable ground and exposing themselves to the liability of being prosecuted under the conspiracy act referred to. Not only this, but it soon became apparent that the action taken by the Committee on March 5 did not meet with the unanimous approval of the engineers and firemen employed on the several systems there represented. On the contrary, the engineers and firemen on some of the lines positively refused to be bound by the agreement, and openly avowed their intention to perform any and all duties that might be required of them, including the handling of C., B. & Q. business. WANT OF UNITY AND HARMONY. "The lack of unanimity at this particular juncture proved fatal to any good results that might have followed concert of action in carrying out the instructions of the Committee. Division, discontent and disorder soon began to appear. There was a total lack of harmony in the spirit and purpose of the men, and those who were disposed to act in good faith and refuse to handle C., B. & Q. traffic simply laid themselves liable to dismissal from the service of the company, without assurance or hope of protection or support from the men employed on the same system. STRIKE ON THE SANTA FE. "Under this condition of affairs occurred the noted strike on the Santa Fe system, which was precipitated on March 16, on account of the alleged aid given the C., B. & Q. by that company in hauling its cars and transacting its business. Upon a more careful investigation of the matter, it was found that there was no adequate cause for the strike--that it grew out of a misapprehension of the facts in the case, and on March 18, after being out two days, the men returned to work in a body, the road resumed operations, and the same satisfactory relations between the company and the men which had hitherto prevailed, were restored. THE SWITCHMEN. "From the very inception of the strike, the members of the Switchmen's Mutual Aid Association evinced a profound interest in the struggle and freely tendered their sympathy and support to the strikers. They realized that the contest was for the maintenance of a common cause, and that the employes in every department of the railway service were interested in the result. The Grand Master, J. L. Monaghan, prompted by a desire to protect the interests of his men, as well as to extend a helping hand to his co-laborers, came to the front nobly, and with the aid of the members of his Order, took a decided stand in favor of the strikers. The switchmen realized that their interests were largely at stake, that a victory for the strikers meant a victory for them, and _vice versa_, and, with this feeling, they left the service of the company in a body, preferring to sacrifice their situations rather than serve in the employ of a company that refused to do common justice to its employes. Candor compels the admission, that we are indebted to the switchmen for aid freely given in the hour of our direst necessity. They acted the part of manly men, and are entitled to the thanks and gratitude of the Brotherhoods." Equal candor on the part of those who signed the above circular would compel the admission that the switchmen have not yet received that which was so freely promised them during the early days of March and on the night of March 22,--namely, federation. From the 1st of March until the 22d, Mr. Monaghan was in frequent consultation with Chiefs Arthur and Sargent. It was evident that the switchmen in remaining at work with the new engineers were doing the cause an incalculable injury, and efforts were made to overcome this new difficulty. FEDERATION. The switchmen and the brakemen were willing and anxious to unite with the Brotherhood. They did not wish the company to be victorious through aid given by them, and they were equally unwilling to give aid to the Brotherhood in this struggle and receive what many had received in the past, only injury. In this condition of affairs an arrangement was made whereby, in future troubles, the two Brotherhoods and the Association of Switchmen were to stand faithfully by each other. It was at this time the universal opinion among the switchmen, engineers and firemen that some such plan should be devised, and the Constitutions changed accordingly, and this feeling was concurred in by the officers of the three organizations. The legal counsel was called into the conference and a plan formulated for future action, which was to be subject to the Annual Convention of each organization. True to the promises given by Grand Master Sargent, the Convention of Firemen did, in September, 1888, put forward a most comprehensive plan of federation, which was adopted by the Convention of Switchmen in the same month, and which apparently died at the Convention of Engineers in October. Whatever the action since taken, the switchmen were then perfectly satisfied--particularly so, as at the union meeting held in Chicago on the night of March 22, prominent members of the two Brotherhoods from all parts of the United States gave their unqualified approval to the action of their officers, and, furthermore, pledged the honor of the Brotherhoods that the obligation would be faithfully met and promptly carried out. More solemn or binding obligations were never entered into by men. The switchmen were promised, and written pledges given by the officers of the Brotherhoods, that the same financial assistance given to the engineers engaged in the strike should also be given to them, as long as an engineer received a dollar, the switchmen should receive a like amount. SWITCHMEN ENTER THE STRIKE. On the morning of March 23 the switchmen, with the consent of Grand Master Monaghan, left the service of the Burlington Company in Chicago, not one single man remaining behind. Out of seventeen yardmasters, eleven went with the switchmen. Two of these, however, remained out but a few days, and then returned to the service of the company. Of the switchmen, but one returned. ALONG THE LINE. Messengers were immediately dispatched over the system to notify the switchmen what action had at last been decided upon, and these, with few exceptions, took the same course as was taken by their Chicago brethren. At Aurora, Galesburg, Burlington, Ottumwa, Creston, Plattsmouth, Omaha, Lincoln, Kansas City, St. Joe, Beardstown, and all points where switch engines are employed, the men, with few exceptions, made the sacrifice required of them, and did it freely. At Quincy the men also went out; but on an offer of the agent to increase their pay, all but five returned to work. It is gratifying to the rest of the men to know that this promise was never fulfilled to the Quincy switchmen. BRAKEMEN. The brakemen did not go out in this movement, as was expected by the switchmen. Written pledges were offered them by the Brotherhoods, similar to those accepted by the Switchmen. Mr. Wilkinson did not feel like assuming the responsibility of calling his men out on the strength of these pledges. The constitution gave him no such authority and he did not feel like taking the responsibility of doing an unconstitutional act. The feeling among those actually engaged in the strike is friendly toward the Brotherhood of Brakemen. They know that these men were not opposed to them, although they remained in the service of the Company. SECOND BOYCOTT. Immediately after the switchmen left the service of the C., B. & Q. corporation, a meeting of yard engineers, firemen and switchmen was held at Chicago, at which it was agreed that no C., B. & Q. cars should be handled from and after that time. Upon the taking effect of this agreement, it became apparent that the yardmen would not receive the support of many of the road men in carrying out its provisions; in fact, it was currently reported, and not denied, that upon certain lines the road men had decided to handle the business of the C., B. & Q., in the event of the yard men declining to do so. This division in the policy of the men created the most intense dissatisfaction, and gave rise to deep indignation. The men who declined to handle C., B. & Q. cars were given to understand that dismissal would be the penalty if they persisted in carrying out that policy. Other men were ready to perform their duties. To adhere to the agreement meant the sacrifice of their situations. A number of them had already been dismissed. Demoralization and dismay, the fruit of discord and disunion, were beginning to take root. ON THE C., M. & ST. P. RAILWAY this agreement was more faithfully carried out. When the yard engineers refused to handle "Q" cars they were at once joined by the switchmen and yardmasters (including the General Yardmaster). Switch-tenders, road engineers and firemen, brakemen, and most of the conductors were entirely in accord with them. The result was a general closing down of business on the road. The men were discharged, and fully one-third of the entire force of the road laid off. The company evidently intended to clear the decks for a great battle. It has been repeatedly claimed, that if the other roads centering in Chicago had made the prompt action of the C., M. & St. P. men general, the boycott, with all that the term implies would have been on to the fullest extent. A NEW DEPARTURE was demanded to avert the gravest complications, which seemed inevitable. A meeting was called, and counsel was taken from those who were in position to map out a new and better line of action. This meeting was addressed by the Grand Master of the Switchmen's Association, the Grand Master of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen, General Manager Jeffery of the Illinois Central, and others. The situation was clearly defined, the peril of continuing in a hopeless crusade against C., B. & Q. cars was vividly outlined, and, as a result of the meeting, traffic was resumed upon the several railways the following morning, and all those who had been dismissed for refusing to handle C., B. & Q. cars were reinstated in their former positions. Much unjust criticism has been passed upon this action, and yet we feel confident that if the situation and surrounding conditions had been half understood, it would have met with universal approval. It must be remembered that unity of action had not been secured, and there was no authority in the Brotherhood to enforce it, even if the chief so-willed, which he evidently did not. Under the circumstances, to continue the boycott against "Q" cars was to destroy or divide the Brotherhood; the men were not yet educated up to the point of making so great a sacrifice, or at least what they considered a sacrifice. And yet, if this unity of action had been attained, if not one Brotherhood man in the United States had taken another's place who refused to handle "Q" cars, where was the power to defeat them? Such a power does not exist! Not even in the General Government. KNIGHTS OF LABOR. At the very outset of the strike it was claimed by the Burlington management that Knights of Labor stood ready to supplant the Brotherhoods upon their lines. This has been proven to be a misrepresentation to a very great extent. It was true, however, that there was considerable feeling existing between the Knights of Labor and the Brotherhood of Engineers, growing out of the strike of 1873 and the Reading strike. In the strike of "'73" many of the Knights of Labor, or those who are now Knights, took the places vacated by Brotherhood men on the Pennsylvania lines. In the Reading strike of the Knights, members of the Brotherhood, in turn, supplanted them. At the commencement of the "Q" strike, individual members of the Knights of Labor took it upon themselves to retaliate upon the Brotherhood, at least it was called retaliation, but the object was apparently to secure better jobs. There is positive proof that these measures of retaliation were not, in either case authorized by the heads of the organizations. The Burlington Company sought to make capital for themselves out of this old trouble, and did everything in their power to widen the breach. During the months of January and February, the agents of the company thoroughly canvassed the labor districts of the East, searching out every dissatisfied Knight and every unprincipled character, who could by any possible means be induced to put the finishing touches to his disgrace. Among this horde were some few hitherto respectable workmen, who were induced by brilliant promises to drop their respectability and disgrace themselves by joining such a band and for such a cause. Retaliation was their excuse, but a thinner disguise never clothed a scoundrel. Had the Switchmen's Mutual Aid Association ever done them a wrong? And yet, more of these so-called Knights are switching cars to-day than are handling the throttle and scoop. For a time these men were actually thought to be Knights of Labor in good standing, and coming West with the full sanction of their Order. Ample proof, however, exists that they were but the riffraff of the Order. It is but justice to the Knights of Labor to say that these fellows were a class who acknowledged allegiance to no particular Order, and recognized no authority. Many of them belonged to suspended Assemblies, or were expelled from the K. of L. as well as from the B. of L. E. for dissolute habits and other causes. T. V. POWDERLY. On February 29, Grand Master Workman Powderly, issued a noted letter to his Order, calling upon them to stand back and keep hands off in this strike. The following extract from the letter demonstrates the fact that Mr. Powderly's attitude was consistent with justice and right. "Let the past be forgotten in this strike; no matter how bitter you may feel toward these men, remember that they have not yet stepped out of the rut of selfishness, and it is best to teach them what manhood means by keeping your hands off the C., B. & Q. strike. The spectacle presented by men of labor who belong to different organizations rushing at each other's throats whenever a strike takes place, must be a gratifying thing to the employers of labor. It must indeed give satisfaction to the corporations to know that neither Knights of Labor nor Brotherhood men dare in future ask for better treatment, with any assurance of receiving it. It must be a consoling thought to the monopolist to know that his power is not half so dangerous to the labor organizations as the possibility that another labor organization will espouse his cause through revenge. Labor will forever be bound hand and foot at the feet of capital as long as one workingman can be pitted against another. "No strike should be entered into until the court of last resort has been reached; until the last effort consistent with manhood has been made; until the heads of the opposing forces on both sides have been consulted, and their verdict given; until the last bridge has been burned between them; then, if it was determined that the last thing possible had been done to avert trouble, every detachment of labor's army--horse, foot and artillery--should be wheeled into line to defend the rights of men in the breach. Knights of Labor, from Maine to California, stand back! Keep your hands off! Let the law of retaliation be disregarded, and let the men of the "Q" road win this strike if they can!" That all of these men did not stand back is not the fault of this organization. Bad men exist in every Order, and probably always will. The "Q" retain many of them, but it is no disgrace to the Knights of Labor. They are men who have not the principles of Knighthood in their hearts. About the middle of April a committee of Brotherhood men went East to confer with Grand Master Workman Powderly. The result of that meeting was that all Knights of Labor who still acknowledged allegiance to that Order should be called off from all lines operated by the Burlington Company where they had taken the places of strikers. The general result of this order was not very satisfactory. As before stated, they were a class of men who recognized no authority from any labor organization. The following circular of a later date gives the true standing of the Knights of Labor on this question: OFFICE OF STATE MASTER WORKMAN, } Beatrice, Neb., June 21, 1888. } AN APPEAL. I have given thorough and conscientious examination into the troubles existing between the striking Brotherhood of Engineers, Firemen and Switchmen and the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad Company. The justice of their cause against this corporation appeals to my judgment and my sympathies. It should arouse every Knight of Labor in the State, and place him to the front in defense of their cause and in placing opprobrium upon the Burlington monopoly. The Order should take a distinctive and pronounced stand for these men, who are simply battling for justice, and no more. What is the purpose of the C., B. & Q. people in this struggle with the Brotherhood? It is to stamp organized labor with defeat, and millions of dollars are behind them to accomplish this result. Should they succeed, every laborer and producer will sink lower in the scale of manhood and deeper into the degradation of slavery. It is the purpose of the C., B. & Q. to fasten perpetual manacles upon them, from which there can be no escape but in death. It means slavery for all who toil, more appalling and horrible than the slavery of the South, the fetters of which were broken by war. I urge, therefore, upon every knight in the State to boycott this road that is the enemy of labor. Do not ride in its cars. Drive your stock to some competing line, and do not sell your grain where it will be shipped by them. Let the boycott be absolute and complete so far as your patronage goes. Have nothing to do with those who are in business and employ this road in any capacity. Spend your dollars with those who are the friends of organized labor. Persuade your friends to adopt the same course. There is only one debt that the Knights of Labor owe to the C., B. & Q. road, and that is the infamy of their eternal hate. Its hand has forever been raised against us. Whenever its employes have come to our ranks, that was sufficient ground for their discharge from its service. Its power, its wealth, its secret detective service and all the means at its command have been aimed at our destruction. Do not stop to consider that there have been differences in the past between the Knights of Labor and the Brotherhoods. It is not the time to argue which organization has been in the wrong. The past is a dead thing; let us give our thoughts to the future and the living present. The question is, are we going to help this corporation to destroy labor organizations, or are we going to present a solid front, a phalanx of determined men, who will say to the Brotherhoods, "We will stand by you till you conquer in this fight, and all the power of our membership and assemblies will be directed to help you win." This is my theory of true knighthood, and I want to see it placed in successful practice in the present grave emergency. Let us do more than this. Let us make certain the defeat of this corporation as a lasting memorial that will bear a lesson to all corporations so long as time shall be. Fraternally, M. D. HUBBARD, S. M. W. STATE RAILWAY COMMISSION. This book would be incomplete did it not give an extract of the testimony taken before the State Board of Warehouse and Railway Commissioners on the 3d, 4th and 5th days of April, 1888. This testimony grew out of the charges made before the Board by the citizens of Aurora. We are indebted to the _Sunday World_ of April 15 for the matter herein contained, which was not published or referred to by any other Chicago paper, and was suppressed by the Board. _Citizens of Aurora_ vs. _The C., B. & Q. Railway Company_: Testimony taken before the Board of Warehouse and Railway Commissioners of Illinois, on the 3d, 4th and 5th days of April, A. D. 1888: Present: Alexander Sullivan, Esq., on behalf of the citizens of Aurora; Chester A. Dawes, Esq., on behalf of the C., B. & Q. Railway Company. Franklin L. Bliss, a witness called on behalf of the complainants, having been duly sworn, was examined in chief by Mr. Sullivan, and testified as follows: Q. What is your name? A. Franklin L. Bliss. Where do you live? Rock Island, Illinois. What is your occupation? Locomotive engineer. In what company's employ are you? Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul. How long have you been a locomotive engineer? Over twenty-three years. Were you the engineer on the train on the Milwaukee road with which a Quincy train collided on February 27? I was. State to the Board, as briefly as you can, the circumstances; what you did at that crossing; what it was your duty to do as to stopping and giving signals, and whether or not you performed your duty, and then state the occurrence of the accident? When I was within half a mile of this crossing I gave a long signal for the crossing; I brought the train to a full stop within 400 feet of the railroad crossing; then I stepped over and looked on the left side of the engine, and could see no train or hear no train on the left; on the right there was no train I could see; then I gave two whistles and started my train for the crossing; when I got the engine onto the crossing (the cab was about on the crossing) I looked to the left and saw a train coming down the Burlington track right at me. Commissioner Marsh: Just after you got on the crossing? A. Yes; the cab of the engine was about on the crossing when I saw. Commissioner Rinaker: Was there anything to hinder you seeing that train before you got onto the crossing? Commissioner Marsh: Any obstruction in the way? A. Well there is a cut on the east. I should think the mouth of the cut was some 900 feet from the crossing on the Burlington road. Mr. Sullivan: When you looked before you started your engine was there anything between you and that crossing--was the engine in sight? A. No, sir. Q. Describe the grade on the Quincy road between that cut and where the collision occurred at the crossing; is it smooth? It is down-grade to the crossing. From the mouth of the cut? Yes, sir. To the crossing? Yes, sir. Did that engine, after it came out of that cut, stop before it reached the crossing and collided with your train? A. No, sir. It did not? No, sir. I gave two short whistles before I started the train, after making the stop. You came to a full stop? I came to a full stop; yes, sir. Commissioner Rogers: What crossing do you have reference to--the crossing at Aurora? A. This crossing is just about two miles and a quarter south of Fulton Junction, on the Milwaukee road. Q. Where the C., B. & Q. crosses? A. Yes, sir. Commissioner Rinaker: How near to the crossing were you when you stopped? Within 400 feet; the cylinder of my engine was just about opposite the stopping board. Q. Go on and describe the accident. You were describing what you did, the signals you gave; go on and finish that. A. That was all the signals I did give. Two sharp whistles? Yes; then I started the train. I didn't see the train till the engine got on the crossing, just about the cab. The "Q" engine struck my tender just about midway of the back truck. Mr. Sullivan: What damage, if you know, was done to your train, and to the other, and what injuries to persons? Commissioner Rinaker: The back truck of your engine or tender? A. Of the tender--it throwed my tender or the tank down into the ditch; took the back truck with it, and throwed the mail car also down the bank; wrecked the mail car, too; also the "Q" engine went off the track, and run along; the engine and baggage car kind of went over, nearly onto one side; went into the ground and stopped. Q. Was yours a passenger train? A. Yes, sir. Was the other the "Q"? Yes, sir. Both passenger trains? Yes, sir. Who, if anyone, was hurt on your train? There was a route agent by the name of Wilhelm; I don't know exactly what his name was. Where does he live, do you know? Rock Island, I think. An express messenger by the name of Morrison. Do you know where he lived? I do not. Who else? A mail agent by the name of Brown. Do you know whether or not anyone was hurt on their train--the Quincy train? The roadmaster, engineer and conductor of the train. That was all that was injured? That was all that was injured. Do you know their names? I do not. F. L. Bliss, being recalled, was examined by Mr. Sullivan, and testified as follows: Q. At what rate of speed did you pull out after you left that 400-foot board--between that and the crossing? A. I pulled out slow; it would not average over about six or eight miles an hour, anyway. Were you trying to make up for your lost time? No, sir. Why? We have an order not to make up any time from Fulton Junction to three miles west of Albany. There was an order on the board, and has been there. So that you were not trying to make up time, and were not running at an extraordinary rate of speed? Not running any faster than though we had been right on time. And you think the time you were running between that 400 feet and the crossing was about six to eight miles? I don't think when we was on the crossing--I don't think it was over eight miles an hour, anyway--six or eight. Mr. Dawes: You rely on your fireman, don't you, to look out for his side? A. No, sir. Who do you rely on? I hardly ever go over the crossing without looking myself; still, he tells me, but I think it is safer to look myself. You looked on your side? I did. Did you look out on the other side? I did. Where did you look out last? Before I started. Before you started from the 400-foot post? Yes, sir. Did you look out after that at all? Not after I started on the train until I got on the crossing. The fireman was shoveling in coal, wasn't he--firing up? Yes, sir. Did you look out of your side of the cab after you left the 400-foot station, down the Burlington track? Yes, sir; I looked on my side. How long has that 400-foot post been there, do you know? The 400-foot on our track? Yes. It has been there ever since I have run down there. I have been running about fourteen years on that run. I don't know how much longer it has been there. Mr. Sullivan: That is all. The people that have been injured we could not get. Mr. Dawes: We will admit people were injured. The engineer we shall call was injured more than anybody else. D. W. Rhodes, a witness called on behalf of the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad Company, being first duly sworn, was examined in chief by Mr. Dawes, and testified as follows: Q. What is your full name? A. D. W. Rhodes. What is your business? Superintendent of motive power on the C., B. & Q. road. Are the engineers responsible to you? Through my assistants they are directly responsible to me. But they are immediate employes of your department? They are immediate employes of my department. Of which you are the head? Yes, sir. Do you know Mr. Pearce? Yes, sir. What is his business now, and what was it on the 19th day of March? Mr. Pearce is assistant engineer of tests in our laboratory at Aurora. Is he an engineer in the employ of the Burlington road now? He is not a locomotive engineer. Was he ever, at any time, an engineer in the employ of the Burlington road? He was never examined as an engineer for the Burlington road. You say he was not? No, sir; he was not. Where was he sent? He was sent on this Clinton run, from Mendota to Clinton. Do you know about what time that run is made? No, I do not. Was anybody sent with him? He had a pilot; the roadmaster was his pilot. The roadmaster of that section or division? Yes, sir. I am not very clear about what Mr. Pearce's crew was. I had to take an engine out myself that morning, and I was not at Aurora. Mr. Sullivan: Do you know anything about it at all, except from hearsay? Do you know from your own knowledge who was on the train? A. From being present, no. Mr. Sullivan: This testimony on that subject should be stricken out. The witness: May I make one correction? I said I took an engine out myself that morning; I fired an engine out that morning. Cross-examination by Mr. Sullivan: Q. Did Mr. Pearce ever run a locomotive engine before? A. Mr. Pearce had handled a locomotive engine; yes, sir. The question was, did he ever run a locomotive engine before? Please answer that? I am not able to say whether he did or not. Are you in the habit, when exercising your best judgment to select engineers, to put a man on the road to run a locomotive engine when you don't know whether he has ever run one before or not? In a case like this, where our trains were---- In any case? We do so; I would do so again. Where the lives of the public and the property of the public are in peril, you will take a man without knowing whether he ever ran an engine before or not, and put him in charge of an engine? No, sir; Mr. Pearce's education and training justified me in believing that he could handle that train properly. Do you believe any technical education in the shops, without practical experience, fits a man to be placed in charge of an engine to which is attached a passenger train? Properly guided by a pilot and conductor on the engine, I say so, decidedly. You would do so at any time? If there had been no strike, you would select a man of that experience, would you? I would only do that under the circumstances as we were. Only under emergencies? Yes, sir. You would not say generally it is a wise thing for a railroad to do; would you? I would say under circumstances such as we were left in there it was a wise thing for us to do. I ask you generally? If I had time to make a thorough examination of a man I certainly would do it. William H. Pearce, a witness called on behalf of the C., B. & Q. railroad company, being first duly sworn, was examined in chief by Mr. Dawes, and testified as follows: Q. What is your name? A. William H. Pearce. What is your business? Assistant engineer of tests in the C., B. & Q. State under what circumstances you took this engine on the 27th day of February last? Upon learning of the strike, I, with several other young men, signed a letter to Mr. Rhodes offering to go out in any position which they should deem it advisable. I was detailed by the Master Mechanic to go to Mendota and take that train to Fulton, with the understanding that I was to have a pilot; we struck the train; we had as pilot the roadmaster. We left Mendota five minutes late, and we were about six minutes late when I first see the St. Paul train. How far was that out of Mendota, do you remember? It was somewhere about in the neighborhood of sixty miles. You had lost a minute in sixty miles, had you? Lost a minute in running sixty miles. Who were with you on the engine beside the roadmaster? When we started out of Mendota there was only Mr. Chapin, the civil engineer of the Chicago Division, and the roadmaster, Mr. Seegers, and a machinist who came from the Aurora shop. After leaving Garden Plain, which is the last stop before arriving at the crossing, the conductor also came on the engine. Were you familiar with that division, had you ever run over it before? No, I never knew it; I never run over it at all. Now state, Mr. Pearce, how this accident occurred. We were going along, I should judge, about forty-five miles an hour. I will preface it by saying that the roadmaster was very careful all the way coming up, and I had no reason whatsoever to fear any lack of duty in warning me of any such place; we were going about forty-five miles an hour, and I had to look out for my water; it was getting a little dark; we were going west; of course it cast a shadow and I could not see the water glass; after losing a little time that way I tried my gauge cocks; when I got through with that I looked up and I saw this St. Paul train; that is the first intimation I had of the crossing. What did you do then? I shut off and put on the brakes. Right off, did you? Yes, sir. You struck this train as described? I struck a train; yes. Did you do everything in your power to prevent that accident? Yes, sir; I don't see how I could do anything more. Commissioner Rinaker: Tell exactly what you did do? A. I shut off and put the air on. How far were you from the train, in your judgment, when you did that? I should say in the neighborhood of 600 feet when I saw it, and I would say right here about the speed, that that speed, down grade, would require about a thousand feet to stop; it has been proved by the Burlington tests. Mr. Dawes: What became of you, do you know? A. I only know that from hearsay. I know I was knocked off the engine and they got me up; I was leaning against the drivers, they told me, laying up against the drivers; the engine jumped the track, I understand; I don't know; I didn't remember anything until the next morning. Is your sight good--your eyesight? Yes; I think my sight is normal, with my glasses. You can see at a distance, can you, as well as ordinary individuals? I think so. In reference to your hearing? Well, I am hard of hearing in a room, but I am not hard of hearing on an engine. Had you received any warning before coming to this crossing, as far as you remember of it? No. It is fair to say that the roadmaster says he warned you; I say that in justification of him. He says he did. You did not hear any notice; that is what you swear, isn't it? I did not hear him. Are you, in your own judgment, from your education and experience, both in study and on the road, capable of running a locomotive engine? On such a train as that, yes; it is a branch road, and there are comparatively few trains; I would not care about going on a main line. Cross-examination by Mr. Sullivan: Who was the pilot who was furnished you? A Mr. Seegers, the roadmaster. Can you not hear without putting your hand up? I don't wish to be offensive, but I want, as a matter of fact, to find out. Not in that tone. I can hear, yes; but I can hear better by putting it up, as anyone could reasonably argue; probably you can yourself. It is not necessary to do that where there is any noise or confusion going on. Could you have heard a notice to stop, or a notice that there was a crossing, if Seegers had given it to you? I would have heard as well as any other person. Then you would have heard him if he gave such an order or gave such information? You are very well aware of the fact you have to speak more or less loud on an engine to anyone. Did anyone speak more or less loud to you as to notify you that there was a crossing there, and that you should stop 400 feet from it? No. Did you notice the crossing board on the Quincy road? I did not. There is a board 400 feet from that crossing, four or five feet in height? Mr. Dawes: Who says there is a board there? Mr. Sullivan: I will show there is by another witness. Mr. Dawes: There may be, but I have not heard anybody say so yet. Mr. Sullivan: How long would it have taken you to bring that train to a full stop, running at the rate of forty-five miles an hour? When I say how long, I mean in distance; at what space from that crossing should you have attempted to bring it to a full stop in order to stop it? A. If I knew the crossing? How long would it take a train to stop? It would take in the neighborhood of 1,000 feet. You could not have stopped it at the rate of speed you were running if you had noticed it at the 400 feet distance? No, sir. When you got out of the cut was any information given to you that it was necessary to stop there? I received no information. The first intimation I had was the sight of the train. Mr. Sullivan: Was there an engineer on the cab with you at the time? Yes, sir. Wasn't that engineer who was on the cab at that time held responsible for it? He was. When you were held responsible for it you never in your life run an engine that length before, did you? No, sir. If you had been working at the engine-house, and there was no such emergency as this, would you have considered yourself competent to do it? Not on a road in which I was entirely unfamiliar. You were entirely unfamiliar with this, were you not? I was entirely unfamiliar. Did you shut off steam before you saw the Milwaukee train? No, sir. How far was it from you when you did shut off the steam? Fifty or sixty feet. Did you reverse the engine? No, sir, I did not. With a well designed driver-brake there is no benefit in reversing the engine. Did you bring the lever down in front? No, sir. Did you drop the reverse lever forward when you shut off? I don't remember that particularly. When you put the air on, did you use all that was indicated on your gauge? I naturally should do so. Did you? No, I slapped the air around, put the handle full around; I didn't stop to see what was indicated on the gauge. Did you use any sand? No. Were quite excited at the time? I suppose I naturally was. You lost your head in fact; isn't that the fact now? No, because it is still on my shoulders. You might as well have been without a head; you lost your judgment, didn't you? I don't see that any judgment would come in after having shut the steam off and put the air on. Couldn't you have used sand? I did not. You could have used it if you had thought of it? No, sir; because I didn't see any benefit; as long as the drivers don't slip it is all right. Do you know that sand will help to stop a train quicker? No, sir, I don't know it. Do you swear it will not? No, sir, because I have never made any experiment in that. Then you know nothing about it? You don't know whether it would help or not? I have only my judgment, which is formed after quite an elaborate series of experiments on the brakes. John F. Laughlin was examined in chief by Mr. Sullivan, and testified: Q. What is your name? A. John Francis Laughlin. Where do you live? At 818 Washtenaw avenue. What is your business? Switchman, in charge of switch engine. For what road are you working? Chicago, Burlington & Quincy; I was at one time, until I quit. Were you employed on the 23d of March for that road? Yes, sir. Why did you quit? Because I did not see fit to work with incompetent engineers. What were you engaged at on the evening of March 23d, and where were you employed? March 23d I did not do much. I only took one train to the Stock Yards and came back. This accident I have reference to happened March 22d, I believe, at 10:30 p. m. What were you doing on the evening of the 22d, and where were you employed? On the evening of the 22d of March I had fifty cars shoving into the new yard at Hawthorne, which is about three miles and a half, as near as I can judge, from Western avenue. We stopped to give me a chance to raise the semaphore for the protection of trains coming east, and also set the switches going into the new yard. I got up and gave the signal to go ahead, and as I did a crash came. What character of train was it that run into yours--a freight? A freight train. What was the condition of the track, so far as obstructions were concerned, between your train and the train which collided with you? There was no obstruction whatever; there was a clear view four miles or three miles and a half; something like that. What time in the evening was it? About half-past ten. Had you a headlight on your engine? Yes, sir. Had you a light on the other end of your train? No, sir; only my own lamp. You were at that end? And a red light; yes, sir. You had a red light, as well? Yes, sir. Do you know the number of the engine which collided with yours? Yes, sir; 310. What was the number of yours? 176. Was engine 310 flagged? I presume it was, according to my helpers' statement. Your helpers are here, are they? Yes, sir. You had enough helpers to give the necessary flagging? I believe I had; I had two. To how many of these new men did you give signals who were unable to answer or failed to answer the signals? I should say three or four. Did you have any conversation with any of them in relation to the signals? No, sir; well, I had a conversation with one; I gave him a signal and he says, "I don't understand that signal." Was that signal which you gave him and which he said he did not understand the usual signal given by railroad men? Yes, sir. The same signal which has been used on the road all the time you have been in its employ? Yes, sir. When was that, about what time? That was a couple or three nights before I left. Commissioner Marsh: State what conversation between you and him there was at the time he told you he did not understand that signal? I merely gave him a signal to back up. He says, "Partner, I don't understand that signal." I merely says to him, "What kind do you understand--steamboat signals?" He says, "No, stationary engines." William G. Frisbie was examined by Mr. Sullivan and testified: Q. Were you on the train to which engine 176 was attached? A. I belonged to that crew. At Hawthorne, March 22. I belonged to that crew? Yes, sir. Did you flag 310 that night? I did. State to the Commissioners how far you went from your own engine, 176, to flag 310, the one which collided with it? I can tell you perhaps better by car lengths; I can make a guess at the number of feet. I did not measure it exactly. I should think it was in the neighborhood of 1,500 feet to 2,000 feet that I was back of where our engine stood. I found the train was not coming to a stop, and kept going back myself as long as it was possible, giving them all the swing that it was proper and right to stop him. He paid not the slightest attention to my signal; never even whistled for brakes until after his train passed me. Did you start back as soon as your train stopped to flag? Yes, sir. You went as far as you could? Yes, sir. Re-direct examination by Mr. Sullivan: Q. Did you ever, in all your experience, know a case where an engineer was flagged on a clear track, as in this case, and disobeyed a signal and run into another train? No, sir. Stewart W. Hadlock, examined in chief by Mr. Sullivan, testified as follows: Q. What is your name? A. Stewart W. Hadlock. Where do you reside? At Aurora. What is your business? Engineer. How long have you been an engineer? Nineteen years. In what company's employ were you recently? C., B. & Q. How long were you in the employ of that company? Twenty-three years. As engineer and fireman? Engineer and fireman both. Do you know Hose De Witt? I do. Do you know in whose employ he now is? He is in the employ of the C., B. & Q. In what capacity? Passenger engineer. Hector H. Hall was examined in chief by Mr. Sullivan, and testified: Q. What is your name? A. Hector H. Hall. Where do you live? At Pullman. What is your occupation? Engineer. What company are you working for? Pullman Company. Do you know Hose De Witt? Yes, sir. How long have you known him? About eight years. Is he a sober man? No, sir. What is his general reputation for sobriety? He is an habitual drunkard. Is that the reputation in the neighborhood where he lives? Yes, sir. Have you ever heard it discussed? His wife has been around to all the saloons forbidding them to sell him anything. Why? Because he was an habitual drunkard. When did you see him last? I think it was last Thanksgiving day. What condition was he in then? He was very drunk. Did you ever see him sober? Well, no, sir; very seldom. I have once or twice, probably; as a general thing he was under the influence of liquor. John B. Clark, examined in chief by Mr. Sullivan, testified: Q. State your name? A. John B. Clark. Where do you live? Aurora. What is your business? I was a locomotive engineer. How long were you engaged in that capacity? Ten years, probably. For what company were you employed? Chicago, Burlington & Quincy. Did you serve on any committee for that road while you were in its employ? I was on the local examining board for the Chicago division. Do you know Hose De Witt? I do. How long have you known him? About fourteen years, I think. Do you know he was discharged from this company because of his connection with a wreck at Naperville? I do. Do you know what his reputation for sobriety is and has been during all the time of your acquaintance? He was always a hard drinker, when he fired and run here both. Have you known him since he was in the employ of the company; have you seen him since? I have seen him on my way through Plano; he worked at Plano for the Plano Manufacturing Company, and I see him there about in the neighborhood of a year ago; he struck me for a ride to Chicago. Mr. Dawes: I object to any specific instance of drunkenness a year ago. Mr. Sullivan: Was he drunk or sober? A. He was not sober. Did you ever see him sober? I don't think I did; not what I should call dead sober. You have known him eight years? I have known him fourteen years. Why did you refuse to give him a ride when he applied to you? Well, it was against the rules; and then he was too full of whisky to be a safe man to have around there. You haven't seen him since, then? I have not, except since he came back to work for the C., B. & Q. Acting as engineer? Yes, sir. Passenger or freight? Passenger. On what road? On the C., B. & Q., on the main line? Mr. Dawes, cross-examining: Did you regard that as a proper method of determining the qualifications of engineers? A. Yes, sir; it is well enough. Is this (handing witness a paper) an accurate copy of the protest of the Brotherhood? I will direct your attention to Article 22. I don't represent the Brotherhood; I am here as a witness. I will ask you whether you know as a matter of fact, Mr. Clark, whether Article 22 is a copy of a grievance presented by the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers to the Burlington road? I did not present it. I understand you did not; you know, do you not? Mr. Sullivan: I object to all this as immaterial. Commissioner Rinaker: I do not regard that as cross-examination at present. Is that offered for the purpose of showing that the rule itself was not regarded as a proper one? Mr. Dawes: I want to ask this witness what his opinion is of this particular grievance. Mr. Sullivan: How often have you seen him in eight years? A. He laid around Aurora two or three years before he got a job any place. He lived around Aurora two or three years after he was discharged? Yes, sir. When he hung around Aurora for two or three years did you see him regularly? He hung around a variety saloon that used to be there in Aurora. Commissioner Rinaker: How often do you mean we shall understand you are stating you have seen this man drunk in the last eight or ten years? Commissioner Rogers: When was it he wanted to come up with you on the engine? A. As near as I can remember it was in the neighborhood of a year ago. Commissioner Rinaker: How many times have you seen him drunk? A. He was drunk at that time. How many more times? Between the seven years before that? Well, I would not want to say how many times; but at the time he was hanging around Aurora he was off and on. He would go away and hunt for a job and come back, go away and come back; that is the way he was. Was he drunk when you would see him around this variety show? Yes, we very seldom seen him sober. Mr. Sullivan: Prior to this controversy between the railroad and its employes could such a man as De Witt receive employment as an engineer; would you have employed such a man? (Objected to by Mr. Dawes.) Q. Would they employ a man who had been dismissed as being responsible for a wreck, as this man was? (Objected to by Mr. Dawes.) Commissioner Rinaker: Do you know why he was discharged? A. He was discharged for having a collision about half a mile east of Naperville station. You know that from your own knowledge? Yes; I was mixed up a little bit in it myself. I came near getting into trouble with it myself. Hector H. Hall being recalled, was examined by Commissioner Rogers, and testified as follows: Q. How long is it since this notice was given by De Witt's wife to the saloon-keepers not to give him liquor? A. I think it was on Thanksgiving day, or the day after. That is last year? Yes, sir. That was on Thanksgiving day? Thanksgiving day or the day after; I am not positive which. J. A. Murray, locomotive engineer of thirteen years' service, residing at Rock Island, testified that Frank Hamilton, Frank Horn, Joseph Roach, J. Logston, Harry Zimmerman and William Patterson, running engines on the C., B. & Q. R. R., were brakemen, conductors and baggagemen, respectively; that he was acquainted with them all for eight to ten years, and that they were inexperienced as engineers or firemen. Frank Hamilton, witness on behalf of the C., B. & Q. Railroad Company, testified: Q. Give your name in full? A. Frank Hamilton. What is your business? Formerly conductor until the 10th of last month; now I am running an engine. Conductor on the C., B. & Q.? Yes, sir; St. Louis division. How long have you been a railroad man? For the C., B. & Q. Company, running a train since November, 1880, with the exception of five months, up until the 10th of last month. Have you been examined as to the manipulation of an engine? To a certain extent. By whom? Mr. Wallace. Is Mr. Wallace here? Mr. Wallace is here. Cross-examination by Mr. Sullivan: Q. You never got any technical instruction as to the running of an engine in your life, did you? A. Explain that word, please. You never got any instruction in the shop from those who manufacture engines and are familiar with their detail? No, sir. You don't understand the meaning of the word technical yourself? I do; yes, sir. Why do you want me to explain it? Because I wanted to understand. Witness testified that he had been handling engines off and on ever since he had been on the road. Q. What you mean is you jumped on; would go on when the regular engineer in charge was there? A. Yes, sir. And the fireman in charge was there? I run the engine a certain distance. You were allowed to handle it in their presence, just as many others are allowed? Yes, sir. Do you mean to tell this Commission, on your oath, that in that way you acquired sufficient knowledge to make you a competent engineer? That is the way, from what I understand, to learn to be an engineer. The way they all get to be engineers. You say you were examined to some extent. Were you not examined as thoroughly as all other men were examined? I don't know how other men were examined. How did you come to say you were examined to some extent? What do you mean by that? I mean to the extent that I was able to answer the questions. You were only examined to that extent you were able to answer, and you were not examined as to those you were not able to answer? I don't know if there were any questions I was not to answer or not; I answered all the questions. You used that expression, you were examined to some extent. I want to know what you mean by that? I answered all the questions that were asked me. Do you mean to say that all questions were asked you which are equally asked applicants for employment as engineers? I do not. Was anyone else examined at the same time you were? There was not. Who was present when you were being examined? Anyone but the Board? No; there was not. No one but the Board of Examiners? No. Where were you examined? The principal place was in the building where the general officers are. Were you examined more than once? I was instructed another time. I asked you about examinations? No, sir, not on an engine. How long did your examination take? I could not tell that. How many questions were you asked? I could not say; I did not count them. Have you no idea without counting them? I answered more questions--I asked and answered more questions than was asked me. You examined yourself, practically, did you? The Board was there to hear it. The Board was there to hear you examine yourself--asking questions and answering them? Those I did not thoroughly understand were questions I asked, and then I answered my way, and if I was not right, then I was instructed. And upon that instruction which you got at that time you were employed as an engineer on the road? Oh, no; this is since. How long after that was it before you were put in charge of an engine, since you got this instruction? I took an engine on the 10th of last month, and I run up to yesterday. When was your examination? To-day. You were examined to-day? Yes, sir. Was this the first examination that took place? This is the first. You were not examined before you were put in charge of an engine? No, sir. You were put in charge of an engine without an examination at all? Without any examination. You were this morning examined, and prepared for being examined here; is that it? No, sir; I don't know as I was prepared at all. I asked questions, and they were answered to me. If I could explain them in the language that was used in regard to the management of engines. And that is the first time you have been examined by anybody representing this road as an engineer? Examined on an engine. Did you ever draw pay as an engineer or as a fireman at any time in the employ of this or any other railroad company in the United States before this? As an engineer or fireman? As an engineer or fireman? I did not. Did you ever perform the duties of an engineer or fireman at any time in your life before this date, on any road? That is, to draw pay for it? To draw pay for it, and perform its duties regularly? No, sir. Did you ever put a wick in a headlight? I did. When? The other day. Not until that? That is the first one, but I have frequently saw it done. How old are you? I was thirty-four years old on the 16th day of last January. Can you tell what the notches in the quadrant are for? Yes, sir. Please do so? They are to govern the working of an engine. State in what respect they govern the working of an engine? They start from the center and work both ways; the forward and back motions drop the engine down forward and you give her the full stroke. If you put her back to a less stroke and increase the speed. What do you mean by the stroke? The stroke of the piston that travels in the cylinder. What is the stroke of your engine? I don't know. Has an engine more or less stroke when it is hooked down or hooked up? It has the same stroke, but it receives steam through the ports to a less stroke. In what condition? Both ways; either working in the forward or back motion. What do you refer to when you speak of receiving more steam? Can you explain that? To a certain extent, yes. To that certain extent please explain it? As the engine is working you drop her down and give her full stroke and she is receiving steam at full stroke; as you cut her back she receives steam to a less portion as you cut her back, and then start to travel the other way--the valve it is. Do you know anything about the points of cut-off of a valve on an engine? No, sir. You never got any instruction on that subject? No, sir. You were not examined on it this morning, were you? No, sir. Evidence of a large number of expert engineers and practical railroad men was heard, together with the testimony of the incompetent men. A copy of the entire proceedings is in the hands of Mr. Alexander Sullivan, counsel for the Brotherhood. INTER-STATE COMMERCE COMMISSION. The result of the State Board's examination, with a vast amount of new evidence, was prepared to place before the Inter-State Commerce Commission, which had signified its willingness to sit in Chicago May 1, to examine into the charges that the Burlington was operating its lines with incompetent men. For some reason never made public the promised investigation was not made. The Brotherhood side of the case was ready, and in the hands of experienced legal counsel; however, no action was taken by the Commission. MEETING OF THE STOCKHOLDERS. As the stockholders were to meet on May 16, it was expected that they, having suffered great financial loss from the strike, would take some steps toward bringing about a settlement between the men and the company. It was considered by the strikers that the road had not been successfully operated by the class of men then in its employ, and that self-interest would prompt the stockholders to do justice to their old employes. Contrary to the anticipations of the men, the management was unanimously endorsed at this meeting and by this action gave notice that nothing in the line of concessions could be expected. FINAL ACTION OF THE MEN. Subsequent to this meeting, the Joint Grievance Committee was convened, and it was resolved not to declare the strike off but to continue resistance indefinitely, this action to be subject to the approval of the men. The resolution of the Committee was duly submitted to the men along the line, and a vote was taken as to whether the strike should be declared off or not. The result of the vote was an almost unanimous expression to continue the strike without abatement. After the stockholders' meeting, the men at Chicago appointed a day to discuss anew the proposition to declare the strike off. This caused great uneasiness along the line, but was only done in order to give those who had not been present at the first vote taken an opportunity to express their sentiments. This discussion, like the preceding one, ended in an unanimous decision to continue the strike. Every effort had been made by the company to break the lines. At Galesburg and other points, it was claimed that large sums of money had been offered to individuals to break the ranks and again enter the services of the company. Outside of Chicago, the men were subject to all manner of persecutions to compel them to yield to the company's offers, but without effect; not a single case of weakness was developed after the second week of the strike. In Chicago, as before stated, but two men returned, one of these, a yardmaster, had been struggling under the name of "scab" since "'82" and he was naturally expected to take the course that he did. On the morning of March 23, he was the first yardmaster to refuse to do duty as a switchman, and the first and only one to seek reinstatement. At other points along the line, the record is even better than this. Probably not over a dozen men weakened; from Chicago to Denver, all have stood firm and solid on the ground they first occupied. The following quotation from the Brotherhood circular heretofore alluded to, will be of interest. "THE LOYALTY OF THE STRIKERS. "Just here it is proper to place upon record the fact--luminous in the annals of labor strikes--of the loyalty of the men, their devotion to principle, and their unexampled faithfulness to their obligations. As one man they responded to the call. So thoroughly imbued were they with the justice of their cause, that with an unanimity which will forever challenge the admiration of manly men, they surrendered their positions and faced with an unaltering fortitude all the privations incident to a strike, rather than sacrifice their manhood, their independence and self-respect. "Be it said to the everlasting honor of the engineers, firemen and switchmen on the C., B. & Q. system, that they acted their part nobly from the first to the last. There was no deserters or traitors to the cause; faithful to their obligations, true to their manhood, honorable in all their methods, they have dignified themselves and glorified the Orders to which they belong, and while courage and fidelity have admirers, they will be remembered for their unyielding purpose by every true knight of the throttle and scoop where-ever the iron horse draws a train." FINANCIAL CONDITION OF THE ROAD. In June the following statement appeared in the Chicago _Herald_: "The Burlington Company is having a hard time to make both ends meet. Its statement of net earnings for the month of May, which came to light yesterday, showed a decrease of $803,000, and for the first five months of 1888 the loss compared with the corresponding period last year reaches the astounding total of $4,194,172. Never in the history of Western railroads has such a disastrous record been made by a big railway corporation in so short a time. Less than a year ago the Burlington Company was reported to be the strongest corporation of its kind in the country. It paid the highest rate of dividends, and its securities commanded larger prices than any similar paper on the New York Stock Exchange. Since the beginning of 1888 its dividend rate has been reduced from eight to four per cent, and even the four per cent has not been earned by many thousand dollars. The interest requirements, which come ahead of the stock, alone amount to, approximately, $6,000,000 per year, or at the rate of $500,000 per month. The net earnings for five months, however, are only a little over $1,000,000, or less than half of what would be required to pay current interest charges. In face of this showing, however, the company has, since the beginning of 1888, paid three per cent in dividends on $77,000,000 stock. This required an expenditure of nearly $2,400,000. If this $2,400,000 be deducted from the net earnings of the company for the first five months of the year an actual deficit of nearly $1,400,000 is left, without allowing anything whatever for interest on bonds, which are always a prior lien. Deducting $2,500,000 interest charges, which somebody must pay, and the deficit is swelled to nearly $4,000,000. To put the matter plainly, the Burlington Company lacks $4,000,000 of being able to pay its debts out of its current earnings. It had a a surplus at the end of last year of $1,000,000, but this has been wiped out, and a floating indebtness of approximately $3,000,000 now stares the Burlington management in the face. It is currently rumored that the company has been trying to negotiate a loan of $2,000,000 in Chicago to help it out of its present difficulties, but these negotiations have fallen through, and it is understood that an effort will be made to raise the money in the East. The depreciation in value of the $77,000,000 stock, of at least one-third, is another serious loss, which will probably never be retrieved." THE DYNAMITE PLOT. July 5, J. A. Bowles, Thos. Broderick and J. Q. Wilson were arrested on the train leaving Aurora, at 2:15 P. M., by Deputy Marshal Burchard and Superintendent McGinty of the Pinkerton Agency. A package of some substance, said to be dynamite, was taken from the rack over the seat occupied by Wilson. They were arraigned before United States Commissioner Hoyne, under section 5353, United States Statutes, which provides a penalty of $1,000 to $10,000 fine for transporting or having in possession dynamite on trains or vessels carrying passengers. Chairman Hoge was sent for, but when he learned the gravity of the charge against the prisoners he had little comfort to give them, but promised to secure an attorney if he found on investigation that their cause was worthy. All three of the men denied ownership of the package found in the rack. Bowles came to Aurora at the beginning of the strike, and ran an engine for thirteen days. His brother finally induced him to leave the service of the company, and he was taken into the Brotherhood Division at Aurora. The Burlington officials testified that Broderick was in their employ as late as April last, two months after the strike began. Wilson was a Pinkerton detective. Thus it will be seen that the trio were Burlington and Pinkerton employes. The company claimed that dynamite was used at Eola, West Aurora, Galesburg and Creston, to blow up and wreck trains, but that no damage was done, except to a portion of a flange on an engine wheel at Eola. In some of these cases a portion of the dynamite was found unexploded, together with parts of the wrapper. If this stuff had really been dynamite, it is impossible to conceive how part of the cartridge could have remained unexploded. J. A. Bauereisen, Chief of the Aurora Division of B. of L. E., was arrested July 6 as an accomplice, it having been claimed that Bowles received the package from him before starting for Chicago with Wilson and Broderick. Alexander Smith was arrested July 6. Smith is a fireman, and was charged with having handled the dynamite in connection with the explosion at Eola and West Aurora. Attorneys Donohue and David were retained for the defense of these men. Chairman Hoge stated that the Brotherhood did not tolerate violence of any kind, and would not come to the assistance of any member caught in the act of committing crime. The Brotherhood would look into these cases, and if satisfied that the men were victims of a conspiracy, it would aid and defend them, but if it were shown that they had explosives and meant violence, they would be left to shift for themselves. At this time Mr. Hoge was charged by the Burlington people with having issued a circular April 16, to the various divisions of the Brotherhood, advising that a large number of engineers go to work for the road, and, after disabling as many engines as possible with sal-soda and emory, to quit in a body. Mr. Hoge denies having written this circular, or of having signed it, and stated that it was a forgery, if it existed at all. However, Hoge and Chairman Murphy of the firemen were arrested July 10 for conspiracy, and held under the Merritt law in bonds of $1,500, which was furnished by W. R. Fitzgerald. The complaint alleged that the defendants issued a circular with the fraudulent or malicious intent, wrongfully and wickedly to injure the property of the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy railroad. The penalty upon conviction is five years in the penitentiary or a fine of $2,000, or both. The warrant also contained the names of John J. Kelly and J. H. McGilvery, secretaries to Hoge and Murphy, who were arrested later in the day, but not locked up. Kelly made a statement to the effect that he issued the circular at the dictation of Hoge, and that the latter signed it. It was written with hektograph ink and copied on a hektograph. Kelly also swore that he had been in the employ of Pinkerton for several months, during which time he acted as secretary to Hoge. This man belonged to the Brotherhood of Firemen, but was running a switch engine on the "Q" in Chicago, and at the time of the strike was taken into the Brotherhood of Engineers. He is a tall, slender man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight years, blonde, very natty in appearance, small brown moustache, light eyes inclined to be deep set, and a clear ringing voice, like the voice of a woman. He was considered of a giddy, frothy nature by his intimates, who were surprised at his ability to keep secret the fact that he was in the employ of Pinkerton. George Godding, an engineer, was arrested in Aurora July 9, charged with Bauereisen in violating the United States law in handling dynamite. George Clark, an engineer, was arrested at Galesburg July 17, charged with the same offense. During the examination of these men, Bowles, Smith, Wilson, Kelly and McGilvery appeared with the prosecution as detectives and informers. Bauereisen was tried, and sentenced to two years imprisonment, at the last term of Kane County Court, at Geneva, Ill. He was convicted on the testimony of the informers and Pinkerton men, Bowles, Broderick, Smith and Wilson. The weight of evidence was clearly in favor of Bauereisen, but the fact that it was a Kane County jury, and that the Burlington Company was the prosecutor, settled the case against him. An appeal for a new trial is now pending. None of the other cases have matured, and probably never will. The general opinion of the strikers, and those who have been particularly interested in these cases, can be summed up in a few words. Knowing that the strike had financially wrecked the property, the management found it necessary to make capital for themselves, and concluded that a dynamite scheme would answer their purpose. They believed that the Brotherhoods were a law abiding class of citizens, and that they would be dumfounded at the evidence of a dynamite plot, and immediately declare the strike off. That it was originally intended as a bluff is proven by the low grade of dynamite used, which had scarcely the explosive power of black powder. The evidence shows that the "Q" employes and the detectives procured and used the stuff without effect. The only evidence against the Brotherhood men was that they had been told by these spies what they were doing; and while the defendants placed no reliance in the story, this knowledge was considered sufficient evidence of guilt to hold them as accomplices. This course was probably decided upon when it was found impossible to make them active participants in the crime. In the case of Hoge and Murphy, the web was easier to weave. Having a Pinkerton man as Hoge's secretary, it was a simple matter to put up a fraudulent circular, and back it up with the utterances of other confederates who visited him, and sought to induce him to resort to violence as a means of compelling a settlement of the strike. PROPOSITIONS FOR A SETTLEMENT. July 14, Mr. Stone sent for Chairmen Hoge and Murphy to talk over a settlement of the strike. Being under bonds, Hoge and Murphy declined to go without their attorney; therefore, Mr. Alexander Sullivan was included in the invitation. They met Mr. Stone at his residence the same evening, but having no authority to make a settlement, only a general conversation ensued. Mr. Stone indicated a willingness to take up the schedule and pay as good wages as was paid by the other roads, especially so in the passenger runs. Another meeting was arranged for July 16, at which meeting Messrs. Arthur, Sargent, Sullivan, Hoge and Murphy, on behalf of the men, and Messrs. Stone, Perkins and Dexter, for the company, were present. Mr. Perkins had arrived unexpectedly from Boston, and seemed dissatisfied with the action of Mr. Stone in calling the meeting, and for a time refused to make any concessions. Mr. Stone insisted, and the following was drawn up as a basis of settlement by the company: "If the strike be declared off, the company agrees to take back such of the old men as can at present be given employment, and as business increases and more men are needed, they will be taken from the ranks of the strikers in preference to hiring men who had not previously been in the employ of the company. "The company further agree that those men not so taken back would not be blacklisted, and that those whose previous record had been good would be given letters of recommendation. Mr. Perkins also agreed to rescind the order of J. D. Besler, dated March 25, to the effect that the switchmen would not again be employed by the Burlington company. "That engineers, firemen and switchmen would be treated alike in the matter of re-employment." This was in substance all that the company would concede. As these gentlemen had no authority to make any settlement without the consent of the men, it was decided to submit the proposition to them along the entire system, and Messrs. Hoge, Murphy and the writer were appointed to lay the matter before them. Mr. Arthur was opposed to the switchmen being represented on this committee. Before going out on the road, a meeting of the Chicago strikers was held at Curran's Hall. In order to get the matter properly before them, the following resolution was put by the chairman, "_Resolved_, That the striking engineers, firemen and switchmen do hereby appoint the following Committee to settle the strike: Arthur, Sargent, Alexander Sullivan, Hoge, Murphy and Hall, with the understanding that we will abide by their decision and will accept the above proposition of the company, if no better terms can be obtained by the Committee." Arthur, Sargent and Mr. Sullivan strongly recommended the acceptance of the terms, and sent letters to that effect by the Committee to the men along the line. The resolution was rejected by the Chicago men, and, in fact, by every body of strikers along the entire system. In these terms of settlement nothing was said about dismissing the dynamite cases, it being understood that they would be continued. July 17 the Committee left Chicago to place the proposition before the men, and returned July 27. The strikers everywhere decided to accept no terms that did not include the signing of their schedule and the absolute discharge of all the new men. They considered that the company had asked them to make an unconditional surrender, and that the conspiracy cases had influenced their leaders to side with the company, and they would not now make any settlement that was not made by the entire Grievance Committee and include the whole schedule and discharge of the new men. Hoge and Murphy knew the temper of the men and knew what the result would be, but felt it their duty to present the propositions as instructed by their chiefs, Arthur and Sargent, and to give the men a complete statement of the condition of the strike, prospects of support, etc. It was a disagreeable duty, but they performed it faithfully. Many of the men were inclined to censure the Committee for presuming to offer them such terms. UNION MEETING AT ST. JOE, July 24, 1888. The following is the official report: The Chairman stated the purpose of the meeting was to discuss the merits of the C., B. & Q. strike and to try and adopt some plan to bring it to a speedy termination. He also explained and outlined the situation of affairs on the C., B. & Q. R. R. The Chairman then introduced Bro. G. W. Hitchens, Chairman of the G. G. Com., K. C., Ft. S. & G. R. R., who made a good speech, encouraging the C., B. & Q. Bros. and saying that he was in favor of the Boycott and Federation. Bro. R. Powers, a member of the B. of R. B., was then introduced, and spoke encouragingly to the C., B. & Q. Bros., telling them to stand firm and they were sure to win. Bro. F. P. Sargent, G. M. of the B. of L. F., was the next speaker. He was in favor of Federation, but did not speak very encouragingly to the C., B. & Q. Bros. in their struggle for Right and Justice. Bro. Bailey, of the S. M. A. A., made an able address, which was enthusiastically received. Bro. L. W. Rodgers, of the B. of R. B., and a man who has traveled over the C., B. & Q. R. R. several times, spoke and outlined the condition of the C., B. & Q., and urged the the Bros. to stand firm and they were sure of victory. Speeches were made by Bro. Wm. McClain, of Quincy, and a member of the G. G. Com. of the C., B. & Q.; Bro. Slattery, of Butte City, M. T.; J. F. Bryan, of Creston, Iowa; and a great many other Bros. of the different organizations, who nearly all spoke in favor of Federation and said they would do all in their power to assist the C., B. & Q. Bros. who are now battling for justice. And they all told the Bros. to never declare the strike off but to fight it to the bitter end. On motion, a committee of nine was appointed to draw up resolutions and adopt a line of action for this meeting. The Chairman appointed the following Committee on Resolutions: W. H. Young, of Div. 307; W. F. Gould, Div. 184; R. Lacy, 105, B. of L. F.; T. J. Hayes, 44, B. of L. F.; L. W. Rodgers, B. of R. B.; T. Slattery, 151, B. of R. B.; F. Wells, Grand Lodge. S. M. A. A.; and T. C. Lyons, No. 9, S. M. A. A. On motion adjourned until 9 o'clock, A. M., July 25, 1888. _Second Day._ Meeting called to order by F. P. McDonald in the chair. On motion resolutions were ordered read, and each article taken up and adopted or rejected at one time. The following resolutions were read and unanimously adopted, the last article being debated freely: _To the Engineers, Firemen, Switchmen and Brakemen, in Union Meeting assembled_: We, your Committee on Resolutions, beg leave to report the following: _Resolved_, That in regard to the alleged dynamite plot, we denounce all unlawful acts; and that while we believe the accused innocent until proven guilty, yet should any member of our organization be proved guilty of the atrocities charged, we will not only promptly expel them, but be the first to demand their punishment. _Resolved_, That we regard this as a conspiracy by the C., B. & Q. Co. and the Pinkertons, to bring our Order into disrepute, and turn public opinion and sympathy against us; and we ask the public to withhold their decision until the case has been passed upon by a fair and impartial jury. _Resolved_, That we thank the managers of this meeting for their vigilance in discovering the company's spy who had been secreted in the opera house to report our proceedings, and that we denounce such dishonorable methods of obtaining information. _Resolved_, That we, the engineers, firemen, switchmen and brakemen represented in this meeting, heartily endorse the plan of federation, and ask our coming conventions to authorize immediate action on this subject. _Resolved_, That this meeting ask Bros. Hoge and Murphy, or the G. G. Com. of the C., B. & Q., to place on the payroll the names of the trainmen who struck April 1, 1888, and that they receive $40 per month for the time they have been out. _Resolved_, That each and every delegate at this union meeting be instructed to use every endeavor to have his subordinate Division or Lodge, take such action as will guarantee financial support to our brothers now struggling for their legitimate rights, until such time as the several conventions shall convene, and shall incorporate in their constitutions such laws as shall thoroughly unite the several organizations. _Resolved_, That we return to our respective Divisions and Lodges and notify our constituents to prepare to place a boycott on C., B. & Q. cars as soon as the Chairmen of the several Grievance Committees think it practicable, and we earnestly ask the Chairmen to institute this boycott as soon as in their judgment it can be worked with advantage to our cause. _Resolved_, That this meeting heartily endorse the action taken by the C., B. & Q. Brothers, in refusing to declare the strike off. All business pertaining to the purpose of the meeting being accomplished, the meeting adjourned at 5:15 P. M., July 25. At a special meeting of the engineers at St. Joe, a plan was formed to call together the Chairmen of all the Grievance Committees in the United States and Canada authorized by the chiefs of the Brotherhoods to meet in St. Louis August 9, 1888. The previous meeting at Kansas City, New York and St. Joe were the results of local arrangements, and unauthorized by the chiefs of the Brotherhoods, and their actions were without proper authority, although giving expression to the general feelings of the men. A Committee was appointed to visit Chiefs Arthur and Sargent and request them to make an official call of all the Chairmen of Grievance Committees. This was done, and the meeting convened in St. Louis August 9. SECRET MEETING AT ST. LOUIS. Chiefs Arthur and Sargent were present. The entire Grievance Committee of the Burlington and the Chairmen of all the other Committees composed the assembly. All work was done in secret session. Nothing whatever was given to the public. The strike was the only question dealt with at this meeting. Many of the men favored an immediate boycott of "Q" cars and "Q" freight. After two days of discussion, it was agreed that the time and conditions were not such as to warrant a boycott; it was believed that the road had no business of consequence to be injured. This matter was then laid aside to be taken up in October. Another Committee was appointed to confer with the "Q" officials. This Committee was composed of Chairmen of roads not on strike. The meeting adjourned Saturday, August 11. On Monday, August 13, Alexander Sullivan, Chairman Vrooman of the Union Pacific and his committee had an interview with Vice President Peasley and General Superintendent Besler. The meeting was an informal one. The proposition presented by the Committee was a demand that all the men be taken back in a body; that the former proposition of Mr. Stone, to pay as good wages as his neighbors, be accepted by the Brotherhood. Mr. Peasley stated that he had no power to act in the absence of Manager Stone and President Perkins, but that he would submit the proposition to these officials on their return from the East. He also said that the company desired peace with the Brotherhoods. No action was taken by Messrs. Stone and Perkins; the only result of the meeting was to strengthen them in their determination to fight the Brotherhoods to the end. All efforts to produce a boycott had failed. The only result of the union meetings held at various points was to convince the strikers that the boycott was not necessary, in fact that they had already won the strike. They continued their meetings, and were just as much out of the way of the company as though they had been locked up for months. In the meantime, and in fact from the beginning of the strike, the company had been moving heaven and earth in their efforts to bring victory out of what seemed hopeless defeat. Starting with an inferior grade of men, they have been constantly weeding out the poorer ones as fast as a more competent man appeared who was willing to work for them. A very great number of those originally hired have disappeared and better men have taken their places. Many competent men, who had been driven out of the Brotherhoods for dissolute habits, or from prejudice, and who had at first stood aloof from the trouble, had now come forward and entered the service. Beginning on the 27th of February with their business almost wholly destroyed, they have used every means in their power, and have left no stone unturned that promised to increase their traffic. In this they have not been unsuccessful, and their business is today probably as good as any other Western road. In their relation to the strikers, they have outwitted them at every point, and have used with fatal effect every weapon that came to their hand. The truth is that the old employes never had a leader, from the 27th of February until the present day; they have been under the orders and at the beck and call of this committee and that committee, and have trusted to this chairman and that chief until they were bewildered, and finally lost. The "Ides of March" was as fatal to them as to Cæsar. When the first boycott was lifted, their defeat was absolute and certain; as an evidence of that the action of the self-constituted Advisory Board, in sending road engineers into the yards in Chicago to take the switch engines given up by their brothers at the second boycott, the last of March, should have been deemed ample and sufficient. Any strike, by any body of men, conducted as this one was, would have the same ignominious ending. When a class of men are forced into a strike, and their places are filled by men who are allowed to retain them; when the business interests, interrupted by the strike, are permitted to be resumed, does not such a condition plainly indicate failure? There should be no more great railroad strikes until men, other than those immediately interested, are ready and willing to win them. AT THE CONVENTIONS. At the Firemen's Convention, the promised plan of federation was put forward. Before the firemen adjourned, the switchmen had met in Convention. They received and endorsed the plan outlined by the firemen, and appointed a committee of the Grand Officers to act with the engineers and firemen in putting it into execution. Contrary to the expectations of the firemen and switchmen, the engineers at their Convention failed to ratify the move toward federation, and had nothing ready to offer in its stead. They did, however, pass a resolution favoring "some means of bringing the organizations closer together." This action of the engineers was generally understood as a desire upon their part to drop the federation scheme entirely, and much ill feeling has in consequence resulted. The striking switchmen naturally felt that the sacrifice made by them had failed to bear fruit, and that the Brotherhood had not redeemed their pledges--nay, more, that they had fallen back into their old position of "refraining from all entangling alliances" and ignoring the other organizations. Affairs remained in this unsatisfactory condition until the latter part of November. In the meantime, many of the strikers, engineers, firemen and switchmen sought and obtained work on other roads, the Chicago, Santa Fe & California gaining the most of them. ANOTHER COMMITTEE. At the Engineers' Convention, a committee of nine had been appointed, with A. R. Cavener as chairman, to handle the remains of the "Q" strike. Hoge was retired, or rather had resigned, and the payments to the men were now made through the local divisions of the Brotherhood. Up to November 25, nothing had been heard of the committee of nine, and it was not known that they were making any efforts to assist the strikers. It was understood that this committee had been given all the power in the Brotherhood, even to the boycott, if necessary to win the strike. CUTTING OFF THE SWITCHMEN. November 25, letters were received by the chairman of each local body of strikers, from Cleveland, signed by P. M. Arthur and the Finance Committee of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers. These letters were to the effect, that after the October payment had been made, the switchmen were to be stricken from the payrolls; that the late Convention had made no provision for the further payment of these men. It will be remembered that prior to the switchmen engaging in this strike, an agreement had been made with them that as long as the strike lasted they were to be paid the same wages that were paid to the engineers. A written contract was entered into, a copy of which is now in possession of James L. Monoghan. During the different phases of the strike this agreement was frequently mentioned by prominent members of the Brotherhoods, and acknowledged by the Chiefs. At the same time the switchmen were cut off from assistance, the pay of the engineers was raised from $40 to $50 per month. This increase of $10 would have been ample to pay the switchmen. Protests were sent to Cleveland from all over the "Q" system. The following is the text in full of the Chicago letter, together with the signatures of engineers, firemen and switchmen: CHICAGO, ILL., NOV. 24, 1888. HEADQUARTERS C., B. & Q. STRIKERS.--CURRAN'S HALL. _To Messrs. P. M. Arthur, T. S. Ingraham, H. C. Hayes_: DEAR SIRS: In receipt of yours of the 22d, we must say that a more sad turn or blow has not struck this body since the beginning of the strike as the decision of that letter. Have we solicited the friendly hand of our fellow switchmen the past eight months, have we sustained brotherly feeling and fought the common enemy all summer hand in hand, only to throw our participants broadcast over the land after proving themselves loyal to us and men of their word? Do we have to bring disgrace upon ourselves, by being connected with such unmanly actions, and involve thereby bitter antagonistic feelings in the future? We engineers went out with grievances, where the switchmen had none, but sympathy only; would it not be more justice to cut us off and pay these men for their manly actions? After the return of the regular delegates from the Convention, information was communicated to us of their firm understanding that the treatment of the engineers and switchmen would be the same in the future as in the past. In regard to dividing our $40 per month with the switchmen in the future, we can only refer to figures; about thirty to thirty-one engineers against sixty-five switchmen [in Chicago--AUTHOR], both parties in debt more or less for the necessaries of life for the eight months, winter at hand, and our men badly in need. Some provision must be made! How in the name of God can we share with others, having scarcely enough for ourselves? The future prosperity of our Order undoubtedly depends upon the just action taken in this C., B. & Q. struggle. How can we expect to gain and retain the kindly feeling of members of other organizations relative to us in railway service by practicing acts of injustice and partiality in our own midst? Look at the switchmen at this point. When employed, their salary ranges from $75 to $90 per month. They have stepped down for principle's sake, and not for the $40 per month, barely sufficient at this point to keep soul and body together. Now, at this great Convention it has been overlooked to provide for these men who fought the battle according to instructions. Only a portion of the men being thought of, and the balance of them--those who sacrificed all for principle and friendship--have been thrown out into the world without any previous notice whatever. Here we are today to fight our own battle. Rather than being sacrificed and deserted in this style, we will accept previous favorable offers at Chicago, saving at least this point, although at the sad experience of broken promises. Indeed, sad it is for men to fight honorably, and with whole soul, only to find out, after losing all, that they are cut off from ammunition! Now then, left without ammunition, what is left for the soldier to do--surrender or be cut down? Our course in this depends on speedy action, and we therefore demand immediate answer from your Grand Lodge, stating decidedly the future treatment. Shall it continue as before, or shall it be cut off? As our men are radical, we ask you to answer by telegraph, up to 2 P. M., Monday, November 26, "Yes" or "No." If no answer is received up to this time it will be considered by this body a negative answer, and copies of this will be sent to all subordinate divisions and lodges of the Big Four organizations. Yours fraternally, [Signed] T. J. TIERNEY, M. T. MAHONEY, J. RYAN, Engineers. M. SHIELDS, JOHN A. HIENISH, DAVID BAIN, Switchmen. The answer came by mail, and reads as follows: OFFICE OF THE GRAND DIVISION BROTHERHOOD OF LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEERS, CLEVELAND, NOV. 26, 1888. _M. T. Mahoney_: DEAR SIR AND BROTHER: Yours of the 24th at hand, and in reply thereto we sent a check Saturday, to pay the engineers and switchmen alike for October. After that time we can pay nothing for the switchmen. You seem to think that the power is vested in the Grand Officers to levy assessments for the support of the switchmen; but such is not the case. We can only act as directed by the Convention. The Convention directed that an assessment be levied for the support of the engineers at $50 per month, and that is as far as we can act. Yours fraternally, [Signed] T. S. INGRAHAM, F. G. A. E. Previous to these letters, the Chairman of the switchmen had written to Cleveland to make inquiry about the October pay. The answer to his letter is also herewith given: CLEVELAND, O., NOV., 22, 1888. _J. A. Hienish, Esq._: In reply to yours of 18th, I can only say that, although the Grand Chief was particular to call attention to the fact that no provision was made for October payroll, no steps were taken to supply that want, and all that we can do is to forward the amounts as fast as money comes in on donations, which is very slow, and with October payroll all payments to switchmen and brakemen will cease, as the further assessment was levied to pay engineers only. We have, however, advised the engineers to share what they receive with the switchmen. Whether or not they will do it, they can answer. We shall send a draft today to pay the men at Chicago, both engineers and switchmen for October, and to other points as fast as we can get the money, which is the best we can do. Yours truly, [Signed] T. S. INGRAHAM, F. G. A. E. Letters were sent by the strikers to all the Brotherhood Divisions throughout the western country, notifying them of the arbitrary action of the officers and telling them the condition of the men. No word had been received from Chairman Cavener or his committee of nine until after the 9th of December, when the switchmen of Chicago declared the strike off, as far as concerned themselves. This action was taken with the consent and advice of the Grand Master of the Association, and letters were sent to the switchmen along the line of road, advising them to take the same action and make any terms that they were able to make with the company. The striking engineers and firemen at Chicago also advised this course and even offered to unite with the switchmen in following it out. The switchmen along the line, acting on the advice of the Brotherhood men, refused to recognize the strike as off, and remained with the engineers, but without aid from the Brotherhood, as seen from the letters herewith given. December 11, Mr. Cavener arrived in Chicago, and on the 28th of December representatives of the Brotherhood from west of the Missouri river assembled in Chicago to the number of two hundred. They were called together by Mr. Cavener to take final action on the strike. From the 28th day of December to the 4th day of January, the daily papers were full of sensational rumors of boycotts, but no such action was contemplated by the Brotherhoods. Below is given the full report of the settlement, issued from the Grand Lodge of the Switchmen's Mutual Aid Association. OFFICE OF THE GRAND LODGE, SWITCHMEN'S MUTUAL AID ASSOCIATION OF NORTH AMERICA. CHICAGO, ILL., Jan. 10, 1889. _To All Subordinate Lodges_: SIRS AND BROTHERS: At the late Convention of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, held at Richmond, Va., a Committee of nine was appointed to examine into the condition of the strike on the C., B. & Q. Railroad, and devise ways and means whereby it might be brought to a close. The Committee was composed of the following named gentlemen: A. R. Cavener, A. W. Perley, T. Hollinrake, Thos. Humphreys, A. Le May, A. W. Logan, Edward Kent, Wm. C. Hayes and T. P. Bellows. After the Committee had made a thorough investigation, they requested the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen to appoint a Committee to act in conjunction with them, and Grand Master Sargent appointed L. Mooney and S. W. Dixon as such Committee. This Joint Committee, in their report to the two Brotherhoods, say: An interview with the officials of the C., B. & Q. company was solicited and granted. Other interviews followed, in which the strike, in all its details was discussed, with a thorough appreciation of the gravity and importance of the situation. The Committee sought by all the means at its command to secure a settlement that would be of the largest possible advantage to the strikers. Every point was brought out and thoroughly discussed, and after a careful, patient and exhaustive review of the situation, a settlement was effected which met with the unanimous approval of the Joint Committee. Preliminary to our report of the settlement, we desire to introduce the following documents, which are self-explanatory: CHICAGO, Jan. 4, 1889. _Mr. E. P. Ripley, General Manager, Chicago_: DEAR SIR: The enclosed is a copy of the communication which I was directed to give to the Committee of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Firemen, who have been in conference with us today, which was accepted by them, and they have declared the strike settled. It is important that no question should arise as to the good faith of the company, and it is our desire and intention that there should be no opportunity for such question. As to the meaning of the word "available," I desire to say that when it becomes necessary to employ men outside of those now in the service, care must be taken to consider all the qualifications that go to make up availability, including experience and familiarity with our surroundings and rules. In short, that the very best men are to be selected, regardless of personal relations or prejudices for or against any men or class of men. It should be further fully understood that the company does not desire to pursue those who have been guilty of improper conduct during the late strike, and while such men cannot be re-employed, and while we cannot give letters to them, no officer or employe should continue the animosities of the conflict after it is over, or interfere to prevent the employment of such men elsewhere. Yours truly, HENRY B. STONE. Similar letters will be sent to all the officers in charge of our different properties, and by them transmitted to their operating officers. H. B. STONE. WESTERN UNION TELEGRAPH COMPANY. BOSTON, Jan. 3, 1889. _To Henry B. Stone, Vice President C., B. & Q. Ry., Chicago_: I did not telegraph yesterday, as you requested, because it seemed important under the circumstances, and since we have been asked by the engineers to say what our position is, that it should be done with the authority of the whole Executive Committee. The Committee is now in session, and I am authorized and instructed to send you the following: "The company will not follow up, black list, or in any manner attempt to proscribe those who were concerned in the strike, but, on the contrary, will cheerfully give to all who have not been guilty of violence, or other improper conduct, letters of introduction, showing their record in our service, and will, in all proper ways, assist them in finding employment. "The first duty of the management is to those who are in the company's employ, and we must remember, and protect their interests by promotions, and by every other means in our power. Beyond this, if it should become necessary to go outside of the service for men in any capacity, it is our intention to select the best men available, and in making selections, not to exclude those who were engaged in the strike of February 27, if they are the best men available, and provided they have not since been guilty of violence and other improper conduct." You are authorized to give a copy of this message to the engineers who called upon you. [Signed] C. E. PERKINS. CHICAGO, Jan. 4, 1889. _Mr. A. R. Cavener, Chairman Committee Brotherhood Locomotive Engineers_: DEAR SIR: The above is a copy of a telegram received yesterday from Mr. Perkins, our President, and which, in accordance with his instructions, I have submitted to you, and which has been fully discussed with you and your Committee. Yours truly, HENRY B. STONE. CHICAGO, Jan. 4, 1889. _Mr. Henry B. Stone, Second Vice President_: DEAR SIR: We, the undersigned Committee, in behalf of our respective organizations--Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen--and as representatives of the ex-employes of the Burlington system, who left the services of said company February 27, 1888, or later, on account of the strike, approve of the foregoing agreement, and hereby declare the strike of the said ex-employes as settled. Yours truly, ALEX. R. CAVENER, A. W. PERLEY, T. HOLLINRAKE, THOS. HUMPHREYS, A. LE MAY, WM. C. HAYES, A. W. LOGAN, EDW. KENT, T. P. BELLOWS, S. W. DIXON, L. MOONEY. The Joint Committee submitted their report to the Grand Officers of the B. of L. E. and B. of L. F., and the settlement "met with their entire and unqualified approval." The Grand Officers, therefore, issued a circular to their respective Divisions and Lodges, under date of January 7, 1889, in which they say "The strike of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen on the C., B. & Q. railway system, inaugurated February 27, 1888, is hereby officially declared at an end, and the striking employes are now at liberty to make applications for situations on said system." The purpose of this circular is to advise the striking switchmen who desire to be re-employed, to file their applications at their respective Division headquarters, on or before February 1, 1889. This advice is given at the request of the officials of the company. Applications filed after February 1 will not be considered. The settlement may not be all that might be expected or desired, but it seems to be the best that could be secured under the condition of things, and I hope it will be received in good faith, and that all hostility will cease. In closing, I urge upon switchmen, members of our Association, to exert their influence in securing situations for the ex-employes of the C., B. & Q. system. Yours fraternally, FRANK SWEENEY, Grand Master S. M. A. A. of N. A. The letters herein printed are given without comment, further than to say that as they seem to have some bearing on the settlement, they were evidently intended for that purpose. The business of the Burlington, as with the other western roads at this time, is but little over half its usual volume. No switchmen, engineers or firemen returned to the employ of that company during January. Advices from along the entire system indicate the same condition of affairs at the present date, February 8, 1889. The new men, laid off on account of dull business, still remain on hand, and as business increases they will return to work, and not until their ranks are exhausted will there be any vacancies for the old men. The probabilities are, that several months will elapse before any of the strikers will be needed by the Burlington road. The following letters having been made public by the Grand Officers of the firemen, through the medium of their magazine, we violate no confidence in giving them publicity here. We particularly desire to print them, from the fact that they indicate a condition of affairs in relation to the settlement that should be made known to the general public. The letters and comments are from the February, 1889, number of the Firemen's Magazine. "The B. of L. E., at its Richmond Convention, not only declined to repeal laws, the enactment of which was an indignity of such unquestioned insolence, that 'a wayfaring man though a fool' need not err in comprehending the outrage, but in its deliberations relating to ending the C., B. & Q. strike, it concluded to ignore the B. of L. F. entirely, as if the Order had no interests at stake and was unworthy of notice. In proof of this we introduce here an extract of a letter from P. M. Arthur, Grand Chief, dated November 5, 1888, which is conclusive: "The Convention also decided to appoint a Committee of nine, with Bro. Alex. Cavener as chairman, to determine when the strike _shall end_ on the C., B. & Q. Bro. Cavener will first go over that system, and see how the situation is, and address the men at the different places on the line, in view of a _settlement_. After which he will _convene his Committee_ and they are to _decide when the trouble shall end_, and _no one but themselves is to know the result until they report to the Grand Officers_. "We have italicised certain expressions in Grand Chief Arthur's letter to Grand Master Sargent, to enable our readers to see how effectually the B. of L. F. was squelched, left out in the cold, disregarded and tabooed by the B. of L. E. in the 'settlement' of the strike. "In reply to Grand Chief Arthur's letter of November 5, we here introduce extracts from Grand Master Sargent's letter of November 7: _P. M. Arthur, Esq._: DEAR SIR AND BROTHER: I am in receipt of your communication of November 5, written by S. G. E. Bro. Everett, and I have noted its contents carefully and I must acknowledge that I am disappointed in the action taken at Richmond on the question of federation. Referring to the strike, I had hoped that your Convention would end it, believing as I do that it is a useless waste of time and money to continue it any longer. We are already feeling the strain ourselves; my mail is continually filled with communications coming from the officers of the Subordinate Lodges, appealing to me in behalf of their members to excuse them from paying the heavy assessments which we have been compelled to levy. Others are prepared to surrender their charters, and the situation is anything but agreeable to me. There can be no change, however, until such time as the strike is declared off. And we will be compelled to contribute to the support of these men for a long time after, as many of them will be without situations. Whatever may be the decision of the Committee which you have appointed, I hope that they will bear in mind that the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen are just as much interested in this strike as is the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and that they will also consider this claim, that the members of the Brotherhood of Firemen are not all wealthy men. "In reply to Grand Master Sargent's letter of the 7th, Grand Chief Arthur writes as follows, under date of November 9: In regard to the strike we are deeply sensible of the circumstances by which you are surrounded, and nothing could have been further from our thought than to ignore you or your Brotherhood, but in view of the fact that your Convention adjourned without action touching that matter, and as you had expressed a hope that our Convention should declare it off, it was deemed wise to take steps to fix a time to end it without giving any aid or comfort to the company. This is what was kept in view and the welfare of the firemen in it was as much an object as was that of the engineers, and when the Committee reports you will be fully informed of the course decided upon. "We are not disposed to indulge in severity of language in criticising Grand Chief Arthur's letter to Grand Master Sargent, of November 9. It is easily seen that Mr. Arthur was not only 'deeply sensible' of the circumstances which 'surrounded' the B. of L. F., but was quite as 'deeply sensible' that the circumstances 'which surrounded' the B. of L. E. were of character which he found it exceedingly difficult to explain. When the B. of L. E. deliberately 'ignored' the B. of L. F., giving it a direct slap in the face in a matter in which the interests of its members were vitally involved, the declarations of the Grand Chief 'that nothing could have been further from our thoughts than to ignore you or your Brotherhood,' the very climax of irony is reached. Look at it; here were two great Brotherhoods engaged in a life and death struggle with a powerful corporation. It had cost them hundreds of thousands of dollars. Firemen, with a fidelity born of heroism worthy of monuments of marble, had stood by the engineers until they were impoverished. At this supreme juncture, the B. of L. E. concludes to take steps to terminate the strike. Does it consider the interests, the rights, the sacrifices of the B. of L. F.? No, not in the least. There is no word, no sign of recognition. On the contrary the action of the B. of L. E. is that of the most offensive ostracism. There is not so much as a squint at co-operation or federation. The gush and slush about the 'twin Brotherhoods' disappears, and yet Grand Chief Arthur declares, as if he expected his assertion would be accepted as true, that in the appointment of a Committee of nine, clothed with full power to settle the strike, in which no reference was made to the B. of L. F. or to its interests, 'nothing could have been further from our thought than to ignore' the B. of L. F. It is sufficient to say that the declaration of Grand Chief Arthur was not accepted as conclusive. It is neither an apology nor an explanation. Indeed, it only serves to emphasize the fact that the B. of L. E. deliberately and purposely ignored the B. of L. F. "Proceeding with the history, it will be seen that Mr. Alexander K. Cavener, Chairman of the Committee of nine engineers, proceeded to carry out his instructions. He went over the roads of the 'Q' system, he held meetings and obtained information. He assembled his Committee of engineers and made his reports. The conclusion was to declare the strike at an end. In all of this no fireman had been consulted--no attention paid to the B. of L. F. officers or men. There had been neither co-operation nor federation--no allusion to the 'twin (?) Brotherhoods.' "At this juncture, Mr. Alexander K. Cavener, Chairman of the Committee of nine, bethought himself of the fact that there was such a Brotherhood as the B. of L. F. The B. of L. E. had not authorized him to indulge such a thought, but he did remember it and sent the following telegram: CHICAGO, Dec. 27, 1888. _Sargent and Debs_: Can you select a Committee of your Order to act in conjunction with our Committee? Meet us at Commercial Hotel morning of December 29. [Signed] ALEX. R. CAVENER. "This was the first intimation the B. of L. F. had that the B. of L. E., or the Committee of nine, recognized that the B. of L. F. had any interest whatever in the 'Q' strike, or in the settlement of the strike. Grand Master Sargent was not in Terre Haute when the message was received, and Grand Secretary and Treasurer Debs, of the B. of L. F., replied as follows: TERRE HAUTE, IND., Dec. 27, 1888. Grand Master Sargent is expected home from the East this evening, and your message will be referred to him on his arrival. For myself I do not favor the appointment of a Committee such as you suggest at this time. The invitation for joint procedure comes too late in the day. I have no doubt our regular Committee representing the C., B. & Q., now at Chicago, will be amply able to look after our interests. E. V. DEBS. "Upon the arrival of Grand Master Sargent the following message was sent to Chairman Cavener, at Chicago: TERRE HAUTE, IND., Dec. 29, 1888. _A. R. Cavener, Commercial Hotel, Chicago, Ill._: Referring to your telegram we have to say, that in our opinion we should have been given an opportunity of being represented in the tour of inspection of the "Q" system. We are in the habit of acting for ourselves in such matters, and hence we are not disposed at this late hour to join in the "amen" to what has been done. If we were not capable of doing our part from the beginning we are not willing to join issues now. We respectfully decline to appoint any Committee for the purpose suggested in your telegram. [Signed] F. P. Sargent, Grand Master. E. V. DEBS, Grand Sec. & Treas. "The refusal of the B. of L. F. to appoint a Committee to act with the engineers' Committee was adversely criticised, and resulted in sending to Terre Haute a Committee of two, Bro. R. H. Lacy, Chairman of the C., B. & Q. Committee, having charge of strike affairs, and Bro. George Godding. These men visited Terre Haute, and, acting under advice, represented to Grand Master Sargent that it was important that a Committee should be appointed to represent the firemen on the Committee of engineers. "Grand Master Sargent thereupon transmitted to Grand Chief Arthur the following message: TERRE HAUTE, IND., Jan. 2, 1889. _P. M. Arthur, Cleveland, Ohio_: I have been requested by A. R. Cavener, Chairman of Committee at Chicago, to appoint a Committee of firemen to act with them in the matter now before them. Will you inform me if he has the authority to do this, and if you approve of the same as the Executive of the Order? Has this Committee full power to act regardless of you? Answer at my expense. [Signed] F. P. SARGENT, Grand Master. "In response to the foregoing, the following reply was received from Grand Chief Arthur: CLEVELAND, O., Jan. 2, 1889. _Frank P. Sargent_: Would advise you to grant Cavener's request in the interest of peace and harmony. He has not complied with my instructions, but I waive all in favor of having an end put to the strike. P. M. ARTHUR. "Upon receipt of this message, Grand Master Sargent appointed Bros. S. W. Dixon, of Baraboo, Wis., and L. Mooney, of St. Joe, Mo., a Committee to represent the B. of L. F.'s interests, as set forth in the following communication addressed to Chairman Cavener of the B. of L. E. Committee under date of January 2: GRAND LODGE } BROTHERHOOD OF LOCOMOTIVE FIREMEN. } TERRE HAUTE, IND., Jan. 2, 1889. } _A. R. Cavener, Esq., and members of the Committee representing the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and the interests of the C., B. & Q. engineers engaged in the present strike_: GENTLEMEN AND BROTHERS: It is not necessary for me to introduce myself to you honorable gentlemen, as I am, no doubt, known to you both officially and socially, and I will proceed to place before you certain facts, and at the same time explain to you the reason of my forwarding the message to Bro. Cavener, Chairman of your Committee, signed jointly by Bro. Debs and myself, in reply to a request made by Bro. Cavener for us to appoint a Committee representing the firemen to go with you before the officials of the Burlington system. I desire to trespass upon your valuable time long enough to call your attention to the original compact entered into between the engineers and firemen in the beginning of this eventful strike. It was understood that in all our dealings both as Committees and as executive officers among ourselves, or when before the officers of the company, that we should act together. I am not disposed at this time to pass any criticism whatever upon the action of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers or upon any of its executive officers; I simply wish to call attention to this matter in a fair and unbiased light. When our Convention convened at Atlanta, the situation of the Brotherhood was not of an encouraging nature; we were incumbered with debt; we knew that we could not as a body, take any action in the matter of the strike, except to provide means for the maintenance of the men engaged therein, until such time as the Convention of your honorable body had convened and decided upon what they believed to be the best course to pursue. We provided means for the further sustenance of our men and awaited the action of your body. Being honored with an invitation to be present in Richmond as a guest of your Brotherhood, I was able to meet with many of the prominent members, together with the Grand Officers, and I presented, when the opportunity offered, my exact position as an Executive Official, stating, that we, as an organization, were willing, at all times to do anything that was honorable toward bringing about a satisfactory settlement of the difficulty. I was assured that some action would be taken whereby some means would be devised which would lead to the ending of the strike. I returned home, and shortly after the termination of your Convention, I received an official communication from Grand Chief Arthur, in which he informed me that a Committee of nine had been appointed with Bro. Alex. R. Cavener as Chairman, to determine when the strike should end on the C., B. & Q.; that Bro. Cavener should first go over the system and see what the situation was, and address the men at different places along the line in view of a settlement; after which he would convene the Committee, and they were to decide when the trouble should end, and no one but themselves was to know the result until after reporting to the Grand Office. I immediately wrote a letter to Grand Chief Arthur, in which I expressed a feeling of dissatisfaction on account of the firemen not being requested to appoint members of the organization to represent them; I believed that if there was a representative of the engineers organization going over the system that there should also be a representative of the firemen accompanying him. I may have been wrong in my view, still I have seen nothing yet to change my opinion. In reply to my letter to Grand Chief Arthur, he stated that it was not the intention to ignore us in any manner, but as I had expressed the hope that his Convention would devise the means of ending the strike, it was deemed wise to take steps and fix a time to end it without giving any aid or comfort to the company. He further stated that the firemen and their welfare were kept in view, and that when the Committee made its report that I would be fully informed of the course decided upon, no intimation being made, however, that I was at liberty to appoint any firemen to go in conjunction with the Committee of engineers. While the communication did not just meet my views, I said to my associate, "We will await the report of this Committee." A few days after I visited Cleveland and had a conversation with Grand Chief Arthur, in which I again broached this matter, and was again informed by him that it was no intention on the part of the Convention to ignore the firemen and that our interests were considered equally with theirs. He furthermore informed me regarding the authority delegated to the Committee, and led me to believe that all you could do was simply to assemble, receive the report of Bro. Cavener, and then recommend what further action should be taken by the Grand Officers when we should convene as Grand Officers and decide the issue. A few days after this I was present in the city of St. Paul, and had a pleasant interview with Bro. Hayes, who is, I believe, a member of your Committee. I expressed to Bro. Hayes my opinion, and I desire to say I found him exceedingly courteous, and he coincided with my views, saying it was all due to an oversight and that he would communicate with Grand Chief Arthur on the subject. I stated to Bro. Hayes that if Grand Chief Arthur requested of me the appointment of a Committee, I would gladly do so; nothing more was heard of the matter. I was receiving communications daily from all sections of the country, asking why the firemen were not represented on this Committee; such communications I answered in as honorable a manner as I knew how, placing no censure upon any one and saying nothing that would in any manner, lead intelligent men to think we had any desire to antagonize. In my absence from the city Bro. Debs received a telegram from Bro. Cavener, requesting us to appoint a committee. Bro. Debs answered the message, expressing his sentiments, not for the purpose of creating ill-feeling, but simply to place us and our Order before the Committee in an honorable light. Upon my return the message was submitted to me, and in view of the fact that throughout this entire strike we have acted jointly, believing that we should have been requested to make appointments on that Committee of engineers, and in view of the further fact that at the time of learning officially of the action of the Committee, I wrote to Grand Chief Arthur, calling his attention to my feelings and afterward in my conversation with Brother Hayes, in which I gave him to understand that if Grand Chief Arthur would request of me the appointing of a Committee that I would gladly do so. I believed, as did Bro. Debs, that it was entirely wrong to ask us to send a Committee to go before the officers of the company after the Committee's work in a large measure had been accomplished. When I say "Committee's work" I refer to the Chairman, who had been over the system interviewing men and observing the situation while we were not represented nor even requested to be; and for this reason our message was sent. This morning a Committee of two of the General Committee representing the firemen on the C., B. & Q. R. R. presented the position you occupy and authority delegated to you by your Grand Body. After a careful consideration of the matter and a desire to bring about an amicable settlement of the present difficulty, create harmony and good will between all labor organizations, especially our co-workers, the engineers, we have wired the following message to Grand Chief Arthur: "I have been requested by A. R. Cavener, Chairman of Committee at Chicago, to appoint a committee of firemen to act with others in the matter now before them. Will you inform me if he has the authority to do this and if you approve of the same as the Executive of the Order? Has this Committee full power to act regardless of you? Answer at my expense." Considering the correspondence and conversation we have had on this subject with Grand Chief Arthur, it is no more than right that he should, as an executive of the organization he represents, endorse the appointing of a Committee representing the firemen, to take part in these deliberations. Upon receiving his reply, if he endorses your request, I shall immediately instruct two members of our Order, who are intelligent, capable and somewhat familiar with the situation, to report to you at once. I can assure you that whatever you decide upon doing, these representatives will acquiesce in so long as it is to the interests of the organizations involved. I am sorry that there should be any misunderstanding on account of this matter, but I think time will demonstrate to intelligent, thinking minds that the position taken by the Grand Officers of the B. of L. F. has been an honorable one, and all we ask is that consideration which all honest men are entitled to. We may differ in opinion, but that we have a right to do, and when it comes to a matter of such grave importance as the one that now presents itself for our consideration, we should set aside all personal feelings and act to the best interests of those we represent. I can assure you, gentlemen, that you have the best wishes of the Grand Officers of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen, and we only trust that through your deliberations may come such good results as will redound in honor to yourselves as well as to the organization which you represent. Yours fraternally, F. P. SARGENT. "In this connection it becomes necessary to state that among other things charged in support of the allegations that the B. of L. F. is responsible for the failure of the strike, is a letter written by Grand Master Sargent in reply to a letter received from Bro. J. E. Kline, of Plattsmouth, Neb. As special efforts have been made to misrepresent Grand Master Sargent in the matter, we here give the full text of the correspondence: PLATTSMOUTH, NEB., Dec. 6, 1888. _F. P. Sargent, Esq., Grand Master_: DEAR SIR AND BROTHER: Yours of recent date to Bro. Zinn was referred to me, and I was requested to ask for information. Since you cannot assure us our support after November, can you give us any encouragement in regard to the Committee of nine, with Cavener at the head, which was appointed at the late Engineers' Convention? We have been notified that they would put on the boycott, which I think is the only means to win this fight. I am very much afraid that this strike is lost, and that we (the men on the Q.) are sacrificed. I have been a Brotherhood fireman about two years, and have done everything in my power to promote the Order, and I have always thought that nothing could break our organization, but I am afraid if this strike is lost, that we fall beneath the heels of capital; yet I am satisfied that some move can be made by our Order to crush the C., B. & Q. into submission. Now, in regard to some of the strikers refusing employment on other roads, preferring to lay idle on the forty ($40) dollars paid us for so doing, I think is false, and I am satisfied I can convince your informant. In the first place, well do you know that there are many roads that want men, but refuse to employ C., B. & Q. strikers, until the strike is declared off. Furthermore, we have men working on all the roads in the country that will employ strikers. I am sorry that those men who are being expelled for non-payment, cannot see that it is to their benefit to sacrifice a few dollars per month, while we who are in the fight sacrifice on an average of thirty-five ($35) dollars per month. I would to God that those men have their wages cut down one-half in the next twenty-four hours. In conclusion, I ask you your _candid opinion in regard to the boycott_. Please let me hear from you at once. Sincerely yours, JNO. E. KLINE. GRAND LODGE } BROTHERHOOD OF LOCOMOTIVE FIREMEN, } TERRE HAUTE, IND., Dec. 14, 1888. } DEAR SIR AND BROTHER: Your favor of December 6 came to hand during my absence from the city, which accounts for a delayed answer. I cannot give you any information of the action of the Committee appointed by the engineers in their Convention, other than what I received from Grand Chief Arthur and one member of the Committee. I have heard that it was the intention of the Committee to end the strike; but I can say to you honestly and candidly, that so far as a boycott is concerned it is simply nonsense to talk about it. Any sane man who will carefully consider the present situation of the C., B. & Q., and the condition of our organization, would see the folly of our contemplating such a step. The day for boycott has long gone by; there was a time when it could have been put into effect, and something accomplished by it, had there been any disposition on the part of a large number of men to maintain it, but any man who was a witness of the situation at Chicago, during the time of the boycott, would see the folly of talking about one in this instance; and I must say to you very firmly and honestly, that the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen, as an organization, will have nothing whatever to do with a boycott, no matter what Mr. Cavener's statements may be. I am waiting for the report of this Committee which has been appointed by the engineers. When their report comes in, if they have no way of ending the strike, I will find a way of getting the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen out of it, and I will go to work and endeavor to find employment for our members who are not able to find it themselves. It is a very good idea to go to work and preach federation and all these different doctrines, and then, when the time comes to act upon them, repudiate them. There is no man who appreciates the manly stand of the C., B. & Q. firemen more than I, and there is no one in a better position to see the condition of the organization than I am. I am speaking for no effect other than to express my honest opinion. The time has come when this strike must end and the men must look for employment, and the quicker this is done the better it will be for all concerned. There are those in our Order who are not earning $40 per month and whose wages are far below the wages paid on the Western roads. These men have paid their last dollar and they are in want; their families must have clothes, they must have fuel to keep them warm; and I can tell you as a friend and brother that I do not propose to drive such men out of the organization after having done what they could to maintain the strike. As soon as the strike is off we will devote our time and attention to finding employment for such men as desire to make application to the Grand Officers. Let the consequences be what they will, we have decided upon the stand we shall take, and I shall take it as an official of the Order. The engineers in their Convention were informed of my opinion, as was Mr. Cavener, and it seems to me that when their Committee was appointed, it would have been nothing more than proper courtesy to have requested one of our members to act with them. This they did not do. They say it was an oversight, but it does not change my opinion as to their duty. I have learned through a member of the Committee of what their action will be; and I desire to say to you as a brother, with the best feelings towards you and other members of your Lodge and all strikers, that the advice we gave you in our last communication was for your best interests as well as to the interests of every member in the country. The men who preach boycott had better be engaged in bringing about federation of the different organizations, so that they may act in harmony one with another. Better be men and acknowledge the strike lost, look for work and get themselves in a position to fight again when we are called upon to do so. I trust you will receive this communication in the spirit in which it is written, as I desire to be honest with you and to give you what I believe the best advice that I possibly can, and, mark my words, the day will come when you will say that I was right. It may be when I am officially dead, but I know what the final result will be. I have the best of feeling for the engineers on the Burlington system, they have done their duty and done it manfully; and had they the support which they ought to have had, the result of the strike would have been very different. Trusting that the Brothers have decided to take the advice of one who is their friend, and if they desire assistance in the way of positions and situations that they will apply for them, and wishing you all success, I remain, Yours fraternally, FRANK P. SARGENT, G. M. "The particular charge made was that Grand Master Sargent had advised firemen to take the places of engineers. And upon this gratuitous falsehood every conceivable charge has been rung. It will be observed that there is not so much as an intimation of such a thing, nor can any amount of torture of Grand Master Sargent's language make it convey such an idea." 
41068	----	[Transcriber's note: It is noted that on page 92 "From December 1, 1894, to September 12, 1892, 329 francs 75 centimes was collected;" that the dates are not sequential. The word _sabotage_ has been consistently placed in italics. Individual correction of printers' errors are listed at the end.] STUDIES IN HISTORY, ECONOMICS AND PUBLIC LAW EDITED BY THE FACULTY OF POLITICAL SCIENCE OF COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY Volume XLVI] [Number 3 Whole Number 116 SYNDICALISM IN FRANCE BY LOUIS LEVINE WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY PROFESSOR FRANKLIN H. GIDDINGS SECOND REVISED EDITION OF "The Labor Movement in France" AMS PRESS NEW YORK COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY STUDIES IN THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 116 COPYRIGHT 1912 BY LOUIS LEVINE The series was formerly known as _Studies in History, Economics and Public Law_. Reprinted with the permission of Columbia University Press From the edition of 1914, New York First AMS EDITION published 1970 Manufactured in the United States of America Library of Congress Catalog Number: 76-127443 International Standard Book Number: Complete Set ... 0-404-51000-0 Number 116 ... 0-404-51116-3 AMS PRESS, INC. New York, N.Y. 10003 The term syndicalism sounds strange to an English reader. Its equivalent in English would be Unionism. A syndicat is a union of workingmen, on a trade or on an industrial basis, for the defense of economic interests. Revolutionary Syndicalism, however, has a broader connotation than the etymology of the term would suggest. A critical analysis of existing institutions, a socialist ideal, and a peculiar conception of revolutionary methods to be used for the realization of the ideal--are all contained in it. Revolutionary Syndicalism appears, therefore, as a phase of the general movement towards a reorganization of society on socialist principles.[1] [1] The term "socialist" is here used in a wide sense to include all varieties, even communistic anarchism. Revolutionary Syndicalism cannot be treated, however, exclusively as a phase of the evolution of Socialism. As the term suggests, it is also a development of the French Labor Movement. The organization which represents Revolutionary Syndicalism in France is the General Confederation of Labor (_La Confédération Générale du Travail_, generally referred to as the C. G. T.)--the central organization of the labor unions or syndicats in France. The history of Revolutionary Syndicalism coincides almost entirely with the history of the General Confederation, and it may be said that its future is entirely bound up with the destinies of this organization. In fact, Revolutionary Syndicalism is an attempt to fuse revolutionary socialism and trade unionism into one coherent movement. Peculiar conditions of French social history have thrown the socialists and anarchists into the syndicats and have secured their leadership there. In this respect, Revolutionary Syndicalism is a unique and interesting chapter in the history of both Socialism and Trades unionism and of their mutual relations. Revolutionary Syndicalism has attracted much attention outside of France. Its more or less rapid development, the turmoil into which it has thrown France several times, the extreme ideas which it expresses, the violent methods it advocates, and its attempts of proselytism outside of France have awakened an interest in it. A number of studies on the movement have appeared in German, Italian, Russian and other European periodicals and books. In English, however, the subject has not received the consideration it would seem to deserve from the theoretical as well as from the practical point of view. Revolutionary Syndicalism is an aggressive movement. Its aim is to do away with existing institutions and to reconstruct society along new lines. It must, therefore, necessarily call forth a definite attitude on the part of those who become acquainted with it. Those who speak about it are either its friends or its enemies, and even those who want to be impartial towards it are generally unable to resist the flood of sentiment which such a movement sets loose in them. Impartiality, however, has been the main effort of the writer of this study. It has appeared to him more important to describe the facts as they are and to understand the conditions back of the facts, than to pass sentence whether of approval or of condemnation. He has made the effort, therefore, to suppress his personality entirely in all that part of his work which is purely descriptive. The method adopted has been to describe ideas and facts sympathetically--whether syndicalist or anti-syndicalist, whether promoting or hindering the development of Revolutionary Syndicalism. The idea that has guided the writer is as follows: Let us imagine that social phenomena could be registered automatically. All social facts would then be recorded with all the sympathies and antipathies with which they are mixed in real life, because the latter are part of the facts. When social descriptions go wrong it is not because they are tinged with feeling, but because they are colored by those feelings which they arouse in the writer and not by those which accompany them in reality. The main task of the writer, therefore, is to try to enter into the feelings which go along with the facts which he is describing. This means that the writer must alternately feel and think as a different person. However difficult this may be, it is still possible by an effort of imagination prompted by a desire to get at the truth. This method seems more correct than an attempt to remain entirely indifferent and not to be swayed by any feeling. Indifference does not secure impartiality; it results mostly in colorlessness. For instance, were the writer to remain indifferent or critical while describing the syndicalist ideas, the latter could not be outlined with all the force and color with which they appear in the exposition of their representatives. This would not produce an impartial description, therefore, but a weak and consequently untrue one. On the contrary, by trying to feel and to think as a revolutionary syndicalist, while describing the syndicalist ideas, it is possible to come nearer to reality. The same method is used in the description of anti-syndicalist ideas and efforts. The result seems to the writer to be the creation of the necessary illusion and the reproduction of the atmosphere in which the movement developed. A critical and personal attitude has been taken only when the writer wished to express his own views. Whether the writer has been more successful than others in this attempt, is for the reader to decide. From the point of view taken in this essay, Revolutionary Syndicalism has to be described both as a theory and as a practice. The effort is made throughout, however, to consider the theory in close relation to the practice. The first chapter is introductory and serves merely to give the necessary historical perspective. This explains its brevity. Revolutionary Syndicalism is undoubtedly a peculiar product of French life and history. Still many of its ideas have a general character and may be of interest to men and women of other countries. After all, the problems that confront the whole civilized world to-day are the same, and the conditions in which their solution has to be tried are everywhere alike in many respects. It has been the writer's sincere hope throughout this work that the history of syndicalism may stimulate the readers of this essay to reflection and criticism that may be of help to them in their efforts to advance the cause of social progress in their own country. The author wishes to make grateful acknowledgments to Professor Vladimir G. Simkhovitch, Professor Henry Rogers Seager and other professors of Columbia University who have in one way or another aided him in the prosecution of his work; but especially is he indebted to Professor Franklin H. Giddings for invaluable criticisms and suggestions which have guided him throughout his work, and to Professor Edwin R. A. Seligman for encouragement and advice, and help in making it possible for the work to appear in its present form. NOVEMBER, 1911. LOUIS LEVINE. PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION The term syndicalism no longer needs an introduction to the English reader. Within the past two years it has been naturalized in all English-speaking countries, and has become more or less widely known. It has even been enriched as a result of its migration. In France it simply expressed the comparatively innocent idea of trade unionism, while both in England and America it has come to designate those explosive and aggressive forms of labor unionism which the French described in the words "revolutionary syndicalism." The English use of the term has reacted upon the French syndicalists who have now generally dropped the adjective "revolutionary" and speak of their movement as "le syndicalisme" or "le syndicalisme français." In a word, as a result of recent industrial events the world over, syndicalism has emerged as a new movement of international scope and character. The most significant manifestation of this new development was the first international syndicalist congress which was held in London during the month of September of last year and at which delegates from France, Germany, Holland, Belgium, the United States, England and other countries were present. The appearance of syndicalist tendencies in other countries has thrown some new light upon the subject. What was considered at one time the peculiar product of France or of the "Latin spirit," appears now to transcend the boundaries of particular countries and of kindred racial groups. It is evidently more closely related to industrial conditions. But its emergence in such countries as England and the United States destroys the familiar hypothesis that syndicalism is bred only by the small workshop. The latter may explain some peculiar aspects of French syndicalism; it can not explain the methods of direct action and the syndicalist spirit common to all countries. The explanation seems to me to lie in the direction indicated in the concluding chapter of this book. Three essential causes for the development of French syndicalism are pointed out in it: namely, political disillusionment, the economic weakness of the labor elements, and the comparatively static character of French industry. Recent industrial developments in England and the United States prove that the same conditions explain the appearance of syndicalist tendencies everywhere. The disappointment of the British workers in the political possibilities of the Labor Party, the general mistrust of "politicians" and the actual disfranchisement of large elements of the working population in the United States are facts which are not disputed, and the influence of which in recent industrial events is no longer denied. The comparative weakness of sectional unionism in England and of the unskilled elements in the American labor movement has been brought home to the workers themselves and has determined their change of tactics. Some French syndicalists have criticized the author of this book for laying too much emphasis on the financial weakness of the syndicats in France. But that is a misunderstanding on their part; the emphasis is not on finances, but on weakness which may be the result of many circumstances. Labor unions may have millions in the banks, and still be weak economically on account of the technical conditions of the industry or of the strong organization of the employers. A consciousness of weakness in certain respects must not lead necessarily to submission or to despair. But it generally leads to efforts in new directions and to new methods of action. It has resulted in the amalgamation of unions in England and in the wonderful effort to create a general spirit of solidarity among all elements of labor the world over. The comparatively static character of industrial life in France has no parallel in England or the United States. This explains why in the latter two countries the ideal aspects of syndicalism have obtained less significance, than in France. In an atmosphere of slow industrial growth, possibilities of immediate industrial gains do not loom up large in the eyes of the workers and no hope of considerable permanent improvement under given conditions is aroused; on the other hand, the forcible acquisition of the whole industrial equipment and its co-operative management seem comparatively easy. In the concluding chapter of this book, the possibilities of a change in the character of French syndicalism which were indicated in the first edition are left unchanged. Developments are not yet ripe to warrant any definite conclusion. Of course, some very important phenomena have taken place. The most significant, perhaps, is the development of the iron and steel industry in the eastern parts of France, particularly in the Department Meurthe-et-Moselle. Something very similar to what happened in the steel industry of the United States is happening there; large plants are being erected, gigantic industrial combinations are being formed, labor organizations are relentlessly fought, and foreign workers are imported from Italy, Belgium, Luxembourg, Austria and other countries. Under these conditions, new problems are thrust upon the French labor movement, and it is significant that the Federation of the metal workers has played the leading part in the recent campaign against the "anarchistic" tendencies of the General Confederation of Labor and has demanded a return to the platform of Amiens (1906) and to a more definite program of labor demands. This does not mean a change in the ideas of French syndicalism, but it certainly indicates a tendency towards the more positive work of organization and of purely trade conquests. It may be many years, before the struggle of tendencies in the General Confederation of Labor is determined either way. Meanwhile, the significance of French Syndicalism to the world of thought and action has become greater than it was before. France continues to present both the ideas and activities of syndicalism in the most lucid and developed form. This fact, I take it, has been partly responsible for the keen interest in the first edition of this book and for the necessity of bringing forth a second edition. LOUIS LEVINE. NEW YORK CITY, MARCH, 1914. CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION 5 PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION 9 INTRODUCTION, by Professor Franklin H. Giddings 17 CHAPTER I THE LABOR MOVEMENT IN FRANCE TO THE COMMUNE(1789-1871) Legislation of French Revolution on trade associations; law le Chapelier, 1791--Laws of Napoleon--Prohibition of strikes--Violation of these laws--Secret labor organizations in France: compagnonnages, societies of resistance--Revolution of 1848 and the co-operative movement--Influence of Louis Blanc--Reaction during the fifties--Revival of labor movement in 1862--Effort of French Workingmen to break legal barriers--New law on strikes in 1864--Toleration of labor unions by Government of Napoleon III--Syndicats and co-operation--Failure of co-operative central bank in 1868--Communistic and Revolutionary tendencies in "The International"--Success of "The International" in 1869--Franco-Prussian War and its influence on the French labor movement 19 CHAPTER II ORIGIN OF THE GENERAL CONFEDERATION OF LABOR (1871-1895) The influence of the Commune on the syndicats--Barberet and his rôle in the syndical movement (1872-78)--The first Labor Congress in France (1886)--Acceptance of the Socialist program by the syndicats at the congress of Marseilles (1879)--The Socialist groups in France: Guesdists, Broussists, Allemanists, Blanquists, Independents, Anarchists--Their points of agreement and of difference--Influence of socialist divisions on development of labor organizations--Attempts of syndicats to form a central organization--The National Federation of Syndicats; its failure--The Bourse du Travail--The Federation of Bourses du Travail--The idea of the general strike--Its conception--Criticism by Guesdists--Split in National Federation of Syndicats--Formation of General Confederation of Labor by advocates of general strike and opponents of Guesdists 45 CHAPTER III THE FEDERATION OF BOURSES DU TRAVAIL Importance of Bourses du Travail; their rapid growth--Municipal and governmental subventions--Program of Bourses du Travail--Federation of Bourses du Travail organized in 1892--Its original purpose--Fernand Pelloutier Secretary of Federation--His rôle and influence--Conception of syndicat as the cell of future society--Growth of Federation of Bourses; its relations with the General Confederation of Labor 73 CHAPTER IV THE GENERAL CONFEDERATION OF LABOR FROM 1895-1902 Reasons for dividing history of General Confederation into two periods--Weakness of Confederation before 1902--Congress of Tours in 1896--Discussion of the idea of the general strike--Congress of Toulouse in 1897--Discussion of _sabotage_ and boycott and of "Direct Action"--Congress of Rennes in 1898--Congresses of Paris in 1900 and of Lyons in 1901--Revolutionary character of Congress of Lyons: New conception of general strike; revolutionary character of syndicat; anti-militaristic ideas; opposition to labor legislation--Causes of revolutionary ideas: changes in the program and methods of socialist parties; Dreyfus affair; entrance of socialist Millerand into "bourgeois" government--Congress of Montpellier in 1902 and the fusion of the Federation of Bourses du Travail with the General Confederation of Labor 91 CHAPTER V THE DOCTRINE OF REVOLUTIONARY SYNDICALISM Class struggle, its meaning and importance--Syndicat the proper organization for carrying on class struggle--Strength of syndicat by uniting workingmen without distinction of race, religion, political or philosophical ideas--Industrial unionism versus Craft unionism--Syndicats and "Direct Action"--Methods of "Direct Action:" strike, boycott, _sabotage_, label--The direct struggle against the State; exclusion of parliamentary methods--Criticism of democracy--Class struggle versus co-operation of classes--Anti-patriotism--Anti-militarism--General strike the means of emancipating workingmen--The ideal society of the syndicalists: economic federalism--The rôle of the "conscious minority"--Syndicats the true leaders of the working-class 123 CHAPTER VI THE THEORISTS OF REVOLUTIONARY SYNDICALISM Two groups of writers on syndicalism, (_a_) workingmen (_b_) intellectuals--Their points of disagreement--Representative of intellectuals; Georges Sorel--His works--His conception of syndicalism as neo-Marxism--Fundamental idea of Marx; no Utopias--Task of socialists to teach workingmen--The importance of the idea of the general strike--The general strike a "social myth"--What is a "social myth?"--Importance of "social myths" in revolutionary movements--The general strike as a means of producing a complete rupture between working-class and bourgeoisie--Sorel's theory of progress; only technical progress continuous; succession of cultures not continuous--Necessity of combating democracy--Democracy--the régime of professional politicians who rule the people--Class struggle and violence; meaning of violence--General strike a great moral force--Syndicalist ideas founded on pessimistic basis--Pessimism as cause of great historical achievements--Ideas of Bergson--Criticism of Sorel; neo-Marxism not true to spirit of Marx--Lagardelle and his writings--Gustave Hervé and "La Guerre Sociale"--Influence of Sorel--Criticism of Prof. Sombart's views--Syndicalism a development independent of Sorel--Relation of syndicalism to other social theories 141 CHAPTER VII THE GENERAL CONFEDERATION OF LABOR SINCE 1902 Constitution of General Confederation of Labor adopted in 1902--Activity of General Confederation--Movement to suppress employment bureaus--Congress of Bourges in 1904--Triumph of revolutionary syndicalism--Movement for eight-hour day from 1904 to 1906--Agitation in France--Fear of "social revolution"--Government arrests leaders--Results of strike movement--Congress of Amiens in 1906--Struggle between revolutionaries and reformists--Adoption of resolution "the charter of syndicalism"--Revolutionary activity of Confederation after Congress of Amiens Demonstration of Villeneuve St. George in 1908--Collision with troops; killed and wounded; arrest of syndicalist leaders--Congress of Marseilles in 1908--Congress of Toulouse in 1910--Congress of Havre in 1912--Growth of General Confederation of Labor--The demonstrations of the General Confederation against war--The "crisis" of revolutionary syndicalism--Relations of General Confederation with International Secretariat of Labor 162 CHAPTER VIII CHARACTER AND CONDITIONS OF REVOLUTIONARY SYNDICALISM Revolutionary syndicalism as a result of a coalition in the Confederation--The parties to this _bloc_: anarchists, revolutionary socialists, syndicalists--Formation and strength of the _bloc_--The socialist ideal of a free workshop--Historical traditions and the revolutionary spirit in French workingmen--Causes of the distrust of "politicians" and of parliamentary methods--The antagonism between workingman and intellectual--Revolutionary syndicalists not a minority in General Confederation--Conditions of syndicalism: poverty of French syndicats; psychology of French workingmen--Syndicats loosely held together--Weakness as cause of violent methods--French love of theory and of formulas--Similar actions of revolutionists and reformists in Confederation according to circumstances--Conditions necessary for realization of program of revolutionary syndicalism--Outlook for the future 199 BIBLIOGRAPHY 223 INTRODUCTION The democratic social movement has overleaped its platform and escaped out of the hands of its instigators. It is larger than any school of ideas and will not be bound by any program. It can be analyzed in part, and in general terms described, but it can no longer be defined. Socialism as one phase of this unmanaged and unmanageable tide, has itself been profoundly affected by the magnitude, the complexity, and the waywardness of the mass motion. It now has its "Right" and its "Left." There is a conservative, and there is a radical socialism. Each proclaims the class struggle, and both demand the collective ownership of the chief means of production. But conservative socialism lays stress upon collective ownership, and would move toward it by peaceful, evolutionary steps. It relies on the ballot, believes in legislation, in law, and in government; while radical socialism proclaims "the revolution," plans for the general strike, and preaches the expediency of _sabotage_ and violence. At first sight almost identical with radical socialism is Syndicalism, which, however, proves upon examination to be both more and less than any socialistic program. In its most characteristic expression, syndicalism denies the state and would substitute for it a purely voluntary collectivism. So far it is at one with anarchism, and there are those who conceive of syndicalism as an anarchistic movement in opposition to socialism. The trade-union organization of labor the world over is looked upon by the syndicalist as the natural basis and agency of his enterprise, quite as existing political organizations are accepted by the conservative or parliamentary socialist as the best preliminary norms from which to evolve a new social order. In this division of the forces of social democracy into right and left groups over the question of organization and control, we have a significant demonstration of the inadequacy of that Marxian analysis which resolves all social conflict into the antagonism of economic classes. More profound than that antagonism, and in the order of time more ancient, is the unending warfare between those who believe in law and government for all, and those who believe in law and government for none. The more or less paradoxical character of the socialistic movement at the present moment is attributable to the circumstance that, for the time being, these antagonistic forces of socialism and anarchism are confronting a common enemy--the individualist, who believes in law and government for everybody but himself. To describe, explain and estimate a phenomenon so complex as modern revolutionary syndicalism is a task from which the economist and the historian alike might well shrink. To understand it and to enable readers to understand it is an achievement. I think that I am not speaking in terms of exaggeration in saying that Dr. Levine has been more successful in this arduous undertaking than any predecessor. His pages tell us in a clear and dispassionate way what revolutionary syndicalism is, how it began, and how it has grown, what its informing ideas and purposes are, and by what methods it is forcing itself upon the serious attention of the civilized world. I think that it is a book which no student of affairs can afford to overlook, or to read in any other spirit than that of a sincere desire to know what account of the most profound social disturbance of our time is offered by a competent reporter of the facts. FRANKLIN H. GIDDINGS. COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY. CHAPTER I THE LABOR MOVEMENT IN FRANCE TO THE COMMUNE (1789-1871) The economic legislation of the French Revolution was guided by individualistic ideas which expressed the interests of the rising middle classes who felt a necessity of removing the obstacles in the way of economic initiative and of personal effort. These interests and ideas dictated the law of March 2-17, 1791, which abolished the guilds and inaugurated the era of competition in France (_Liberté du Travail_). The law declared that henceforth everybody was "free to do such business, exercise such profession, art, or trade, as he may choose."[2] [2] _Les Associations Professionelles Ouvrières_, Office du Travail (Paris, 1899), vol. i, p. 7. The abolition of the guilds cleared the way for the technical changes that had just begun and the development of which was yet in the future. These changes may be summarized as the application of science to industry and the introduction of machinery. The process went on in France irregularly, affecting different industries and different localities in various degrees. The first machine (_machine à vapeur_) was introduced in France about 1815; in 1830 there were about 600 in operation. Some idea of the later changes may be gained from the following table giving the number of machines in France from 1839 to 1907: _Year_ _No. of Machines_ _Total Horsepower_ 1839 2,450 33,000 1851 5,672 71,000 1861 15,805 191,000 1871 26,146 316,000 1881 44,010 576,000 1891 55,967 916,000 1901 75,866 1,907,000 1910 82,238 2,913,013[3] [3] _Annuaire Statistique_. The introduction of machinery meant the absorption of a larger part of the population in industry, the concentration of industry in a smaller number of establishments and the absolute and relative increase in the numbers of the working population of France. This class of the population was regulated in its economic action for nearly a century by another law passed June 14-17, 1791, and known by the name of its author as the law Le Chapelier. The law Le Chapelier, though dictated by the same general interests and ideas as the law on the guilds, was made necessary by special circumstances. The abolition of the guilds had as one of its effects an agitation among the journeymen for higher wages and for better conditions of employment. During the summer of 1791, Paris was the scene of large meetings of journeymen, at which matters of work and wages were discussed. The movement spread from trade to trade, but the struggle was particularly acute in the building trades. Profiting by the law of August 21, 1790, which gave all citizens the "right to assemble peacefully and to form among themselves free associations subject only to the laws which all citizens must obey,"[4] the carpenters formed _L'Union fraternelle des ouvriers en l'art de la charpente_, an association ostensibly for benevolent purposes only, but which in reality helped the carpenters in their struggle with their masters. The masters repeatedly petitioned the municipality of Paris to put an end to the "disorders," and to the "tyranny" of the journeymen. The masters complained that a general coalition of 80,000 workingmen had been formed in the capital and that the agitation was spreading to the provincial towns.[5] The municipal authorities tried to meet the situation, but their "notices" and "decrees" had no effect. They then appealed to the Constituent Assembly for a general law on associations and combinations. The result was the law Le Chapelier. [4] _Les Associations Professionelles_, vol. i, p. 8. [5] H. Lagardelle, _L'Évolution des Syndicats Ouvriers en France_ (Paris, 1901), p. 13. The report by which the bill was introduced brought out very clearly the individualistic ideas by which the legislators of the Revolution were inspired. "Citizens of certain trades," read this report, "must not be permitted to assemble for their pretended common interests. There is no longer any corporation (guild) in the State; there is but the particular interest of each individual and the general interest...." And further, "It is necessary to abide by the principle that only by free contracts, between individual and individual, may the workday for each workingman be fixed; it is then for the workingman to maintain the agreement which he had made with his employer."[6] [6] _Les Associations Professionelles_, vol. i, pp. 11-12. The law identified the new combinations with the ancient guilds. Its first clause declared that "whereas the abolition of all kinds of corporations of citizens of the same estate (_état_) and of the same trade is one of the fundamental bases of the French Constitution, it is prohibited to re-establish them _de facto_ under any pretext or form whatsoever". The second clause formulated the prohibition to form trade organizations in terms which left nothing to be desired in clearness and precision. It read: "The citizens of the same estate or trade, entrepreneurs, those who run a shop, workingmen in any trade whatsoever, shall not, when assembled together, nominate presidents, nor secretaries, nor syndics, shall not keep any records, shall not deliberate nor pass resolutions nor form any regulations with reference to their pretended common interests." The fourth clause declared all acts contrary to this law unconstitutional, subject to the jurisdiction of the police tribunals, punishable by a fine of 500 _livres_ and by a temporary suspension of active rights of citizenship. The sixth and seventh clauses determined higher penalties in cases of menace and of violence. The eighth clause prohibited all "gatherings composed of artisans, of workingmen, of journeymen or of laborers, or instigated by them and directed against the free exercise of industry and work to which all sorts of persons have a right under all sorts of conditions agreed upon by private contract (_de gré a gré_)". "Such gatherings are declared riotous, are to be dispersed by force, and are to be punished with all the severity which the law permits."[7] [7] _Les Associations Professionelles_, vol. i, pp. 13-14. After the law was passed by the Assembly, the author of the law, Le Chapelier, added: I have heard some say that it would be necessary to make an exception in favor of the Chambers of Commerce in cities. Certainly you understand well that none of us intend to prevent the merchants from discussing their common interests. I therefore propose to insert into the proceedings the following clause: "The National Assembly, considering that the law which it has just passed does not concern the Chambers of Commerce, passes to the order of the day." The proposition was adopted. "This last vote," remarks the official historian of the _Office du Travail_, "demonstrates sufficiently that the law was especially directed against the meetings, associations and coalitions of workingmen."[8] [8] _Les Associations Professionelles_, vol. i, p. 14. The determination to prevent collective action on the part of the workingmen also guided the legislative activity of Napoleon. In 1803, during the Consulate, a law was passed against coalitions; the same law contained a provision whereby all workingmen were to have a special certificate (_livret_)[9] which subjected them to a strict surveillance of the police. The law of 1803 against coalitions was replaced in 1810 by the clauses 414-416 of the Penal Code which prohibited and punished all kinds of coalitions. These articles which made strikes and all collective action a crime, and which showed clearly discrimination against workingmen, were as follows: [9] The obligation of the _livret_ was abolished in 1890. G. Weill, _Histoire du Movement Social en France_ (Paris, 1904), p. 332. Art. 414. Any coalition among those who employ workingmen, tending to force down wages unjustly and abusively, followed by an attempt or a commencement of execution, shall be punished by imprisonment from six days to one month and by a fine of 200 to 3,000 francs. Art. 415. Any coalition on the part of the workingmen to cease work at the same time, to forbid work in a shop, to prevent the coming or leaving before or after certain hours and, in general, to suspend, hinder or make dear labor, if there has been an attempt or a beginning of execution, shall be punished by imprisonment of one month to three months maximum; the leaders and promoters shall be punished by imprisonment of two to five years, and Art. 416. There shall also be subject to penalty indicated in the preceding article and according to the same distinctions, those workingmen who shall have declared fines, prohibitions, interdictions and any other proscriptions under the name of condemnations and under any qualification whatsoever against the directors of the shops and employers, or against each other. In the case of this article as well as in that of the preceding, the leaders and promoters of the crime, after the expiration of their fine, may be made subject to the surveillance of the police for two years at least and five years at most.[10] [10] _Les Associations Professionelles_, vol. i, pp. 18-19. The prohibition against combination and organization was aggravated for the workingmen by articles 291-294 of the Penal Code which forbade any kind of associations of more than twenty persons. These articles were made more stringent by the Law of 1834 which prohibited associations even of twenty persons, if they were branches of a larger association.[11] [11] _Ibid._, pp. 19-20, and p. 26. The workingmen, however, soon began to feel that the _Liberté du Travail_ as interpreted by the laws of the country put them at a disadvantage in the struggle for existence. Individually each one of them was too weak to obtain the best bargain from his employer. This was notoriously so in the industries in which machinery was making headway, but the relations between employer and workingmen were aggravated by competition even in those industries where the old conditions of trade did not change perceptibly for some time. Competition forced the employer to become a "calculator above everything else" and "to consider the workingman only from the point of view of the real value which his hands had on the market without heed to his human needs."[12] The workingman, on the other hand, to remedy his individual helplessness was driven to disregard the law and to enter into combinations with his fellow-workers for concerted action. [12] M. Du Cellier, _Histoire des Classes Laborieuses en France_ (Paris, 1860), p. 362. The figures published by the Department of Justice give the number of those prosecuted for violating the law on strikes--the number of accused, of acquitted and of condemned. These figures are incomplete. They give, however, some idea of the frequency and persistence with which the workingmen had recourse to strikes in spite of the law. The figures have been published since 1825. The table on the next page gives the annual figures from that date to 1864, when a new law on strikes was passed. There is other information to show that the strikes often assumed the character of a general movement, particularly under the influence of political disturbances. During the years that followed the Revolution of July (1830) the workingmen of France were at times in a state of agitation throughout the entire country, formulating everywhere particular demands, such as the regulation of industrial matters, collective contracts and the like.[13] [13] Octave Festy, _Le Movement Ouvrier au Début de la Monarchie de Juillet_, _passim_. ------+------+-------+---------+---------+---------+--------- | | | |Condemned|Condemned| | | | |to Prison|to Prison| |Number| | | for One |for Less |Condemned | of | | | Year or | than a |to Pay a Year |Cases |Accused|Acquitted| More | Year |Fine Only ------+------+-------+---------+---------+---------+--------- 1825 | 92 | 144 | 72 | 1 | 64 | 7 1826 | 40 | 244 | 62 | 3 | 136 | 43 1827 | 29 | 136 | 51 | 2 | 74 | 9 1828 | 28 | 172 | 84 | .. | 85 | 3 1829 | 13 | 68 | 26 | 1 | 39 | 2 1830 | 40 | 206 | 69 | 2 | 134 | 1 1831 | 49 | 396 | 104 | .. | 279 | 13 1832 | 51 | 249 | 85 | 1 | 140 | 23 1833 | 90 | 522 | 218 | 7 | 270 | 27 1834 | 55 | 415 | 155 | 7 | 227 | 26 1835 | 32 | 238 | 84 | 1 | 141 | 12 1836 | 55 | 332 | 87 | .. | 226 | 19 1837 | 51 | 300 | 64 | 5 | 167 | 64 1838 | 44 | 266 | 86 | 1 | 135 | 44 1839 | 64 | 409 | 116 | 3 | 264 | 26 1840 | 130 | 682 | 139 | 22 | 476 | 45 1841 | 68 | 383 | 79 | .. | 237 | 67 1842 | 62 | 371 | 80 | 2 | 263 | 26 1843 | 49 | 321 | 73 | .. | 240 | 8 1844 | 53 | 298 | 48 | .. | 201 | 49 1845 | 48 | 297 | 92 | 3 | 778 | 124 1846 | 53 | 298 | 47 | .. | 220 | 31 1847 | 55 | 401 | 66 | 2 | 301 | 32 1848 | 94 | 560 | 124 | 2 | 399 | 35 1849 | 65 | 345 | 61 | 1 | 241 | 42 1850 | 45 | 329 | 59 | 14 | 182 | 74 1851 | 55 | 267 | 33 | 6 | 199 | 29 1852 | 86 | 573 | 119 | 2 | 396 | 56 1853 | 109 | 718 | 105 | 1 | 530 | 82 1854 | 68 | 315 | 51 | 13 | 196 | 55 1855 | 168 | 1182 | 117 | 24 | 943 | 98 1856 | 73 | 452 | 83 | 4 | 269 | 96 1857 | 55 | 300 | 37 | 11 | 204 | 48 1858 | 58 | 269 | 34 | 1 | 202 | 32 1859 | 58 | 281 | 29 | .. | 223 | 29 1860 | 58 | 297 | 34 | .. | 230 | 33 1861 | 63 | 402 | 78 | .. | 283 | 41 1862 | 44 | 306 | 44 | 1 | 199 | 62 1863 | 29 | 134 | 17 | .. | 43 | 74 ------+------+-------+---------+---------+---------+--------- In many cases, the strikes were spontaneous outbursts of discontent among unorganized workingmen. Frequently, however, the strikes were either consciously called out or directed by organizations which existed by avoiding the law in various ways. These organizations were of three different types: the _compagnonnages_, the friendly societies (_mutualités_) and the "societies of resistance". The _compagnonnages_ originated under the guild-system and can be traced back as far as the fifteenth century. Their development was probably connected with the custom of traveling which became prevalent among the journeymen of France about that time.[14] A journeyman (called _compagnon_ in French) would usually spend some time in visiting the principal cities of France (make his _tour de France_) to perfect himself in his trade. A traveling _compagnon_ would be in need of assistance in many cases and the _compagnonnages_ owed their development to the necessity of meeting this want. [14] Octave Festy, _Le Movement Ouvrier au Début de la Monarchie de France_ (Paris, 1900), vol. i, pp. 600 _et seq._ The _compagnonnages_ consisted of bachelor journeymen only. If a member married or established himself as master, he left the _compagnonnage_. Besides, admission to the _compagnonnage_ was dependent on tests of moral character and of technical skill. Thus, the _compagnonnages_ always embraced but a small part of the workingmen--the élite from the technical point of view. To attain the required technical standard, members had to pass some time as aspirants before they could become _compagnons_. The organization of the _compagnonnages_ was very simple. All the _compagnons_ of the same trade lived together in one house, usually in an inn, kept by the so-called _mère_ (mother) or _père_ (father) of the trade. The _compagnons_ were generally the only boarders in the house. If not numerous enough to occupy the entire house, they had one hall for their exclusive occupation. Here they held their meetings, initiated new members, and kept their records and treasury. Here, also, _compagnons_ arriving from other towns made themselves "recognized" by special signs and symbols. All the _compagnons_ of France were divided among three "orders" called _devoirs_. The _devoirs_ had strange names indicating the legends with which the origins of these organizations were connected. The _devoir_, "Sons of Master Jack" (_Enfants de Maitre Jacques_) was founded, according to the story, by one of the master-builders of King Solomon's Temple. The "Sons of Solomon" (_Enfants de Solomon_) were sure that their order was founded by King Solomon himself. The "Sons of Master Soubise" regarded another builder of Solomon's Temple as the founder of their _devoir_. Each _devoir_ consisted of a number of trades, and sometimes one and the same trade was divided between two _devoirs_. Ceremonies and rites constituted an inseparable part of the _compagnonnages_. The initiation of a new member, the "recognition" of a newly arrived _compagnon_, the meeting of two traveling _compagnons_ on the road, etc., were occasions for strange and complicated ceremonies which had to be accurately performed. These ceremonies were due in a large measure to the secrecy in which the _compagnonnages_ developed under the ancient régime, persecuted as they were by the royal authorities, by the church, and by the master-craftsmen. Within the _compagnonnages_ the feeling of corporate exclusiveness and the idea of hierarchical distinctions were strong. Emblems of distinction, such as ribbons, canes, etc., were worn on solemn occasions, and the way in which they were worn, or their number, or color, indicated the place of the _compagnonnage_ within the whole corporate body. Many riots and bloody encounters were occasioned between _devoir_ and _devoir_ and between different _compagnonnages_ within each _devoir_ by disputes over "ribbons" and other emblems appropriate to each. For instance, the joiners were friends of the carpenters and of the stonecutters, but were enemies of the smiths whom the other two trades accepted. The smiths rejected the harness-makers. The blacksmiths accepted the wheelwrights on condition that the latter wear their colors in a low buttonhole; the wheelwrights promised but did not keep their promise; they wore their colors as high as the blacksmiths; hence hatred and quarrels. The carpenters wore their colors in their hats; the winnowers wanted to wear them in the same way; that was enough to make them sworn enemies.[15] Besides, the _compagnonnages_ did not strive to embrace all members of the same trade or all trades. On the contrary, they were averse to initiating a new trade and it sometimes took decades before a new trade was fully admitted into the organization. [15] _Les Associations Professionelles_, vol. i, p. 95. While these features harked back to the past, the economic functions of the _compagnonnages_ anticipated and really were a primitive form of the later syndicat. The _compagnonnages_ offered effective protection to the _compagnons_ in hard stresses of life as well as in their difficulties with their masters. "The 'devoir' of the compagnons" (read the statutes of one of these societies) "is a fraternal alliance which unites us all by the sacred ties of friendship, the foundations of which are: virtue, frankness, honesty, love of labor, courage, assistance and fidelity."[16] These abstract terms translated themselves in life into concrete deeds of mutual aid and of assistance which were immensely valuable to the traveling _compagnons_. A traveling _compagnon_, on arriving at a city or town, would only have to make himself "recognized" and his fellow-compagnons would take care of him. He would be given lodging and food. Employment would be found for him. If sick or in distress, he would receive aid. If he wished to leave the town to continue his _tour de France_, he would be assisted and would be accompanied some distance on the road. [16] Maxime Leroy, _Syndicats et Services Publics_ (Paris, 1909), p. 12. With their simple organization, the _compagnons_ were able to exert a strong economic influence. They served as bureaus of employment. One _compagnon_, elected _rouleur_, was charged with the duty of finding employment for _compagnons_ and "aspirants". He kept a list of those in need of work and placed them in the order of their inscription. Usually the masters themselves addressed the _rouleurs_ for workingmen, when in need of any. This fact gave the _compagnonnages_ a control over the supply of labor. They could withhold labor from a master who did not comply with their demands. They could direct their members into other towns of the _Tour_ if necessary, as everywhere the _compagnons_ would find friends and protection. They could, therefore, organize strikes and boycott a master or workshop for long periods of time. In fact, by these methods the _compagnonnages_ struggled for higher wages and better conditions of employment as far back as the sixteenth century. During the Great Revolution the _compagnonnages_ existed in twenty-seven trades and directed the strike-movement described above. They attained the height of their development during the first quarter of the nineteenth century when they were the only effective workingmen's organizations exerting an influence in the economic struggles of the time. The _compagnonnages_ persisted in several trades during the larger part of the nineteenth century. After 1830, however, their influence declined. The new industrial conditions reduced the significance of the personal skill of the workingmen, shifted the boundaries of the ancient trades, and entirely transformed most of them. The rapid development of the modern means of communication made the _tour de France_ in its old form an anachronism. The spread of democratic and secular ideas brought the medieval usages and ideas of the _compagnonnages_ into disrepute and ridicule. Several attempts to reform the _compagnonnages_ and to bring them into harmony with the new conditions of life were made by members of the organization, but with no results.[17] [17] On the _compagnonnage_ see, J. Connay, _Le Compagnonnage_, 1909; E. Martin St. Leon, _Le Compagnonnage_, 1901; Agricol Perdiguier, _Le Livre du Compagnonnage_, 1841. While the _compagnonnages_ were reconstituting themselves during the Consulate and the First Empire, another form of organization began to develop among the workingmen. This was the friendly or benevolent society for mutual aid especially in cases of sickness, accident or death. Several such societies had existed before the Revolution and the law Le Chapelier was directed also against them. "It is the business of the nation," was the opinion of Le Chapelier, accepted by the Constituent Assembly, "it is the business of the public officials in the name of the nation to furnish employment to those in need of it and assistance to the infirm".[18] Friendly societies, however, continued to form themselves during the nineteenth century. They were formed generally along trade lines, embracing members of the same trade. In a general way the government did not hinder their development. [18] _Les Assoc. Profess._, vol. i, p. 193. Mrs. Beatrice Webb and Mr. Sidney Webb have shown that a friendly society has often been the nucleus of a trade union in England. In France the friendly societies for a long time played the part of trade unions. The charge of promoting strikes and of interfering with industrial matters was often brought against them.[19] There were 132 such trade organizations in Paris in 1823 with 11,000 members, and their numbers increased during the following years. [19] _Ibid._, p. 199. The form of organization called into being by the new economic conditions was the _société de résistance_, an organization primarily designed for the purpose of exercising control over conditions of employment. These societies of resistance assumed various names. They usually had no benefit features or passed them over lightly in their statutes. They emphasized the purpose of obtaining collective contracts, scales of wages, and general improvements in conditions of employment. These societies were all secret, but free from the religious and ceremonial characteristics of the _compagnonnages_. One of the most famous of these societies in the history of the French working-class was the _Devoir Mutuel_, founded by the weavers of Lyons, in 1823. This society directed the famous strikes of the weavers in 1831 and 1834. Its aim, as formulated in its statutes, was: first, to practice the principles of equity; second, to unite the weavers' efforts in order to obtain a reasonable wage for their labor; third, to do away with the abuses of the factory, and to bring about other improvements in "the moral and physical condition" of its members. The society had 3,000 members in 1833.[20] [20] _Les Associations Professionelles_, vol. i. pp. 201-203. In 1833 the smelters of copper in Paris formed themselves into a society which was to help them in their resistance against employers. Two francs a day was to be paid to every member who lost employment because he did not consent to an unjust reduction in his wages or for any other reason which might be regarded as having in view the support of the trade; in other cases of unemployment, no benefit was allowed, in view of the fact that in ordinary times the smelters were seldom idle.[21] The society was open to all smelters, without any limitation of age; it was administered by a council assisted by a commission of representatives from the shops, elected by the members of the society of each shop. The society was soon deprived, however, of its combative character by the government.[22] [21] _Ibid._, vol. i, p. 204. [22] _Les Associations Professionelles_, vol. i, p. 204. A strong society of resistance was organized by the printers of Paris in 1839. Though secret, it gained the adherence of a large part of the trade. In 1848 it had 1,200 members--half of all the printers at that time in Paris. It was administered by a committee. Through its initiative a mixed commission of employers and workingmen was organized which adopted a general scale of wages. This commission also acted as a board of mediation and conciliation in disputes between employers and workingmen.[23] [23] _Ibid._, pp. 205-6. The _compagnonnages_, _mutualités_ and resistance-societies aimed partly or exclusively to better conditions of employment by exerting pressure upon employers. These societies reveal the efforts that were being made by workingmen to adjust themselves to the economic conditions of the time. But after 1830, other ideas began to find adherents among the French workingmen; namely, the ideas of opposition to the entire economic régime based on private property and the idea of substituting for this system a new industrial organization. The history of the socialist movement of France before 1848 can not here be entered into. It has been written and rewritten and is more or less known. For the purposes of this study, it is only necessary to point out that during this period, and particularly during the revolutionary period of 1848, the idea of co-operation, as a means of abolishing the wage system, made a deep impression upon the minds of French workingmen.[24] [24] On the history of French socialism: R. T. Ely, _French and German Socialism_ (1878); Th. Kirkup, _A History of Socialism_ (1906); G. Isambert, _Les Idées Socialistes en France_ (1905); P. Louis, _Histoire du Socialisme Français_ (1901). The idea of co-operation had been propagated before 1848 by the Saint-Simonists and Fourierists, and particularly by Buchez who had outlined a clear plan of co-operation in his paper _L'Européen_ in 1831-2. Similar ideas were advanced during the forties by a group of workingmen who published _L'Atelier_. But only with the outbreak of the Revolution of 1848, and under the influence of Louis Blanc, did the co-operative idea really become popular with the workingmen. Between 1848 and 1850 the enthusiasm for co-operative societies was great, and a considerable number of them were formed. On July 6, 1848, the Constituent Assembly voted a loan of 3,000,000 francs for co-operative societies, and this sum was divided among 26 societies in Paris and 36 in the provinces.[25] But the number of those founded without assistance was much greater; about 300 in Paris and many more in the provinces. Of these societies most perished within a short time while the rest were dissolved by the administration of Napoleon III after the _coup-d'état_ of 1851.[26] [25] Georges Renard, _La République de 1848_. [26] Albert Thomas, _Le Second Empire_ (Paris, 1907). The Revolution of 1848 was an important moment in the history of the French working-class. Though the socialist idea of the "Organization of Work" (_L'Organisation du Travail_) which was so prominent during the Revolution passed into history after the days of June, it left an impression upon the minds of French workingmen. The belief in a possible social transformation became a tradition with them. Besides, the Revolution gave a strong impulse to purely trade organizations such as the _sociétés de résistance_. Before 1848 they had existed in a few trades only. The period of the Revolution witnessed the formation of a large number of them in various trades and strengthened the tendency towards organization which had manifested itself before. During the first decade of the Second Empire all workingmen's organizations were persecuted; most of them perished; others went again into secrecy or disguised themselves as mutual aid societies. With the advent of the second decade of the Empire the labor movement acquired an amplitude it had never had before. Its main characteristic during this period was a decided effort to break the legal barriers in its way and to come out into the open. The workingmen's chief demands were the abolition of the law on coalitions and the right to organize. The workingmen were given an opportunity to express their views and sentiments on occasions of National and International Exhibitions. It had become a custom in France to send delegations of workingmen to such exhibitions. In 1849 the Chamber of Commerce of Lyons sent a delegation of workingmen to the National Exhibition in Paris. In 1851 the municipality of Paris sent some workingmen to the International Exhibition in London. A delegation was sent again to London in 1862 and to Paris in 1867. The workingmen-delegates published reports in which they formulated their views on the condition of their respective trades and expressed their demands and aspirations. These reports have been called the _cahiers_ of the working-class. The authors of the reports--workingmen themselves, elected by large numbers of workingmen--were representatives in the true sense of the term and voiced the sentiments and ideas of a large part of the French workingmen of their time. The reports published by the delegates of 1862 contain a persistent demand for freedom to combine and to organize. The refrain of all the reports is: "Isolation kills us".[27] The trade unions of England made a deep impression on the French delegates and strengthened their conviction of the necessity of organization. "Of 53 reports emanating from 183 delegates of Paris, 38 by 145 delegates express the desire that syndical chambers be organized in their trades."[27] [27] G. Weill, _op. cit._, pp. 63-65. The government of the Empire, which hoped to interest the workingmen in its existence, gave way before their persistent demands. In 1864, in consequence of a strike of Parisian printers which attracted much public attention, the old law on coalitions was abolished and the right to strike granted. The right to strike, however, was bound up with certain other rights which the French workingmen were still denied. Unless the latter had the right to assemble and to organize, they could profit but little by the new law on coalitions. Besides, the French workingmen were generally averse to strikes. The reports of 1862, though demanding the freedom of coalition, declared that it was not the intention of the workingmen to make strikes their habitual procedure. The delegates of 1867, who formed a commission which met in Paris for two years, discussing all the economic problems that interested the workingmen of the time, were of the same opinion. A special session of the Commission was devoted to the consideration of the means by which strikes might be avoided. All agreed that, as one of the delegates expressed it, strikes were "the misery of the workingmen and the ruin of the employer"[28] and should be resorted to only in cases of absolute necessity. What the delegates demanded was the right to organize and to form "syndical chambers". They hoped that with the help of these organizations, they would avoid strikes and improve their economic condition. [28] _Commission Ouvrière de 1867, Recueil des Procés-Verbaux_, vol. i, p. 28. In the beginning of 1868, a number of delegates to the Exhibition of 1867 were received by the Minister of Agriculture, Commerce and Public Works to present their views and demands. The vice-president of the Commission, M. Parent, indicated clearly what the workingmen meant by "syndical chambers" in the following words: We all agree to proceed by way of conciliation, but we all have also recognized the necessity of guaranteeing our rights by a serious organization which should give the workingmen the possibility of entering easily and without fear into agreement with the employers.... It is thus in order to avoid strikes, guaranteeing at the same time the wages of the workingmen, that the delegates of 1867 solicit the authorization to establish syndicats in each trade in order to counter-balance the formidable organization of the syndical chambers of the merchants and manufacturers.... The workingmen's syndical chambers, composed of syndics elected by the votes of the workingmen of their trade, would have an important rôle to fulfil. Besides the competent experts which they could always furnish for the cases subject to the jurisdiction of the prud'hommes, for justices of the peace and for the tribunals of Commerce, they could furnish arbiters for those conflicts which have not for their cause an increase in wages. Such are: the regulations of the workshops, the use of health-endangering materials, the bad conditions of the machinery and of the factory which affect the health of the workingmen and often endanger their lives, the protection of the inventions made by workingmen, the organization of mutual and professional education, which cannot be entirely instituted without the help of the men of the workshop, etc.[29] [29] Lagardelle, _Évolution des Syndicats_, pp. 218-9. On the 30th of March, 1868, the Minister of Commerce and Public Works announced that without modifying the law on coalitions, the government would henceforth tolerate workingmen's organizations on the same grounds on which it had heretofore tolerated the organizations of employers. With this act began the period of toleration which lasted down to 1884, when the workingmen's organizations were brought under the protection of a special law. The declaration of toleration gave free scope to the workingmen to form their syndical chambers. Some syndicats had been openly formed before. In 1867, the shoemakers had formed a society--the first to bear the name of syndicat--which had openly declared that it would support members on strike and would try to defend and to raise wages. But only after the declaration of the government in 1868 did these societies begin to increase in numbers. While organizing for resistance, the workingmen during this period, however, placed their main hopes in co-operation; the co-operative society of production was to them the only means of solving the labor question. As one of the delegates to the Workingmen's Commission of 1867 put it: "Salvation is in association" (_Le salut c'est l'association_).[30] The main function of the syndical chamber was to promote the organization of co-operative societies. [30] _Commission Ouvrière de 1867_, vol. i, p. 28. The revival of enthusiasm for co-operative societies began in 1863. Men of different political and economic views helped the movement. It found supporters in liberal economists, like M. Say and M. Walras; it was seconded by Proudhon and his followers, while a number of communists took an active part in it. Profiting by the experience of 1848-50, the workingmen now adopted a new plan. The co-operative society of production was to be the crowning part of the work, resting upon a foundation of several other organizations. First the members of one and the same trade were to form a syndical chamber of their trade. The syndical chamber was to encourage the creation of a "society of credit and savings" which should have for its aim the collection of funds by regular dues paid by the members. Such "societies of credit and savings" began to develop after 1860, and they were considered very important; not only because they provided the funds, but also and mainly because they helped the members to become acquainted with one another and to eliminate the inefficient. With a society of credit in existence, it was deemed necessary to create a co-operative of consumption. The productive co-operative society was to complete this series of organizations which, supporting one another, were to give stability to the entire structure. The plan was seldom carried out in full. Co-operatives of production were formed without any such elaborate preparation as outlined above. However, many "societies of credit and saving" were formed. In 1863 there were 200 of them in Paris; and in September, 1863, a central bank, _La Société du Credit au Travail_ was organized. Similar central banks were formed in Lyons, Marseilles, Lille and other large cities. In Paris the _Credit au Travail_ became the center of the co-operative movement between 1863 and 1868. It subsidized successively _L'Association_ (Nov., 1864-July, 1866) and _La Co-opération_ (Sept., 1866-Feb., 1867)--magazines devoted to the spread of co-operative ideas. It gave advice and information for forming co-operatives. Most of the co-operative enterprises of the period were planned and first elaborated in the councils of this society. Finally it furnished the co-operatives with credit. Its business done in 1866 amounted to 10½ million francs.[31] [31] P. Hubert-Valleroux, _La Co-opération_ (Paris, 1904), pp. 14-17. In 1868 the co-operative movement, after several years of development, suffered a terrible blow. On November 2nd, the _Credit au Travail_ became bankrupt; it had immobilized its capital, and had given out loans for too long periods, while some of the other loans were not reimbursed. The bank had to suspend payment and was closed. The disaster for the co-operative movement was complete. The _Credit au Travail_ seemed to incarnate the co-operative movement; "and its failure made many think that the co-operative institution had no future".[32] [32] P. Hubert-Valleroux, _op. cit._, p. 16. The failure of the co-operative movement turned the efforts of the workingmen into other channels. They now began to join the "International Association of Workingmen" in increased numbers and to change their ideas and methods. The "International", as is well known, was formed in 1864 by French and English workingmen. The French section, during the first years of its existence, was composed mainly of the followers of Proudhon, known as _mutuellistes_. The program of the _mutuellistes_ was a peaceful change in social relations by which the idea of justice--conceived as reciprocity or mutuality of services--would be realized. The means advocated were education and the organization of mutual aid societies, of mutual insurance companies, of syndicats, of co-operative societies and the like. Much importance was attached to the organization of mutual credit societies and of popular banks. It was hoped that with the help of cheap credit the means of production would be put at the disposal of all and that co-operative societies of production could then be organized in large numbers. The _Mutuellistes_ emphasized the idea that the social emancipation of the workingmen must be the work of the workingmen themselves. They were opposed to state intervention. Their ideal was a decentralized economic society based upon a new principle of right--the principle of mutuality--which was "the idea of the working-class".[33] Their spokesman and master was Proudhon who formulated the ideas of _mutuellisme_ in his work, _De la Capacité Politique des Classes Ouvrières_. [33] P. J. Proudhon, _De la Capacité Politique des Classes Ouvrières_ (Paris, 1865), p. 59. Between 1864 and 1868, the "International" met with little success in France. The largest number of adherents obtained by it during this period was from five to eight hundred. Persecuted by the government after 1867, it was practically dead in France in 1868.[34] But in 1869 it reappeared with renewed strength under the leadership of men of collectivist and communist ideas, which were partly a revival and survival of the ideas of 1848, partly a new development in socialist thought. [34] A. Thomas, _Le Second Empire_, p. 332. One current of communist ideas was represented by the Blanquists. Blanqui, a life-long conspirator and an ardent republican who had been the leader of the secret revolutionary societies under the Monarchy of July, took up his revolutionary activity again during the latter part of the Second Empire. A republican and revolutionary above everything else, he had, however, gradually come to formulate in a more precise way a communistic program, to be realized by his party when by a revolutionary upheaval it would be carried into power. The Blanquists denounced the "co-operators" and the "mutuellistes" and called upon the workingmen to organize into secret societies ready, at a favorable moment, to seize political power. Towards the end of the Second Empire, the Blanquists numbered about 2,500 members in Paris, mainly among the Republican youth.[35] [35] A. Thomas, _op. cit._, p. 332. The other current of communist ideas had its fountainhead in the "International" which Caesar de-Paepe, Marx and Bakounine succeeded in winning over to their collectivist ideas. The congresses of the "Association" in Brussels in 1868 and in Bâle in 1869 adopted resolutions of a collectivist character, and many members of the French section were won over to the new ideas.[36] [36] E. E. Fribourg, _L'Association Internationale des Travailleurs_ (Paris, 1871). The success of the "International" in France in 1869 was the sudden result of the strike-movement which swept the country during the last years of the Second Empire. The members of the "International" succeeded in obtaining financial support for some strikers. This raised the prestige of the "Association", and a number of syndicats sent in their collective adhesion. It is estimated that toward the end of 1869 the "International" had a membership of about 250,000 in France. These facts had their influence on the French leaders of the "International". They changed their attitude toward the strike, declaring it "the means _par excellence_ for the organization of the revolutionary forces of labor".[37] The idea of the general strike suggested itself to others.[38] At the Congress of Bâle in 1869, one of the French delegates advocated the necessity of organizing syndicats for two reasons: first, because "they are the means of resisting the exploitation of capital in the present;" and second, because "the grouping of different trades in the city will form the commune of the future" ... and then ... "the government will be replaced by federated councils of syndicats and by a committee of their respective delegates regulating the relations of labor--this taking the place of politics."[39] [37] A. Thomas, _op. cit._, p. 363. [38] _Ibid._, p. 358. [39] James Guillaume, _L'Internationale, Documents et Souvenirs_ (Paris, 1905), vol. i, p. 205. Under the influence of the "International" the syndicats of Paris--there were about 70 during the years 1868-1870--founded a local federation under the name of _Chambre Fédérale des sociétés ouvrières de Paris_. This federation formulated its aim in the following terms: This agreement has for its object to put into operation the means recognized as just by the workingmen of all trades for the purpose of making them the possessors of all the instruments of production and to lend them money, in order that they may free themselves from the arbitrariness of the employer and from the exigencies of capital.... The federation has also the aim of assuring to all adhering societies on strike the moral and material support of the other groups by means of loans at the risk of the loaning societies.[40] [40] A. Thomas, _op. cit._, p. 352. These organizations were entirely swept away by the events of 1870-71: the Franco-Prussian War, the Proclamation of the Republic, and especially the Commune. After 1871 the workingmen had to begin the work of organization all over again. But the conquests of the previous period were not lost. The right to strike was recognized. The policy of tolerating workingmen's organizations was continued, notwithstanding a few acts to the contrary. But, above all, the experience of the workingmen was preserved. The form of organization which they generally advocated after the Commune was the syndicat. The other forms (_i. e._, the _Compagnonnages_ and the secret _Société de résistance_) either disappeared or developed independently along different lines, as the friendly societies. In other respects, the continuity of the labor movement after the Commune with that of the preceding period was no less evident. As will be seen in the following chapter the problems raised and the solutions given to them by the French workingmen for some time after the Commune were directly related to the movement of the Second Empire. The idea of co-operation, the _mutuellisme_ of Proudhon, and the collectivism of the "International" reappeared in the labor movement under the Third Republic. CHAPTER II ORIGIN OF THE GENERAL CONFEDERATION OF LABOR (1872-1895) The vigorous suppression of the Commune and the political events which followed it threw the French workingmen for some time into a state of mental depression. Though trade-union meetings were not prohibited, the workingmen avoided the places which had been centers of syndical activity before the Commune. Full of suspicion and fear, they preferred to remain in isolation rather than to risk the persecution of the government. Under these conditions, the initiative in reconstituting the syndicats was taken by a republican journalist, Barberet.[41] Barberet was prompted to undertake this "honorable task" by the desire to do away with strikes. He had observed the strike movement for some years, and had come to the conclusion that strikes were fatal to the workingmen and dangerous to the political institutions of the country. His observations had convinced him that the Second Empire had fallen largely in consequence of the strike movement during 1868-70, and he was anxious to preserve the Republic from similar troubles. As he expressed it, strikes were "a crime of _lèse-democratie_"[42] which it was necessary to prevent by all means. [41] Barberet was afterwards appointed chief of the Bureau of Trade Unions, which was constituted as part of the Dept. of the Interior. [42] J. Barberet, _Monographies Professionelles_ (Paris, 1886), vol. i, p. 16. Barberet outlined the following program for the syndicats. They were to watch over the loyal fulfilment of contracts of apprenticeship; to organize employment bureaus; to create boards of conciliation composed of an equal number of delegates from employers and from workingmen for the peaceful solution of trade disputes; to found libraries and courses in technical education; to utilize their funds not to "foment strikes", but to buy raw materials and instruments of labor; and finally, "to crown these various preparatory steps" by the creation of co-operative workshops "which alone would give groups of workingmen the normal access to industry and to commerce" and which would in time equalize wealth.[43] [43] Barberet, _op. cit._, pp. 20-25. Under Barberet's influence and with his assistance syndicats were reconstituted in a few trades in Paris during 1872. These syndicats felt the necessity of uniting into a larger body, and in August of the same year they founded the _Cercle de l'Union Ouvrière_, which was to form a counter-balance to the employers' organization _L'Union Nationale du Commerce et de l'Industrie_. The _Cercle_ insisted on its peaceful intentions; it declared that its aim was "to realize concord and justice through study" and to convince public opinion "of the moderation with which the workingmen claim their rights."[44] The _Cercle_ was nevertheless dissolved by the government. [44] Fernand Pelloutier, _Histoire des Bourses du Travail_ (Paris, 1902), p. 35. The syndicats, however, were left alone. They slowly increased in numbers and spread to new trades. There were about 135 in Paris in 1875. Following the example of the syndicats of the Second Empire, they organized delegations of workingmen to the Exhibitions of Vienna in 1873 and of Philadelphia in 1876. But their supreme effort was the organization of the first French Labor Congress in Paris in 1876. The Congress was attended by 255 delegates from Paris and 105 from the provincial towns. The delegates represented syndicats, co-operative societies and mutual aid societies. The program of the Congress included eight subjects: (1) The work of women; (2) syndical chambers; (3) councils of _prud'hommes_; (4) apprenticeship and technical education; (5) direct representation of the working class in Parliament; (6) co-operative associations of production, of consumption and of credit; (7) old-age pensions; (8) agricultural associations and the relations between agricultural and industrial workers. The proceedings of the Congress were calm and moderate. The organizers of the Congress were anxious not to arouse the apprehension of the government and not to compromise the republicans with whose help the Congress was organized. The reports and the discussions of the Congress showed that the syndical program outlined by Barberet was accepted by almost all the delegates. They insisted upon the necessity of solving peaceably all industrial difficulties, expressed antipathy for the strike and above all affirmed their belief in the emancipating efficacy of co-operation. At the same time they repudiated socialism, which one of the delegates proclaimed "a bourgeois Utopia".[45] [45] _Séances du Congrès Ouvrier de France_, Session de 1876, p. 43. The syndicats held a second congress in 1876 in Lyons. The Congress of Lyons considered the same questions as did that of Paris, and gave them the same solutions. In general, the character of the second congress was like that of the first. The third Labor Congress held in Marseilles in 1879, was a new departure in the history of the French labor movement. It marked the end of the influence of Barberet and of the "co-operators" and the beginning of socialist influence. The Congress of Marseilles accepted the title of "Socialist Labor Congress", expressed itself in favor of the collective appropriation of the means of production and adopted a resolution to organize a workingmen's social political party. This change in views was brought about by a concurrence of many circumstances. The moderate character of the syndicats between 1872-1879 had been due in large measure to the political conditions of France. The cause of the Republic was in danger and the workingmen were cautious not to increase its difficulties. But after the elections of 1876 and 1877 and upon the election of Grevy to the Presidency, the Republic was more or less securely established, and the workingmen thought that they should now be more outspoken in their economic demands. The Committee which had organized the Congress of Paris had formulated these sentiments in the following terms: "From the moment that the republican form of government was secured", wrote the Committee, "it was indispensable for the working-class, who up to that time had gone hand in hand with the republican bourgeoisie, to affirm their own interests and to seek the means which would permit them to transform their economic condition."[46] It was believed that the means to accomplish this task was co-operation. The belief in co-operation was so intense and general at that time that one of the delegates to the Congress of Paris, M. Finance,[47] himself an opponent of co-operation, predicted a large co-operative movement similar to the movements of 1848-50 and 1864-67. The prediction did not come true. Nothing important was accomplished in this field, and the hopes in co-operation receded before the impossibility of putting the idea into practice. The critics and opponents of co-operation did the rest to discredit the idea. But when the idea of co-operation lost its influence over the syndicats, the ground was cleared for socialism. The Congress of Lyons had declared that "the syndicats must not forget that the wage-system is but a transitory stage from serfdom to an unnamed state."[48] When the hope that this unnamed state would be brought about by co-operation was gone, the "unnamed" state obtained a name, for the Socialists alone held out to the workingmen the promise of a new state which would take the place of the wage system. [46] _Séances du Congrès Ouvrier_, 1876 (Paris, 1877), p. 9. [47] Afterward one of the active members of the _Office du Travail_. [48] _Assoc. Profess._, vol. i, p. 243. On ground thus prepared the Socialists came to sow their seed. A group of collectivists, inspired by the ideas of the "International", had existed in Paris since 1873.[49] But this group began to attract attention only in 1877 when it found a leader in Jules Guesde. Jules Guesde is a remarkable figure in the history of French Socialism and has played a great part in shaping the movement. He had edited a paper, _Les Droits de l'Homme_, in Montpelier in 1870-1 and had expressed his sympathy for the Commune. This cost him a sentence of five years in prison. He preferred exile, went to Switzerland, there came into contact with the "International" and was influenced by Marxian ideas. [49] Terrail-Mermeix, _La France Socialiste_ (Paris, 1886), p. 51. On his return to France, Jules Guesde became the spokesman and propagandist of Marxian or "scientific socialism". Fanatical, vigorous, domineering, he soon made himself the leader of the French collectivists. Towards the end of 1877, he founded a weekly, _L'Égalité_, the first number of which outlined the program which the paper intended to defend. "We believe," wrote _L'Égalité_, "with the collectivist school to which almost all serious minds of the working-class of both hemispheres now belong, that the natural and scientific evolution of mankind leads it irresistibly to the collective appropriation of the soil and of the instruments of labor." In order to achieve this end, _L'Égalité_ declared it necessary for the proletariat to constitute itself a distinct political party which should pursue the aim of conquering the political power of the State.[50] [50] _L'Égalité_, 18 Nov., 1877. The collectivists found a few adherents among the workingmen who actively propagated the new ideas. In 1878, several syndicats of Paris: those of the machinists, joiners, tailors, leather dressers and others, accepted the collectivist program. The collectivist ideas were given wider publicity and influence by the persecution of the government. In 1878, an international congress of workingmen was to be held in Paris during the International Exhibition. The Congress of Lyons (1878) had appointed a special committee to organize this international congress. Arrangements were being made for the congress, when the government prohibited it. The more moderate elements of the Committee gave way before the prohibition of the government, but Guesde and his followers accepted the challenge of the government and continued the preparations for the Congress. The government dispersed the Congress at its very first session and instituted legal proceedings against Guesde and other delegates. The trial made a sensation and widely circulated the ideas which Guesde defended before the tribunal. From the prison where they were incarcerated the collectivists launched an appeal "to the proletarians, peasant proprietors and small masters" which contained an exposition of collectivist principles and proposed the formation of a distinct political party. The appeal gained many adherents from various parts of France.[51] [51] Terrail-Mermeix, _op. cit._, p. 98. The idea of having workingmen's representatives in Parliament had already come up at the Congress of Paris (1876). This Congress, as indicated above, had on its program the question of the "Representation of the Proletariat in Parliament." The reports on this question read at the Congress were extremely interesting. The "moderate co-operators" and "Barberetists", as they were nicknamed by the revolutionary collectivists, insisted in these reports upon the separation which existed between bourgeois and workingmen, upon the inability of the former to understand the interests and the aspirations of the latter, and upon the consequent necessity of having workingmen's representatives in Parliament. These reports revealed the deep-seated sentiments of the workingmen which made it possible for the ideas of class and class struggle to spread among them. The Congress of Lyons (1878) had advanced the question a step further. It had adopted a resolution that journals should be created which should support workingmen-candidates only. With all this ground prepared, the triumph of the Socialists at the Congress of Marseilles (1879) was not so sudden as some have thought it to be. The influences which had brought about this change in sentiment were clearly outlined by the Committee on Organization, as may be seen from the following extract: From the contact of workingmen-delegates from all civilized nations that had appointed a rendezvous at the International Exhibition, a clearly revolutionary idea disentangled itself.... When the International Congress was brutally dispersed by the government, one thing was proven: the working class had no longer to expect its salvation from anybody but itself.... The suspicions of the government with regard to the organizers of the Congress, the iniquitous proceedings which it instituted against them, have led to the revolutionary resolutions of the Congress which show that the French proletariat is self-conscious and is worthy of emancipation.[52] [52] Leon Blum, _Les Congrès Ouvriers et Socialistes Français_ (Paris, 1901), pp. 33-4. To a similar conclusion had come the Committee on Resolutions appointed by the Congress of Lyons. In the intervals between the two Congresses, it had a conference with the deputies of the Department of Rhone and could report only failure. The deputies, one of whom belonged to the Extreme Left, were against the limitation of hours of work in the name of liberty, and against the liberty of association in the name of the superior rights of the State. "The remedy to this state of affairs," concluded the Committee, "is to create in France a workingmen's party such as exists already in several neighboring states."[53] [53] _Ibid._, p. 36. The Congress of Marseilles carried out the task which the collectivists assigned to it. A resolution was adopted declaring that the co-operative societies could by no means be considered a sufficiently powerful means for accomplishing the emancipation of the proletariat. Another declared the aim of the Congress to be: "The collectivity of soil and of subsoil, of instruments of labor, of raw materials--to be given to all and to be rendered inalienable by society to whom they must be returned."[54] This resolution was adopted by 73 votes against 23. [54] Leon de Seilhac, _Les Congrès Ouvriers en France_ (Paris, 1899), p. 47. The Congress also constituted itself a distinct party under the name of the "Federation of Socialist Workingmen of France". The party was organized on a federalist principle. France was divided into six regions: (1) Center or Paris; (2) East or Lyons; (3) Marseilles or South; (4) Bordeaux or West; (5) North or Lille; (6) Algeria. Each region was to have its regional committee and regional congress and be autonomous in its administration. A general committee was to be appointed by the Congress of the Federation, to be held annually in each of the principal regional towns in turn. After the Congress of Marseilles (1879) the leadership of the syndical movement passed to the Socialists. This led to a split at the next Congress held in Havre in 1880. The "moderates" and "co-operators" separated from the revolutionary collectivists. The former grouped themselves about _L'Union des Chambres Syndicales Ouvrières de France_. They held two separate congresses of their own in 1881 and 1882, which attracted little attention and were of no importance. The _Union des Chambres Syndicales_ confined itself to obtaining a reform of the law on syndicats. The Collectivists themselves, however, were not long united. The movement was soon disrupted by internal divisions and factions. At the Congress of Marseilles (1879) the triumph of collectivism was assured by elements which had the principles of collectivism in common, but which differed in other points. In Havre (1880) these elements were still united against the "moderate" elements. But after the Congress of Havre they separated more and more into distinct and warring groups. The first differentiation took place between the parliamentary socialists on the one hand, and the communist-anarchists on the other. Both divisions had a common aim; the collective appropriation of the means of production. They did not differ much in their ideas on distribution; there were communists among the parliamentary socialists. What separated them most was difference in method. The anarchists rejected the idea that the State, which in their view was and always had been an instrument of exploitation, could ever become an instrument of emancipation, even in the hands of a socialist government. The first act in the Social Revolution, in their opinion, had to be the destruction of the State. With this aim in view, the anarchists wished to have nothing to do with parliamentary politics. They denounced parliamentary action as a "pell-mell of compromise, of corruption, of charlatanism and of absurdities, which does no constructive work, while it destroys character and kills the revolutionary spirit by holding the masses under a fatal illusion."[55] The anarchists saw only one way of bringing about the emancipation of the working-class; namely, to carry on an active propaganda and agitation, to organize groups, and at an opportune moment to raise the people in revolt against the State and the propertied classes; then destroy the State, expropriate the capitalist class and reorganize society on communist and federalist principles. This was the Social Revolution they preached.[56] [55] _Pourquoi Guesde n'est-il pas anarchiste?_ p. 6. [56] On the anarchist theory, the works of Bakounin, Kropotkin, Reclus and J. Grave should be consulted; on anarchism in France see Dubois, _Le Péril anarchiste_; Garin, _l'Anarchie_; also various periodicals, particularly, _Le Révolte_ and _Les Temps Nouveaux_. From 1883 onward the anarchist propaganda met with success in various parts of France, particularly in Paris and in the South. There were thousands of workingmen who professed the anarchist ideas, and the success of the anarchists was quite disquieting to the socialists.[57] [57] John Labusquière, _La Troisième République_ (Paris), p. 257. The socialists, on the contrary, called upon the workingmen to participate in the parliamentary life of the country. Political abstention, they asserted, is neither helpful nor possible.[58] The workingman believes in using his right to vote, and to ignore his attitude of mind is of no avail. Besides, to bring about the transformation of capitalist society into a collectivist society, the political machinery of the State must be used. There is no other way of accomplishing this task. The State will disappear after the socialist society has been firmly established. But there is an inevitable transitory period when the main economic reforms must be carried out and during which the political power of the State must be in the hands of the socialist party representing the working-class. The first act of the Social Revolution, therefore, is to conquer the political power of the State.[59] [58] _L'Égalité_, 30 June, 1880. [59] In socialist writings this transition period is always spoken of as the "Dictatorship of the Proletariat." Within the socialist ranks themselves further divisions soon took place. In 1882, at the Congress of St. Etienne, the party was split into two parts; one part followed Guesde, the other followed Paul Brousse. The latter part took the name of _Parti ouvrier socialiste révolutionnaire français_--it dropped the word "_révolutionnaire_" from its title in 1883--and continued to bear as sub-title, the name "Federation of socialist workingmen of France." Guesde's party took the name of _Parti Ouvrier Français_. The _Parti Ouvrier Français_ claimed to represent the "revolutionary" and "scientific" socialism of Marx. It accepted the familiar doctrines of "orthodox" Marxism, which it popularized in France. It affirmed its revolutionary character by denying the possibility of reforms in capitalist society and by insisting upon the necessity of seizing the political power of the State in a revolutionary way. In 1886 J. Guesde wrote as follows: In the capitalist régime, that is, as long as the means of production and of existence are the exclusive property of a few who work less and less, all rights which the constitutions and the codes may grant to others, to those who concentrate within themselves more and more all muscular and cerebral work, will remain always and inevitably a dead letter. In multiplying reforms, one only multiplies shams (_trompe-l'oeil_).[60] [60] Jules Guesde, _Le Socialisme au jour le jour_ (Paris, 1899), p. 268. Inability to carry out real reforms was ascribed to both national legislative bodies and to the municipalities. Therefore, if the party has entered into elections, it is not for the purpose of carving out seats of councillors or deputies, which it leaves to the hemorrhoids of bourgeois of every stamp, but because the electoral period brings under our educational influence that part of the masses which in ordinary times is most indifferent to our meetings.[61] [61] Jules Guesde and Paul Lafargue, _Le Programme du Parti Ouvrier_, 4th edition (Paris, 1897), p. 32. The municipalities conquered were to become just so many centres of recruiting and of struggle. The _Parti Ouvrier_ was to be a "kind of recruiting and instructing sergeant preparing the masses for the final assault upon the State which is the citadel of capitalist society."[62] For only a revolution would permit the productive class to seize the political power and to use it for the economic expropriation of capitalistic France and for the nationalization or socialization of the productive forces. Of course no man and no party can call forth a revolution, but when the revolution which the nineteenth century carried within itself arose as a result of national and international complication, the _Parti Ouvrier_ would be the party to assume the rôle of directing it.[63] [62] _Le Programme du Parti Ouvrier_, p. 52. [63] _Le Programme du Parti Ouvrier_, p. 30. The _Parti Ouvrier_ adopted a centralized form of organization. It became in time the strongest and best organized socialist party of France. It was particularly strong in the _Department du Nord_ and among the textile workers. It was also known as the "Guesdist" party, after its leader Guesde. The _Parti Ouvrier_ denounced the members of the _Parti Ouvrier révolutionnaire socialiste_, or "Broussists," also thus named after their leader Brousse, as "opportunists and possibilists" because they believed in the possibility of reforms and had said that it was necessary "to split up our program until we make it finally possible."[64] The nickname, _possibilists_, has remained as another designation of the _Broussists_. [64] L. Blum, _op. cit._, p. 75. The _Broussists_ cared little for the theories of Marx. They were disposed to allow larger differences of doctrine within their ranks and more local autonomy in their organization. They ascribed much importance to municipal politics. They conceived the conquest of political power as a more peaceful process of a gradual infiltration into the municipal, departmental and national legislative bodies. But like the "Guesdists," they were collectivists and took the class struggle as their point of departure. From the very outset, the _Broussists_ concentrated their efforts upon gaining an entrance into Parliament and into the municipalities. They had a numerous following in Paris among the working population, and among the lower strata of the middle class. The split between _Guesdists_ and _Broussists_ was followed by another in the ranks of the latter. In 1887 the _Broussists_ succeeded in electing seven of their members to the municipal council of Paris. This led to internal difficulties. A number of party members were discontented with the organization which they claimed was entirely "bossed" by its leaders. They grouped themselves in their turn about J. Allemane and became known as "Allemanists." The Allemanists accused the Broussists of being too much absorbed in politics and of neglecting the propaganda and organization of the party. In 1890 they separated from the Broussists and constituted a socialist party of their own. The Allemanists absorbed the more revolutionary elements of the party and were the leading spirits in some of the largest and strongest syndicats. Two more socialist groups must be mentioned in order that the reader may have a complete view of the socialist world in which the syndicats of France were moving during this period. These two were the Blanquists and the Independent Socialists. The Blanquists--known also as the _Comité Révolutionnaire Central_--were held together by a bond of common tradition, namely, by their loyalty to the name of Blanqui, spoken of in the preceding chapter. The leaders of the Blanquists were men who had taken a more or less prominent part in the Commune and who had returned to France after amnesty was granted in 1880. They considered themselves the heirs of Blanqui and the continuators of his ideas; but under the political conditions of the Third Republic they brushed aside the secret practices of former times and entered into politics as a distinct party with a communist program. Their aim was also the conquest of political power for the purpose of realizing a communistic society and they approved of all means that would bring about the realization of this end. The group of Independent Socialists grew out of the "Society for Social Economy" founded in 1885 by Malon, once a member of the "International". The "Society for Social Economy" was organized for the purpose of elaborating legislative projects of a general socialist character which were published in the monthly of the Society, _La Revue Socialiste_.[65] But the Society soon gained adherents among advanced Republicans and Radicals and entered into politics. It advocated the gradual nationalization of public services, laws for the protection of labor, self-government for the communes, etc. The party became an important factor in the political life of France. Some of the best known socialists of France have come from its ranks, as J. Jaurès, Millerand, Viviani and others. [65] On the socialist groups of this period see Leon de Seilhac, _Le Monde Socialiste_ (Paris, 1896). Amid these socialist factions, the syndicats were a coveted bit torn to pieces because everybody wanted the larger part of it. At their Congress of Paris (1883) the "Broussists" adopted a resolution that "the members of the Party will be bound to enter their syndical chamber or respective trade group and to promote the creation of syndical chambers and of trade groups where none exist as yet."[66] The Guesdists in their turn had adopted a similar resolution at their Congress in Roanne in 1882, and at their succeeding Congress, in Roubaix (1884), they adopted a resolution to promote "as soon as possible the formation of national federations of trades which should rescue the isolated syndicats from their fatal weakness."[67] When the Allemanists separated from the Broussists, they, in their turn, made it obligatory for members of their party to belong to their respective syndicats. [66] Seilhac, _Les Congrès Ouvriers_, p. 124. [67] Blum, _op. cit._, p. 93. These acts, while promoting the organization of the syndicats, impressed upon the latter a political character. The syndicats were utilized for electoral purposes, were made to serve the interests of the socialist group to which they adhered, and were drawn into the whirlpool of political dissensions and rivalry. The effect was destructive for the syndicats. The acrimonious and personal polemics of the socialist leaders bred ill-feeling among their workingmen followers; the invective and abuse filling the periodical literature of the socialist groups found an echo in the assemblies of the workingmen; the mutual hatreds separating politically Allemanists from Guesdists, Guesdists from anarchists, were carried over into the syndicats which were hindered thereby in their growth or entirely driven to disintegration. The adherence of a syndicat to any one socialist group generally repelled the non-socialists and enraged the adherents of other socialist groups, and often led to the organization of rival syndicats in the same trade and locality. The literature of the French labor movement is full of instances of the disorganizing effect which these political dissensions exerted upon the syndicats. Economic conditions, however, were impelling the workingmen to union. Since the Commune, the industrial development of France had gone on without interruption, concentrating the economic powers of the employing classes. In the face of the economic organizations of the employers, the scattered and isolated syndicats were of little significance, and the necessity of a larger combination made itself felt. Besides, in 1884, a new law on syndicats was passed. This law authorized the formation of syndicats under certain conditions of which article 4 was obnoxious to the workingmen. This article 4 of the new law made it obligatory for every syndicat to send in the names and addresses of its administrators to the municipal authorities. In Paris they had to be sent to the Prefect of the Police. The workingmen thought that this condition would subject them to the mercy of the police and of the employers, and they wanted to manifest their attitude to the new law. Under these conditions a general congress of syndicats was called in Lyons in October, 1886. Organized workingmen of various political opinions met here and at once the sentiments and needs which brought them together found expression in the report of the Committee on Organization from which the following lines may be quoted: We are organized workingmen who have made a study of social problems and who have recognized that the diversity of doctrines contributes powerfully to divide us instead of uniting us. Slaves of the same master, bearing the same claims, suffering from the same evils, having the same aspirations, the same needs and the same rights, we have decided to set aside our political and other preferences, to march hand in hand, and to combine our forces against the common enemy. The problems of labor have always the power of uniting the workingmen.[68] [68] _Séances du Congrès Ouvrier_, session de 1886, pp. 18-19. The first question on the program of the Congress was the "prospect of a Federation of all workingmen's syndicats." The discussion brought out the fact that the delegates had different ideas on the future rôle of the Federation. Still the majority united on the following resolution: Considering that in face of the powerful bourgeois organization made without and against the working-class, it not only behooves, but it is the duty of the latter to create, by all means possible, groupings and organizations of workingmen against those of the bourgeois, for defense first, and we hope for offensive action soon afterwards; Considering that every organization of workingmen which is not imbued with the distinction of classes, by the very fact of the economic and political conditions of existing society, and which exist only for the sake of giving assent to the will of the government and of the bourgeoisie, or of presenting petty observations of a respectful and therefore of a humiliating nature for the dignity of the working-class, cannot be considered as part of the workingmen's armies marching to the conquest of their rights; for these reasons, A National Federation is founded....[69] [69] _Congrès National des Syndicats Ouvriers, Compte Rendu_, pp. 344-5. The aim of the Federation was to help individual syndicats in their struggles with employers. "The National Federation of Syndicats," however, did not achieve its end. It soon fell into the hands of the Guesdists who utilized the organization for political and electoral purposes. The Congresses of the "National Federation of Syndicats" were held in the same place and about the same time as were those of the _Parti Ouvrier_, were composed of the same men and passed the same resolutions. Besides, the "National Federation of Syndicats" never succeeded in establishing connections between the local syndicats and the central organization (the _Conseil fédéral national_) and could, therefore, exert little economic influence. While the "National Federation of Syndicats" became a war-engine at the service of the Guesdists,[70] another central organization was created by the rivals of the Guesdists. This was the "Federation of Labor Exchanges of France" (_Fédération des Bourses du Travail de France_). The idea of the _Bourse du Travail_ may be traced back to the middle of the nineteenth century and even further back to the Great Revolution.[71] At first the idea was to erect a building where the workingmen in need of work and the employers in need of workingmen could meet. It was proposed that the prevailing rate of wages in each industry be published there day by day and that the quotations of the _Bourse du Travail_ then be inserted in the newspapers.... It was expected that the workingmen of an entire country, even of an entire continent would be enabled in this manner to know, day by day, the places where work might be obtained under the most favorable conditions, and where they might choose to go to demand it.[72] But after the law of 1884 which legalized the syndicats, the _Bourse du Travail_ was conceived in a larger spirit, as a center where all the syndicats of a locality could have their headquarters, arrange meetings, give out information, serve as bureaus of employment, organize educational courses, have their libraries and bring the workingmen of all trades into contact with one another. The municipalities were to promote their creation and to subsidize them.[73] [70] Pelloutier, _op. cit._, p. 60. [71] Charles Franck, _Les Bourses du Travail et la Confédération Générale du Travail_ (Paris, 1910), p. 17. [72] G. de Molinari, _Les Bourses du Travail_ (Paris, 1893), p. 257. [73] Molinari, _op. cit._, p. 280. The first _Bourse du Travail_ was opened in Paris in 1887. The example of Paris was followed by other municipalities of France, and in a short time many of the larger cities of France had their _Bourses du Travail_. The Allemanists obtained the predominating influence in the _Bourses du Travail_, and they conceived the idea of opposing to the "National Federation of Syndicats"--which was an instrument in the hands of the Guesdists--a "Federation of _Bourses du Travail_," in which they would have the leading part.[74] The "Federation of _Bourses du Travail_" was organized in 1892 with the following program: (1) To unify the demands of the workingmen's syndicats and to bring about the realization of these demands; (2) To extend and to propagate the action of the _Bourses du Travail_, in the industrial and agricultural centers; (3) To nominate delegates to the National Secretariat of Labor; (4) To collect statistical data and to communicate them to the adhering Bourses, and at the same time to generalize the gratuitous service of finding employment for workers of both sexes and of all trades.[75] [74] Pelloutier, _op. cit._, p. 64. [75] Seilhac, _Les Congrès Ouvriers_, p. 230. The "National Secretariat of Labor" mentioned was created after the International Socialist Congress of Brussels in 1891. The Congress of Brussels had proposed to create in all countries National Secretariats in order to unify the labor and socialist movement of the world. In France, the National Secretariat of Labor soon experienced the fate of other organizations. In view of political differences, it was abandoned by the Guesdists, Independents, and Broussists. It therefore could not achieve the aim it had in view and lost all significance. Into this situation there now entered another factor, which was to determine the course of further groupings. This factor was the idea of the general strike. The idea was not new in the history of the labor movement and not original with France. It had been widely discussed in England during the 30's[76] and afterwards at the Congresses of the "International".[77] It reappeared in France in the second half of the 80's and seems to have been suggested by the wide strike movement in America during 1886-7. Its first propagandist in France seems to have been a French anarchist workingman, Tortelier, a member of the syndicat of carpenters.[78] [76] B. & S. Webb, _History of Trade Unionism_, pp. 118-122. [77] Dr. E. Georgi, _Theorie und Praxis des Generalstreiks in der modernen Arbeiterbewegung_ (Jena, 1908). [78] H. Lagardelle, _La Grève Générale et le Socialisme_ (Paris, 1905), p. 42. The idea of the general strike was hailed enthusiastically by the French syndicats. On the one hand it seemed to give the workingmen a new weapon in their economic struggles. It was seen above how reluctant French workingmen had been to use the strike during the 60's and 70's. Though forced by economic conditions to use it, the French workingmen still considered it a necessary evil which never fully rewarded the sacrifices it involved. The general strike seemed to repair the defects of the partial strike. It seemed to insure success by increasing the number of strikers and by extending the field of disturbance. On the other hand, the general strike suggested itself as a method of bringing about the Social Revolution. This question was a vital one with the socialist syndicats. It was much debated and discussed and divided deeply the adherents of the various socialist and anarchist groups. "The conquest of political power," the method advocated by Guesdists and others, seemed vague and indefinitely remote; a general revolt, such as advocated by the anarchists, seemed impossible in view of the new armaments and of the new construction of cities which made barricades and street fighting a thing of the past. These two methods eliminated, the general strike seemed to present the only and proper weapon in the hands of the workingmen for the realization of their final emancipation. In this sense, the principle of the general strike was voted for the first time in 1888 at the Congress of the "National Federation of Syndicats" in Bordeaux. The idea spread rapidly. The Allemanists declared in favor of it at their Congresses in 1891 and 1892.[79] Fernand Pelloutier, of whom more will be said in the next chapter, defended it successfully before a socialist congress in Tours in 1892. The same year, Aristide Briand appeared as the eloquent champion of the general strike before the Congress of the "National Federation of Syndicats" in Marseilles.[80] The Blanquists admitted the general strike as one of the possible revolutionary means. Only the Guesdists were against the general strike and at their Congress in Lille (1890) declared it impossible. [79] L. Blum, _op. cit._, pp. 129, 137. [80] _Le Congrès National des Syndicats, Compte Rendu_, pp. 45 _et seq._ The conception of the general strike that prevailed during this period was that of a peaceful cessation of work. The strike, it was agreed, is a right guaranteed by law. Even if a strike were to spread to many industries and assume a general character, the workingmen would still be exercising their rights and could not be lawfully prosecuted. The general strike, therefore, would enable the workingmen to carry out a Revolution by legal means and would make the revolution an easy matter. The general strike must mean revolution because a complete cessation of work would paralyze the life of the country and would reduce the ruling classes to famine. Lasting a few days only, it would compel the government to capitulate before the workingmen, and would carry the workingmen's party into power. Thus, a "peaceful strike of folded arms" (_grève des bras croisés_) would usher in the Social Revolution which would bring about the transformation of society. The feeling prevailed that the general strike could begin any moment and that it assured the speedy realization of the socialist ideal. At first it was thought that the general strike could be organized or decreed, but this idea was soon given up, and the general strike came to be thought of as a spontaneous movement which might be hastened only by propaganda and organization. The conception of the general strike involved one more important point. It implied the superior value of the economic method of organization and struggle over the political. The general strike is a phenomenon of economic life and must be based on an economic organization of the working-class. On this conception of the general strike the Guesdists threw themselves with all the subtlety of their dialectics. They asserted that the idyllic picture of the social revolution was too puerile to be taken seriously; that before the capitalists felt the pangs of hunger, the workingmen would already have starved.[81] They insisted that no such peaceful general strike was possible: that either the workingmen would lose their composure, or the government would provoke a collision. On the other hand, they affirmed that a successful general strike presupposes a degree of organization and solidarity among workingmen which, if realized, would make the general strike itself unnecessary. But, above all, they argued that the general strike could not be successful, because in the economic field the workingmen are weaker than the capitalists and cannot hope to win; that only in the political field are the workingmen equal, and even superior to the employers, because they are the greater number. The conclusion, therefore, was that "the general strike is general nonsense" and that the only hope of the workingmen lay in the conquest of political power. The syndicat could only have a secondary and limited importance in the struggle for emancipation.[82] [81] To meet this criticism the Allemanists argued that the militant workingmen could have "reserves" accumulated little by little which would allow them to await for some time the results of the general strike. [82] G. Deville, _Principes Socialistes_ (Paris, 1896), pp. 191-201. The attitude of the Guesdists towards the general strike brought them into conflict with the "National Federation of Syndicats" which voted in favor of the general strike at Marseilles in 1892. The conflict at first was latent, but soon led to a split in the "National Federation of Syndicats" and to a readjustment of the various elements of the syndicats. This took place in the following way. In 1893 the _Bourse du Travail_ of Paris was authorized by the Second Congress of the "Federation of Bourses" to call a general trade-union Congress in which all syndicats should take part. The Congress was to convene the 18th of July, 1893. About ten days before this, the government closed the _Bourse du Travail_ of Paris. The reason given was that the syndicats adhering to the Bourse had not conformed to the law of 1884. This act of the government provoked an agitation among the workingmen, the Congress took on a character of protest, and a large number of syndicats wished to be represented. The Congress of Paris adopted the principle of the general strike by vote, but in view of governmental persecution, the necessity of unifying the forces of the workingmen was thought to be the most important question. It was discussed at length, and the Congress adopted a resolution, that all existing syndicats, within the shortest possible time, should join the Federation of their trade or constitute such a federation if none as yet existed; that they should form themselves into local federations or _Bourses du Travail_ and that these Federations and _Bourses du Travail_ should form a "National Federation," and the Congress invited the "Federation of Bourses du Travail" and the "National Federation of Syndicats" to merge into one organization. The Congress of Paris also called a general Congress of syndicats for the following year in Nantes and commissioned the _Bourse du Travail_ of Nantes to arrange the Congress. The "Bourse" of Nantes had already received a mandate from the "National Federation of Syndicats" to arrange its Congress. It therefore decided to arrange both Congresses at the same time and to make one Congress out of two. The National Council of the "Federation of Syndicats", where the Guesdists presided, protested, but with no result. A general Congress of syndicats was held in Nantes in 1894. By this time the number of syndicats in France had considerably increased. According to the _Annuaire Statistique_, the growth of the syndicats since 1884 was as follows: _Year_ _Number of syndicats_ _Membership_ 1884 68 1885 221 1886 280 1887 501 1888 725 1889 821 1890 1,006 139,692 1891 1,250 205,152 1892 1,589 288,770 1893 1,926 402,125 1894 2,178 403,440 Of these, 1,662 syndicats were represented at the Congress of Nantes. This fact shows how keen was the interest felt in the idea of the general strike which, it was known, was to be the main question at the Congress. The Congress of Nantes adopted a motion in favor of the general strike, appointed a "Committee for the propaganda of the general strike" and authorized this committee to collect 10 per cent of all subscriptions for strikes. The Guesdist delegates after this vote left the Congress and held a separate Congress by themselves. The majority of the delegates remained and voted the creation of a "National Council" which should form the central organization of all the syndicats of France. The "National Council" functioned unsatisfactorily. At the next general Congress in Limoges (1895) the "National Council" was abolished and the foundations of a new organization were laid. This new organization was the "General Confederation of Labor". The workingman had come to recognize that political divisions were disastrous to the growth of the syndicats. The elimination of politics from the syndicats was, therefore, adopted at Limoges as a condition of admission to the "General Confederation". The first article of the Statutes read: Among the various syndicats and associations of syndicats of workingmen and of employees of both sexes existing in France and in its Colonies, there is hereby created a uniform and collective organization with the name General Confederation of Labor. The elements constituting the General Confederation of Labor will remain independent of all political schools (_en dehors de toute école politique_). The aim of the Confederation was evidently formulated to satisfy all conceptions. Its vague wording was as follows: "The General Confederation of Labor has the exclusive purpose of uniting the workingmen, in the economic domain and by bonds of close solidarity, in the struggle for their integral emancipation."[83] [83] Seilhac, _Les Congrès Ouvriers_, p. 286. The "General Confederation of Labor" incorporated the general strike as part of its program. The creation of the "General Confederation of Labor" may be considered the first important manifestation of the revolutionary tendency in the syndical movement of France. As Mr. Leon de Seilhac justly remarks, "the Congress of Limoges was a victory of the syndicalist revolutionary party over the syndicalist party of politics (_Parti syndical politicien_)." The victory was on the side of those who hailed the general strike, who asserted the superiority of economic action over political and who wanted to keep the syndicats independent of the political parties. These ideas contained the germ of revolutionary syndicalism and the Allemanists who emphasized them before others may thus be said to have pointed out the lines along which revolutionary syndicalism was to develop. The "General Confederation of Labor", however, was not founded by Allemanists alone. Its organization was advocated by Blanquists and non-socialist workingmen. The Blanquists had always insisted upon the necessity of an independent economic organization and had refused to admit syndicats into their political organizations as constituent elements. The non-socialist workingmen, on the other hand, contributed to the foundation of the "General Confederation" because they felt the economic importance of a central syndical organization. The "General Confederation of Labor" took the place of the "National Federation of Syndicats". The Guesdists that had split off at the Congress of Nantes continued for some time to bear the title of "National Federation of Syndicats", but their organization was of no importance and was soon lost in the general organization of the _Parti Ouvrier_. The "National Secretariat of Labor" died a quiet death (in 1896), after having expended the little energy it had. There were, therefore, now two central organizations: (1) The General Confederation of Labor, and (2) The Federation of Bourses du Travail. In these the further history of syndicalism centers. CHAPTER III THE FEDERATION OF BOURSES DU TRAVAIL. (1892-1902) The _Bourses du Travail_ met an important want in the syndical life of France. The local syndicats were generally poor and could accomplish but little in their isolation. The _Bourse du Travail_ furnished them with a center where they could easily come to a common understanding and plan common action. The first _Bourse du Travail_, as indicated above, was opened by the Municipal Council of Paris in 1887. In 1892 there were already fourteen Bourses in existence. Their number increased as follows: _Year_ _Bourses du Travail_ 1894 34 1896 45 1898 55 1899 65 1900 75 1902 96 Outside of Paris, the initiative of creating a _Bourse du Travail_ was generally taken by the workingmen themselves. The local syndicats would elect a committee to work out statutes and a table of probable expenses and income. The project of the committee would then be submitted to the general assembly of the syndicats. The assembly would also elect an administrative council, a secretary, treasurer and other officers. The statutes, the list of adhering syndicats, and the names of the administrative officers would then be presented to the municipal authorities, and the _Bourse du Travail_, which in fact was a local federation of unions, would be formally constituted. In many places, local federations existed before 1887. These simply had to assume the new title to transform themselves into _Bourses du Travail_. The municipalities would then intervene and grant a subvention. Up to 1902 inclusive, the municipalities of France spent 3,166,159 francs in installing _Bourses du Travail_, besides giving the annual subventions. In 1902, the subvention received by all the _Bourses du Travail_ of France from the municipalities amounted to 197,345 francs, and 48,550 francs besides were contributed to their budget by the Departments.[84] The readiness of the municipal councils to subsidize the _Bourses du Travail_ was due mostly, if not always, to political considerations. [84] _Annuaire Statistique_. Though soliciting subventions from the municipalities, the syndicats insisted on being absolutely independent in the administration of the Bourses. The first Congress of the _Bourses du Travail_ in 1892 declared that: Whereas the _Bourses du Travail_ must be absolutely independent in order to render the services which are expected from them; Whereas this institution constitutes the only reform which the workingmen have wrested from the ruling class; The Congress of _Bourses du Travail_ of 1892 declares that the workingmen must reject absolutely the meddling of the administrative and governmental authorities in the functioning of the Bourses,--an interference which was manifested in the declaration of public utility; Invites the workingmen to make the most energetic efforts in order to guarantee the entire independence of the _Bourses du Travail_, and to refuse the municipalities if they or the government desire to interfere with their functioning.[85] [85] Seilhac, _Congrès Ouvriers_, p. 231. The municipalities, on the contrary, wanted to have some control over the funds they furnished. The result was more or less friction. In 1894, the Congress of the _Bourses du Travail_ decided to demand that the Bourses be declared institutions of public utility; this, it was thought, would put them under the protection of the law and make impossible any hostile act on the part of the administration. But the next year the fourth Congress of the _Bourses du Travail_ reversed the decision of the preceding Congress and declared for complete independence. As the _Bourses du Travail_ became more aggressive, the difficulties with regard to the municipalities increased. At the fifth congress of the _Bourses du Travail_ (1896) in Tours, a report was presented showing the Bourses how they could exist without the subvention of the municipalities. The question of financial independence was brought up at later Congresses, but received no solution. The Bourses could not live on their own resources, while they continued the activities which brought them now and then into conflict with the municipal authorities. The program which the _Bourses du Travail_ gradually outlined for themselves has been classified under four heads: (1) Benevolent Services, or as the French term it _Mutualité_; (2) _Instruction_; (3) _Propaganda_; and (4) _Resistance_.[86] [86] On the _Bourses du Travail_ see, F. Pelloutier, _Histoire des Bourses du Travail_, 1902; Ch. Franck, _Les Bourses du Travail et la Confédération Générale du Travail_, 1910; P. Delesalle, _Les Bourses du Travail et la C. G. T._ (Paris, 1910). The services of _Mutualité_ included finding employment for workingmen out of work (_Placement_), assistance to workmen who go from city to city in search of employment (_Viaticum_), aid to other unemployed persons, sick benefit, etc. The Bourses paid particular attention to the service of _placement_. Pelloutier, the Secretary of the Federation of Bourses, wrote: The Placement is in fact the first and greatest advantage which the federative grouping can offer to the workingmen, and it constitutes a powerful instrument of recruiting. In consequence of the instability of employment, the use of private employment bureaus for whose services payment has to be made, soon becomes so onerous that many workingmen exasperated by the necessity of deducting from their future wages (which are more and more reduced) considerable tithes for the services of employment bureaus, prefer often--though losing thereby--to spend their time in search of a place which will secure a livelihood. Besides, it is known--and the proceedings of Parliament have furnished decisive proof--that the habitual practice of the employment bureaus is to procure the most precarious employments so as to multiply the number of visits which the workingmen will have to pay them. It is therefore easy to understand the readiness with which the unfortunates go to the _Bourse du Travail_, which offers desired employment gratuitously. In this manner men who would hold aloof from the syndicats out of ignorance or indifference, enter them under the pressure of need and find there instruction, the utility and importance of which escaped them before.[87] [87] Pelloutier, _op. cit._, pp. 87-88. The services of instruction comprised the founding of libraries, the organization of technical courses, the arrangement of lectures on general subjects (economic, literary, historical, etc.), workingmen's journals, bureaus of information, etc. The propaganda of the Bourses had for its general aim the intellectual development of the workingman and the extension of the syndical movement. The Bourses were to support the syndicats in existence, organize new ones, promote the adherence of single syndicats to their national federations, carry on a propaganda among the agricultural laborers and perform other functions of a similar character. The services of resistance consisted in lending material and moral aid to the workingmen in their economic struggles. The Bourses regarded themselves mainly as societies of resistance whose principal function was to support the workingmen in struggle. The other functions were considered subordinate to this main service. Every Bourse carried out this program only in proportion to its means. The Bourses differed a great deal in number of adherents, in financial resources, in command of organizers, etc. Some consisted of a few syndicats with a few dozen members only; others comprised tens of syndicats with thousands of organized workingmen and with a budget running into the thousands. A few figures may help to form some idea of the extent of the services rendered by the _Bourses du Travail_ during the period considered in this chapter. The number of positions filled by the Bourses were as follows: _Applications _Offers of _Placed at _Placed away _Year_ for employment_ employment_ residence_ from residence_ 1895 38,141 17,190 15,031 5,335 1898 83,648 45,461 47,237 38,159 1902 99,330 60,737 44,631 30,544[88] [88] _Annuaire Statistique_. The service of _viaticum_ was organized differently by different Bourses. Some paid one franc a day, others one and one-half and two francs. In many Bourses the traveling workingmen received part only of the _viaticum_ in money, the rest in kind (tickets to restaurants, lodging, etc.). The reports of the Bourses presented to their Congress at Paris in 1900, contain some information on the subject. The Bourse of Alger spent from 600 to 700 francs a year on the service of _viaticum_. The Bourse of Bordeaux distributed during certain months about 130 francs, during others, only 60; other Bourses spent much less. The following table presents the amounts spent in successive years by the Bourse of Rennes: _Assistance_ _Year_ _Passing Workmen_ _Francs_ _Centimes_ 1894 25 37 50 1895 22 33 1896 47 60 50 1897 41 81 1898 (till Sept.) 32 64 In organizing technical courses, the _Bourses du Travail_ pursued the aim of fighting "the dominant tendency in modern industry to make of the child a laborer, an unconscious accessory of the machine, instead of making him an intelligent collaborator."[89] Again in this respect the services of the Bourses varied. In the Bourse of Etienne, 597 courses of two hours each were attended by 426 pupils from October 1, 1899, to June 30, 1911. The Bourse of Marseilles had in 1900 courses in carpentry, metallurgy, typography and others. The Bourse of Toulouse organized 20 courses and had its own typographical shop. [89] Pelloutier, _op. cit._, pp. 121-2. Nearly all Bourses organized their own libraries, some of which consisted of several hundred volumes, while the library of the _Bourse du Travail_ of Paris contained over 2,000 volumes. Besides, every large Bourse had its periodical, weekly or monthly.[90] [90] There were 23 in 1907. Franck, _op. cit._, pp. 127-8. The _Fédération des Bourses du Travail_ was formed in 1892 to systematize and to unify the activities of the Bourses. Though it owed its origin to political motives, the Federation soon devoted its main energies to the economic functions of the Bourses which it tried to extend and to strengthen. This turn in its policy the Federation owed chiefly to Fernand Pelloutier, who became secretary of the Federation in 1894 and who remained in this post till his death in 1901. Fernand Pelloutier (1867-1901) came from a bourgeois family and was educated in a Catholic school.[91] He entered political life at an early age in a provincial town (St. Nazaire), as an advanced republican, but soon passed into the socialist ranks. Though a member of the _Parti Ouvrier_ (Guesdists), he defended the general strike in 1892 before a socialist Congress in Tours. This caused his break with the _Parti Ouvrier_. In 1893 he came to Paris and here came under the influence of the Anarchist-Communists, whose ideas he fully accepted and professed to his last day. [91] On the life of Pelloutier see Maurice Pelloutier, _F. Pelloutier. Sa Vie, son Oeuvre_ (Paris, 1911). Pelloutier was appointed secretary of the Federation of Bourses in order to assure the political neutrality of the organization. As indicated in the previous chapter, the Federation owed its birth largely to the political interests of the Allemanists. The Federation, however, soon found itself composed of various elements--Blanquists, Guesdists, etc.--but the economic interests which stimulated the growth of the Bourses were strong enough to create a desire on the part of the workingmen to avoid political dissensions and quarrels. An anarchist at the head of the Federation seemed to guarantee the necessary neutrality. Fernand Pelloutier realized the expectations placed in him. He was disgusted with politics and his "dream was to oppose a strong, powerful economic action to political action."[92] The Federation of Bourses became his absorbing interest in life. To it he devoted most of his time and energy. He proved himself a man of steady purpose, of methodical procedure, and of high organizing abilities. He has been recognized as the most able organizer of the working class that modern France has produced. His services to the development of the syndicalist movement have been recognized by men of various opinions and political convictions. M. Seilhac wrote of him in 1897, "a young man, intelligent, educated, sprung from the bourgeoisie, has just entered the Federation as Secretary; M. F. Pelloutier has led the Federation with a talent and a surety of judgment which his most implacable enemies must acknowledge. Having passed through the 'Guesdist' school, M. Pelloutier violently broke away from this intolerant and despotic party and was attracted by pure anarchism. The Federation owes its rapid success in great measure to him."[93] [92] P. Delesalle, _Temps Nouveaux_, 23 Mars, 1901. [93] Seilhac, _Congrès Ouvriers_, p. 272. In 1892 the Federation was formed by ten Bourses out of the fourteen then in existence. Its growth was as follows: _Year_ _Bourses_ _Syndicats_ 1895 34 606 1896 46 862 1897 40 627 1898 51 947 1899 54 981 1900 57 1,061 1902 83 1,112 The Federation was represented by a Federal Committee in Paris. Each Bourse had the right to a delegate in the Committee, but a single delegate could represent several Bourses. As the Federal Committee was in Paris, the delegates were not members of the Bourses they represented. They were chosen by the Bourses from a list sent to them by the Secretary of the Federation and made up of men either personally known by him or recommended to him. This gave rise to dissatisfaction, and it was decided that the secretary should complete the list of candidates with remarks on their political attachments, so that the Bourses might choose representatives expressing exactly their opinions. In this way the Federal Committee came to be composed of various political elements. In 1899 there were 48 Bourses in the Federation; of these three were represented in the Federal Committee by Blanquists, eleven by Allemanists, five by Guesdists. The last named soon left the Federation; the rest did not adhere to any party. "Within the group of their representatives particularly," wrote Pelloutier, "must one look for those convinced libertarians[94] whom the Bourses have maintained as delegates regardless of the reproaches of certain socialist schools, and who, without fuss, have done so much for some years to enhance the individual energy and the development of the syndicats."[95] The Committee had no executive officers, not even a chairman. The business was done by the secretary, an assistant secretary and a treasurer. The first received 1,200 francs a year. Each session began with the reading of the minutes of the preceding session, and of the correspondence; then the discussion of the questions raised by the correspondence, inscribed on the order of the day, or raised by the delegates, occurred. A vote took place only in cases, "extremely rare", when an irreconciliable divergence of views sprang up. The meetings took place twice a month. [94] The anarchists in France call themselves _libertaires_. [95] Pelloutier, _op. cit._, p. 151. Pelloutier wrote: The suppression of the chairmanship and of useless voting dates only from the entrance of the libertarians into the Committee, but experience soon convinced all members that between serious and disinterested men there is no necessity of a monitor because everyone considers it an honor to respect the freedom of discussion and even, (without wavering from his principles) to conduct the debate in a conversational tone. The Federal Committee proceeded in a methodical way. Between 1894-1896 it devoted itself mainly to propaganda and to organization. It invited the local syndicats and unions of syndicats to constitute themselves into _Bourses du Travail_. To guide them Pelloutier wrote a little pamphlet on _The method of organizing and maintaining Bourses du Travail_. After 1895 the Federal Committee thought the multiplication of Bourses too rapid. The Committee feared that the Bourses were constituting themselves without sufficient syndical strength and that they were putting themselves at the mercy of a dissolution or of an unsuccessful strike. The Committee, therefore, thought it wise if not to moderate the organizing enthusiasm of the militant workingmen, at least to call their attention to the utility of extending to arrondissements, sometimes even to an entire department, a propaganda which was till then limited to a local circle. Two or three Bourses per Department, wrote Pelloutier, would group the workingmen more rapidly and at the cost of less efforts than seven or eight insufficiently equipped and necessarily weak.[96] [96] F. Pelloutier, _op. cit._, p. 77. In 1897, at the Congress of Toulouse, Pelloutier read two reports in which he invited the _Bourses du Travail_ to extend their activities to the agricultural population and to the sailors. These reports reveal a thorough study of the conditions in which these two classes of the population spend their lives, and contain indications how to attract them to syndical activity. Pelloutier recommended the Bourses to create commissions which should be specially devoted to agricultural problems and which should train propagandists for the country. He also recommended the institution of homes for sailors in the ports. Some Bourses acted on the suggestion of Pelloutier and since then dates the propaganda carried on by some Bourses among the wood-cutters, the wine-growers, the agricultural laborers, the fishermen, sailors and similar groups of the working population. From 1898 to 1900 the Federal Committee was trying to systematize the services of the _placement_ and of the _viaticum_. The suggestion came from some Bourses, which particularly felt this necessity. Some Bourses had already been placing workingmen at a distance through correspondence. They wanted to generalize this by having the Federal Committee publish statistics of the fluctuations of employment in the various Bourses. On the other hand, the Bourses had difficulties with the service of _viaticum_. The diversity of conditions in this respect gave rise to dissatisfaction, while the Bourses were unable to control abuses. The secretaries could not know the number of visits paid them by workingmen, nor the amounts received by each. At the Congress of Rennes (1898), the Federal Committee presented a plan of a "federal viaticum", and in 1900, the _Office national de statistique et de placement_ was organized. The "federal viaticum" was optional for members of the federation, and though presenting certain advantages for the Bourses, was accepted by very few of them. Organized in 1899, it functioned unsatisfactorily. The _Office national_ began activity in June, 1900. It was organized with the financial aid of the government. In 1900, after the Universal Exhibition, Paris was overcrowded with unemployed workingmen, and the government thought it could make use of the Federation of Bourses to disperse them over the country. Before that, in November, 1899, the Federal Committee had addressed the government for a subsidy of 10,000 francs to organize the _Office national_. In June, 1900, the Government granted 5,000 francs. The _Office_ began to publish a weekly statistical bulletin containing the information on the fluctuation of employment sent to the Federal Committee by the Bourses. The _Office_, however, did not give the expected results. In organizing these services, the Federation of Bourses always kept in mind the interests of the syndicats. It directed workingmen to employers who satisfied the general conditions imposed by the syndicats. The _viaticum_ also served to diminish competition among workingmen in ordinary times, or during strikes. In all its activity the Federal Committee generally followed the same policy. It called the attention of one Bourse to the experiments and to the achievements of others; it made its own suggestions and recommendations and it carried out the decisions of the Congresses. It did not regard itself as a central organ with power to command. Constituted on a federalist basis, the Bourses expected from the Federal Committee merely the preliminary study of problems of a common interest, reserving for themselves the right to reject both the problems and the study; they considered even their Congresses merely as _foyers_ where the instruments of discussion and of work were forged.[97] [97] F. Pelloutier, _op. cit._, p. 154. The activity of the Federal Committee was handicapped by insufficiency of means. The financial state of the Federation between 1892 and 1902 may be gathered from the following table: _Receipts_ _Expenses_ _Francs_ _Centimes_ _Francs_ _Centimes_ 1892-1893 247 209 45 1893-1894 573 95 378 95 1894-1895 1,342 55 960 07 1895-1896 2,380 05 1,979 1896-1897 2,310 75 1,779 45 1897-1900 6,158 75 5,521 45 1900-1901 4,297 85 3,029 71 1901-1902 5,541-- 85 4,320 80 The Bourses paid their dues irregularly and Pelloutier complained that with such means the Committee could not render all the services it was capable of and that it was necessarily reduced to the rôle of a correspondence bureau, "slow and imperfect in its working." Whatever others may have thought of the results obtained by the Federation of Bourses, the leaders themselves felt enthusiastic about the things accomplished. Pelloutier wrote: Enumerate the results obtained by the groupings of workingmen; consult the program, of the courses instituted by the _Bourses du Travail_, a program which omits nothing which goes to make up a moral, complete, dignified and satisfied life; regard the authors who inhabit the workingmen's libraries; admire this syndical and co-operative organization which extends from day to day and embraces new categories of producers, the unification of all the proletarian forces into a close network of syndicats, of co-operative societies, of leagues of resistance; consider the constantly increasing intervention into the diverse manifestations of social life; the examination of methods of production and of distribution and say whether this organization, whether this program, this tendency towards the beautiful and the good, whether this aspiration toward the complete expansion of the individual do not justify the pride the Bourses du Travail feel.[98] [98] F. Pelloutier, _op. cit._, pp. 170-1. This feeling and the preoccupation with socialist ideals led Pelloutier and other members of the Federation to think that the _Bourses du Travail_ could not only render immediate services, but that they were capable of "adapting themselves to a superior social order". Pelloutier thought that the _Bourses du Travail_ were evolving from this time on the elements of a new society, that they were gradually constituting a veritable socialist (economic and anarchic) state within the bourgeois state,[99] and that they would, in time, substitute communistic forms of production and of distribution for those now in existence. The question was brought up for discussion at the Congress of Tours (1896) and two reports were read on the present and future rôle of the _Bourses du Travail_. One report was written by Pelloutier, the other was prepared by the delegates of the Bourse of Nimes, Claude Gignoux and Victorien Briguier (Allemanists). [99] F. Pelloutier, _op. cit._, p. 160. The report of the Bourse of Nimes starts out from the idea that no new plan of a future society need be fabricated; that the _Bourses du Travail_ show themselves already capable of directing the economic activities of society and that with further growth they will become more and more capable of so doing. The natural development of the Bourses, it held, leads them to investigate the number of unemployed in each trade; the causes of industrial perturbation, the cost of maintenance of each individual in comparison with wages received; the number of trades and of workingmen employed in them; the amount of the produce; the totality of products necessary for the population of their region, etc., etc. Now, it further set forth, with all this information at hand, and with all this economic experience, each Bourse could, in case of a social transformation, assume the direction of the industrial life of its region. Each trade organized in a syndicat would elect a council of labor; the syndicats of the same trade would be federated nationally and internationally. The Bourses, knowing the quantity of products which must be produced, would impart this information to the councils of labor of each trade, which employ all members of the trade in the manufacture of necessary products. By their statistics, the Bourses would know where there is excess or want of production in their regions, and would determine the exchange of products between the territories which by nature are adapted for some special production only. The report presupposed that property would become "social and inalienable"; and the assumption was that the workingmen would be stimulated to develop the industrial powers of their regions and to increase the material welfare of the country. The report concluded: This summary outline gives those who live in the syndical movement an idea of the rôle which falls and will fall to the _Bourses du Travail_. It would not do to hurry decisions; the methodical pursuit of the development of our institutions is sufficient to realize our aim, and to avoid many disappointments and retrogressions. It is for us, who have inherited the thought and the science of all those who have come before us, to bring it about that so many riches and so much welfare due to their genius should not serve to engender misery and injustice, but should establish harmony of interests on equality of rights and on the solidarity of all human beings.[100] [100] F. Pelloutier, _op. cit._, p. 163. The report of the Federal Committee, prepared by Pelloutier, contained the same ideas but emphasized some other points. "We start out from the principle," read this report, "that the task of the revolution is to free mankind not only from all authority (_autorité_), but also from every institution which has not for its essential purpose the development of production. Consequently, we can imagine the future society only as a voluntary and free association of producers."[101] In this social system the syndicats and the Bourses are to play the part assigned to them in the report of the Bourse of Nimes. [101] F. Pelloutier, _op. cit._, pp. 163-4. The consequence of this new state, of this suppression of useless social organs, of this simplification of necessary machinery, will be that man will produce better, more and quicker; that he will be able, therefore, to devote long hours to his intellectual development, to accelerate in this way mechanical progress, to free himself more and more from painful work, and to arrange his life in greater conformity to his instinctive aspirations toward studious repose. Pelloutier laid emphasis on the idea that this future state was being gradually prepared and was dependent upon the intellectual and moral development of the working-class; he conceived it as a gradual substitution of institutions evolved by the working-class for those institutions which characterize existing society. He believed that the syndicalist life was the only means of stimulating the power and the initiative of the workingmen and of developing their administrative abilities. His report, quoted above, concluded: "And this is the future in store for the working-class, if becoming conscious of its intellectual faculties, and of its dignity, it will come to draw only from within itself its notion of social duty, will detest and break every authority foreign to it and will finally conquer security and liberty."[102] [102] Seilhac, _Congrès Ouvriers_, p. 317. This conception of the syndicat has since become fundamental with revolutionary syndicalists. Formulating it, the _Fédération des Bourses du Travail_ really laid the foundations of what later became revolutionary syndicalism. The "Federation of Bourses" also made the first step in the propaganda of anti-militarism and in outlining a policy of opposition to the State. The latter ideas, however, were at the same time developed in the General Confederation of Labor and will be considered in connection with the history of that body in the next chapter. From 1894 to 1902 the _Fédération des Bourses du Travail_ was the strongest syndical organization in France. Pelloutier claimed 250,000 members for it, but the figure is exaggerated. There is no way, however, of finding out the true figures. Conscious of its comparative strength, the Federation of Bourses at times ignored, at times dominated the General Confederation of Labor. These two organizations were rivals. The General Confederation of Labor had adopted at Limoges (1895) statutes according to which the Confederation could admit not only National Federations of Syndicats, but single syndicats and single Bourses. This was obnoxious to the Federation of Bourses. The latter wished that the General Confederation should be composed exclusively of two federal committees; one representing the Federation of Bourses; the other representing the National Federations of trade. Until this was accepted, the Federation of Bourses, at its Congress in Tours (1896), refused to give any financial aid to the General Confederation in view "of the little vitality" which it displayed. The General Confederation of Labor modified its statutes year after year, but no harmony between the two organizations could be established for some time. In 1897, the Federation of Bourses joined the General Confederation, but left it again in 1898. The friction was due partly to personal difficulties, partly to the differences of spirit which prevailed in the central committees of the two organizations. After 1900, however, the two organizations, though distinct, co-operated, and the question of unifying the two organizations was more and more emphasized. In 1902, at the Congress of Montpellier, this unity was realized; the Federation of Bourses entered the General Confederation of Labor, and ceased to have a separate existence. CHAPTER IV THE GENERAL CONFEDERATION OF LABOR FROM 1895 TO 1902 The General Confederation of Labor has continued its existence under the same name since its foundation in 1895. Still the period from 1895 to 1902 may be considered separately for two reasons: first, during this period the organization of the Confederation under which it now functions was evolved;[103] and secondly, during this period the tendency known as revolutionary syndicalism became definite and complete. This period may be considered therefore as the formative period both from the point of view of organization and from the point of view of doctrine. [103] The changes in the form of organization which have been made since 1902 are in harmony with the fundamental ideas of the constitution adopted in 1902. The gradual elaboration of organization and of doctrine may best be considered from year to year. The 700 syndicats which formed the General Confederation at Limoges in 1895 aimed to "establish among themselves daily relations which would permit them to formulate in common the demands studied individually; they wanted also and particularly to put an end to the disorganization which penetrated their ranks under cover of the political spirit."[104] [104] _XI Congrès National Corporatif_ (Paris, 1900), p. 35. The Congress held the following year at Tours (1896) showed that the aim was not attained. Only 32 organizations had paid the initiation fee (two francs) as requested by the statutes adopted at Limoges. Of the 32 only four, the _Fédération des Travailleurs du Livre_,[105] the Syndicat of Railway Men, the Circle of Machinists, and the Federation of Porcelain Workers, paid their dues regularly; the rest paid irregularly or did not pay at all. The entire income for the year amounted to 740 francs.[106] [105] Typographical Union. [106] Seilhac, p. 328. The National Council of the Confederation did not function because the number of delegates elected by the adhering organizations was insufficient to constitute the committees among which the work was to be divided. The few delegates that did attend the meetings quarreled for political and other reasons. The Federation of Bourses showed itself hostile, because the statutes adopted at Limoges admitted Bourses, single syndicats, local and regional federations. The "Committee for the propaganda of the General Strike" could also report but little progress. The Committee had been authorized by the Congress of Nantes (1894) to collect 10 per cent of all subscriptions for strikes. The Committee, however, reported to the Congress of Tours, that the syndicats and Bourses did not live up to the decision. From December 1, 1894, to September 12, 1892, 329 francs 75 centimes was collected; for 1895-96, 401 francs 95 centimes. With such limited means but little headway could be made.[107] [107] Seilhac, _Congrès Ouvriers_, p. 325; Ch. Franck, _op. cit._, p. 323. The Congress of Tours tried to remedy the situation by making several changes in the statutes. Single Bourses were not to be admitted. This was a concession to the Federation of Bourses, which was invited to join the Confederation; single syndicats were to be admitted only if there were no national federations in their trades. Each National Federation of trade or of industry could send three delegates to the National Council; syndicats and local federations, only one. Each delegate to the National Council could represent two organizations only, while formerly he could represent five. The National Council was to nominate an executive committee consisting of a secretary, assistant secretary, treasurer, assistant treasurer, and archivist. The work of the Confederation was to be divided among seven committees. Dues were to be paid on a graduated scale according to membership. Besides modifying the statutes, the Congress of Tours discussed several other questions; eight-hour day, weekly rest, the general strike and the establishment of a trade organ. The idea of the general strike, defended by Allemanists and anarchists, was indorsed by the Congress with a greater majority than at previous Congresses. By this time, however, several modifications had taken place in the conception of the general strike. These were emphasized by M. Guérard who defended the idea before the Congress. Said M. Guérard: The conquest of political power is a chimera; there are at present only three or four true socialists in the Chamber of Deputies out of 585. Of 36,000 communes, only 150 have as yet been conquered. The partial strikes fail because the workingmen become demoralized and succumb under the intimidation of the employers protected by the government. The general strike will last a short while and its repression will be impossible; as to intimidation, it is still less to be feared. The necessity of defending the factories, workshops, manufactures, stores, etc., will scatter and disperse the army.... And then, in the fear that the strikes may damage the railways, the signals, the works of art, the government will be obliged to protect the 39,000 kilometers of railroad lines by drawing up the troops all along them. The 300,000 men of the active army, charged with the surveillance of 39 million meters, will be isolated from one another by 130 meters, and this can be done only on the condition of abandoning the protection of the depots, of the stations, of the factories, etc. ... and of abandoning the employers to themselves, thus leaving the field free in the large cities to the revolted workingmen. The principal force of the general strike consists in its power of imposing itself. A strike in one trade, in one branch of industry, must involve other branches. The general strike can not be decreed in advance; it will burst forth suddenly: a strike of the railway men, for instance, if declared, will be the signal of the general strike. It will be the duty of militant workingmen, when this signal is given, to make their comrades in the syndicats leave their work. Those who continue to work on that day will be compelled, or forced, to quit.[108] [108] Seilhac, _Congrès Ouvriers_, pp. 331-2. And M. Guérard, applauded by the audience, concluded: "The general strike will be the Revolution, peaceful or not." However, as a concession to the opponents of the general strike, the Congress of Tours decided that the "Committee for the propaganda of the general strike" should be independent of the Confederation. It was also from now on to collect only five per cent of all strike-subscriptions. The Congress of Tours also admonished the syndicats to abandon their political preoccupations which were held to be the cause of disorganization. These changes helped but little. During 1896-97 the Confederation counted 11 federations, 1 federated union, 1 trade union, the Union of Syndicats of Paris, and three national syndicats. The Federation of Bourses declined either to join or to help the Confederation. The number of delegates to the National Council was again insufficient to constitute the committees. The income for the year, including the balance from the previous year, amounted to 1,558 francs.[109] [109] Ch. Franck, _op. cit._, pp. 226-7. The Congress of Toulouse, therefore, decided to make new changes. Accepting the suggestion of the Federation of Bourses whose adherence was desired, the Confederation was to consist now of (1) the Federation of Bourses du Travail, (2) of National federations of trade and of industry, and (3) of local syndicats or of local federations of trades which were not yet organized nationally or whose national federations refused to join the Confederation. The Confederation was to be represented by the Federal Committee of the Federation of Bourses and by the National Council of the Federations of trade. The Congress of Toulouse again declared that "the general strike was synonymous with Revolution," and decided that sub-committees for the propaganda of the general strike should be established in the _Bourses du Travail_ to keep in touch with the General Committee in Paris. It discussed several other questions: trade-journal, suppression of prison-work, eight-hour day, and among these, for the first time, the questions of the boycott and of _sabotage_. The report on boycott and _sabotage_[110] was prepared by two anarchists, Pouget and Delesalle. The report explained the origin of the boycott and of _sabotage_, and gave instances of their application in different countries. It referred in particular to the _Go Canny_ practice of the English workingmen whose principle the report merely wanted to generalize and to formulate. [110] _Sabotage_ means the obstruction in all possible ways of the regular process of production; _cf._ ch. v. Up to the present time [read the report] the workingmen have declared themselves revolutionary; but most of the time they have remained on theoretical ground: they have labored to extend the ideas of emancipation, they have tried to sketch a plan of a future society from which human exploitation should be eliminated. But why, beside this educational work, the necessity of which is incontestable, has nothing been tried in order to resist the encroachments of capitalists and to render the exigencies of employers less painful to the workingmen? To this end the report recommended the use of the boycott and of _sabotage_, which should take place by the side of the strike as the workingmen's means of defense and offense. The report shows how these methods could be used in particular cases. _Sabotage_ particularly, sometimes applied to the quantity, sometimes to the quality, should bring home to the employer that the workingmen are determined to render "poor work for poor pay". The report concluded: The boycott and its indispensable complement, _sabotage_, furnishes us with an effective means of resistance which--while awaiting the day when the workingmen will be sufficiently strong to emancipate themselves completely--will permit us to stand our ground against the exploitation of which we are the victims. It is necessary that the capitalists should know it: the workingman will respect the machine only on that day when it shall have become for him a friend which shortens labor, instead of being, as it now is, the enemy, the robber of bread, the killer of workingmen.[111] [111] E. Pouget, _Le Sabotage_ (Paris, 1910), pp. 15-16. The Congress adopted unanimously and with great enthusiasm a motion inviting the workingmen to apply the boycott and _sabotage_ when strikes would not yield results. During 1897-98 the Federation of Bourses and the Confederation were to work together, but no harmony was possible. The report presented to the Congress of Rennes (1898) is full of complaints and of accusations on both sides. Personal difficulties between the two secretaries, M. Pelloutier and M. Lagailse, who was an "Allemanist," sprang up; besides, the National Council and the Federal Committee were animated by a different spirit. The Federal Committee evidently tried to dominate the National Council. The latter was weak. It counted only 18 organizations, and no new members were gained during 1897-98. The National Council did not function regularly; the explanation given was that as no functionaries were paid, they had but little time to devote to the business of the Confederation. The dues paid during 1897-8 amounted to 793 francs; the whole income was 1,702 francs. The treasurer thought that this showed that the "General Confederation of Labor was in a flourishing condition." The "Committee for the propaganda of the General Strike" admitted on the contrary that it had accomplished little. Only twenty Bourses formed sub-committees. The five per cent of strike subscriptions was not paid by the syndicats. Only 835 francs came in from this source; together with the income from other sources, the receipts of the Committee totaled 1,086 francs; of this it spent 822 francs. During 1898 the Syndicat of Railroad Workers had a conflict with the railroad companies and a railroad strike was imminent. The Secretary of the General Confederation of Labor sent out a circular to all syndical organizations of France calling their attention to the "formidable consequences for capitalism" which such a strike could have, if joined by all trades. The circular formulated eight demands, such as old-age pensions; eight-hour day, etc., which "could be realized in a few days if the working-class, conscious of its force, and of its rights, was willing to act energetically."[112] [112] _X Congrès National Corporatif_ (IV de la C. G. T.), Rennes, 1898, p. 77. The "Committee for the propaganda of the general strike" also took up the question. It sent out a question to all syndicats for a referendum vote. The question was: "Are you for an immediate general strike in case the railroad workingmen should declare a strike?" The report of the Committee to the Congress of Rennes complained that the syndicats voted for the general strike at conventions but changed their opinions or their disposition "when the hour for action came."[113] "It was disastrous to make such a discovery," read the report, when it was expected that by the strike of our comrades of the railroads, many other trades would be compelled by the force of events to quit work, and that this would have been the starting-point of the general strike, and possibly of that economic revolution which alone can solve the great problems which confront the entire world.[114] [113] _X Congrès National Corporatif_ (Rennes, 1898), p. 334. [114] _Ibid._, p. 334. The Syndicat of the Railroad Workingmen voted for a strike. But the government intercepted the strike order of the National Committee of the Syndicat, and the strike did not take place. The Congress of Rennes made new changes in the statutes of the Confederation. The Federation of Bourses was to leave the Confederation. The latter was to be composed only of national federations of trade and of national syndicats and to be represented by the National Council. The "Committee of the general strike" was to be part of the Confederation, but was to be autonomous and was to live on its own resources. The Congress discussed a number of questions: Alcoholism, suppression of employment bureaus, election of inspectors of industry, etc. Most reports on the various questions adopted by the Congress assert that the workingmen must solicit the co-operation of their representatives in the legislative bodies of the country in order to obtain any reforms. But one report was presented which emphasized the opposite idea of "direct action". This report was presented by the "Committee on the Label, the Boycott, and _Sabotage_." The reporter on the boycott and _sabotage_--M. Pouget--noted the little progress that had been accomplished in the application of these two methods since 1897, but again affirmed their validity and recommended them to the workingman; the report affirmed that the menace, only, of _sabotage_ is often sufficient to produce results. "The Congress," said the report, cannot enter into the details of these tactics; such things depend upon the initiative and the temperament of each and are subordinate to the diversity of industries. We can only lay down the theory and express the wish that the boycott and the _sabotage_ should enter into the arsenal of weapons which the workingmen use in their struggle against capitalists on the same plane as the strike, and that, more and more, the direction of the social movement should be towards the direct action of individuals and towards a greater consciousness of their personal powers.[115] [115] _X Congrès National Corporatif_ (Rennes, 1898), p. 302. The Congress of Paris (1900) again recorded but little progress. In the interval since Rennes (1898-1900) only a few new federations joined the General Confederation. The others, whose adherence was solicited, refused or even were not "polite enough" to make a reply. The adhering organizations paid irregularly; the decisions of the Congresses were not executed. The Committees still did not function because the number of delegates to the National Council was small. The total income for both years amounted to 3,678 francs, of which 1,488 were dues paid. The "Committee for the propaganda of the general strike" had collected during this period (1898-1900) 4,262 francs. Of this 3,172 francs were the five per cent of the strike subscriptions. It may also be interesting to note that the organizations which contributed most to this sum were: Union of Syndicats of Seine, 901 francs; the Union of Machinists of Seine, 727 francs; the Federation of Moulders, 536 francs; the Federation of Metallurgy, 457 francs. The Committee published thirteen numbers of a journal, "The General Strike," and a brochure on the general strike. The general strike was again the subject of a long discussion at the Congress of Paris. But the discussion was given a new turn. The question now was: "The general strike, its organization, its eventuality, its consequences." And the ideas that prevailed revealed some further modifications in the conception. The question was given this turn because certain syndicats thought that the principle of the general strike had been sufficiently affirmed and that it was time to treat the subject practically. As the discussion showed, the majority of the delegates thought that the general strike could take place at any moment and that in order to be successful, it did not presuppose a majority of organized workingmen, nor big sums of money. A daring revolutionary minority conscious of its aim could carry away with it the majority of workingmen and accomplish the act of appropriating the means of production for society as a whole. Some even thought that in order that the general strike should be prompt and lead to the aim in view it was best to have no money at all; everyone would then take what he needed wherever he found it, and the result would be the completest possible emancipation.[116] As one of the delegates expressed it: "Count exclusively upon the enthusiasm (_entrainement_) of the working-class."[117] [116] _XI Congrès National Corporatif_ (Paris, 1900), p. 198. [117] _Ibid._, p. 113. This conception of the general strike attributed to the syndicat a revolutionary rôle, as the syndicat was to take possession of the means of production in the name of society as a whole. It did not exclude however the parallel action of political parties. The latter could profit by the general strike and seize the political power of the State to co-operate in the transformation of society. But the syndicats were not to count upon this possibility; on the contrary it was their task to make the general strike absolutely independent of all political parties, to perform the principal part in the economic revolution and to leave to the new government, if one arose, no other function but that of sanctioning the economic change accomplished by the syndicats. This emphasis upon the revolutionary and preponderant part to be played by the syndicats went together with a mistrust and defiance of political parties. "All politicians are betrayers,"[118] exclaimed one delegate. "In politics one has always to deal with intrigues," said another, and the same sentiment pervaded the other speeches. Though not refusing to make use of all methods, "for the disorganization of capitalism," all delegates emphasized the necessity for the workingmen to rely mainly upon themselves and upon their syndical organizations. [118] _XI Congrès National Corporatif_ (Paris, 1900), p. 110. The majority of delegates recognized also that the general strike must necessarily have a violent character. Though a few still thought of the general strike as of a "peaceful revolution," a "strike of folded arms," the majority rejected this conception as childish and foresaw the inevitable collision to which the general strike would lead. All these ideas were briefly summarized in the conclusions of the Committee appointed by the Congress to report on the question. This Commission recommended leaving the "Committee for the propaganda of the general strike" as free as possible in its action. The Congress merely determined the syndicats which were to elect the members of the Committee. The latter was now to obtain regular monthly dues for the continuation of its work. The revolutionary spirit which manifested itself in the conception of the general strike expressed itself also in the resolution of the Congress on the army. This resolution demanded the suppression of permanent armies, and invited the syndicats to establish relations with the workingmen in military service, to invite them to social gatherings and to assist them financially (to establish the so-called _Sou du Soldat_). The same spirit characterized the report of the Committee which formulated the ideas of the Congress on the "practical means of realizing the international harmony of the workingmen." "Capital," read the report, "in its various forms is international," and it is necessary that labor should also be organized internationally. The slight differences in conditions of life varying from country to country are not important. "The predominating fact everywhere, in all countries, is the division of society into two categories; the producer and the non-producer, the wage-earner and the employer." The report went on to say that the idea of "fatherland" (_patrie_) is a means of protecting the strong against the weak, "an emblem of speculation, of exploitation," "a synonym of property," "a fiction for the workingmen who possess nothing."[119] The practical conclusion of the Committee was to bring together the wage-earners of all countries in an international organization which should be represented by an international secretariat. [119] _XI Congrès National Corporatif_ (Paris, 1900), p. 205. During 1900-1 the Confederation displayed a little more activity than before. The National Council employed a permanent employee to attend to the business of the Confederation, at first for two, then for four hours a day at a remuneration of 50 and then 100 francs a month. In December, 1900, the Confederation began also to publish its own weekly, _La Voix du Peuple_. Since 1896 the question of a trade-journal had been on the order of the day. It was discussed at every Congress and various plans were recommended in order to obtain the financial means for a daily. The Congress of Paris, in view of the financial impossibility of starting a daily and recognizing that "it was more than ever necessary to create a revolutionary syndicalist organ," decided to publish a weekly. One of the Committees of the National Council was to attend to it. The _Voix du Peuple_, however, was not in a satisfactory condition at the time of the Congress of Lyons (1901). Pouget, the editor of the paper and the secretary of the Committee of the _Voix du Peuple_, complained that the _Voix du Peuple_ "suffered from the apathy and the negligence of the comrades." Only 260 syndicats subscribed for the paper (out of 2,700 syndicats then in existence). In Paris only 600 copies were sold weekly. The finances showed a deficit for the year of over 6,000 francs. The number of copies printed fell from 12,000-14,000 during the first months to 800 during the later months. The secretary of the Confederation, M. Guérard, also complained that the "Confederation was anaemic for lack of means." The twenty organizations--federations and syndicats--which adhered to the Confederation during 1900-1901 paid in 1,478 francs. The total income was 4,125 francs. With such limited means the Confederation could do nothing. The Congress of Lyons (1901)--where all these reports were read--was provided for by a subvention from the municipality of Lyons which appropriated 7,000 francs for the purpose. The Congress of Lyons, nevertheless, showed that the Confederation was beginning to feel a little more confidence in its future. The Congress decided that henceforth only syndicats adhering to the Confederation should take part in its Congresses. Previous to that all syndicats were invited to send a delegate or their mandate to the Congresses of the Confederation. The Congresses, therefore, neither revealed the strength of the Confederation, nor had a binding character, and were significant merely as revealing the state of mind of a large part of the organized workingmen of the time. The decision of the Congress of Lyons was to do away with this condition and to give the Congresses of the Confederation a more coherent and binding character. Another decision taken by the Congress of Lyons was to admit local and regional federations of syndicats. This was directed against the Federation of Bourses. Though more friendly since 1900, the relations between the two organizations still gave trouble. The question of unity, however, was urged by many workingmen, and the Congress decided to call a special Congress for 1902 to solve this problem. The Congress of Lyons revealed the further progress of revolutionary ideas among the delegates. There were 226 delegates; these represented 26 Bourses and 8 local federations, comprising 1,035 syndicats with 245,000 members;[120] eight regional federations composed of 264 syndicats with 36,000 members; 8 federations of trade or industry counting 507 syndicats with 196,000 members; 492 syndicats with 60,000 workingmen were represented directly. The exact number of syndicats and of workingmen represented cannot be obtained from these figures, because one syndicat could be represented several times in a local federation, in a Bourse, and in the federation of trade. The delegates, however, came from different parts of the country and were numerous enough to show that the ideas they expressed were accepted by a considerable number of French workingmen. [120] The growth of syndicats in France since 1895 is shown in the following table: _Year_ _Syndicats_ _Members_ 1895 2,163 419,781 1896 2,243 422,777 1898 2,324 437,793 1899 2,361 419,761 1900 2,685 492,647 1901 3,287 588,832 Of the questions discussed at Lyons three had a particular significance as showing the revolutionary tendency which the Confederation was taking. These were the questions of the general strike, of labor-laws, and of the relations to the political parties. The "Committee for the propaganda of the General Strike" reported more activity for the year 1900-1 and greater success in its work. The Committee published a brochure on the General Strike of which 50,000 copies were distributed. It collected over 1,500 francs in monthly dues, and its total income amounted to 2,447 francs. It was in touch with a number of sub-committees in the different _Bourses du Travail_, arranged a number of meetings on various occasions, and lent its support to some strikes. The Committee affirmed that the idea of the general strike had spread widely during the year and attributed this fact to the big strikes which had taken place in France after the International Exhibition of 1900 and which had thrown the workingmen into a state of agitation. At the time the Congress of Lyons was being held, the miners were threatening to strike, if their demands were not granted by the companies. The delegate of the miners was at the Congress, and the discussion that took place under these conditions was very characteristic. The Committee on the general strike which consisted of fifteen members reported: The idea of the general strike is sufficiently understood to-day. In repeatedly putting off the date of its coming, we risk discrediting it forever by enervating the revolutionary energies. What better occasion to realize it! The miners will give the signal on the first of November; the working-class--in case of a revolution--counts upon this movement which must bring them their economic liberation. And the report of the Committee went on to point out the conditions which in its opinion indicated "that the moment had come to try the general strike (_faire la Grève générale_) with strong chances of success."[121] [121] _XII Congrès National Corporatif_ (Lyons, 1901), p. 170. The delegate from the miners said: "If you wish to join us, we will be able not only to strike, but to bring about the revolution; if we were made sure of the co-operation of all trades, even if it were necessary to wait for it two, three, or even six months, we are ready to grant you this concession."[122] [122] _Ibid._, pp. 177-8. The following motion was then adopted: The Congress declares that the General Strike cannot be the means merely of obtaining amelioration for any category of workingmen. Its aim can be only the complete emancipation of the proletariat through the violent expropriation of the capitalist class. The Congress, in view of the situation, declares that the movement which may take place in favor of the miners, the importance or character of which nobody can foresee and which may go to the point of a general emancipation, will be in any case a movement of solidarity which will not impair in the least the revolutionary principle of the general strike of all workingmen.[123] [123] _Ibid._, p. 179. The delegate of the Typographical Union (_La Fédération du Livre_) combated the idea of the general strike and argued that it was impossible in view of the small number of organized workingmen. But his argument had no effect on the Congress. It was rejected as of no importance because the minority of organized workingmen could carry away with it the majority. The question of labor laws was the subject of an animated discussion at the Congress because of its importance. The answer given to this question was to determine the attitude of the General Confederation to legislative reforms and to the State in general. The question was a very practical one. The government of Waldeck-Rousseau (22 June, 1899-6 June, 1902), in which the socialist, Millerand, was Minister of Commerce and Industry, outlined a number of labor laws which touched upon the most vital questions of the labor movement. The most important of these law-projects were on strikes and arbitration, on the composition of the superior Council of Labor, on the institution of Councils of Labor, and on the modification of the law of 1884. The policy of the government in planning these laws was clear and expressly stated. It was the continuation and accentuation of the policy which had guided M. Waldeck-Rousseau in 1884 when he was Minister of the Interior in the Cabinet of Jules Ferry, and which had then found partial expression in the ministerial circular on the application of the new law on syndicats. This "Circular," sent out to the Prefects August 25, 1884, pointed out to the Prefects that it was the duty of the State not merely to watch over the strict observation of the law, but "to favor the spirit of association" among the workingmen and "to stimulate" the latter to make use of the new right. In the conception of the government the syndicats were to be "less a weapon of struggle" than "an instrument of material, moral and intellectual progress." It was "the wish of the Government and of the Chambers to see the propagation, in the largest possible measure, of the trade associations and of the institutions which they were destined to engender" (such as old-age pension funds, mutual credit banks, libraries, co-operative societies, etc.) and the government expected the Prefects "to lend active assistance" in the organization of syndicats and in the creation of syndical institutions.[124] [124] See the "Circulaire" in G. Severac, _Guide Pratique des Syndicats Professionnels_ (Paris, 1908), pp. 125-136. The aim of Waldeck-Rousseau was to bring about the "alliance of the bourgeoisie and of the working-class"[125] which Gambetta and other republican statesmen had untiringly preached as the only condition of maintaining the Republic. In the period 1899-1902 this policy seemed still more indispensable. It was the time when the agitation caused by the Dreyfus affair assumed the character of a struggle between the republican and anti-republican forces of France. Republicans, Radicals, Socialists, and Anarchists were fighting hand in hand against Monarchists, Nationalists, Anti-Semites and Clericals. The cabinet of Waldeck-Rousseau constituted itself a "Cabinet of Republican Defense" and it sought to attain its end by securing the support of all republican elements of the country. This was the cause which prompted Waldeck-Rousseau to invite a socialist, Millerand, to enter his cabinet and to accentuate his policy of attaching the working-class to the Republic by a series of protective labor laws. [125] G. Hanoteaux, _Modern France_ (tr. by J. C. Tarver, New York, 1903-09), vol. ii, p. 181. The policy of the Government was clearly expressed by Millerand in the Chamber of Deputies on November 23, 1899. "It has appeared to me," said he, "that the best means for bringing back the working masses to the Republic, is to show them not by words, but by facts, that the republican government is above everything else the government of the small and of the weak."[126] [126] A. Lavy, _L'Oeuvre de Millerand_ (Paris, 1902), p. 2. The facts by which M. Millerand undertook to show this were a number of decrees by which the government tried to enforce a stricter observation of labor-laws already in existence and a series of new law-projects for the future protection of labor, such as the bill on a ten-hour day, which became law on March 30, 1900. As M. Millerand expressed it, this law was "a measure of moralization, of solidarity, and of social pacification." Social pacification was the supreme aim of M. Millerand and of the government. M. Millerand hoped to attain this by calling workingmen to participation in the legislative activities of the Republic, by accustoming them to peaceable discussions with employers, and by regulating the more violent forms of the economic struggle. A decree from September 1, 1899, modified the constitution of the Superior Council of Labor, in existence since 1891, so that it should henceforth consist of 22 elected workingmen, 22 elected employers and 22 members appointed by the Minister from among the deputies of the Chamber, the senators and other persons representing "general interests." The Superior Council of Labor was "an instrument of study, of information and of consultation" in matters of labor legislation. It studied law-projects affecting the conditions of labor, made its own suggestions to the government, but had no legislative powers. The decree of M. Millerand was particularly significant in one respect: it called upon the workingmen organized in the syndicats to elect fifteen members of the Superior Council of Labor. M. Millerand pointed out the significance of this measure in a speech delivered on June 5, 1900. Said he: The workingmen are henceforth warned, that in order to participate through delegates sprung from their own ranks in the elaboration of economic reforms which concern them most, it is necessary and sufficient that they enter the ranks of that great army of which the syndicats are the battalions. How can they refuse to do this? By inducing them to do so we believe that we are defending their legitimate interests at the same time that we are serving the cause of social peace in this country.[127] [127] A. Lavy, _op. cit._, p. 66. The "Councils of Labor" were organized by two decrees from September 17, 1900, and from January 2, 1901. Composed of an equal number of workingmen and of employers, these Councils had for their principal mission to enlighten the government, as well as workingmen and employers, on the actual and necessary conditions of labor, to facilitate thereby industrial harmony and general agreement between the interested parties, to furnish in cases of collective conflicts competent mediators, and to inform the public authorities on the effects produced by labor legislation.[128] [128] _Ibid._, p. 79. M. Millerand emphasized that the Councils of Labor were to bring workingmen and employers together for the discussion of "their general interests" and that this new institution would be one more motive for the utilization of the law of 1884 on syndicats. "To encourage by all means the formation of these trade-associations, so useful for the progress of social peace," wrote the Minister in his decree, "is a task which a republican government cannot neglect."[129] [129] A. Lavy, _op. cit._, p. 80. To enlarge the possible operations of the syndicats, the government also introduced a bill into the Chamber (November 14, 1899) which contained several modifications of the law of 1884. This bill proposed to extend the commercial capacities of the syndicat and to grant the syndicat the rights of a juridical person. To complete the series of measures which were to impart a peaceful character to the syndical movement, M. Millerand introduced into the chamber a bill (November 15, 1900) on the regulation of strikes and on arbitration. This law-project proposed a complicated mechanism for the settlement of economic conflicts. It hinged on the principle that strikes should be decided by secret ballot and by a majority vote renewed at brief intervals by all workingmen concerned; permanent arbitration boards in the industrial establishments were part of the mechanism.[130] [130] Only the most important measures of M. Millerand are mentioned; they do not by any means exhaust his legislative activities during this period. Toward this series of labor laws the Congress of Lyons was to define its attitude. The principle of the Superior Council of Labor was accepted by a majority of 258 against 205 votes (5 blank); the project on the regulation of strikes and on arbitration was rejected by a unanimous vote minus five; the Councils of Labor proposition was rejected by a majority of 279 against 175 (18 blank). The discussion on the labor laws brought out the fact that the idea of "direct action" had undergone further modifications as a result of the policy of the government. M. Waldeck-Rousseau was denounced by the speakers as "a clever defender of the interests of the bourgeoisie" who wished merely to stop the offensive movement of the workingmen.[131] The legislative measures of the "pseudo-socialist minister",[132] Millerand, were interpreted as schemes for restraining the revolutionary action of the syndicats.[133] The workingmen were warned that, if they accepted the laws, they would "reinforce a power which they wanted to destroy".[134] They were reminded that the main function of the syndicat was to organize the workmen for their final emancipation which presupposes the "abolition of the wage-system" and that all "so-called labor laws" would only retard the hour of final liberation. [131] _XII Congrès National Corporatif_ (VI de la C. G. T.), Lyons, 1901, p. 110. [132] _Ibid._, p. 114. [133] _Ibid._, p. 210. [134] _Ibid._, p. 112. The revolutionary elements of the Congress did not deny, however, the possibility or the desirability of reforms. They insisted only upon particular methods of obtaining reforms and upon a particular kind of reforms. They rejected all peaceful discussion with employers because the interests of employers and of workingmen were held to be distinct and antagonistic. They did not want an "economic parliamentarism"[135] which would necessarily take the sting out of the workingmen's weapons and deprive the syndicats of their force. They wanted such reforms only as should "undermine the foundations"[136] of existing society and which should advance the movement for "integral emancipation" by strengthening the forces and the organization of the workingmen. [135] _Ibid._, p. 218. [136] _Ibid._, p. 110. Such reforms could be obtained only "independently of all parliamentarism",[137] by the workingmen organized in their syndicats displaying all their initiative, manifesting all their energies, relying only upon themselves and not upon intermediaries. Only in this way would the syndicats wrest "piece by piece from capitalistic society reforms the application of which would finally give the exploited class the force which is indispensable in order to bring about the social revolution".[138] [137] _XI Congrès National Corporatif_, p. 114. [138] _Ibid._, p. 119. These ideas showed the further application which the principle of "direct action" was given by the revolutionary elements in the syndicats. The syndicats were not only to carry on their struggle "directly" against employers by strikes, boycotts and _sabotage_, but also against the State, and not only against the State appearing as the "enemy of labor", but also against the State wishing to become the protector and benefactor of the workingmen. This hostility to the State and to its reform-legislation marked a further accentuation of the ideas of revolutionary syndicalism. The Congress of Lyons took, also, a decided stand on the relations of the syndicats to political action. Under "political action" of course the action of the Socialist parties was meant. After the foundation of the General Confederation of Labor certain important changes had taken place in the socialist movement of France which could not but have their effect upon the syndicats. In 1893 the socialist parties had their first big success in the general elections. They obtained about 600,000 votes[139] and elected over 50 deputies. The socialist deputies in the Chamber constituted a Parliamentary Group--_Union Socialiste_--which acted in common. This strengthened the tendency toward union which had already manifested itself, during the elections, when the Socialists had entered into unions among themselves. [139] A. Hamon, _Le Socialisme et le Congrès de Londres_ (Paris, 1897), p. 11. The unity in action was further made possible by a unity in views which was becoming more and more manifest. After 1892, when the Guesdists obtained a large number of votes in the municipal elections and gained a number of municipalities, their ideas on some of the most important points of their program began to change. In 1894, at their Congress of Nantes, the Guesdists elaborated a detailed program of reforms designed to win the votes of the agricultural population. This program made no mention of the collective appropriation of the soil; on the contrary, it stated that, "in the agricultural domain, the means of production, which is the soil, is in many places still in the possession of the producers themselves as individual property" and that "if this state of conditions, characterized by peasant proprietorship, must inevitably disappear, socialism must not precipitate its disappearance."[140] With similar promises of reform the Guesdists addressed other classes of the population: artisans, small merchants and the lower strata of the middle classes. [140] L. Blum, _Congrès Ouvriers et Socialistes_, p. 146. Formerly ardent revolutionists, they now began to emphasize the legal aspect of their activity and the emancipating influence of universal suffrage. Jules Guesde himself in his speeches in the Chamber of Deputies on various occasions expressed his belief that universal suffrage was the instrument with which all questions might be peacefully solved,[141] and that nothing but legal weapons would throw the Republic into the hands of the socialist army. G. Deville, then one of the principal theorists of the party, affirmed in 1896 that the only actual task of the party was to increase the number of socialist electors and representatives.[142] With the affirmation of the emancipating significance of universal suffrage the importance of parliamentary action was more and more emphasized. [141] _Chambre des Deputés, Débats Parlementaires_; July 11, 1895; November 22, 1895. [142] Deville, _Principes Socialistes_. Thus the "revolutionary" socialists were approaching the reformist elements composed of Broussists and of Independents. In 1896 this _rapprochement_ was manifested at the banquet of Saint Mandé arranged on the occasion of the success obtained by the socialists during the municipal elections of that year. All socialist parties took part in it and Millerand delivered a speech in which he outlined the common points of the socialist program. This program emphasized the peaceful and evolutionary character of socialism: "We address ourselves only to universal suffrage," said Millerand, ... "In order to begin the socialization of the means of production, it is necessary and sufficient for the Socialist party to pursue with the help of universal suffrage the conquest of the political powers."[143] Guesde, present at the banquet, approved and "applauded" the definition of Socialism given by Millerand. [143] A. Millerand, _Le Socialisme Réformiste Français_ (Paris, 1903), pp. 31-32. The Dreyfus affair brought the socialists for some time into still closer contact. A "Committee of Harmony" (_Comité d'Entente_) was formed in which all the socialist organizations were represented. The demand for unity was expressed in the socialist periodical press, and J. Jaurès outlined a plan according to which the old separate and rival factions were to disappear in one unified party.[144] The belief in the possibility of such a unified party was general. [144] _Le Mouvement Socialiste_, Jan., 1899. The entrance of Millerand into the Ministry of Waldeck-Rousseau was a sudden shock which again disrupted the elements tending toward union. The Guesdists, Blanquists and a few other groups denounced the act of Millerand as a violation of the principles of class and class-struggle--the fundamental principles of Socialism. The Independents, Broussists and similar elements, on the contrary, insisted upon the necessity of taking part in the general life of the country and of assuming responsibilities when they are inevitable. At two general Congresses of all socialist organizations held in Paris (December, 1899, and September, 1900) this question was discussed. The Congresses ended with a quarrel among the various socialist organizations which led to complete rupture at the following Congress in Lyons in May, 1901. The Guesdists, Blanquists and several regional federations formed the _Parti Socialiste de France_; the Independents, Broussists, and Allemanists formed the _Parti Socialiste Français_, which supported Millerand and the cabinet of Waldeck-Rousseau. Within each new grouping, however, the old organizations remained intact. The "case Millerand" raised such violent polemics, such bitter mutual accusations among the Socialists that many members of the party felt disgusted. Even the French socialist movement, so rich in inner divisions and dissensions, had never before experienced such a critical condition. In view of this situation the organized workingmen were anxious now more than ever to keep politics out of the syndicats. The resolution adopted unanimously by the Congress of Lyons insisted upon the fact that the introduction of politics into the syndicats would cause division in the syndicalist ranks, and therefore invited the syndicats and the federations to remain independent of all political parties, "leaving to individuals the undeniable right to devote themselves to that kind of struggle which they prefer in the political field." The syndicat as an organization, however, should remain neutral; otherwise it would be "false to its true rôle which consists in grouping all the exploited without distinction of race, nationality, philosophical or religious opinions, and political views."[145] [145] _XII Congrès Corporatif_ (Lyons, 1901), p. 151. The reaction of socialist workingmen, however, to the situation created by the "case Millerand" was of a more complicated character. While the entrance of a socialist minister into the government aroused hopes and expectations in the minds of many, to others it seemed the beginning of the end of socialism. Habitually regarding socialism as a class-movement, imbued with the ideas of class and class-struggle, they were shocked and grieved at the "collaboration of classes" which Millerand practised in the government and the Socialists in Parliament. To these socialist workingmen the danger seemed the greater because it presented itself as a crowning act of a policy that had been pursued for some time by all the socialists. As we have seen, even the revolutionary Guesdists had become more and more moderate. They had co-operated in Parliament with the republican parties and had concluded alliances during elections with "bourgeois" parties. At the general Congress of socialists in Paris in 1899, M. Briand in a clever and somewhat biting speech pointed out to the revolutionary socialists that their policy had made the "case Millerand" possible. "It seems," said Briand, "that great astonishment has been aroused in our comrades of the _Parti Ouvrier_ (Guesdists) by the entrance of our comrade Millerand into a bourgeois government. But, citizens of the _Parti Ouvrier_, what has taken place is the very consequence of the policy which by successive concessions you have forced upon the entire socialist party."[146] And Briand pointed out these "successive concessions" which deprived the Guesdists of their revolutionary character. To quote M. Briand again: [146] _Congrès Général des Organisations Socialistes_ (Paris, 1899), p. 152. Yes, you become interested in these [electoral] struggles which gave immediate results, and little by little our militant comrades also became interested in them, took a liking for them to such a degree that they soon came to believe that in order to triumph definitely over the capitalist society nothing was necessary but to storm the ballot-boxes. Thus within recent years the country could gain the impression that the socialist party was no longer a revolutionary party.[147] [147] _Ibid._, p. 155. This impression many socialist workingmen had, and the "case Millerand" strengthened it in them. But preservation of the revolutionary character of socialism was for them a necessity, equivalent to maintaining their belief in the coming of socialism at all. These workingmen of all socialist parties, Allemanists, Blanquists, and even Guesdists, therefore, now threw themselves with greater energy into the syndicalist movement which seemed to them the only refuge for the revolutionary spirit. There they met the Communist-Anarchists who had been taking an active part in the syndicalist movement for some time. The Communist-Anarchists before 1895 had generally shown little sympathy for the syndicats where the workingmen, they said, were either engaged in politics or trying to obtain paltry reforms. But tired of carrying on a merely verbal propaganda and spurred on by Pelloutier,[148] they began to change their attitude after 1895, and after 1899 became influential in many syndicalist organizations. Their criticism of electoral action, their denunciation of political intriguing, now under the conditions created by the "case Millerand," fell on prepared ground and yielded fruit. A decided anti-political tendency gained strength in the syndicats. [148] To understand the change in the attitude of the anarchists towards the syndicats, the disillusioning effect of their terroristic campaign from 1890 to 1894, during which the exploits of Ravachole, Henri, Casiers, and others took place, must also be considered. This tendency was further strengthened by the economic events of the period. During these years, particularly after the Exhibition of Paris, a series of big strikes took place in various parts of France, among the miners in the north, the dockers in the ports of the south, in the Creusot works, etc. These strikes were partly the result of the large expectations aroused in the workingmen by the entrance of a socialist minister into the government. But the government sent troops against some of the strikers and in two or three cases blood was shed. The agitation aroused by the bloodshed was great and intensified the defiance toward Millerand and toward the political parties in general. On the other hand, some of the strikes became more or less general in character and were won by the energetic action of the strikers. This strengthened the conviction in the efficacy of economic action and in the possibility of the general strike. Under the combined influence of all these conditions, the socialist and anarchist workingmen, during this period, began to ascribe to the syndicats a decided preponderance in all respects, and they actively engaged in making their revolutionary ideas predominant in the syndical organizations. The resolutions and discussions at the Congress of Lyons revealed this state of mind and the progress attained. The revolutionary elements of the syndicats had by this time become conscious of themselves, and in opposition to the program of the political socialists, they advanced the idea of the General Confederation of Labor as a distinctly unifying conception which in the future was to play a great social rôle. "The General Confederation of Labor uniting all the workingmen's syndical forces," said the Secretary, Guérard, in his report to the Congress of Lyons, "is destined to become the revolutionary instrument capable of transforming society."[149] In greeting the delegates at the opening of the Congress, Bourchet addressed them as "the representatives of the great party of Labor" (_grand parti du travail_).[150] The same term was used by other delegates,[151] and in the summing-up of the work of the Congress, the emphasis was laid upon the demarcation between the syndicalists and the politicians which the Congress had clearly shown. [149] _XI Congrès Corporatif_, (Lyons, 1901), p. 29. [150] _Ibid._, p. 14. [151] _Ibid._, p. 69. Thus, with the Congress of Lyons the General Confederation of Labor may be said to have entered definitely upon the revolutionary path. The main ideas of revolutionary syndicalism were clearly formulated and consciously accepted. The main functionaries elected after the Congress were revolutionists, viz., the secretary Griffuelhes and the assistant secretary and editor of the _Voix du Peuple_ Pouget. The Congress of Montpellier held next year (1902) showed constant accentuation of the revolutionary tendencies. The Congress of Montpellier was almost entirely occupied with the elaboration of a new constitution which would unite the General Confederation and the Federation of Bourses. Statutes acceptable to both organizations were adopted to go into force on January 1, 1903. At the Congress of Montpellier the report of the Secretary Griffuelhes claimed that during the year the Confederation had made progress. But this progress was very slight. The real growth of the Confederation began after its fusion with the Federation of Bourses. Since then also dates the more active participation of the Confederation in the political and social life of the country. But before taking up the history of the General Confederation since 1902, it seems advisable to sum up the main ideas of revolutionary syndicalism in a more systematic way. CHAPTER V THE DOCTRINE OF REVOLUTIONARY SYNDICALISM When the General Confederation of Labor adopted its new constitution in 1902, the main ideas of revolutionary syndicalism had already been clearly formulated. Since then, however, a considerable amount of literature has appeared on the subject, either clarifying or further developing various points of the doctrine. This literature consists mainly of numerous articles in the periodical press and of pamphlets and is, accordingly, of an unsystematic character. The attempt is made in this chapter to sum up in a systematic way the leading ideas of revolutionary syndicalism common to all who call themselves revolutionary syndicalists. Consideration of individual ideas and of contributions of particular writers will be left to a following chapter. The fundamental idea of revolutionary syndicalism is the idea of class-struggle. Society is divided into two classes, the class of employers who possess the instruments of production and the class of workingmen who own nothing but their labor-power and who live by selling it. Between the two classes an incessant struggle is going on. This struggle is a fact, not a theory in need of proof. It is a fact manifested every day in the relations between employers and wage-earners, a fact inherent in the economic organization of existing society. The class-struggle is not a fact to be deplored; on the contrary, it should be hailed as the creative force in society, as the force which is working for the emancipation of the working-class. It is the class-struggle which is consolidating the workingmen into a compact unity opposed to the exploitation and domination of employers. It is the class-struggle which is evolving new ideas of right (_droit_) in opposition to the existing law. It is the class-struggle which is developing the self-consciousness, the will-power and the moral character of the workingmen and is creating forms of organization proper to them. In a word, it is the class-struggle which is forging the material and moral means of emancipation for the workingmen and putting these weapons into their hands. The task of the syndicalists is to organize the more or less vague class-feeling of the workingmen and to raise it to the clear consciousness of class-interests and of class-ideals. This aim can be attained only by organizing the workingmen into syndicats. The syndicat is an association of workingmen of the same or of similar trades, and is held together by bonds of common interest. In this is its strength. Of all human groupings it is the most fundamental and the most permanent, because men in society are interested above everything else in the satisfaction of their economic needs. The strength, permanence, and class-character of economic groups are made conspicuous by comparison with forms of grouping based on other principles. Political parties, groups of idealists, or communities professing a common creed, are associations which cannot but be weak and transient in view of their heterogeneous composition and of the accidental character of their bond of union. Political bodies, for instance, are made up of men of various interests grouped only by community of ideas. This is true even of the Socialist party which consists of manufacturers, financiers, doctors, and lawyers, as well as of workingmen. Even the Socialist party cannot, therefore, make prominent the class-division of society, and tends to merge all classes into one conglomeration which is unstable and incapable of persistent collective action. Only in groupings of real and fundamental interests such as the syndicats, are men of the same conditions brought together for purposes inextricably bound up with life. The syndicat groups men of one and the same trade in their capacity of workingmen only, regardless of any other qualifications. The workingmen entering a syndicat may be Catholics or Protestants, Republicans, Socialists, or Monarchists, they may be of any color, race or nationality; in their capacity of workingmen they are all equally welcome and legitimate members of the syndicat. A workingman enrolling in a syndicat is not entering a party, not subscribing to a platform, nor accepting a creed. He is simply entering into a relation which is forced upon him by his very position in society, and is grouping himself with his fellowmen in such a way as to derive more strength for himself in the struggle for existence, contributing at the same time to the strength of his fellowmen. These conditions make the syndicat peculiarly fit to serve the interests of the workingmen. The syndicat is a sphere of influence which by the volume of its suggestion and by the constancy and intensity of its action shapes the feelings and ideas of the workingmen after a certain pattern. In the syndicat the workingmen forget the things which divide them and are intent upon that which unites them. In the syndicat the workingmen meet to consider common interests, to discuss their identical situation, to plan together for defense and aggression, and in all ways are made to feel their group-solidarity and their antagonism to the class of employers. In view of this the syndicats should prefer industrial unionism to craft unionism. The separation of workingmen into trades is apt to develop in them a corporate spirit which is not in harmony with the class-idea. The industrial union, on the contrary, widens the mental horizon of the workingman and his range of solidarity with his fellow workers and thus serves better to strengthen his class-consciousness. The syndicat is the instrument with which the workingmen can enter into a "direct" struggle with employers. "Direct action" is what the syndicalists most insist upon, as the only means of educating the workingmen and of preparing them for the final act of emancipation. "Direct action" is action by the workingmen themselves without the help of intermediaries; it is not necessarily violent action, though it may assume violent forms; it is the manifestation of the consciousness and of the will of the workingmen themselves, without the intervention of an external agent: it consists in pressure exerted directly by those interested for the sake of obtaining the ends in view. "Direct action" may assume various forms, but the principal ones in the struggle against employers are: the strike, the boycott, the label, and _sabotage_. The strike, in the view of the syndicalists, is the manifestation of the class-struggle _par excellence_. The strike brings the workingmen face to face with the employers in a clash of interests. A strike clears up, as if by a flash of lightning, the deep antagonism which exists between those who employ and those who work for employers. It further deepens the chasm between them, consolidating the employers on the one hand, and the workingmen on the other, over against one another. It is a revolutionary fact of great value. All strikes, partial, general in a locality, or general in some one trade, have this revolutionary influence, particularly when they are conducted in a certain way. If the workingmen rely only on their treasury, the strike degenerates into a mere contest between two money bags--that of the employer and that of the syndicat--and loses much of its value. Still more are the syndicalists opposed to methods of conciliation and arbitration. The idea of the revolutionary syndicalists is that a strike should be won by _Sturm und Drang_, by quick and energetic pressure on employers. The financial strength of workingmen when striking should not be considered. Money may be supplied by contributions of workingmen of other trades and localities, in itself another means of developing the solidarity of the working-class. Sometimes a strike may be won by calling out sympathetic strikes in other trades. Strikes conducted in this manner yield practical results and serve also as means of educating the workingmen. They reveal to the workingmen their power, as producers, and their importance in the productive system of society. The label, on the other hand, is a means of bringing home to the workingmen their importance as consumers, and of making them wield this power for their own benefit. The boycott reveals the power of the workingmen, either as producers or as consumers. It may be wielded against an employer whose shop is avoided, or against a firm in its capacity as seller. It is an effective means of forcing employers to terms. _Sabotage_ consists in obstructing in all possible ways the regular process of production to the dismay and disadvantage of the employer. The manifestations of _sabotage_ are many, varying with the nature of the industry and with the ingenuity of the workers. In its primitive form, _sabotage_ is a tacit refusal on the part of the workers to exert properly their energy or skill in the performance of their work, in retaliation for any injustice which, in their opinion, had been inflicted upon them by their employers. This form of _sabotage_ includes such practices as those summarized in the Scotch _Ca Canny_ (slow work for low wages) and in the French principle of a _mauvaise paye mauvais travail_ (bad work for bad pay). It also includes the recent practices of the railroad workers in Austria, Italy, and France who disorganized the railway service of their respective countries by obeying literally all the rules and regulations of the service code and by refusing to apply discretion and common sense in the performance of their duties. The distinguishing characteristic of this form of _sabotage_ is that in applying it the workers remain within the limits of their contract and avoid any manifest violation of the law, though the loss inflicted upon the employer may be very heavy. A more aggressive form of _sabotage_ is that which expresses itself in deliberate damage done either to the product of labor or to the nature of the service. An instance of the latter was the so-called _grève perlée_ applied by the French railway men, which consisted in wilful misdirection of baggage and of perishable merchandise. This form of _sabotage_ implies disregard for the laws of property and for the clauses of the labor contract, but it is carried on in a manner which makes detection of motive very difficult.[152] [152] An intermediate form of _sabotage_ is that known as _sabotage à bouche ouverte_ (_sabotage_ of the open mouth). It consists in the disclosure of conditions generally withheld from the public, such as conditions in hotel-kitchens and restaurants, methods of weighing and measuring in stores, practices followed by druggists, frauds resorted to by contractors and builders, etc. From this form of _sabotage_ it is but a short step to the most aggressive and violent kind which finds expression in the deliberate and open disorganization of machinery. This form of _sabotage_ has nothing in common with the destruction of machinery practiced by unorganized workers during the early stages of the capitalist régime. It aims not at the destruction of the machine as a means of production, but at the temporary disability of the machine during strikes for the purpose of preventing employers to carry on production with the help of strikebreakers. Even in this most aggressive form, _sabotage_ may involve very little violence. The syndicalists strongly condemn any act of _sabotage_ which may result in the loss of life. Such are the "direct" methods of struggle against employers. But the revolutionary syndicalists have another enemy, the State, and the struggle against the latter is another aspect of "direct action." The State appears to the syndicalists as the political organization of the capitalist class. Whether monarchist, constitutional, or republican, it is one in character, an organization whose function it is to uphold and to protect the privileges of the property-owners against the demands of the working-class. The workingmen are, therefore, necessarily forced to hurl themselves against the State in their efforts toward emancipation, and they cannot succeed until they have broken the power of the State. The struggle against the State, like the struggle against the employers, must be carried on directly by the workingmen themselves. This excludes the participation of the syndicats in politics and in electoral campaigning. The parliamentary system is a system of representation opposed in principle to "direct action," and serves the interests of the bourgeoisie, for the management of which it is particularly suited. The workingmen can derive no benefit from it. The parliamentary system breeds petty, self-seeking politicians, corrupts the better elements that enter into it and is a source of intrigues and of "wire-pulling." The so-called representatives of the workingman do not and cannot avoid the contagious influence of parliament. Their policy degenerates into bargaining, compromising and collaboration with the bourgeois political parties and weakens the class-struggle. The syndicats, therefore, if not hostile, must remain at least indifferent to parliamentary methods and independent of political parties. They must, however, untiringly pursue their direct struggle against the State. The direct method of forcing the State to yield to the demands of the workingmen consists in exerting external pressure on the public authorities. Agitation in the press, public meetings, manifestations, demonstrations and the like, are the only effective means of making the government reckon with the will of the working-class. By direct pressure on the government the workingmen may obtain reforms of immediate value to themselves. Only such reforms, gained and upheld by force, are real. All other reforms are but a dead letter and a means of deceiving the workingmen. The democratic State talks much about social reforms, labor legislation and the like. In fact, however, all labor laws that are of real importance have been passed only under the pressure of the workingmen. Those which owe their existence to democratic legislators alone are devised to weaken the revolutionary strength of the working-class. Among such laws are those on conciliation and arbitration. All democratic governments are anxious to have Boards of Conciliation and of Arbitration, in order to check strikes which are the main force of the working-class. Workingmen must be opposed to these reforms, which are intended to further the harmony and collaboration of classes, because the ideology of class-harmony is one of the most dangerous snares which are set for the workingmen in a democratic State.[153] This ideology blinds the workingmen to the real facts of inequality and of class-distinctions which are the very foundations of existing society. It allures them into hopes which cannot be fulfilled and leads them astray from the only path of emancipation which is the struggle of classes. [153] The fundamental principle of democracy is that all citizens are equal before the law and that there are no classes in the state. Another idea which is used by the democratic State for the same purpose is the idea of patriotism. "Our country", "our nation", are mottoes inculcated into the mind of the workingman from his very childhood. But these words have no meaning for the workingman. The workingman's country is where he finds work. In search of work he leaves his native land and wanders from place to place. He has no fatherland (_patrie_) in any real meaning of the term. Ties of tradition, of a common intellectual and moral heritage do not exist for him. In his experience as workingman he finds that there is but one real tie, the tie of economic interest which binds him to all the workingmen of the world, and separates him at the same time from all the capitalists of the world. The international solidarity of the workingmen and their anti-patriotism are necessary consequences of the class struggle. The democratic State, like any other State, does not rely upon ideological methods alone in keeping down the workingmen. It has recourse to brute force as well. The judiciary, the administrative machinery and especially the army are used as means of defeating the movements of the working-class. The army is particularly effective as a means of breaking strikes, of crushing the spirit of independence in the workingmen, and as a means of keeping up the spirit of militarism. An anti-militaristic propaganda is, therefore, one of the most important forms of struggle against the State, as well as against capitalism. Anti-militarism consists in carrying on in the army a propaganda of syndicalist ideas. The soldiers are reminded that they are workingmen in uniforms, who will one day return to their homes and shops, and who should not, therefore, forget the solidarity which binds them to their fellow workingmen in blouses. The soldiers are called upon not to use their arms in strikes, and in case of a declaration of war to refuse to take up arms. The syndicalists threaten in case of war to declare a general strike. They are ardent apostles of international peace which is indispensable, in their opinion, to the success of their movement. By "direct action" against employers and the State the workingmen may wrest from the ruling classes reforms which may improve their condition more or less. Such reforms can not pacify the working-class because they do not alter the fundamental conditions of the wage system, but they are conducive to the fortification of the working-class and to its preparation for the final struggle. Every successful strike, every effective boycott, every manifestation of the workingmen's will and power is a blow directed against the existing order; every gain in wages, every shortening of hours of work, every improvement in the general conditions of employment is one more position of importance occupied on the march to the decisive battle, the general strike, which will be the final act of emancipation. The general strike--the supreme act of the class-war--will abolish the classes and will establish new forms of society. The general strike must not be regarded as a _deus ex machina_ which will suddenly appear to solve all difficulties, but as the logical outcome of the syndicalist movement, as the act that is being gradually prepared by the events of every day. However remote it may appear, it is not a Utopia and its possibility cannot be refuted on the ground that general strikes have failed in the past and may continue to fail in the future. The failures of to-day are building the success of to-morrow, and in time the hour of the successful general strike will come. What are the forms of the social organization which will take the place of those now in existence? The Congress of Lyons (1901) had expressed the wish to have this question on the program of the next Congress. In order that the answer to this question should reflect the ideas prevalent among the workingmen, the Confederal Committee submitted the question to the syndicats for study. A questionnaire was sent out containing the following questions: (1) How would your syndicat act in order to transform itself from a group for combat into a group for production? (2) How would you act in order to take possession of the machinery pertaining to your industry? (3) How do you conceive the functions of the organized shops and factories in the future? (4) If your syndicat is a group within the system of highways, of transportation of products or of passengers, of distribution, etc., how do you conceive its functioning? (5) What will be your relations to your federation of trade or of industry after your reorganization? (6) On what principle would the distribution of products take place and how would the productive groups procure the raw material for themselves? (7) What part would the _Bourses du Travail_ play in the transformed society and what would be their task with reference to the statistics and to the distribution of products? At the Congress of Montpellier, in 1902, a number of reports were presented answering the above questions. The reports were in the name of the syndicats and came from different parts of France. Only a limited number of them were printed as appendices to the general report of the Congress. Among them, it may be interesting to note, was the report of the syndicat of agricultural laborers. The rest were summed up in the official organ of the Confederation, _La Voix du Peuple_. The reports differed in details. Some emphasized one point more than another and _vice versa_. But the general character of the reports was identical and showed a consensus of opinion on the main outlines of that "economic federalism" which is the ideal of the syndicalists. According to this ideal, the syndicat will constitute the cell of society. It will group the producers of one and the same trade who will control their means of production. Property, however, will be social or collective, and no one syndicat will be the exclusive owner of any portion of the collective property. It will merely use it with the consent of the entire society. The syndicat will be connected with the rest of society through its relations with the Federation of its trade, the _Bourse du Travail_, and the General Confederation. With the National Federation relations will be mainly technical and special, and the rôle of the Federation will be insignificant. With the General Confederation relations will be indirect and mainly by mediation of the _Bourse du Travail_. Relations with the latter will be of permanent importance, as the _Bourses du Travail_ will be the centers of economic activity. The _Bourse du Travail_--in the ideal system of the syndicalists--will concentrate all local interests and serve as a connecting link between a locality and the rest of the world. In its capacity as local center it will collect all statistical data necessary for the regular flow of economic life. It will keep itself informed on the necessities of the locality and on its resources, and will provide for the proper distribution of products; as intermediary between the locality and the rest of the country it will facilitate the exchange of products between locality and locality and will provide for the introduction of raw materials from outside. In a word, the Bourse will combine in its organization the character both of local and of industrial autonomy. It will destroy the centralized political system of the present State and will counter-balance the centralizing tendencies of industry. To the General Confederation will be left only services of national importance, railways for instance. However, even in the management of national public utilities the National Federation and the Bourses will have the first word. The function of the General Confederation will consist mainly in furnishing general information and in exerting a controlling influence. The General Confederation will also serve as intermediary in international relations. In this social system the State as now constituted will have no place. Of course, one may call the ideal system of the syndicalists a State. All depends on the definition given to the term. But when the syndicalists speak of the State, they mean an organization of society in which a delegated minority centralizes in its hands the power of legislation on all matters. This power may be broken up and divided among a number of governing bodies, as in the federal system of the United States, but it does not thereby change its character. The essential characteristic of the State is to impose its rule _from without_. The legislative assemblies of the present State decide upon questions that are entirely foreign to them, with which they have no real connection in life and which they do not understand. The rules they prescribe, the discipline they impose, come as an external agency to intervene in the processes of social life. The State is, therefore, arbitrary and oppressive in its very nature. To this State-action the syndicalists oppose a discipline coming _from within_, a rule suggested by the processes of collective life itself, and imposed by those whose function it is to carry on those processes. It is, as it were, a specialization of function carried over into the domain of public life and made dependent upon industrial specialization. No one should legislate on matters unless he has the necessary training. The syndicats, the delegates of the syndicats to the _Bourses du Travail_, and so on, only they can properly deal with their respective problems. The rules they would impose would follow from a knowledge of the conditions of their social functions and would be, so to speak, a "natural" discipline made inevitable by the conditions themselves. Besides, many of the functions of the existing State would be abolished as unnecessary in a society based on common ownership, on co-operative work, and on collective solidarity. The necessary functions of local administration would be carried on by the _Bourses du Travail_. In recent years, however, revolutionary syndicalists have not expatiated upon the forms of the future society. Convinced that the social transformation is inevitable, they have not thought it necessary to have any ready-made model upon the lines of which the social organization of the future should be carved. The revolutionary classes of the past had no idea of the new social system they were struggling for, and no ready-made plan is necessary for the working-class. Prepared by all preliminary struggle, the workingmen will find in themselves, when the time comes, sufficient creative power to remake society. The lines of the future, however, are indicated in a general way by the development of the present, and the syndicalist movement is clearly paving the way for an "economic federalism". The workingmen are being prepared for their future rôle by the experiences of syndicalist life. The very struggle which the syndicats carry on trains the workingmen in solidarity, in voluntary discipline, in power and determination to resist oppression, and in other moral qualities which group life requires. Moreover, the syndicats, particularly the _Bourses du Travail_, are centers where educational activities are carried on. Related to the facts of life and to the concrete problems of the day, this educational work, in the form of regular courses, lectures, readings, etc., is devised to develop the intellectual capacities of the workingmen. The struggle of the present and the combat of the future imply the initiative, the example and the leadership of a conscious and energetic minority ardently devoted to the interests of its class. The experience of the labor movement has proven this beyond all doubt. The mass of workingmen, like every large mass, is inert. It needs an impelling force to set it in motion and to put to work its tremendous potential energy. Every strike, every labor demonstration, every movement of the working-class is generally started by an active and daring minority which voices the sentiments of the class to which it belongs. The conscious minority, however, can act only by carrying with it the mass, and by making the latter participate directly in the struggle. The action of the conscious minority is, therefore, just the opposite of the action of parliamentary representatives. The latter are bent on doing everything themselves, on controlling absolutely the affairs of the country, and are, therefore, anxious, to keep the masses as quiet, as inactive and as submissive as possible. The conscious minority, on the contrary, is simply the advance-guard of its class; it cannot succeed, unless backed by the solid forces of the masses; the awareness, the readiness and the energy of the latter are indispensable conditions of success and must be kept up by all means. The idea of the "conscious minority" is opposed to the democratic principle. Democracy is based upon majority-rule, and its method of determining the general will is universal suffrage. But experience has shown that the "general will" is a fiction and that majority-rule really becomes the domination of a minority--which can impose itself upon all and exploit the majority in its own interests. This is inevitably so, because universal suffrage is a clumsy, mechanical device, which brings together a number of disconnected units and makes them act without proper understanding of the thing they are about. The effect of political majorities when they do make themselves felt is to hinder advance and to suppress the progressive, active and more developed minorities. The practice of the labor movement is necessarily the reverse of this. The syndicats do not arise out of universal suffrage and are not the representatives of the majority in the democratic sense of the term. They group but a minority of all workingmen and can hardly expect ever to embrace the totality or even the majority of the latter. The syndicats arise through a process of selection. The more sensitive, the intellectually more able, the more active workingmen come together and constitute themselves a syndicat. They begin to discuss the affairs of their trade. When determined to obtain its demands, the syndicat enters into a struggle, without at first finding out the "general will." It assumes leadership and expects to be followed, because it is convinced that it expresses the feelings of all. The syndicat constitutes the leading conscious minority. The syndicat obtains better conditions not for its members alone, but for all the members of the trade and often for all the workingmen of a locality or of the country. This justifies its self-assumed leadership, because it is not struggling for selfish ends, but for the interests of all. Besides, the syndicat is not a medieval guild and is open to all. If the general mass of workingmen do not enter the syndicats, they themselves renounce the right of determining conditions for the latter. Benefiting by the struggles of the minority, they cannot but submit to its initiative and leadership. The syndicat, therefore, is not to be compared with "cliques," "rings," "political machines," and the like. The syndicat, it must be remembered, is a group of individuals belonging to the same trade. By this very economic situation, the members of a syndicat are bound by ties of common interest with the rest of their fellow-workingmen. A sense of solidarity and an altruistic feeling of devotion to community interests must necessarily arise in the syndicat which is placed in the front ranks of the struggling workingmen. The leadership of the syndicalist minority, therefore, is necessarily disinterested and beneficent and is followed voluntarily by the workingmen. Thus, grouping the active and conscious minority the syndicats lead the workingmen as a class in the struggle for final emancipation. Gradually undermining the foundations of existing society, they are developing within the framework of the old the elements of a new society, and when this process shall have sufficiently advanced, the workingmen rising in the general strike will sweep away the undermined edifice and erect the new society born from their own midst. CHAPTER VI THE THEORISTS OF REVOLUTIONARY SYNDICALISM The writers who have contributed to the development of revolutionary syndicalism may be divided into two groups. One comprises men who, like Pelloutier, Pouget, Griffuelhes, Delesalle, Niel, Yvetot and others, either belong to the working-class, or have completely identified themselves with the workingmen. The other consists of a number of "intellectuals" who stand outside of the syndicalist movement. The members of the first group have played the leading part in building up the syndicalist movement. Pelloutier was secretary of the Federation of Bourses from 1894 to 1901; Griffuelhes was secretary of the General Confederation of Labor from 1901 to 1908; Pouget was assistant secretary of the Confederation and editor of the _Voix du Peuple_ from 1900 to 1908; Yvetot has been one of the secretaries of the Confederation since 1902; Niel was secretary of the General Confederation for a short time in 1909, and the others now occupy or have occupied prominent places in the syndicalist organizations. The close connection of the members of this group with the syndicalist movement and with the General Confederation of Labor has had its influence upon their writings. Their ideas have been stimulated by close observation of the facts of syndicalist life, and the course of their thought has been determined largely by the struggles of the day. There is a stronger emphasis in their writings upon methods, upon "direct action," and upon relations to other existing groups. There is less speculation and pure theorizing. In other respects the men of this group differ. They have come from different political groupings: Pouget and Yvetot, for instance, from the Communist-Anarchists; Griffuelhes from the Allemanists. They have different views on the relation of revolutionary syndicalism to other social theories, differences which will be brought out further on. The second group of writers, the so-called "intellectuals" outside the syndicalist movement, have grouped themselves about the monthly _Le Mouvement Socialiste_, started in 1899 by M. Hubert Lagardelle, a member of the Socialist Party, and about the weekly _La Guerre Sociale_, of which Gustave Hervé is editor. _Le Mouvement Socialiste_ was at first a Socialist monthly review, but accentuated its sympathy for the syndicalists as time went on, and became an expressly revolutionary syndicalist organ in 1904. The _Mouvement Socialiste_ counted among its constant contributors down to 1910 M. Georges Sorel and Edouard Berth. These three writers, Sorel, Lagardelle, and Berth, have tried to systematize the ideas of revolutionary syndicalism and to put them on a philosophical and sociological basis. The most prolific of them and the one who has been proclaimed "the most profound thinker of the new school" is M. Georges Sorel. M. Georges Sorel has written on various subjects. Among the works from his pen are volumes on Socrates, on _The Historical System of Renan_, on _The Ruin of the Ancient World_, a number of articles on ethics and on various other topics. The works that bear on revolutionary syndicalism which alone can be here considered, are: _L'Avenir Socialiste des Syndicats_, _La Décomposition du Marxisme_, _Introduction à l'Économie Moderne_, _Les Illusions du Progrès_, _Réflexions sur la Violence_, and a number of articles in various periodicals. The works of M. Sorel on revolutionary syndicalism stretch over a period of ten to twelve years: _The Socialist Future of the Syndicats_ was written in 1897; the second edition of his _Reflections on Violence_ appeared in 1910. Within this period of time the thought of M. Sorel has not only steadily developed in scope but has also changed in many essential points. It would require a separate study to point out the changes and their significance. This is out of the question in this study. The salient points only of M. Sorel's theories will be treated here, therefore, without consideration of their place in the intellectual history of their author. M. Sorel has attached his theories to the ideas of Marx. Revolutionary syndicalism is to M. Sorel but the revival and further development of the fundamental ideas of Marx. The "new school" considers itself, therefore, "neo-Marxist," true to "the spirit" of Marx[154] though rejecting the current interpretations of Marx and completing the lacunae which it finds in Marx. This work of revision it considers indispensable because, on the one hand, Marx was not always "well inspired,"[155] and often harked back to the past instead of penetrating into the future; and because, on the other hand, Marx did not know all the facts that have now become known; Marx knew well the development of the bourgeoisie, but could not know the development of the labor movement which has become such a tremendous factor in social life.[156] [154] G. Sorel, _L'Avenir Socialiste des Syndicats_ (Paris, 1901), p. 3. [155] G. Sorel, _Réflexions sur la Violence_ (Paris, 1910), p. 249. [156] _Ibid._, p. 246. The "new school" does not consider itself by any means bound to admire "the illusions, the faults, the errors of him who has done so much to elaborate the revolutionary ideas."[157] What it retains of Marx is his essential and fruitful idea of social evolution, namely, that the development of each social system furnishes the material conditions for effective and durable changes in the social relations within which a new system begins its development.[158] Accordingly, Socialists must drop all utopian ideas: they must understand that Socialism is to be developed gradually in the bosom of capitalism itself and is to be liberated from within capitalistic surroundings only when the time is ripe. [157] G. Sorel, _Réflexions sur la Violence_ (Paris, 1910), p. 249. [158] G. Sorel, _L'Avenir Socialiste des Syndicats_, pp. 3-4. The ripening of socialism within capitalism does not mean merely technical development. This is indispensable of course: socialism can be only an economic system based on highly developed and continually progressing productive forces; but this is one aspect of the case only. The other, a no less if not more important aspect, is the development of new moral forces within the old system; that is, the political, juridical and moral development of the working-class,[159] of that class which alone can establish a socialist society. [159] _Ibid._, p. 39. This was also the idea of Marx: "Marx also saw that the workingmen must acquire political and juridical capacity before they can triumph."[160] The revolution which the working-class is pursuing is not a simple change in the personnel or in the form of the government; it is a complete overthrow of the "traditional State" which is to be replaced by the workingmen's organizations. Such a complete transformation presupposes "high moral culture" in the workingmen and a capacity for directing the economic functions of society. The social revolution will thus come only when the workingmen are "ready" for it, that is, when they feel that they can assume the direction of society. The "moral" education of the working-class, therefore, is the essential thing; Socialism will not have to "organize labor", because capitalism will have accomplished this work before. But in order that the working-class should be able to behave like "free men" in the "workshop created by capitalism",[161] they must have developed the necessary capacities. Socialism, therefore, reduces itself "to the revolutionary apprenticeship"[162] of the workingmen; "to teaching the workingmen to will, to instructing them by action, and to revealing to them their proper capacities; such is the whole secret of the socialist education of the people."[163] [160] _Ibid._, p. 4. [161] G. Sorel, _Réflexions sur la Violence_, pp. 289-5. [162] _Ibid._, p. 42. [163] G. Sorel, _Preface_ to Pelloutier's _Histoire des Bourses du Travail_. The workingmen can find the moral training necessary for the triumph of socialism only in the syndicats and in the experience of syndical life. The syndicats develop the administrative and organizing capacities of the workingmen. In the syndicats the workingmen learn to do their business themselves and to reject the dictatorship of "intellectuals" who have conquered the field of politics which they have made to serve their ambitions. The greatest organizing and educating force created by the syndicalist movement is the idea of the general strike. The general strike means a complete and "absolute" revolution. It is the idea of a decisive battle between the bourgeoisie and the working-class assuring the triumph of the latter. This idea is a "social myth" and hence its tremendous historic force. "Social myths" always arise during great social movements. The men who participate in great social movements, represent to themselves their actions in the near future in the form of images of battles assuring the triumph of their cause. These images are "myths." The images of the early Christians on the coming of Christ and on the ruin of the pagan world are an illustration of a "social myth." The period of the Reformation saw the rise of "social myths," because the conditions were such as to make it necessary for the "men of heart" who were inspired by "the will of deliverance" to create "images" which satisfying their "sentiments of struggle" kept up their zeal and their devotion. The "social myth" presupposes a social group which harbors an intense desire of deliverance, which feels all the difficulties in its way and which finds deep satisfaction in picturing to itself its future struggles and future triumph. Such images must not and cannot be analyzed like a thing; they must be taken _en bloc_, and it is particularly necessary to avoid comparing the real historic facts with the representations which were in circulation before the facts took place. "Myths" are indispensable for a revolutionary movement; they concentrate the force of the rising class and intensify it to the point of action. No myth can possibly be free from utopian conceptions. But the utopian elements are not essential. The essentials are the hope back of the myth, the ideal strengthened by the myth, and the impatience of deliverance embodied in the myth. The general strike is the "social myth" of the working-class longing for emancipation. It is the expression of the convictions of the working-class "in the language of movement," the supreme concentration of the desires, the hopes, and the ideals of the working-class. Its importance for the future of Socialism, therefore, is paramount. The idea of the general strike keeps alive and fortifies in the workingmen their class-consciousness and revolutionary feelings. Every strike on account of it assumes the character of a skirmish before the great decisive battle which is to come. Owing to the general strike idea, "socialism remains ever young, the attempts made to realize social peace seem childish, the desertion of comrades who run over into the ranks of the bourgeoisie, far from discouraging the masses, excites them still more to revolt; in a word, the rupture (between bourgeoisie and working-class) is never in danger of disappearing."[164] [164] G. Sorel, _Réflexions sur la Violence_, p. 179. This rupture is an indispensable condition of Socialism. Socialism cannot be the continuation of democracy; it must be, if it can be at all, a totally "new culture" built upon ideas and institutions totally different from the ideas and from the institutions of democracy. Socialism must have its own economic, judicial, political and moral institutions evolved by the working-class independently from those of the bourgeoisie, and not in imitation of the latter. Sorel is bitter in his criticism of democracy; it is, in his view, the régime _par excellence_ in which men are governed "by the magical power of high-sounding words rather than by ideas; by formulas rather than by reasons; by dogmas the origin of which nobody cares to find out, rather than by doctrines based on observation."[165] It is the kingdom of the professionals of politics, over whom the people can have no control. Sorel thinks that even the spread of knowledge does not render the masses more capable of choosing and of supervising their so-called representatives and that the further society advances in the path of democracy, the less effective does control by the people become.[166] The whole system of democracy, in the opinion of M. Sorel, is based on the "fiction of the general will" and is maintained by a mechanism (campaigning, elections, etc.) which can result only in demoralization. It delivers the country into the hands of "charlatans," of office-seekers and of idle talkers who may assume the air of great men, but who are never fit for their task. [165] G. Sorel, _Illusions du Progrès_ (Paris, 1911), p. 10. [166] G. Sorel, _Illusions du Progrès_, p. 59. The working-class must, therefore, break entirely with democracy and evolve from within itself its own ideas and original institutions. This complete rupture between the ideas of the past and those of the future contradicts the conception of progress now in vogue. But the conception of progress is rather a deception than a conception. As held to-day, it is full of illusions, of errors, and of misconceptions. The idea of progress is characteristic of democracy and is cherished by the bourgeois classes because it permits them to enjoy their privileges in peace. Lulled by the optimistic illusion that everything is for the best in this best of all worlds, the privileged classes can peacefully and hopefully pass by the misery and the disorders of existing society. This conception of progress, like all other ideas of democracy, was evolved by the rising middle classes of the eighteenth century, mainly by the functionaries of royalty who furnished the theoretical guides of the Revolution. But, in truth, the only real progress is the development of industrial technique[167]--the constant invention of machinery and the increase of productive forces. The latter create the material conditions out of which a new culture arises, completely breaking with the culture of the past. [167] _Ibid._, p. 276. One of the factors promoting the development of productive forces is "proletarian violence." This violence is not to be thought of after the model of the "Reign of Terror" which was the creation of the bourgeoisie. "Proletarian violence" does not mean that there should be a "great development of brutality" or that "blood should be shed in torrents" (_versé à flots_).[168] It means that the workingmen in their struggle must manifest their force so as to intimidate the employers; it means that "the social conflicts must assume the character of pure struggles similar to those of armies in a campaign."[169] Such violence will show the capitalist class that all their efforts to establish social peace are useless; the capitalists will then turn to their economic interests exclusively; the type of a forceful, energetic "captain of industry" will be the result, and all the possibilities of capitalism will be developed. [168] G. Sorel, _Réflexions sur la Violence_, pp. 256-7. [169] _Ibid._, p. 150. On the other hand, violence stimulates ever anew the class-feelings of the workingmen and their sentiments of the sublime mission which history has imposed upon them. It is necessary that the revolutionary syndicalists should feel that they are fulfiling the great and sublime mission of renovating the world; this is their only compensation for all their struggles and sufferings. The feelings of sublimity and enthusiasm have disappeared from the bourgeois-world, and their absence has contributed to the decadence of the bourgeoisie. The working-class is again introducing these feelings by incorporating them in the idea of the general strike, and is, therefore, making possible a moral rejuvenation of the world. All these ideas may seem tinged with pessimism. But "nothing very great (_très haut_) has been accomplished in this world" without pessimism.[170] Pessimism is a "metaphysics of morals" rather than a theory of the world; it is a conception of "a march towards deliverance" and presupposes an experimental knowledge of the obstacles in the way of our imaginings or in other words "a sentiment of social determinism" and a feeling of our human weakness.[171] The pessimist "regards social conditions as forming a system enchained by an iron law, the necessity of which must be submitted to as it is given _en bloc_, and which can disappear only after a catastrophe involving the whole."[172] This catastrophic character the general strike has and must have, if it is to retain its profound significance. [170] G. Sorel, _Réflexions sur la Violence_, p. 8. [171] _Ibid._, p. 12. [172] _Ibid._, p. 13. The catastrophic character of the general strike enhances its moral value. The workingmen are stimulated by it to prepare themselves for the final combat by a moral effort over themselves. But only in such unique moments of life when "we make an effort to create a new man within ourselves" "do we take possession of ourselves" and become free in the Bergsonian sense of the term. The general strike, therefore, raises socialism to the rôle of the greatest moral factor of our time. Thus, M. Sorel having started out with Marx winds up with Bergson. The attempt to connect his views with the philosophy of Bergson has been made by M. Sorel in all his later works. But all along M. Sorel claims to be "true to the spirit of Marx" and tries to prove this by various quotations from the works of Marx. It is doubtful, however, whether there is an affinity between the "spirit" of Marx and that of Professor Bergson. It appears rather that M. Sorel has tacitly assumed this affinity because he interprets the "spirit" of Marx in a peculiar and arbitrary way. Without any pretense of doing full justice to the subject, three essential points may be indicated which perhaps sufficiently prove that "neo-Marxism" has drifted so far away from Marx as to lose touch with his "spirit." These three points bear upon the very kernel of Marxism: its conception of determinism, its intellectualism, and its emphasis on the technical factors of social evolution. The Marxian conception of social determinism is well known. The social process was thought of by Marx as rigidly "necessary," as an organic, almost as a mechanical process. The impression of social necessity one gets in reading Marx is so strong as to convey the feeling of being carried on by an irresistible process to a definite social end. In M. Sorel's works, on the contrary, social determinism is a word merely, the concept back of it is not assimilated. M. Sorel speaks of the general strike and of Socialism as of possibilities or probabilities, not of necessities. In reading him, one feels that M. Sorel himself never felt the irresistible character of the logical category of necessity. The difference in the second point follows from the difference in the first. Marx never doubted the possibility of revealing the secret of the social process. Trained in the "panlogistic school," Marx always tacitly assumed that socialism could be scientific, that the procedure of science could prove the necessity of social evolution going in one direction and not in any other. It was the glory of having given this proof which he claimed for himself and which has been claimed for him by his disciples. M. Sorel is expressly not "true to the spirit" of Marx in this point. "Science has no way of foreseeing,"[173] says he. His works are full of diatribes against the pretention of science to explain everything. He attributes a large rôle to the unclear, to the subconscious and to the mystical in all social phenomena. A sentence like the following may serve to illustrate this point. Says M. Sorel: [173] G. Sorel, _L'Avenir Socialiste des Syndicats_, p. 54. Socialism is necessarily a very obscure thing, because it treats of production--that is, of what is most mysterious in human activity--and because it proposes to realize a radical transformation in this region which it is impossible to describe with the clearness which is found in the superficial regions of the world. No effort of thought, no progress of knowledge, no reasonable induction will ever be able to dispel the mystery which envelops Socialism.[174] [174] G. Sorel, _Réflexions sur la Violence_, pp. 201-2. This, according to Sorel, is just what "Marxism has recognized": M. Sorel, certainly, "knows his Marx." In the third point, M. Sorel "the revolutionary revisionist," comes very close to M. Bernstein, "the evolutionary revisionist." The coming of Socialism is made independent of those technical and economic processes which Marx so much emphasized. The conceptions of the concentration of capital, of proletarization, etc., are given up. On the contrary, Socialism is to be prepared by the "revolutionary apprenticeship" of the working-class, an apprenticeship to be made in action and under the influence of a "social myth" created by imagination spurred on by the subconscious will. There certainly are pronounced voluntaristic elements in Marx, but this whole conception of M. Sorel seems to attribute to Marx a "spirit" by no means in harmony with his make-up. Though claiming to be a disciple of Marx, M. Sorel seems to be more in harmony with Proudhon whose works he often quotes and whose views, particularly on morals, he accepts. But besides Proudhon many other writers have had a considerable influence on M. Sorel. Besides Bergson, already mentioned, Renan and Nietzsche, to quote but two, have had their share of influence in many of the ideas expressed by M. Sorel. M. Sorel has an essentially mobile mind quick to catch an idea and to give it a somewhat new and original turn. He lacks the ability of systematizing his views and his reader must have considerable patience with him. The systematic way in which his views have been given in this chapter is rather misleading; M. Sorel himself proceeds in a quite different way; he deals with an idea for a while but is led away into digression after digression, to pick up the thread of his previous argument tens of pages later. Lack of system makes it easier for contradictions to live together without detection. It also predisposes a writer to assimilate and to transform any ideas he may meet. With Sorel this is evidently so, though his main claim is "profundity." The pages of his work bristle with the word _approfondir_ which is so often repeated that it makes the poor reader dizzy. The disappointment is sharp, because M. Sorel soon loses the thread of his thought before having had time to fathom his subject. His works, however, savor of freshness of thought and of originality. Quite a different writer is M. Lagardelle. His exposition is regular, systematic, fluent, and clear. While Sorel is mainly interested in the philosophical aspect of his problems and has been called, probably sarcastically, by M. Jaurès "the metaphysician of revolutionary syndicalism," M. Lagardelle considers the economic and political aspects of the new doctrine. His works need not be dwelt upon because his ideas do not differ essentially from those of M. Sorel. Two points, however, may be singled out; M. Lagardelle, though criticizing democracy, is careful to point out that Socialism has been made possible by democracy and that no return to ancient political forms is desired; secondly, he allows a place for the political [socialist] party in the general social system; its rôle is to attend to those problems which are not entirely included within the domain of industrial activities.[175] [175] H. Lagardelle, _Le Socialisme Ouvrier_ (Paris, 1911). While the "Mouvement Socialiste" devoted its attention mainly to the philosophical and sociological aspects of syndicalism, the weekly _La Guerre Sociale_ took up questions of policy and method, particularly the questions of anti-militarism and anti-patriotism. Gustave Hervé, the editor of the paper, attracted widespread attention by his attacks on the army and on the idea of patriotism, and became the _enfant terrible_ of the French socialist movement because of his violent utterances on these questions. On other questions of method, M. Hervé was no less violent being a disciple of the Blanquists who believed in the efficacy of all revolutionary methods including the general strike. However, the theoretical contributions of M. Hervé to the philosophy of the movement are slight. Now, what are the relations of the two groups of writers described in this chapter and what part has each played in the history of the movement? These questions must be carefully considered if a correct understanding of revolutionary syndicalism is desired. The view which prevailed outside of France is that M. Sorel and his disciples "created" the theory of revolutionary socialism in opposition to the parliamentary socialists, and that they have been able to impress their ideas upon a larger or smaller portion of the organized French workingmen. This view was first presented by Professor W. Sombart in his well-known work on _Socialism and the Social Movement_, and has made its way into other writings on revolutionary syndicalism. M. Sorel is often spoken of as the "leader" of the revolutionary syndicalists, and the whole movement is regarded as a form of Marxian revisionism. This view, however, is a "myth" and should be discarded. French writers who have studied the social movement of their country and who are competent judges have tried to dispel the error that has gotten abroad.[176] The theorists of the _Mouvement Socialiste_ themselves have repeatedly declined the "honor" which error has conferred upon them. M. Lagardelle has reiterated time and again that revolutionary syndicalism was born of the experience of the labor movement and worked out by the workingmen themselves. M. Sorel has said that he learned more from the syndicalist workingmen than they could learn from him. And in an article reviewing the book of Professor Sombart, M. Berth has insisted that Professor Sombart was in error. "If we had any part," wrote he, "it was the simple part of interpreters, of translators, of glossers; we have served as spokesmen, that's all; but it is necessary to avoid reducing to a few propositions of a school, a movement which is so essentially working-class and the leading ideas of which, such as direct action and the general strike, are so specifically of a working-class character."[177] [176] See articles of Lagardelle, G. Weil and Cornelissen in the _Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik_, 1907-1910. [177] _Le Mouvement Socialiste_ (May, 1908), p. 390. This must not be taken as over-modesty on the part of "intellectuals" who are careful not to pose as leaders or as inspirers. The facts are there to prove the statements of M. Lagardelle and of M. Sorel. The idea of the general strike was elaborated by workingmen-members of the various committees on the general strike. The idea of "direct action," as has been shown, found its defenders in the first Congresses of the General Confederation of Labor. The theory of the social rôle of the syndicat was formulated by Pelloutier and by other members of the "Federation of Bourses" before M. Sorel wrote his little book on _The Socialist Future of the Syndicats_. Even the statement of M. Berth must be somewhat modified. The theorists of the _Mouvement Socialiste_ have never by any means been the authorized "spokesmen" of the revolutionary syndicalists of the General Confederation. They were no more than a group of writers who, watching the syndicalist movement from the outside, were stimulated by it to their reflections and ideas. They thought they found in the syndicalist movement "a truly original force capable of refreshing the socialist conception", and they formulated their ideas on the subject. They never took any part in the movement, and could not feel themselves its representatives. What then was their influence? In general, the same as that of other socialist writers. They were and are read by the French workingmen just as Kropotkin, Jaurès, Proudhon and other contemporary or former socialist and anarchist writers, and as many non-socialist writers are. Naturally, some workingmen came more under their influence, than under that of others; and such workingmen may be disposed to look upon them as their theoretical guides and leaders. But even the latter interpretation is by no means applicable to all the theories of M. Sorel, for the main ideas of Sorel seem fundamentally incapable of inspiring a movement of large masses. The theory of the "social myth" may be original and attractive, but if accepted by the workingmen could not inspire them to action. If "images of battles" are important for the "rising classes" as an impelling force, they can be so only so long as they are naïvely and fully believed in. The worm of reflection must not touch them. The "men longing for deliverance" must believe that the future will be just as they picture it, otherwise their enthusiasm for these pictures would find no nourishment. Should they come to realize the "utopian" and "mythical" character of their constructions they would abandon them. The pessimistic basis of M. Sorel's _Weltanschauung_ may appeal to literary men, to students of philosophy and to individuals longing for a moral theory. It can not be assimilated by a mass "moving toward emancipation." When one reads the original documents of the syndicalist movement, he is struck, on the contrary, by the powerful torrent of optimism by which the movement is carried along. Only a strong belief in a "speedy emancipation" created the enthusiasm for the idea of the general strike. There may be a subconscious pessimism back of this optimism, but its appearance in the field of clear consciousness would have been destructive for the movement. It is, therefore, quite natural that the writers representing the General Confederation of Labor who address the workingmen directly do not reproduce these theories of M. Sorel. As has been indicated already, their writings bear a different stamp. And if among these writers some, as for instance M. Griffuelhes, seem to have come more under the influence of the group _Le Mouvement Socialiste_, the rest occupy an independent position even from the theoretical point of view. How little M. Sorel could have been the "leader" of the revolutionary syndicalist movement may be illustrated by the following comparison. At the Congress of Lyons in 1901 the secretary of the General Confederation of Labor, M. Guérard, wrote, as we have seen, that the Confederation is destined to transform society. In the same year, M. Sorel, in his preface to Pelloutier's _Histoire des Bourses du Travail_, wrote: "The Confederation of Labor appears to me to be destined to become an officious Council of Labor, and an academy of proletarian ideas, which will present its wishes to the government, as the large agricultural societies do." The history of the General Confederation of Labor since 1902, to be considered in the following chapter, will show that M. Sorel missed the point too far to be able to claim the title of "leader" whose function, presumably, is to point out the way and not to acknowledge it, after it has once been taken. It is necessary to bear all this in mind in order to grasp the real character of revolutionary syndicalism. M. Sorel has recently renounced his revolutionary syndicalist ideas. In December, 1910, he wrote to the Italian revolutionary syndicalists who invited him to their Congress at Boulogne: It seems to the author [of the _Reflections on Violence_] that syndicalism has not realized what was expected from it. Many hope that the future will correct the evils of the present hour; but the author feels himself too old to live in distant hopes; and he has decided to employ the remaining years of his life in the deepening (_approfondir_) of other questions which keenly interest the cultivated youth of France.[178] [178] _Le Mouvement Socialiste_ (March, 1911), pp. 184-5. Previous to that, M. Sorel and M. Berth had both promised collaboration in a so-called neo-monarchist monthly, _La Cité Française_, which, however, did not see the light. This probably seemed to them natural in view of their opposition to democracy. But under the political conditions of France such an act could not but shock the workingmen who may criticise democracy but who are bitterly opposed to everything connected with the _ancien régime_. This act of M. Sorel and M. Berth weakened the group of _Le Mouvement Socialiste_ which, however, is still published by M. Lagardelle, though with less force and _éclat_ than before. The act of M. Sorel, however, could have no perceptible significance for the revolutionary syndicalist movement. The latter is led by other leaders and is determined in its march by other influences. The revolutionary syndicalist ideas embodied in the movement represented by the General Confederation of Labor were evolved, as has been shown, in the syndicalist organizations of France. The Anarchists entering the syndicats largely contributed to the revolutionary turn which the syndicats took. Their influence, hailed by some, deplored by others, is recognized by all. The Anarchists themselves often speak as if they "created" the entire movement, though this is an exaggeration. The rôle of the Allemanists has been considerable, as was shown in the preceding chapters. And the more definite formulation of revolutionary syndicalist ideas in the period of "Millerandism" was the work of revolutionary socialist workingmen of all brands--Allemanists, Anarchists, Blanquists and others. This clears up the question of the relation of revolutionary syndicalism to other social theories. The theorists of the _Mouvement Socialiste_ have proclaimed revolutionary syndicalism as a new social theory. They have been very persistent in trying to delimit their theoretical dominion from parliamentary socialism on the one hand, and from Anarchism on the other. From the latter particularly they wished to be separated, feeling as they did how dangerously close they came to it. Many workingmen have accepted this view, proud to proclaim that they have evolved a theory of their own--the theory of the working-class. Others, however, have taken the correct point of view. They see that the main ideas of revolutionary syndicalism cannot be said to be new. They may all be found in the old "International Association of Workingmen," and especially in the writings of the Bakounist or federalist wing of that Association. If not the terms, the ideas on direct action, on the general strike, on the social rôle of the syndicat, and on the future "economic federalism" may all be found there more or less clearly stated.[179] [179] J. Guillaume, _L'Internationale_, vols. i-iii; also Report of 7th Congress of "International" in Brussels in 1874. Revolutionary syndicalism appears then, from this point of view not as a new theory, but as a return to the old theories of the "International" in which the combined influence of Proudhon, Marx and Bakounin manifested itself. The formulation of revolutionary syndicalism, however, is not to any great degree a conscious return to old ideas, though this conscious factor had its part; Pelloutier, for instance, was expressly guided by the conceptions of Proudhon and Bakounin. References to the "International" are also frequent in the discussions of the Congresses of the General Confederation. The more important factors, however, were the conditions of the French syndical movement itself. The workingmen of different socialist groups meeting on the common ground of the syndicat had to attenuate their differences and to emphasize their common points. Thus, by a process of elimination and of mutual influence a common stock of ideas was elaborated which, absorbing the quintessence of all socialist theories, became what is known as revolutionary syndicalism. Its similarity to the ideas of the "International" is partly due to the fact that in the "International" similar conditions existed. Mainly worked out in the practice of the syndicalist movement, the ideas of revolutionary syndicalism are also mainly determined in their further evolution by this practice. The ideas, therefore, must be judged in connection with the conditions in which they developed. These conditions will be further described in the following chapters. CHAPTER VII THE GENERAL CONFEDERATION OF LABOR SINCE 1902 Before taking up the history of the Confederation after 1902, a general outline of the constitution adopted at Montpellier must be given. Passim will be indicated the changes that have been made since. The General Confederation of Labor consists of National Federations of industries and trades,[180] of National Syndicats, of isolated single syndicats (in that case only if there is no national or regional federation of the trade, or if the federation does not adhere to the Confederation), and of _Bourses du Travail_, considered as local, departmental or regional central unions.[181] [180] In 1906 the statutes were so modified as to admit no new trade federations. This was a decided step in the direction of the industrial form of organization. [181] At the last congress of the Confederation which was held in Havre in September, 1912, a resolution was passed that the Bourses du Travail in each Department of France should form Departmental Unions (Unions Departmentales), and that on January 1, 1914, these Departmental Unions should take the place of the Bourses du Travail in the organization of the Confederation. The resolution has not yet been fully carried into effect, and the process of reorganization is still going on. When it is completed, the General Confederation of Labor will emerge with a more compact and centralized form of organization embracing Federations of industry, on the one hand, and Departmental Unions, on the other. The single Bourses will not disappear, and their functions will not be curtailed; but they will henceforth form the constituent elements of the more comprehensive Departmental Unions and will have no individual representation in the Confederal Committee. The reorganization was made necessary by the rapid growth of Bourses du Travail, the number of which far outstripped the number of Federations of industry and which thus controlled the policies of the Confederal Committee. The number of the Departmental Unions can not exceed eighty-seven (87), as there are but eighty-seven political subdivisions in France called Departments. Every syndicat adhering to the Confederation must fulfil the condition of so-called "double adherence;" that is, it must belong to its national federation of industry or trade, and to the _Bourse du Travail_ of its locality. Besides, every federation must have at least one subscription to the _Voix du Peuple_, which is the official organ of the Confederation. These conditions, however, were, and still are disregarded by a considerable number of syndicats.[182] [182] E. Pouget, _Le Confédération Générale du Travail_ (Paris, 1908), p. 16. The General Confederation is represented by the Confederal Committee which is formed by delegates of the adhering organizations. Each organization is represented by one delegate in the Confederal Committee. This point should be noticed as it is the cause of struggle within the Confederation. It means that a large Federation has only one delegate and one vote in the Confederal Committee, just as another smaller Federation. The number of delegates in the Confederal Committee, however, is not always equal to the number of adhering organizations, because one delegate may represent as many as three organizations. The delegates must be workingmen who have been members of their syndicat for at least a year. The General Confederation has five central organs; two sections and three commissions. The first section is called: "The Section of Federations of trades and of industries and of isolated syndicats;" the second is "The Section of the Federation of _Bourses du Travail_."[183] The three commissions are (1) the Commission of the journal; (2) the Commission of strikes and of the general strike, and (3) the Commission of Control. [183] From Jan. 1, 1914, called the "Section of the Federation of Departmental Unions." The two sections are autonomous in their internal affairs. The first section is formed by the delegates of the National Federations of trades and industries. They take the name of _Comité des Fédérations d'industries et de metiers_. This section appoints it own secretary, assistant secretary, treasurer, assistant treasurer, and archivist, who form the executive committee of the section. This section collects monthly from every adhering organization 40 centimes[184] for every hundred members, or for any fraction of a hundred; isolated syndicats pay five centimes monthly for each member. [184] Increased in 1909 to 60 centimes. For further increase see page 195. The Sections of Federations of industries and trades is convened by its secretary and meets whenever necessary. Its functions are to promote the organization of new federations and to maintain relations between the adhering federations. It takes "all measures necessary for the maintenance of syndical action in the field of economic struggle." It also tries to induce isolated syndicats to join their _Bourses du Travail_. The "Section of the Federation of _Bourses du Travail_" is formed by the delegates of the local, departmental and regional central unions. The delegates take the title of _Comité des Bourses du Travail_.[185] The section appoints its own secretary, assistant secretary, treasurer, assistant treasurer, and archivist, and these five members form the executive committee of the second section. It collects from the _Bourses du Travail_ 35 centimes monthly for each adhering syndicat.[186] [185] When the reorganization is completed, this section will consist of one delegate from each Departmental Union, who will form the _Comité des Unions Departmentales_. See note 181 on page 162. [186] Changed in 1909 to five centimes for each member per year. The second section promotes the creation of new _Bourses du Travail_ and coördinates the activities of the adhering Bourses. Its functions embrace "everything that bears upon syndical administration and upon the moral education of the workingmen;" its task is to collect statistics of production, of consumption, of unemployment; to organize gratuitous employment bureaus, to watch the progress of labor legislation, etc. It also tries to induce single syndicats to join their national federations. This section also meets whenever necessary at the invitation of its secretary. The Commission of the Journal is composed of twelve members, six from each section. It appoints its own secretary. The journal must be edited only by workingmen-members of the Confederation. The Commission of strikes and of the general strike consists also of twelve members, six from each section, and appoints its own secretary. The functions of this commission are: to study the strike movement in all countries, to send speakers and organizers to, and to collect subscriptions in favor of workingmen on strike, to make propaganda for the general strike, and to promote "the penetration of this idea into the minds of organized workingmen." For this purpose the commission creates wherever possible sub-committees of the general strike. This commission has its own resources which consist of 50 per cent of all money collected by the sub-committees, and of 50 per cent of the assessments collected by both sections of the Confederation. The Commission of Control is also formed of twelve members, six from each section; it verifies the financial reports of both sections and of the other two commissions. It appoints its own secretary. The Confederal Committee is formed by the delegates of both sections. It meets every three months, except in extraordinary cases. It executes the decisions of the Congresses, intervenes in all issues concerning the working-class and decides upon all questions of a general character. The Confederal Bureau[187] consists of thirteen members, of the ten members of the bureaus of both sections and of the three secretaries of the three commissions. The Confederal Bureau summons the Confederal Committee and executes the decisions of the latter. The secretary of the "Section of Federations" is the general secretary of the Confederation. The Confederal Bureau is renewed after every Congress, that is every two years, but functionaries whose terms have expired may be re-elected. [187] Executive Committee. Article 37 of the statutes adopted read: "The General Confederation of Labor, based on the principles of federalism and of liberty, assures and respects the complete autonomy of the organizations which conform to the present statutes." The _Bourses du Travail_ and the Federations of industries and of trades were, therefore, to pursue independently the activities that concerned them alone. The _Bourses du Travail_ continued in the main the activities described in the third chapter. Their growth was steady both in number of organizations and in membership, as may be seen from the following table: -----+-------------------+--------------------- | Number of Bourses | Number of Syndicats | belonging to the | in Bourses of | Confederation | Confederation. | of Labor. | -----+-------------------+--------------------- 1902 | 83 | 1,112 1904 | 110 | 1,349 1906 | 135 | 1,609 1908 | 157 | 2,028 1910 | 154 | 1,826 1912 | 153 | -----+-------------------+--------------------- After 1906 Bourses of the same region or Department began to form regional and Departmental Unions in order to coördinate their activities and to influence larger groups of the working population. This has led to the process described above, which is transforming the basis of representation in the General Confederation of Labor. In matters of administration the _Bourses du Travail_ have made a step in advance since the early part of the century. They have succeeded in organizing the _viaticum_ (aid to workingman traveling from town to town in search of work) on a national basis, and have amplified their services as employment bureaus. They are now systematizing their statistical work by making monthly and quarterly reports on the state of employment in their locality, on strikes, on the growth of organization, and on other industrial matters of interest. Their financial situation has been considerably improved, and in a number of cities they have left the municipal buildings and have built their own "people's houses" (_maisons du peuple_). Regard for matters of administration has not diminished the zeal of the Bourses for anti-militaristic propaganda. Most of them have organized in recent years the so-called _Sou du Soldat_ (Soldier's Penny). They send financial aid to workingmen who are doing military service, invite them to the social gatherings of the syndicats, distribute syndicalist literature among them, and in all ways try to maintain in the soldiers a feeling of solidarity with the organized workers. The Federations of industries and trades after 1902 concentrated their attention upon their particular trade and industrial interests. The story of these Federations is the story of organization, education, and strikes which can not be told here in detail. While the Bourses and industrial federations attended to the particular, local and administrative interests of their respective organizations, the General Confederation of labor intervened or took the initiative in questions that interested all or a considerable part of all workingmen. The new statutes went into force on January 1, 1903. The elections secured the predominance of the revolutionary syndicalists in the Confederal Committee; Griffuelhes was elected secretary of the Confederation; Pouget, assistant; Yvetot, secretary of the Section of Bourses. In October of the same year the Confederal Committee was summoned to an extraordinary meeting to consider the question of the suppression of employment bureaus. This question had agitated a considerable part of the working-class for many years. The workingmen had protested time and again against the methods and procedure of these bureaus, and their protests had been found to be well founded by all who investigated the matter.[188] The methods of the employment bureaus had been condemned in Parliament, and the Chamber had passed a bill to suppress the employment bureaus with indemnity in 1901-2. The Senate, however, rejected it in February, 1902, and the question was dropped indefinitely. [188] Senator Paul Straus in _La Grande Revue_ (Feb., 1914), pp. 320 _et seq._ The workingmen of the food-producing industries (_alimentation_) were particularly interested in the suppression of the employment bureaus. In October, 1903, exasperated by the fact that twenty-five years of lobbying and of petitioning had produced no results, they decided to take the matter into their own hands. October 29th, a "veritable riot" took place in the _Bourse du Travail_ of Paris, the police used their arms, and many were wounded on both sides.[189] [189] _Journal des Débats_ (Nov. 6, 1903), p. 865. The Confederal Committee decided to lend its help to the workingmen in the struggle. It appointed a special committee to direct the movement. The plan adopted was to carry on a wide agitation for some time and then to arrange protest-meetings on the same day in all industrial centers of France. December 5, 1903, hundreds of meetings were held all over France, at which the same demand was made that the employment offices be abolished. The meetings were arranged with the help of the _Bourses du Travail_ which appear in all such cases as the centers of agitation. November 5, 1903, the Chamber, by 495 votes against 14, voted a law suppressing the Employment Bureaus within a period of five years, with an indemnity of six million francs. In February, 1904, the law passed the Senate with some modifications. The agitation for the suppression of the employment bureaus appeared to all as a manifestation of the new theories on "Direct Action." "The socialist syndicats have wrested the vote of the Chamber by the pressure of rebellion (_Coup d'émeutes_)" wrote the _Journal des Économistes_.[190] The revolutionary syndicalists themselves considered the agitation as an illustration of their methods, and the success obtained as a proof of the efficiency of the latter. The report to the Congress of Bourges (1904) read: [190] _Journal des Économistes_ (November, 1903), p. 315. Under the pressure of the workingmen the Government, till then refractory to the reform, capitulated.... To-day it is an accomplished fact; wherever syndicalist action was exercised with perseverance and energy, the employment bureaus have gone. This fact is characteristic. The General Confederation has the merit, thanks to the immense effort of the interested themselves, of having obtained a reform in a relatively short time, if it is compared with the slowness with which everything concerning the workingmen is done.[191] [191] _XIV Congrès National Corporatif_ (Bourges, 1904), p. 8. The policy of the General Confederation, however, had opponents within the Confederation itself. A struggle for supremacy between the two tendencies was inevitable, and it took place at the very next Congress of the Confederation at Bourges (1904). The report presented to the Congress of Bourges showed that the Confederation had made considerable progress since 1902. It counted now 53 Federations of industries and trades, and National syndicats (against 30 in 1902), 15 isolated syndicats, and 110 _Bourses du Travail_, a total of 1,792 syndicats (against 1,043 in 1902), with 150,000 members. The Section of Federations of industries had received in dues for the two years, 11,076 francs; its total budget amounted to 17,882 francs; the Section of _Bourses du Travail_ had collected in dues 9,016 francs and had a total budget of 12,213 francs. The _Voix du Peuple_ was now self-supporting, and had increased the number of its subscriptions. The Congress of Bourges, for the first time, was organized on the financial resources of the syndicats without municipal or governmental subsidies. It was known before that the Congress of Bourges would discuss the question of methods, and both sides, the revolutionary syndicalists and those who were called "reformists," made all efforts possible to obtain a majority at the Congress. There were 1,178 mandates from as many syndicats. This was the system of representation adopted by the Statutes of the Confederation in 1902. At its Congress the Confederation resolves itself into an association of syndicats; the Federations and Bourses disappear and their constituent elements, the syndicats, take their place. Each syndicat--no matter how large or how small--has one vote; and one delegate may represent as many as ten syndicats. At the Congress of Bourges the 1,178 mandates were distributed among 400 delegates, of whom 350 came from the Provinces and 50 from Paris. The attack on the Confederal Committee was led by M. Keufer, the delegate and secretary of the Typographical Union (_La Fédération du Livre_). He accused the Confederal Committee of violating the statutes, of being partial and biased and of trying in every way to harm the _Fédération du Livre_, because the latter pursued "reformist" methods. "Yes," said M. Keufer, "we prefer the reformist method, because we believe that direct and violent action, commended by the anarchists, will cost thousands of workingmen their lives, without assuring durable results."[192] He insisted that it was necessary to try conciliatory methods before declaring strikes and to solicit the help of representatives in the legislative bodies. He showed that, on the one hand, even the revolutionary syndicalists were compelled by circumstances to use such methods, while the _Fédération du Livre_, on the other hand, did not shrink from strikes and from direct action, when that was inevitable. M. Keufer was supported by M. Lauche, the delegate of the machinists, and by M. Guérard, the delegate of the railway workers. [192] _XIV Congrès Corporatif_ (Bourges, 1904), pp. 95-6. The accusations of the "reformists" were repudiated by a number of revolutionary syndicalists who reaffirmed in their speeches adherence to the ideas, described in the preceding chapters, on the State, on direct action, etc. They were the victors, and the report of the Confederal Committee was approved by 812 votes against 361 and 11 blank. The main struggle, however, centered on the question of proportional representation. This question had been brought up at previous Congresses by the delegates of some larger syndicats. At one time even some of the revolutionary syndicalists had advocated proportional representation as a means of finding out the real strength of the various tendencies in the Confederation. But after the Confederation became decidedly revolutionary, the revolutionary syndicalists became decidedly opposed to proportional representation which they now regarded as a move on the part of the "reformist" element to obtain control of the Confederation.[193] [193] _Mouvement Socialiste_ (Nov., 1904), p. 61. Proportional representation was defended by the delegates of the Typographical Union, of the Machinists and of the Railway Workers. They criticised the statutes adopted at Montpellier which gave every organization, regardless of its numbers, one vote only in the Confederal Committee. This system, they declared, vitiated the character of the Confederation, and gave predominance to the minority. They claimed that the delegates in the Confederal Committee expressed the opinions shared by a small proportion only of the organized workingmen and that the Confederation was, therefore, a tool in the hands of a few "turbulent" individuals. They demanded that some system of proportional representation should be adopted which should give every organization a number of votes in the Confederal Committee proportional to the number of its members. The opponents of proportional representation argued that this system would stifle the small syndicats; that all syndicats were of equal value from the point of view of the economic struggle, because small syndicats often achieve as much, and even more, than large ones; they pointed out that proportional representation would make necessary continual changes in the number of delegates in the Confederal Committee, because the effective force of the syndicats is in constant flux and that it would be impossible to find out the true figures. They claimed that proportional representation could not be applied to economic life, because it was no fault of any one trade or industry if only a few thousand workers were employed in it, while other industries required hundreds of thousands of workingmen. Even from the point of view of strength, they argued, a small syndicat may have more value than a large one because it may embrace a larger proportion of workingmen employed in the trade. The opponents of proportional representation repudiated the assertion that only the small syndicats were with them and pointed out that some of the largest federations, as the Metallurgical Federation with 11,500 members, the Federation of Marine with 12,000 members and others, were against proportional representation. The opponents of proportional representation carried the day and the proposition of "reformist" delegates was rejected by a vote of 822 against 388 (one abstained). The Congress of Bourges thus sanctioned the revolutionary character of the Confederation. The "reformists" frankly admitted that they had suffered a defeat and attributed it to the fact that two-thirds of the delegates were new men in the movement and under the influence of the anarchists.[194] The revolutionary syndicalists triumphed, and extolled the historical significance of the Congress of Bourges which, in their opinion, was a "landmark" in the history of syndicalism. [194] A. Keufer, _Le Mouvement Socialiste_ (Nov., 1904), p. 93. The Congress of Bourges adopted a resolution which was to concentrate the attention of the Confederation for the next two years on one question: an eight-hour working day. The Committee appointed by the Congress to consider the question reported that two ways of obtaining an eight-hour day had been indicated. One proposed to prepare a bill to be presented to the public authorities and to organize public meetings in order to show the government that public opinion demanded the passage of the law. This method was rejected by the Committee because ever since 1889, workingmen had presented such petitions to the public authorities on the first of May, but without any results whatsoever. On the contrary, the other "direct" method which recommended the workingmen to "hold aloof" from the public authorities, and to exert all possible pressure "on their adversaries" was adopted by the Committee. The Committee argued that the experience with the employment agencies had shown that this method gave better results. The report of the Committee read: If the recent campaign has resulted in the suppression of the employment bureaus, it is because the movement was becoming dangerous. Every day employment bureaus were abolished, anonymous violence was committed against the owners of the offices (_placeurs_), a considerable number of shops were damaged, numerous collisions took place between the police and the workingmen, Paris was in a state of siege, and it was in order to calm this agitation that Parliament voted a law making it permissive for the municipalities to abolish the employment bureaus.[195] [195] _XIV Congrès Corporatif_ (Bourges, 1904), pp. 205-6. The Committee, therefore, recommended that the same method be used to obtain an eight-hour day, that big manifestations be organized all over France on the 1st of May, 1905, and that afterwards an active propaganda be carried on by a special commission appointed for that purpose by the Confederal Committee "in order that beginning with the 1st of May, 1906, no workingman should consent to work more than eight hours a day nor for a wage below the minimum established by the interested organizations."[196] The recommendation of the Committee was adopted by the Congress with an amendment of Pouget which still more emphasized the "direct" method to be used. [196] _Ibid._, p. 207. To carry out the decisions of the Congress, the Confederal Committee appointed a special commission to direct the movement for an eight-hour day. The Commission sent out a questionnaire to all syndical organizations, asking all those who were in favor of the movement to lend their help. A number of manifestoes, posters and pamphlets were published and spread abroad in tens of thousands of copies in which the meaning of the movement and its importance were explained. In the trade-journals, in the cars, in the streets, and wherever possible, brief mottoes were posted, such as: "Eight hours of work means more rest and more health," "To work more than eight hours means to lower your wages," etc. On the _Bourse du Travail_ of Paris a big placard was put up with the words: "From the first of May, 1906, we shall not work more than eight hours." Delegates were sent out on repeated tours into the province to carry on the propaganda and agitation. On the first of May, 1905, over 150 meetings were arranged in different parts of France at which the question of the eight-hour day was considered. As May 1, 1906, neared, the agitation in the country became more and more intense. A number of events helped to increase the agitation. In March, 1906, a catastrophe occurred in the mining districts of Northern France which resulted in the loss of workingmen's lives. A strike accompanied by violence followed. In April, the letter carriers of Paris struck, causing some disorganization in the service for a few days. Toward the end of April the number of strikes and manifestations increased in Paris. The agitation was exploited by the enemies of the government and particularly by the monarchist papers. The Government of M. Clemenceau, on the other hand, tried to discredit the movement by spreading rumors that a plot against the Republic had been discovered in which monarchists and leaders of the Confederation were involved. The _Voix du Peuple_ published a protest of the Confederal Committee against this accusation. Nevertheless the government searched at the same time the houses of Monarchists, Bonapartists and of leading members of the Confederation, and on the eve of the first of May, it arrested Griffuelhes, Pouget, Merrheim and other syndicalists together with a number of well-known monarchists. The first of May found Paris in a state of siege. Premier Clemenceau had collected numerous troops in the capital. Since the days of the Commune Paris had not seen so many. Among the bourgeoisie a real panic reigned. Many left Paris and crossed the Channel. Those who remained in Paris made provision for food for days to come. The papers spoke of the "coming revolution" which the General Confederation of Labor was to let loose on society.[197] [197] _Journal des Débats_ (27 April, 1906), p. 769. The strike movement was very wide. According to official statistics, the agitation of the Confederation affected 2,585 industrial establishments and involved 202,507 workingmen. The sweep of the movement may be grasped from the following table giving the statistics of strikes in France since 1892: _Year_ _Number of _Number of _Number of strikes_ establishments_ workingmen_ 1892 261 500 50,000 1893 634 4,286 170,123 1894 391 1,731 54,576 1895 405 1,298 45,801 1896 476 2,178 49,851 1897 356 2,568 68,875 1898 368 1,967 82,065 1899 740 4,290 176,826 1900 902 10,253 222,714 1901 523 6,970 111,414 1902 512 1,820 212,704 1903 567 3,246 123,151 1904 1,026 17,250 271,097 1905 830 5,302 177,666 1906 1,309 19,637 438,466 1907 1,275 8,365 197,961[198] [198] _Statistique des Grèves_, 1893-1908. The movement assumed various forms in different trades. The printers, for instance, pursued their conciliatory methods and obtained a nine-hour day in about 150 towns. In some trades the strikes developed a more or less acute character and continued for several months after the first of May. Some of the "reformists" declared that the movement was a complete failure.[199] According to official statistics,[200] the results of the strike movement were as follows: [199] _XV Congrès National Corporatif_ (Amiens, 1906), p. 103. [200] _Statistique des Grèves_, 1906, pp. 774 _et seq._ A: Strikes B: Establishments C: Strikers -----------+----------------+--------------------+-------------------- | Success | Compromise | Failure Demand |----------------|--------------------|-------------------- | A | B | C | A | B | C | A | B | C -----------+----+-----+-----|----+-------+-------|----+-------+------- 8 hour day| 2 | 5 | 45 | 13 | 1,970 |25,520 | 88 | 7,556 |109,786 9 hour day| 36 | 135 |2723 | 28 | 994 |30,750 | 45 | 755 | 17,023 10 hour day| 40 | 582 |7409 | 16 | 220 | 2,000 | 27 | 368 | 7,251 -----------+----------------+--------------------+-------------------- The revolutionary syndicalists did not claim much material success, but they argued that this had not been expected. The main purpose of the movement, they asserted, was, "by an immense effort, to spread among the large mass of workingmen the ideas which animate the militant groups and the syndical organizations. The problem to be solved, at first, was, thus, by means of a vigorous propaganda to reach the workingmen who had remained indifferent to the syndicalist movement."[201] And this task, in the opinion of the revolutionary syndicalists, had been accomplished. The agitation had aroused the workingmen in all parts of France. [201] _XV Congrès Corporatif_ (Amiens, 1906), p. 3. In September, 1906, the Congress of the Confederation met at Amiens. The report of the secretary showed continued progress of the Confederation since 1904. The Section of Federations of industries now counted 61 federal organizations with 2,399 syndicats and 203,273 members. The dues collected by this section for the two years amounted to 17,650 francs; and its total budget to 20,586 francs. The section of the Federation of Bourses consisted now of 135 Bourses with 1,609 syndicats; it collected in dues 11,821 francs, and had a total budget of 15,566 francs. The report of the Confederal Committee again called forth the attacks of "reformist" syndicalists, but was approved by 781 votes against 115 (21 blank and 10 contested). But the main question which absorbed the largest part of the work of the Congress was the relation of the General Confederation of Labor to the Socialist Party. This question had again assumed a new character. The International Socialist Congress of Amsterdam (1904) had exhorted and advised the French Socialists to accomplish as soon as possible the unification of their separate parties into one national Socialist Party. In April, 1905, a "Congress of Unification" was held at Paris, at which the _Parti Socialiste de France_ and the _Parti Socialiste Français_ formed the _Parti Socialiste Unifié_. A common program was accepted and a new form of organization elaborated. At its first Congress in Chalons in October, 1905, the Unified Party counted 35,000 paying members distributed in 2,000 groups, 67 federations and 77 departments. In the elections of 1906 the Unified Party obtained an increase of votes and elected 54 members to Parliament. It now seemed to many that there was no reason for the General Confederation of Labor to keep aloof from the Socialist Party. The reason heretofore given was that the divisions in the Socialist Party disorganized the syndicats, but since the Socialist Party was now unified, the reason lost all significance, and it seemed possible to establish some form of union between the two organizations. The question was taken up soon after the unification of the Socialist Party by the "Federation of Textile Workers" who had it inserted in the program of the coming Congress of Amiens. The question was discussed for some time before the Congress in the socialist and syndicalist press, and the decision that would be taken could have been foreseen from the discussion. M. Renard, the Secretary of the "Federation of Textile Workers," defended the proposition that permanent relations should be established between the General Confederation and the Unified Socialist Party. His argument was that in the struggle of the working-class for emancipation, various methods must be used, and that various forms of organization were accordingly necessary. The syndicat, in his opinion, could not suffice for all purposes; it was an instrument in economic struggles against employers, but by the side of this economic action, political action must be carried on to obtain protective labor legislation. For this purpose he considered it necessary to maintain relations with the Socialist Party, which had "always proposed and voted laws having for their object the amelioration of the conditions of the working-class as well as their definitive emancipation."[202] Besides, argued M. Renard, "if a revolutionary situation should be created to-day," the syndicats now in existence, with their present organization could not "regulate production and organize exchange," and "would be compelled to make use of the machinery of the government." The co-operation of the Confederation with the Socialist Party, therefore, was useful and necessary from the point of view both of the present and of the future. [202] _XV Congrès Corporatif_ (Amiens, 1906), pp. 135-6. M. Renard repudiated the accusation that he meant to introduce politics into the syndicats or to fuse the latter in the Socialist Party. On the contrary, he accused the Confederal Committee of carrying on political agitation under the cover of neutrality. Against this "special politics" his proposition was directed. "When anti-militarism is carried on," said M. Renard, "when anti-patriotism is indulged in, when [electoral] abstention is preached, it is politics."[203] This anarchistic policy has prevailed since the "libertarians have invaded the Confederation and have transformed the latter into a war-engine against the Socialist Party. The Federation of Textile Workers wants to put an end to the present state of affairs."[204] [203] _Ibid._, p. 134. [204] _Ibid._, p. 165. The proposition of the Textile workers was combated by revolutionary and "reformist" syndicalists alike. M. Keufer, who had bitterly attacked the revolutionary syndicalists at Bourges (1904), now fought the political syndicalists. He agreed with M. Renard that political action was necessary though he did not place "too great hopes in legislative action and in the intervention of the State;" still he thought that the latter was inevitable, and alluded to the fact that the revolutionary syndicalists themselves were constantly soliciting the intervention of the public authorities. But to secure a successful parallel economic and political action, M. Keufer believed that it was better for the Confederation to remain entirely independent of the Socialist Party, and he proposed a resolution repudiating both "anarchist and anti-parliamentarian agitation" and permanent relations with any political party.[205] [205] _XIV Congrès Corporatif_ (Amiens, 1906), pp. 154-157. * * * * * The revolutionary syndicalists in their turn criticised the part assigned to the syndicat both by the political syndicalists and by the "reformists." They emphasized the "integral" and revolutionary rôle of the syndicat which makes it unnecessary and dangerous to conclude any alliance with any political party. They denied that the Confederal Committee was carrying on an anarchist propaganda. Said M. Griffuelhes: Keufer insists very much on the presence of libertarians in the Confederal Committee; they are not so numerous as the legend has it; this is only a stratagem to arouse the fear of an anarchist peril which does not exist. On the contrary, the vitality of the Confederation is the result of a co-operation of various political elements. When, after the entrance of M. Millerand into the government, the latter began its policy of "domesticating" the workingmen, a coalition of Anarchists, Guesdists, Blanquists, Allemanists and other elements took place in order to isolate the government from the syndicats. This coalition has maintained itself and has been the very life of the Confederation.[206] [206] _XV Congrès Corporatif_ (Amiens, 1906), p. 167. The proposition of the Textile Federation was rejected by 724 votes against 34 (37 blank). The defeat for the political syndicalists was complete. By an overwhelming majority of 830 against 8 (one blank), the Congress adopted the following proposition of Griffuelhes: The Confederal Congress of Amiens confirms article 2 of the constitution of the General Federation. The C. G. T. groups, independent of all political schools, all the workingmen who are conscious of the struggle to be carried on for the disappearance of the wage system.... The Congress considers that this declaration is a recognition of the class struggle which, on an economic basis, places the workingmen in revolt against all forms of exploitation and oppression, material and moral, put into operation by the capitalist class against the working-class. The Congress makes this theoretic affirmation more precise by adding the following points: With regard to the every-day demands, syndicalism pursues the coördination of the efforts of the workingmen, the increase of the workingmen's welfare through the realization of immediate ameliorations, such as the diminution of working hours, the increase of wages, etc. But this is only one aspect of its work; syndicalism is preparing the integral emancipation which can be realized only by the expropriation of the capitalist class; it commends as a means to this end the general strike, and considers that the syndicat, now a group of resistance, will be in the future the group of production and of distribution, the basis of social organization. The Congress declares that this double task of every-day life and of the future follows from the very situation of the wage-earners, which exerts its pressure upon the working-class and which makes it a duty for all workingmen, whatever their opinions or their political and philosophical tendencies, to belong to the essential group which is the syndicat; consequently, so far as individuals are concerned, the Congress declares entire liberty for every syndicalist to participate, outside of the trade organization, in any forms of struggle which correspond to his philosophical or political ideas, confining itself only to asking of him, in return, not to introduce into the syndicat the opinions which he professes outside of it. In so far as organizations are concerned, the Congress decides that, in order that syndicalism may attain its maximum effectiveness, economic action should be exercised directly against the class of employers, and the Confederal organizations must not, as syndical groups, pay any attention to parties and sects which, outside and by their side, may pursue in full liberty the transformation of society. The vote on this resolution showed that all parties interpreted the resolution in their own way. To the "reformists" it meant complete political neutrality, to the political syndicalist it emphasized the liberty of political action outside the syndicat; the revolutionary syndicats saw in the resolution the "Charter of French Syndicalism" in which their theories were succinctly formulated. After the Congress of Amiens the General Confederation continued its policy of direct action. During 1907 it helped the movement for a law on a weekly rest (_Repos Hebdamodaire_) which was carried on by the commercial employees and by workingmen of certain trades. The movement expressed itself often in street demonstrations and riotous gatherings and brought the Confederation into conflict with the government. The government of M. Clemenceau took a determined attitude towards the Confederation. Papers like the _Temps_ called upon the government to dissolve the Confederation. "Against syndicalism," wrote the _Temps_, "are valid all the arguments of law and of fact as against anarchy." Members of the Confederal Committee were arrested here and there for incendiary speeches and for anti-militaristic propaganda. In the Chamber of Deputies the Confederation was the subject of a heated debate which lasted several days, and in which radicals, conservatives, socialists, and members of the government took part. The Confederal Committee in its turn vehemently attacked the government. In June, 1907, troubles occurred among the wine-growers in the south of France, and blood was shed. The Confederal Committee launched a manifesto against the government with the heading, "Government of Assassins," in which it praised one of the regiments that had refused to shoot into the crowd at the order of the officers. The government instituted legal proceedings against twelve members of the Confederal Committee for "insults to the army." The trial took place in February, 1908; all the accused were acquitted. In June, 1908, a strike in one of the towns near Paris, Draveuil, occasioned the intervention of the police. Shooting took place, one workingman was killed, one mortally wounded, and several others severely wounded. On the 4th of June the Confederal Committee published a protest calling the government "a government of assassins" and Premier Clemenceau, "Clemenceau the murderer" (_Clemenceau le Tueur_) and called upon the syndicats to protest against the action of the government. As the strike in Draveuil was among workingmen of the building trades, the "Federation of the Building Trades," the most revolutionary syndical organization in France, took the lead in the movement, seconded by the Confederal Committee. Manifestations took place at the funerals of the killed workingmen in Draveuil and Villeneuve St. George (neighboring communes) in which bloody collisions with the police were avoided with difficulty. The "Federation of the Building Trades" and many members of the Confederal Committee advocated a general strike as a protest against the action of the government. Meanwhile the strike at Draveuil was going on. On the 27th of July a collision between the police and the strikers again took place, and the "Federation of Building Trades" decided upon a general strike and upon a demonstration for the 30th of July. Some members of the Confederal Committee, the Secretary Griffuelhes, for instance, were opposed to the manifestation, but the decision was taken against their advice. The manifestation of Villeneuve St. George resulted in a violent collision; there were many killed and wounded. The agitation grew, and the Confederal Committee together with the federal committee of the Building Trades called upon the other trades to join them in a general strike to be continued as a protest against the "massacres." The call of the Confederal Committee was only partly followed. The events of Villeneuve St. George aroused the press and the government against the Confederation. The "Confederal Committee," wrote the _Temps_, "is not an instrument for trade conquests. It is a purely insurrectional Committee. It should be treated as such." The government arrested all the leading members of the Confederal Committee. On the 4th of August, as a move against the government, the Confederal Committee which constituted itself after the arrests and of which M. Luquet was temporary secretary, admitted the Federation of Miners with 60,000 members into the Confederation. The Federation of Miners had for some time expressed its wish to enter the Confederation, but certain difficulties, more or less personal, had stood in the way. After Villeneuve St. George these difficulties were smoothed and the adherence of the Miners to the Confederation was made possible. The events of Villeneuve St. George aroused some protests within the Confederation. The collisions and the bloodshed were ascribed by the opponents of the Confederal Committee to revolutionary methods and "anarchist" tactics. The polemics between the "reformist" and "revolutionary" elements which had not ceased since the Congress of Amiens now became more and more bitter. In September, 1908, the Congress of the Confederation met at Marseilles. The reports to the Congress showed that the Section of Federations of industries counted 68 federal organizations with 2,586 syndicats and 294,398 members; total receipts amounted to 24,719 francs. The Section of Bourses counted 157 _Bourses du Travail_ with 2,028 syndicats and with a budget of 16,081 francs. The Congress of Marseilles expressed its sympathy with the arrested members of the Confederation, and "denounced before the entire public the abominable procedures" of the government. The reports of the Confederal Committee were approved by 947 with none against and 109 blanks, "not because the members of the Confederal Bureau were arrested, but because the acts of the Bureau and of the Confederal Committee were the expression of the mandate entrusted to them." The Congress of Marseilles rejected the proposition to apply the principle of proportional representation which was again advanced. It discussed the question of industrial and trade unionism and decided in favor of the former, inviting all trade federations to fuse into industrial federations. But the main question which agitated the Congress was that of anti-militarism. At Amiens (1906) an anti-militaristic resolution introduced by Yvetot (Secretary of the Section of _Bourses du Travail_) had been passed. But it was passed in a hurry, as there was no time to discuss it, and it raised strong opposition among the "reformist" elements. It was taken to the Congress of Marseilles, therefore, for another discussion. The Congress of Marseilles accepted the resolution introduced by Yvetot. The resolution read: The Congress of Marseilles, repeats and renders more precise the decision of Amiens, namely: Considering that the army tends more and more to take the place of the workingmen on strike in the factory, in the fields, in the workshop, when it has not the function of shooting them, as in Narbonnes, Raon-L'Etape, and Villeneuve St. George; Considering that the exercise of the right to strike will be only a fraud as long as the soldiers agree to substitute the workers in civil work and to massacre the workingmen; the Congress, keeping within purely economic limits, recommends the instruction of the recruits (_jeunes_) in order that on the day when they put on the military uniform they should be convinced that they should remain nevertheless members of the family of workingmen and that in the conflict between capital and labor their duty is not to use their arms against their brethren, the workingmen; Considering that the geographical boundaries are modifiable at the will of the possessors, the workingmen recognize only the economic boundaries separating the two class-enemies--the working-class and the capitalist class. The Congress repeats the formula of the International: "The workingmen have no fatherland;" and adds: That whereas, consequently, every war is but an outrage (_attentat_) against the workingmen; that it is a bloody and terrible means of diverting them from their demands, the Congress declares it necessary, from the international point of view, to enlighten the workingmen, in order that in case of war they may reply to the declaration of war by a declaration of a revolutionary general strike.[207] [207] _XVI Congrès National Corporatif_, p. 213. The resolution was adopted by 681 votes against 421 and 43 blank. Many voted against the resolution because of its anti-patriotic character, though they accepted the part bearing upon the use of the army in strikes. In November, 1909, the government freed the arrested members of the Confederal Committee, but they did not regain their former positions of authority. In February, 1909, the "reformist" elements succeeded in electing as secretary of the Confederation their candidate, M. Niel, who was once a revolutionary but had become more moderate. M. Niel was elected by a majority of one vote, and his position was very difficult in the Confederal Committee. He aimed, as he expressed it, to bring about "moral unity" in the Confederation, but was hampered in his activities by the revolutionaries and not sufficiently supported by the "reformists." In March, 1909, the Post Office employees went on strike. The Confederation took no part in the movement but invited the workingmen to sympathize with the strikers. The strike was successful, and the government promised to consider the grievances of the Post Office employees whose main demand was the removal of the Secretary of the Department. The promises of the government were unofficial, and the strikers after some time claimed that the government had not kept its word. A second strike followed in May, but there was less enthusiasm among the employees, and a failure was inevitable. The leaders of the strike appealed to the Confederation for help. The Confederal Committee invited the workingmen of Paris to go out on a general strike, but the invitation of the Confederation found very little response, and the Post Office employees returned to work. The failure was ascribed to the "reformists", M. Guérard,[208] secretary of the Railway Workers, and to M. Niel, who had delivered a speech on the eve of the general strike declaring that the miners were not ready for it. This speech, the revolutionaries alleged, produced an impression disastrous for the general strike. The bitter criticism of the revolutionists forced Niel to resign on May 28, 1909. The election of Jouhaux secured the triumph of the revolutionary syndicalists once more. [208] M. Guérard, once revolutionary, had become moderate. The dissensions between "reformists" and "revolutionaries" became still more acute after the resignation of M. Niel. The rumor that the "reformist" syndicats would leave the Confederation circulated more persistently than before. The "reformists" formed in July, 1909, a _Comité d'Union Syndicaliste_ to react against the anarchistic syndicalism, to realize the union of workingmen, independent of all politics, in the exclusively economic and industrial domain.[209] The situation was considered very critical by both friends and enemies of the Confederation. [209] G. Weill, _Histoire du Mouvement Social du France_, 386. The struggle of tendencies and personalities within the Confederation came to a climax at the next congress held at Toulouse from Oct. 3 to Oct. 10, 1910. The greater part of the time of the congress was consumed in discussing the resignation of Niel, the accusations against the former secretary Griffuelhes, and the quarrels of "reformists" and revolutionists generally. Both sides were disgusted with the proceedings, but hoped that the atmosphere of mutual hostility and distrust would be cleared thereby, and that a new period of harmonious action would be the result. The Congress was hardly over, when a strike unexpectedly broke out among the railway men of the _Paris-Nord_. The National Syndicat of Railway workers had been considering the advisability of a general strike for some time, but was postponing action in the hope of effecting a peaceful settlement. The Syndicat of railway workers was among the so-called "reformist" syndicats, and its leaders laid great stress on peaceful negotiations with employers and on soliciting the co-operation of the government. The demands of the railway men were: an increase in wages, one day of rest in the week, the retroactive application of the old-age pension law passed in 1909, and several other concessions relating to conditions of work and matters of discipline. The railway companies had refused to meet the representatives of the railway men, and M. Briand, who was Premier at the time, advised the officials of the railway union that he could do nothing to make the railway companies change their attitude. The leaders of the syndicat, however, were still continuing their efforts to bring pressure to bear upon the companies, when their plans were frustrated by the sudden outbreak on the railroad system known as Paris-Nord. The strike, begun in Paris on October 10, rapidly spread over the system Paris-Nord. The next day the strike committee ordered a general railroad strike, and the order was followed on October 12 by the Western system of railroads. On October 13 M. Briand arrested the members of the strike committee and ordered the striking railway men under colors, thus putting them under martial law. A second strike committee automatically took the place of the leaders who were arrested, but it did not display much energy. Besides, the response to the strike order on the eastern and southern railroad lines was very slight, and towards the end of the week the strike was practically defeated. By order of the second strike committee work was resumed on all lines on October 18. The failure of the railway strike was a heavy blow not only to the syndicat of Railway Workers, but to the general labor movement of France. It resulted in the disorganization of one of the strongest syndicats and added fuel to the dying embers of factional strife. The revolutionary elements in the Confederation attributed the failure of the strike to the hesitating tactics of the "reformist" leaders and to the intervention of the socialist politicians who tried to make political capital out of the strike situation. The "reformists," on the other hand, accused the revolutionists of precipitating the strike and of defeating the general movement by hasty action on the Paris-Nord. Two facts, however, stand out clear: first, that the Confederation of Labor did not direct the strike, which was a purely trade movement largely dominated by reformist and political elements; secondly, that the strike was defeated mainly by the quick and energetic action of M. Briand, who treated the strike as a revolt, sent soldiers to replace the strikers, and mobilized the latter for military service. The dissensions provoked by the railway strike accentuated the "crisis" in the General Confederation of Labor and hampered its activities. Still, amid these internal struggles, the Confederal Committee made persistent efforts to carry out the program of action which was outlined for it at the congress of Toulouse. During 1910-1911 it carried on a relentless campaign against the old-age pension law which was passed in April, 1910. The French workingmen were opposed to the age limit imposed by the law (65 years), to the system of capitalization, and to the obligatory deductions of the worker's contribution from his wages. The campaign was effective to the extent of forcing several important modifications in the law in favor of the workers. At the same time the Confederation carried on a campaign against the high cost of living ascribing it to speculation and to the protective system. Meetings were held throughout France, and demonstrations were arranged; in many places bread riots took place in which the leaders of the Bourses and of the Confederal Committee took part. But the greatest part of the energy of the Confederation was directed against the wave of militarism and nationalism which began to sweep France after the incident of Agadir in the summer of 1910. The Confederation of Labor felt that the labor movement in general and the revolutionary tendencies in particular were endangered by the nationalist spirit and military excitement which was stirring the country. Meetings were organized all over France to protest against war and militarism; several international meetings were arranged in Berlin, Madrid, Paris, and London, at which speakers representing all European countries spoke against war and in favor of international peace. The idea of a general strike in case of war was revived and agitated in the syndicalist organizations as a warning to the French government. In September, 1912, the twelfth congress of the Confederation was held at Toulouse. The report of the Confederal Committee showed that the Confederation was not making as much progress as before. The growth of the General Confederation of Labor in relation to the general labor movement of the country may be judged from the following table: -----+---------+------------+-------------+-------------+------------- | | | Number of | | | Total |Total Number| Federations | | |Number of|of Organized| of industry | Syndicats | |Syndicats| Workingmen | adhering to | adhering to | Members of Year |in France| in France |Confederation|Confederation|Confederation -----+---------+------------+-------------+-------------+------------- 1902 | 3,680 | 614,204 | 30 | 1,043 | | | | | | 1904 | 4,227 | 715,576 | 53 | 1,792 | 150,000 | | | | | 1906 | 4,857 | 836,134 | 61 | 2,399 | 203,273 | | | | | 1908 | 5,524 | 957,102 | 63 | 2,586 | 294,398 | | | | | 1910 | 5,260 | 977,350 | 57 | 3,012 | 357,814 | | | | | 1912 | 5,217 | 1,064,000 | 53 | 2,837 | 400,000 -----+---------+------------+-------------+-------------+------------- The slackening in the growth of the Confederation was attributed partly to the persistent persecutions of the government, but in the main to internal dissensions and struggles. As a result of the latter, many of the old militants who had taken a leading part in the syndicalist organizations had become disillusioned and had left the movement. Many of the syndicats had lost in membership, and new syndicats were formed with great difficulty. The supreme effort of the Congress of Toulouse was, therefore, to assert once more the leading ideas of syndicalism and to unite all labor elements upon a common platform of action. A long debate between representatives of the various tendencies took place in consequence of which the Congress reaffirmed the resolution of Amiens (1906) known as the "charter of syndicalism."[210] The most important resolution, however, was that in favor of a general movement for the reduction of hours of labor, particularly for the establishment of the "English week" (La semaine Anglaise, i. e. half holiday on Saturday). The Confederal Committee was authorized to carry on a campaign similar in character to the Campaign of 1906 in favor of the eight hour day. To meet the necessary expenses the dues were raised to ten francs per thousand members for each Federation of industry and to seven francs per thousand members for each Departmental Union. [210] See page 183. The discussion at the Congress of Toulouse showed very clearly that the leaders of the syndicalist organizations were becoming tired of perennial debates and that they were anxious to save the Confederation from its present critical condition by a vigorous campaign for shorter hours, which would appeal to the mass of working men and women. The Confederal Committee, however, has not been very successful in this since the congress of Toulouse, for two principal reasons: the militaristic excitement of Europe and the general industrial depression. During 1913, the Confederation was engaged in fighting the increase in military expenses and particularly the passage of the three years' military service law. In May and June a number of revolts took place in the barracks, mainly among the soldiers who would have been released in 1913, had not the new law been made retroactive. The government accused the Confederation of instigating the revolts of the soldiers, and made numerous arrests among the leaders of the principal syndicats in Paris and in the province. The Confederation repudiated complicity in the revolts, but asserted its right to maintain relations with the soldiers by means of the _Sou du Soldat_. A number of protest meetings were held in Paris and other cities against the new military law, and there can be little doubt that this agitation resulted in the modifications of the law which practically reduced the actual time of service by several months. At the same time, the activities of the General Confederation of Labor during 1913 revealed a conscious determination to steer clear of hazardous movements of a revolutionary character. In July, 1913, the Federations of industries and the Bourses du Travail held their third annual Conference in Paris, at which questions of administration and policy were discussed. A number of delegates demanded that a general strike be declared on September 24, when the soldiers ought to have been released from the barracks. This proposition was defeated as an unwise measure. Among those who spoke against the proposition were some of the ablest representatives of the revolutionary syndicalists, like Jouhaux, the general secretary; Merrheim, the secretary of the Federation of the metal industry, and others. The cautious action of the Confederation incensed the anarchist groups who had supported the Confederation all along, and they began to criticise the latter for "turning to the right." The leaders of the Confederation, however, explained their action not by any change in ideas, but by a desire to hew to the line of strictly labor demands for the time being. While making efforts to increase its strength at home, the Confederation of Labor has been endeavoring in recent years to spread the ideas of French syndicalism abroad, and has been watching with great interest the new tendencies in the labor movement of England and the activities of the Industrial Workers of the World in the United States. Its main efforts outside of France, have been exerted at the conferences of the International Secretariat of Labor. These conferences have been held every two years since 1903 by the secretaries of the adhering National Trade Union Centers.[211] The General Confederation took part in the Conference of Dublin in 1903, but sent no delegates to the Conferences of Amsterdam (1905) or of Christiana (1907) because these conferences refused to discuss the questions of the general strike and of anti-militarism. The relations of the Confederation to the International Secretariat have been much discussed at the Congresses of the Confederation and in the press. The Congress of Marseilles, though approving the policy of the Confederal Committee, recommended that the latter enter into closer relations with the International Secretariat. Since then the Confederation has taken part in the Conferences of Paris in 1909,[212] Budapest (1911), and Zurich (1913). [211] The first two conferences were held at Balberstadt (1900) and at Stuttgart (1902). [212] An account of the Paris conference is given in Mr. Gompers' _Labor in Europe and America_ (New York, 1910). In the International organization the Confederation tries to enforce its views on the general strike and advocates the organization of International Labor Congresses. Its ideas meet here, however, with the opposition of American, English, German and Austrian trades unions. The latter are the more numerous. Germany pays dues to the International Secretariat for 2,017,000 organized workingmen; the United States for 1,700,000; England for 725,000; Austria for 480,000; France for 340,000. The total number of organized workingmen affiliated with the International Secretariat is 6,033,500.[213] [213] These figures are for 1911. CHAPTER VIII CHARACTER AND CONDITIONS OF REVOLUTIONARY SYNDICALISM The history of the General Confederation of Labor as told in the preceding chapters has brought out in a general way the character of revolutionary syndicalism and the conditions which have influenced its rise and development. It remains now in this last chapter to emphasize the principal points and to strengthen them by a more complete analysis of facts and conditions. It has been maintained throughout this work that revolutionary syndicalism was created by a _bloc_ of revolutionary elements in the Confederation. This character of a _bloc_ has been denied by many. Those hostile to the Confederation are anxious to create the impression that the latter is exclusively the creation and the tool of the anarchists. Others more or less impartial fail to acknowledge the part played in the movement by the non-anarchist elements. Some anarchists themselves are only too glad to be considered the creators of the movement and to maintain a view which is a tribute to their organizing ability and to their influence. Many revolutionary syndicalists, however, protest against being considered anarchists. Some of them are active members of the Unified Socialist Party. Others do not belong to the Socialist party, but have never been connected with the Anarchists. They are revolutionary syndicalists, "pure and simple." And these two other elements are by no means less influential in the Confederation than the Anarchists. The three elements enumerated have somewhat different ways of regarding revolutionary syndicalism. To the anarchists revolutionary syndicalism is but a partial application of anarchist ideas. M. Yvetot, secretary of the section of Bourses, said at the recent Congress of Toulouse (1910): "I am reproached with confusing syndicalism and anarchism. It is not my fault if anarchism and syndicalism have the same ends in view. The former pursues the integral emancipation of the individual; the latter the integral emancipation of the workingman. I find the whole of syndicalism in anarchism."[214] [214] _La Vie Ouvrière_, 20 Oct., 1910, p. 483; _XVII Congrès National Corporatif_ (Toulouse, 1910), p. 226. To the revolutionary socialists in the Confederation syndicalism is the primary and fundamental form of revolutionary socialism. It does not exclude, however, other forms; on the contrary, it must be completed by the political organization of the Socialist party, because it has no answer of its own to many social problems. The third group of revolutionary syndicalists regards revolutionary syndicalism as self-sufficing and independent of both anarchism and socialism. This group, like the first, emphasizes the fact that there is an irreconcilable antagonism between syndicalism and political socialism. "It is necessary," writes Jouhaux, secretary of the Confederation, "that the proletariat should know that between parliamentary socialism, which is tending more and more toward a simple democratization of existing social forms, and syndicalism, which pursues the aim of a complete social transformation, there is not only divergence of methods, but particularly divergence of aims."[215] [215] L. Jouhaux, _Le Terrassier_, 20 June, 1911. Those who consciously call themselves revolutionary syndicalists belong to one of the groups described, and the three groups constitute the _bloc_ spoken of above. To understand revolutionary syndicalism means to understand this _bloc_ of revolutionary elements, how it was made possible, why it is maintained, and what conditions have secured for it the leadership in the General Confederation of Labor. It has been shown in the preceding chapters that since 1830 a considerable part of the French workingmen, the so-called "militant" workingmen, have always cherished the hope of a "complete" or "integral" emancipation which should free them from the wage-system and from the economic domination of the employer. The desire of independence had guided the life of the journeyman under the guild-system, and its birth under modern economic conditions is natural enough to need no explanation. But while under the guild-system this desire had an individualistic character, under the technical conditions of the present time it necessarily led to collectivist ideas. With the development of highly expensive means of production, only an insignificant number of workingmen could hope to become economically independent by individual action, and the only way to attain economic freedom and equality for all pointed to the collective appropriation of the means of production and to the collective management of industrial activities. The insistence on economic freedom--in the sense indicated--runs through all the literature of the French Labor Movement. It is not only and not so much the inequality of wealth, the contrasts of distribution that stimulate the militant workingmen to their collectivist hopes, as it is the protest against the "arbitrariness" of the employer and the ideal of a "free workshop." To attain the latter is the main thing and forms the program of the General Confederation as formulated in the first clause of its statutes. The sensitiveness to economic inferiority is increased in the French militant workingmen by the fact that in a country like France economic distinctions are combined with social distinctions. Owing to the traditions of the past, economic classes are separated by a number of other elements, in which intellectual, social and other influences combine and which transform the economic classes into social classes. The aspiration towards economic equality increases, therefore, in volume and becomes a striving after social equality. The historical traditions of France combined with the impatience for emancipation explain the revolutionary spirit of the French socialist workingman. All who have come into contact with French life have convinced themselves of the power which the revolutionary traditions of the past exert over the people. The French workingman is brought up in the admiration of the men of the Great Revolution; his modern history is full of revolutionary secret societies, of insurrections, and of revolutionary struggles. He cherishes the memory of the Revolution of 1848, his indignation is aroused by the story of the Days of June, his pity and sympathy are stimulated by the events of the Commune. Looking backward into the history of the past century and a half, he can only get the feeling of political instability, and the conviction is strengthened in him that "his" revolution will come just as the revolution of the "Third-Estate" had come. Combined with the desire to attain the "integral" emancipation as soon as possible, these conditions engender in him the revolutionary spirit.[216] [216] On the peculiar character of French history see Adams, _Growth of the French Nation_; Berry, _France since Waterloo_; Barrett Wendell, _France of To-day_. The revolutionary spirit predisposes the socialist workingman to a skeptical attitude toward parliamentary action which rests on conciliation and on compromise and is slow in operation. He seeks for other methods which seem to promise quicker results. The methods themselves may change; they were insurrection once, they are now the general strike. But the end they serve remains the same: to keep up the hope of a speedy liberation. The distrust of parliamentary methods has been strengthened in the French socialist workingman by another fact. The French workingmen have seen their political leaders rise to the very top, become Ministers and Premiers (_e. g._, Millerand, Viviani, Briand), and then turn against their "comrades" of old. The feeling has been thereby created in the socialist workingmen that parliamentary methods are merely a means to a brilliant career for individuals who know how to make use of them. The mistrust of "politicians" finds some nourishment in the fact that the political leaders of the Socialist movement are generally the "intellectuals," between whom and the workingmen there is also some antagonism. The "intellectuals" are thrown out upon the social arena principally by the lower and middle bourgeoisie and generally enter the liberal professions. But whether lawyer, writer, doctor or teacher, the French "intellectual" sooner or later enters the field of "politics" which allures him by the vaster possibilities it seems to offer. In fact, the "intellectual" has always been a conspicuous figure in the history of French Socialism. As a socialist poet, Pierre Dupont, sang, "Socialism has two wings, The student and the workingman." And as the socialist ideas have spread, the number of "intellectuals" in the socialist movement has been constantly increasing. The "two wings" of the Socialists, however, cannot perfectly adapt themselves to one another. The "intellectual" generally lacks the "impatience for deliverance" which characterizes the socialist workingman. The "intellectual" is bound by more solid ties to the _status quo_; his intellectual preoccupations predispose him to a calmer view of things, to regard society as a slow evolutionary process. Besides, the "intellectual" takes pride in the fact that he supplies "the proletariat with fresh elements of enlightenment and progress"; he is inclined, therefore, to dominate the workingman as his "minor brother", and to advocate methods which secure his own predominant part in the movement. Parliamentary action is the field best adapted to his character and powers. The socialist workingman, on the other hand, protests against the tendencies of the "intellectual", particularly against the dominating impulses of the latter. He is anxious to limit the powers of his leaders, if possible, and to create such forms of organization as shall assure his own independence. When the syndicats began to develop in France, the revolutionary workingmen seized upon them as a form of organization particularly adapted to their demands. The syndicat was an organization which could take up the ideal of social emancipation; in the general strike, which the syndicat seemed to carry within itself, there was a method of speedy liberation; the syndicat excluded the "intellectuals" and above all by its "direct action" it maintained and strengthened the revolutionary spirit and safeguarded the revolutionary ideal from the compromises and dangers to which politics and the parliamentary socialists subjected it. These conditions: the hope of social emancipation, the impatience for deliverance, the revolutionary spirit, and the defiance of the "intellectuals" and of the "politicians," gave and continue to give life to revolutionary syndicalism. They brought into being the "revolutionary _bloc_" in the General Confederation of Labor and maintain it there. Of course, differences of temperament and shadings of opinion exist. On the one extreme are those who are most vehement in their propaganda and who combat the Socialist party; on the other, are the revolutionary socialists who are disposed to co-operate with the parliamentary socialists, but who want to have an independent organization to fall back upon in case of disagreement with the political party. But differing in details, the revolutionary elements agree in the main points and they stamp upon the Confederation the character which it bears and which is described in the terms "revolutionary syndicalism." The opponents of the revolutionary syndicalists claim that the latter are followed only by a minority in the General Confederation and that they maintain their leadership by means of the existing system of representation and by other more or less arbitrary devices. This statement, however, cannot be proved in any satisfactory way. The best way of obtaining the exact number of revolutionary syndicalists in the Confederation would seem to be by means of an analysis of the votes taken at the Congresses. This method, however, is defective for several reasons. In the first place, not all the syndicats adhering to the Confederation are represented at the Congresses. At the Congress of Bourges (1904), 1,178 syndicats out of 1,792 were represented; at the Congress of Amiens, 1,040 out of 2,399; at the Congress of Marseilles, 1,102 out of 2,586, and at the Congress of Toulouse, 1,390 out of 3,012. It is evident, therefore, that even if all the votes were taken unanimously, they would still express the opinion of less than half the syndicats of the Confederation. In the second place, the votes of the Confederation being taken by syndicats, to get the exact figures it would be necessary to know how many syndicats in each federation are revolutionary or not, and what is the proportional strength of both tendencies in each syndicat. This is impossible in the present state of statistical information furnished by the Confederation. At the Congress of Amiens, for instance, the vote approving the report of the Confederal Committee (Section of Federation) stood 815 against 106 (18 blanks). This vote is important, because to approve or to reject the report meant to approve or to reject the ideas by which the General Confederation is guided. Now, an analysis of the vote at Amiens shows that while some organizations voted solidly for the Confederal Committee, none voted solidly against it and that the votes of many organizations were divided. But even the number of those represented by the unanimous vote of their syndicats cannot in the most cases be ascertained. For instance, the agricultural syndicats cast their 28 votes for the Confederal Committee; the report of the Confederal Committee gives the Federation of Agricultural Laborers 4,405 members; but the same report says that the Federation consisted of 106 syndicats; of these 106 syndicats only 28 were represented at the Congress, and how many members they represented there is no possibility of ascertaining. The same is true of those Federations in which the syndicats did not cast the same vote. This difficulty is felt by those who try to prove by figures that the Confederation is dominated by a minority. M. Ch. Franck, for instance, calculates that at the Congress of Marseilles 46 organizations with 716 mandates representing 143,191 members obtained the majority for the _statu quo_ against the proposition of proportional representation; while the minority consisted of 15 organizations with 379 mandates representing 145,440 members. In favor of the anti-militaristic resolution, he calculates further, 33 organizations with 670 mandates representing 114,491 members obtained the majority against 19 organizations with 406 mandates representing 126,540 members. But he is compelled to add immediately: "These figures have no absolute value, because we have taken each organization in its entirety, while in the same federation some syndicats have not voted with the majority"; he thinks that the proportion remains nevertheless the same because he did not take into consideration the divisions on each side.[217] [217] _Op. cit._, pp. 345-6. The last assumption, however, is arbitrary, because the syndicats dissenting on the one side may have been more numerous than those not voting with the majority on the other side; the whole calculation, besides, is fallacious, because it takes the figures of the federations in their entirety, while only a part of the syndicats composing them took part in the votes. The attempt, therefore, to estimate the exact number of the revolutionary syndicalists in the Confederation must be given up for the present. The approximate estimate on either side can be given. According to M. Pawlowski,[218] 250,000 members of the Confederation (out of 400,000) repudiate the revolutionary doctrine; the revolutionary syndicalists, on the other hand, claim a majority of two-thirds for themselves. The impartial student must leave the question open. [218] A. Pawlowski, _La Confédération Générale du Travail_ (Paris, 1910), p. 51. It must be pointed out, however, that the system of representation which exists now in the Confederation affects both revolutionary and reformist syndicalists in a more or less equal degree. At the Congress of Amiens, for instance, the _Fédération du Livre_, with its 10,000 members, had 135 votes; the Railway Syndicat, with its 24,275 members, had only 36 votes; these two organizations were among the "reformists" who combated the Confederal Committee. On the other hand, the revolutionary Federation of Metallurgy had 84 votes for its 14,000 members, but the Federation of Marine, which is also revolutionary, disposed of six votes only for its 12,000 members. The revolutionary syndicalists, therefore, may be right in their assertion that proportional representation would not change the leadership of the Confederation. This belief is strengthened in them by the fact that in all so-called "reformist" organizations, as the _Fédération du Livre_, the Railway Syndicat, etc., there are strong and numerous revolutionary minorities. It is often asserted that only the small syndicats, mostly belonging to the small trades, follow the revolutionary syndicalists. This assertion, however, is inexact. An examination of the syndicats which are considered revolutionary shows that some of them are very large and that others belong to the most centralized industries of France. For instance, the Federation of Building Trades is the most revolutionary organization in the Confederation; at the same time it is the most numerous, and its members pay the highest dues (after the _Fédération du Livre_) in France.[219] The revolutionary Federation of Metallurgy is also one of the large organizations in the Confederation and belongs to an industry which is one of the most centralized in France. The total horse-power of machines used in the metallurgic industries has increased from 175,070 in 1891 to 419,128 in 1906; the number of establishments has diminished from 4,642 in 1891 to 4,544 in 1906; that is, the total horse-power of machinery used in every industrial establishment has increased during this period from 38 to 92;[220] the number of workingmen per industrial establishment has also increased from 508 in 1896 to 697 in 1901 and to 711 in 1906. In fact the metallurgic industry occupies the second place after the mining industry which is the most centralized in France.[221] [219] _Mouvement Socialiste_, May, 1911. [220] E. Thery, _Les Progrès Économiques de la France_ (Paris, 1909), p. 181. [221] _Journal des Économistes_, Jan., 1911, p. 133. A diversity of conditions prevails in the industries to which the other revolutionary organizations belong. On the other hand, the so-called reformist organizations, the Federation of Mines, the _Fédération du Livre_, the Federation of Employees, differ in many respects and are determined in their policy by many considerations and conditions which are peculiar to each one of them. The influence of the revolutionary syndicalists, therefore, can be explained not by special technical conditions, but by general conditions which are economic, political and psychological. To bring out the relation of these conditions to the syndicalist doctrine it is necessary to analyze the latter into its constituent elements and to discuss them one by one. The fundamental condition which determines the policy of "direct action" is the poverty of French syndicalism. Except the _Fédération du Livre_, only a very few federations pay a more or less regular strike benefit; the rest have barely means enough to provide for their administrative and organizing expenses and can not collect any strike funds worth mentioning. In 1908, for instance, there were 1,073 strikes; of these 837 were conducted by organized workingmen. Only in 46 strikes was regular assistance assured for the strikers, and in 36 cases only was the assistance given in money.[222] The French workingmen, therefore, are forced to fall back on other means during strikes. Quick action, intimidation, _sabotage_, are then suggested to them by their very situation and by their desire to win. [222] _Statistique des Grèves_, 1909, vi-vii. The lack of financial strength explains also the enthusiasm and the sentiments of general solidarity which characterize French strikes. An atmosphere of enthusiasm must be created in order to keep up the fighting spirit in the strikers. To the particular struggle in any one trade a wider and more general significance must be attributed; it must be interpreted as a partial manifestation of a more general class-struggle. In this way the determination to struggle on is strengthened in those who strike and a moral justification is created for an appeal to the solidarity of all workingmen. These appeals are made constantly during strikes. Subscription lists are kept in the _Bourses du Travail_, in the Confederal Committee on Strikes, and are opened in the workingmen's and socialist newspapers whenever any big strike occurs. New means to make up for the lack of financial resources are constantly devised. Of these means two which have come into existence within recent years are the _soupes communistes_ and the "exodus of children." The _soupes communistes_ are organized by the _Bourses du Travail_ and consist of meals distributed to those on strike. The _soupes communistes_ permit the feeding of a comparatively large number of strikers at small expense. Distribution occurs at certain points. The workingmen, if they wish, may take their meals home. The last Conferences of the section of Bourses have discussed the question how to organize these _soupes communistes_ more systematically and as cheaply as possible. The "exodus of children" consists in sending away the children of the strikers to workingmen of other towns while the strike is going on. It has been used during several strikes and attracted widespread attention. The "exodus of children" relieves the strikers at home and creates sympathy for them over the country at large. Financial weakness has also led French syndicats in recent years to reconsider the question of co-operation. Various federations have expressed themselves at their federal congresses in favor of "syndicalist co-operatives" in which all associates are at the same time members of the syndicat and organized on a communist basis. The main argument brought forward in favor of such co-operatives is the support they could furnish to workingmen on strike. The poverty of the French syndicats is the result of the reluctance of the French workingmen to pay high dues. In the _Fédération du Livre_, which has the highest dues, every member pays a little over two francs a month. In other federations the dues are lower, coming down in some organizations to 10 centimes a month. In recent years there has been a general tendency in all federations to increase dues, but the efforts of the syndicalist functionaries in this direction have met with but slow and partial success. The reluctance to high dues is in part the result of the comparatively low wages which prevail in France. Another factor is the psychology of the French workingman. "Our impulsive and rebellious (_frondeur_) temperament," wrote the Commission which organized the Congress of Montpellier, "does not lend itself to high dues, and if we are always ready to painful sacrifices of another nature, we have not yet been able to understand the enormous advantages which would follow from strong syndicalist treasuries maintained by higher assessments."[223] The French workingmen are conscious of their peculiar traits, and the literature of the syndicalist movement is full of both jeremiads and panegyrics with regard to these traits, according to the speaker and to the circumstances. The French workingmen recognize that they lack method, persistence and foresight, while they are sensitive, impulsive and combative.[224] [223] _XIII Congrès National Corporatif_, 1902, pp. 30-31. [224] _X Congrès National Corporatif_, p. 203; _XII Congrès National Corporatif_, pp. 15, 29, 44. The result of this psychology is not only poor syndicats, but syndicats weak in other respects. Many syndicats are but loosely held together, are easily dissolved and are composed of a more or less variable and shifting membership. The instability is increased of course by the absence of benevolent features in the syndicats. The _Fédération du Livre_ alone pays sick and other benefits. The weakness of the syndicats predisposes the French workingmen to more and more generalized forms of struggle. Syndicats on strike impelled by the desire to increase their forces try to involve as many trades and workingmen as possible and to enhance their own chances by enlarging the field of struggle. This is why such general movements, as the movement for an eight-hour day in 1906, described in the preceding chapter, are advocated by the syndicats. The latter feel that in order to gain any important demand they must be backed by as large a number of workingmen as possible. But in view of their weakness, the syndicats can start a large movement only by stirring up the country, by formulating some general demand which appeals to all workingmen. The same conditions explain in part the favor which the idea of the general strike has found in the syndicats. Such forms of struggle must necessarily bring the syndicats into conflict with the State, particularly in France where the State is highly centralized and assumes so many functions. With a people so impulsive as the French, the intervention of the forces of the State in the economic struggles must inevitably lead to collisions of a more or less serious character. The result is a feeling of bitterness in the workingmen towards the army, the police and the government in general. The ground is thus prepared for anti-militaristic, anti-State and anti-patriotic ideas. The organized workingmen are a minority of the working-class. Still they must act as if they were the majority or the entirety of the workingmen. The contradiction must be smoothed over by some explanation, and the theory of the "conscious minority" arises to meet the situation. The weaker the syndicats and the more often they are exposed to the danger of dissolution the greater the necessity of the theory. A disorganized syndicat generally leaves behind a handful of militant workingmen determined to keep up the organization. The theory of the "conscious minority" is both a stimulus to and a justification for the activities of these persistent "militants." To the conditions described the French love of theory, of high-sounding phrases, and of idealistic formulas must be added. For a Frenchman it is not sufficient to act under necessity: the act must be generalized into a principle, the principles systematized, and the system of theory compressed into concise and catching formulas. And once abstracted, systematized and formulated, the ideas become a distinct force exerting an influence in the same direction as the conditions to which they correspond. When all this is taken into account, it is easier to understand the influence of the revolutionary syndicalists. It is insufficient to explain their leadership by clever machinations of the Confederal Committee, as M. Mermeix and many others do. It is quite true that the Confederal Committee tries to maintain its power by all means possible. It sends out delegates to Federal Congresses, on conference tours over the country, to assist workingmen on strikes, etc. In most cases it sends only men who represent the revolutionary ideas of the Committee and who, therefore, strengthen the influence of the latter by word and deed. It is also true that in most _Bourses du Travail_ the secretaries are revolutionary and that they help to consolidate the influence of the Confederal Committee. But these secretaries have not usurped their power. They are elected because they have come to the front as speakers, writers, organizers, strike-leaders, etc. And they could come to the front only because conditions were such as to make their ideas and services helpful. Whatever one's attitude to the Confederation, one must acknowledge the results it has achieved. The strike statistics of France, given in the following table, show the following facts: _Per cent of _Per cent of _Period_ strikes which strikers who lost failed_ their strikes_ 1890-1899 44.61 38.63 1891-1900 43.86 34.17 1892-1901 42.69 35.42 1893-1902 42.48 31.75 1894-1903 42.13 26.98 1895-1904 40.24 25.09 1896-1905 39.07 23.76 1897-1906 38.05 25.91 1898-1907 38.14 25.37 1899-1908 35.79 25.83 Of course, these results can not be attributed entirely to the action of the Confederation. On the other hand, the influence of the Confederation on the improvement of general conditions of employment, on social legislation, etc., is undeniable. "In all branches of human activity," says M. Pawlowski, "wages have risen with a disconcerting and disquieting rapidity."[225] The agitation for the eight-hour day and the rising of 1906 hastened the vote on the weekly rest, induced the government to consider the application of the ten-hour day, popularized the practice of the "English week," etc.[226] [225] A. Pawlowski, _La Confédération Générale du Travail_, p. 130. [226] _Ibid._, p. 123. Whether the same or better results could have been obtained by "reformist" methods, is not a question to be considered, because in most cases the syndicats have no choice. A strike once begun, the character of the struggle is determined by conditions which exist and not by any that would be desirable. This is proved by the fact that very often the so-called "reformist" syndicats carry on their struggles in the same way and by the same methods as do the revolutionary ones. The comparative influence of the Confederation explains the fact why the "reformists" do not leave the organization, though they are bitter in their opposition to the revolutionists. The "reformists" feel that they would thereby lose a support which is of value to them. Besides, in many cases such an act would lead to divisions within the reformist federations, all of which, as already indicated, contain considerable revolutionary minorities. The revolutionary syndicalists, however, are in their turn compelled to make concessions to those exigences of the labor movement which have nothing to do with revolutionary ends. Of course, the revolutionary syndicalists are workingmen and they are interested in the immediate improvement of economic conditions. But there can be little doubt that the leaders and the more conscious and pronounced revolutionary syndicalists are mainly interested in their revolutionary ideal, in the abolition of capitalism and of the wage-system. The struggles for higher wages, shorter hours, etc., are a necessity which they must make a virtue of while awaiting the hoped-for final struggle. And when they theorize about the continuity of the struggles of to-day with the great struggles of to-morrow, when they interpret their every-day activities as part of a continuous social warfare, they are merely creating a theory which in its turn justifies their practice and preserves their revolutionary fire from extinction. But theorizing does not essentially change the character of all syndicalist activities. The Confederal Committee must attend to the administrative and other questions, such as the questions of _viaticum_, of the label, etc. The necessities of the syndical movement often lead the members of the Confederal Committee into the antechambers of Parliament or into the private rooms of the Ministers whose assistance is solicited. The most revolutionary federations can not help entering into negotiations with employers for the settlement of strikes. In practice, therefore, the distinction between "revolutionary" and "reformist" syndicalists is often obscured, because both act as they must and not as they would.[227] [227] This is admitted by both sides. See reports of last Congress held at Toulouse (1910), p. 111. This must not be interpreted to mean that there is any conscious hypocrisy or undue personal interest on the part of the leaders of the revolutionary syndicalists. On the contrary, the most bitter opponents of the Confederation must admit that the reverse is true. "However one may judge their propaganda," says M. Mermeix, "he is obliged to acknowledge the disinterestedness of the libertarians who lead the syndicalist movement. They do not work for money...."[228] There is also no field in the Confederation for political ambition. Still the movement has its demands which require suppleness and pliability on the part of the leaders and which make impossible the rigid application of principles. [228] Terrail-Mermeix, _La Syndicalisme contre le Socialisme_ (Paris, 1907), p. 231. On the other hand, the revolutionary syndicalists have in the syndicats a tremendous force for their revolutionary ends. The close relation of syndical life to all political and economic problems gives the Confederal Committee the opportunity to participate in all questions of interest. The high cost of living, the danger of a war, the legislative policy of the government, troubles among the wine-growers, any public question, indeed, is the occasion for the intervention of the Confederal Committee. The latter appears, then, also as a revolutionary organization which is always ready to criticise, to discredit and to attack the government, and which is openly pursuing the overthrow of existing institutions in France. And when one keeps in mind the indefatigable anti-militaristic and anti-patriotic propaganda carried on by the _Bourses du Travail_ all over the country, the revolutionary character of the Confederation may be fully appreciated. What is the future that may be predicted for the General Confederation of Labor? Will the synthesis of revolutionism and of unionism that has been achieved in it continue more or less stable until the "final" triumph of the revolutionary syndicalists? Or will the latter be overpowered by the "reformist" elements who will impress their ideas on the Confederation and who will change the character of French syndicalism? These questions cannot at present be answered. The movement is so young that no clear tendencies either way can be discerned. The two possibilities, however, may be considered in connection with the conditions that would be required to transform them into realities. Those who predict a change in the character of French syndicalism generally have the history of English Trades Unionism in mind. They compare revolutionary syndicalism to the revolutionary period of English Trades Unionism and think of the change that came about in the latter in the third quarter of the past century. But the comparison is of little value, because the conditions of France are different from those of England, and because the international economic situation to-day is very different from what it was fifty years ago. It is probable that if the French syndicats should develop into large and strong unions, highly centralized and provided with large treasuries, other ideas and methods would prevail in the syndicalist movement. But this change is dependent on a change in the economic life of France. France must cease to be "the banker of Europe," must cease to let other countries use its piled-up millions[229] for the development of their natural resources and industry, and must devote itself to the intensification of its own industrial activities. Such a change could bring about greater productivity, higher wages, and a higher concentration of the workingmen of the country. This change in conditions of life might result in a modification of the psychology of the French workingmen, though how rapid and how thorough-going such a process could be is a matter of conjecture. But whether France will or can follow the example of England or of Germany, in view of its natural resources and of the situation of the international market, it does not seem possible to say.[230] Besides, to change completely the character of French syndicalism, it would be necessary to wipe out the political history of France and its revolutionary traditions. [229] It is estimated that France has about 40,000,000,000 francs invested in foreign countries. [230] See Preface to Second Edition. On the other hand, the triumph of the revolutionary syndicalists presupposes a total readjustment of groups and of interests. The Confederation counts now about 600,000 members. Official statistics count over 1,000,000 organized workingmen in France. But it must be remembered that the federations underestimate their numbers for the Confederation in order to pay less, while they exaggerate their numbers for the _Annuaire Statistique_ in order to appear more formidable. The Confederation, besides, for various reasons rejects a number of organizations which desire to join it. It may be safe to say, therefore, that the Confederation brings under its influence the greater part of the organized workingmen of France. But the total number of workingmen in France, according to the Census of 1906, is about 10,000,000, of which about 5,000,000 are employed in industry and in transportation. The numbers of independent producers in industry, commerce, and agriculture is about 9,000,000, of which about 2,000,000 are _petits patrons_. Over a million and a half persons are engaged in the liberal professions and in the public services.[231] [231] The active population in 1906 was over 20,000,000, out of a total population of over 39,000,000. _Journal des Économistes_, Jan., 1911. Among the latter the revolutionary syndicalists have met with success in recent years. The ideas of revolutionary syndicalism have gained adherents among the employees of the Post Office, Telegraph and Telephone, and among the teachers of the public schools. The recent Congresses of the teachers have declared themselves ready to collaborate with the workingmen for the realization of their ideal society. The following motion adopted by the recent Congress of Nantes, at which 500 delegates were present, is very characteristic: "The professional associations of teachers (men and women), employees of the State, of the Departments and of the Communes," reads the motion, "assembled in the _Bourses du Travail_, declare their sympathy for the working-class, declare that the best form of professional action is the syndical form; express their will to work together with the workingmen's organizations for the realization of the Social Republic."[232] [232] _L'Humanité_, August 8, 1911. Also among the industrial and commercial middle classes there are some who look with favor on syndicalism. The French middle classes have for the last quarter of a century tried to organize themselves for resistance against the "financial feudalism" from which they suffer. Several organizations have been formed among the small merchants and masters, and in 1908 the "Association for the Defense of the Middle Classes" was constituted. The president of this Association, M. Colrat, wrote: "The ideas of the bourgeois syndicalism on the future are the same as those of the workingmen's syndicalism.... Far from contradicting one another, the syndicalism of the middle classes and the syndicalism of the working-classes reinforce each other in many respects, and notwithstanding many vexations, they lead to a state of relative equilibrium by a certain equality of opposing forces."[233] In the struggle against the big capitalists the leaders of the middle classes appear to be ready to form an alliance with the working-class. There can be little doubt, however, that the middle classes in general are opposed to the revolutionary ideals of the syndicalists. To succeed, the revolutionary syndicalists must bring about a change in the attitude of these classes, for the history of France has shown that the fear of "Communism" may throw the middle classes into the arms of a Caesar. [233] M. Colrat, _Vers l'équilibre social_, quoted by Mr. J. L. Puecht, "Le Mouvement des Classes Moyennes," in _La Grande Revue_, Dec., 1910. Whatever possibility may become a reality, France seems destined to go through a series of more or less serious struggles. Hampered by the elements which hark back to the past and which have not yet lost all importance, disorganized by the revolutionists who look forward to the future for the realization of their ideal, the Republic of France is still lacking the stability which could save her from upheavals and from historical surprises. The highly centralized form of government and the dominating position which Paris still holds in the life of France make such surprises easier and more tempting than would otherwise be the case. The process of social readjustment which is going on all over the world at present, therefore, must lead in France to a more or less catastrophic collision of the discordant elements which her political and economic history have brought into existence. The struggle has already begun. The government of the Republic is determined to put an end to the revolutionary activities of the syndicalists. It is urged on by all those who believe that only the weakness of the Government has been the cause of the strength of the Syndicalists. On the other hand, the Syndicalists are determined to fight their battle to the end. What the outcome may be is hidden in the mystery of the future. _Qui vivra--verra_. BIBLIOGRAPHY _Action Directe_. Revue Révolutionnaire Syndicaliste. Paris, July, 1903-August, 1904. _Annuaire Statistique_. Ministère du Travail et de la Prévoyance Sociale. Paris. Antonelli, E. _La démocratie sociale devant les idées présentes_. Paris, 1911. _Associations professionnelles ouvrières_; office du Travail. Paris, 1899-1904. Barberet, J. _Monographies professionnelles_. 4 vols. Paris, 1886. _Bataille Syndicaliste_. Daily. Berth, Edouard. _Les nouveaux aspects du socialisme_. Paris, 1908. Blum, Leon. _Les congrès ouvriers et socialistes français_. Paris, 1901. Bouglé, E. _Syndicalisme et démocratie_. Paris, 1908. Bourdeau, J. _Entre deux servitudes_. Paris, 1910. Bourgin, H. _Le socialisme et la concentration industrielle_. Paris, 1911. Boyle, James. _Minimum Wage and Syndicalism_. Cincinnati, 1913. Bracq, J. Ch. _France under the Republic_. New York, 1910. Brants, Victor. _La petite industrie contemporaine_. Paris, 1902. Breton, J. L. _L'Unité Socialiste_. Vol. 7 of Histoire des partis socialistes, ed. by Zévaès. Paris, 1912. Brooks, John Graham. _American Syndicalism_. New York, 1913. Buisson, Etienne. _La grève générale_. Paris, 1905. Chaboseau, A. _De Babeuf à la Commune_. Volume 1 of Histoire des partis socialistes, edited by Zévaès. Challaye, Félicien. _Syndicalisme révolutionnaire et syndicalisme réformiste_. Paris, 1909. Chambre des Députés, Débats Parlementaires. Charnay, Maurice. _Les Allemanistes_. Vol. 5 of Histoire des partis socialistes, edited by Zévaès. Clay, Sir Arthur. _Syndicalism and Labor_. London, 1912. Cole, G. D. H. _The World of Labor_. London, 1913. Commission Ouvrière de 1867, recueil des procés-verbaux. 2 vols. Paris, 1868-69. Congrès national des syndicats ouvriers tenu à Lyon en Octobre, 1886, compte rendu Lyon, 1887. Congrès général des organisations socialistes, compte rendu. Paris, 1899. Congrès (deuxième) général des organisations socialistes françaises tenu à Paris de 28 au 30 Septembre, 1900, compte rendu. Paris, 1901. Congrès (troisième) général des organisations socialistes françaises tenu à Lyon du 26 au 28 mar., 1901, compte rendu. Paris, 1901. Congrès national des syndicats tenu à Marseilles du 19 au 22 Octobre, 1892, compte rendu. Paris, 1909. Congrès national du Parti Ouvrier tenu à Paris du 11 au 14 Juillet, 1897, compte rendu. Congrès national corporatif (IV^e de la Confédération Générale du Travail), tenu à Rennes, compte rendu. Rennes, 1898. Congrès national corporatif (V^e de la Confédération), tenu à Paris, compte rendu. Paris, 1900. Congrès national corporatif (VI^e de la Confédération), tenu à Lyon, compte rendu. Lyon, 1901. Congrès national corporatif (VII^e de la Confédération), tenu à Montpellier, compte rendu. Montpellier, 1902. Congrès national corporatif (VIII^e de la Confédération), tenu à Bourges, compte rendu. Bourges, 1904. Congrès national corporatif (IX^e de la Confédération), tenu à Amiens, compte rendu. Amiens, 1906. Congrès national corporatif (X^e de la Confédération), tenu à Marseille, compte rendu. Marseille, 1909. Congrès national corporatif (XI^e de la Confédération), tenu à Toulouse, compte rendu. Paris, 1911. Congrès national corporatif (XII^e de la Confédération), tenu à Havre, compte rendu. Paris, 1913. Congrès socialiste international tenu à Paris du 23 au 27 septembre, 1900. Paris, 1901. Connay, J. _Le Compagnonnage, son histoire, ses mystères_. Paris, 1909. Cornélissen, Ch. "Ueber den internationalen Syndikalismus." _Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik_. Tübingen, 1910. Crouzel, A. _Étude historique, économique et juridique sur les coalitions et les grèves_. Paris, 1887. Da Costa, Charles. _Les Blanquistes_. Vol. 6 of Histoire des partis socialistes, edited by Zévaès. Paris, 1912. Delesalle, J. _Les Bourses du Travail et la C. G. T._ Paris. Delesalle, P. _L'action syndicaliste et les anarchistes_. Paris, 1900. Déville, G. _Principes socialistes_. Paris, 1896. Dijol, M. _Situation économique de la France, sous le régime protectioniste de 1892_. Paris, 1911. Diligent, Victor. _Les orientations syndicales_. Paris, 1910. Dru, Gaston. _La Révolution qui vient_. Paris. Dubois, F. _The Anarchist Peril_. Tr. by Ralph Derechef. London. Dubreilh, L. _La Commune_. Paris, 1908. Du-Cellier, M. _Histoire des classes laborieuses en France_. Paris, 1860. Dufour. _Le Syndicalisme et la Prochaine Révolution_. Paris, 1913. _Économiste Français_. Monthly. _Égalité_. Periodical published from 1877 to 1881. Paris. Ely, R. T. _French and German Socialism_. New York, 1898. Estey, James Arthur. _Revolutionary Syndicalism_. London, 1913. Faguet, E. _Le socialisme en 1907_. Paris, 1907. Festy, Octave. _Le mouvement ouvrier au debut de la Monarchie de Juillet_. Paris. _Forces productives de la France_. Conferences organisées a la Société des anciens élèves de l'École libre des Sciences politiques. Paris, 1909. Franck, Charles. _Les Bourses du Travail et la Confédération Générale du Travail_. Paris, 1910. Fribourg, E. E. _L'Association internationale des travailleurs_. Paris, 1871. Garin, J. _L'anarchie et les anarchistes_. Paris. 1885. Georgi, E. _Theorie und Praxis des Generalstreiks in der modernen Arbeiterbewegung_. Jena, 1908. _Grande Revue_. Monthly. Griffuelhes, V. _Voyage révolutionnaire; impressions d'un propagandiste_. Paris, 1910. Griffuelhes, V. _L'action syndicaliste_. Paris, 1908. Griffuelhes, V. et Niel, L. _Les objectifs de nos luttes de classes_. Paris, 1909. _Guerre Sociale, La_, revolutionary weekly edited by Gustave Hervé. Guesde, J. _Le Socialisme au jour le jour_. Paris, 1899. Guesde, J. et Lafargue, P. _Le programme du parti ouvrier_. Paris, 1897. 4th edition. Guillaume, James. _L'Internationale, documents et souvenirs_. 4 vols. Paris, 1905-10. Hamon. A. _Le Socialisme et le congrès de Londres_. Paris, 1897. Hanoteaux, G. _Modern France_. 4 vols. New York, 1903-09. Harley, J. H. _Syndicalism_. London, 1912. Hervé, Gustave. _My Country, Right or Wrong_. English translation by Guy Bowman. London, 1911. Hubert-Valleroux, P. _La Co-opération en France_. Paris, 1904. Humbert, Sylvain. _Le Mouvement Syndical_. Vol. 9 of Histoire des partis socialistes, edited by Zévaès. Paris, 1912. Humbert, Sylvain. _Les Possibilistes_. Vol. 4 of Histoire des partis socialistes, edited by Zévaès. Paris, 1911. _L'Humanité_. Socialist daily published since 1905. Contains many articles by revolutionary and reformist syndicalists. Isambert, G. _Les idées socialistes en France de 1815 à 1848_. Paris, 1905. Jouhaux, L. _Le Syndicalisme français_. Bruxelles, 1911. _Journal des Débats_. Weekly. _Journal des Économistes_. Monthly. Kirkup, Th. _A History of Socialism_. Third edition. New York, 1906. Kritsky. _L'Évolution du syndicalisme en France_. Paris, 1908. Labusquière. _La Troisième République_. Paris, 1909. Lagardelle, H. _L'Évolution des syndicats ouvriers en France_. Paris, 1901. Lagardelle, H. _La grève générale et le socialisme_. Paris, 1905. Lagardelle, H. _Le socialisme ouvrier_. Paris, 1911. Lagardelle, H. "Die Syndikalistische Bewegung in Frankreich." _Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik_. Tübingen, 1908. Laurin, M. T. _Les Instituteurs et le syndicalisme_. Paris, 1908. Lavy, A. _L'Oeuvre de Millerand_. Paris, 1902. Leroy, Maxime. _Syndicats et Services Publics_. Paris, 1909. Levasseur, E. _Histoire des classes ouvrières et d'industrie en France avant 1789_. 2 vols. Second edition. Paris, 1900. Levasseur, E. _Histoire des classes ouvrières et d'industrie en France de 1789 à 1870_. 2 vols. Second edition. Paris, 1903. Levine, Louis. "The Development of Syndicalism in America." _Political Science Quarterly_, September, 1913. Levine, Louis. "Direct Action." _Forum_. New York, May, 1912. Levine, Louis. "Syndicalism." _North American Review_. July, 1912. Levine, Louis. "The Standpoint of Syndicalism." _Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science_. 1912. Lewis, Arthur D. _Syndicalism and the General Strike_. London, 1912. _Libertaire, Le_. Anarchist weekly. Lorulot, André. _Le Syndicalisme et la transformation sociale_. Arcueil, 1909. Louis, Paul. _Histoire du socialisme français_. Paris, 1901. Louis, P. _Histoire du mouvement syndical en France_. Paris, 1907. Louis, P. _Le syndicalisme contre l'état_. Paris, 1910. Louis, P. "Die Einheitsbestrebungen im französischen Sozialismus." _Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik_. Tübingen, 1909. Macdonald, J. Ramsay. _Syndicalism_. 1912. Méline, J. _The Return to the Land_. Tr. from the French. New York, 1907. Milhaud, A. _La lutte des classes à travers l'histoire et la politique_. Paris. Millerand, A. _Le socialisme réformiste français_. Paris, 1903. Molinari, G. _Les Bourses du Travail_. Paris, 1893. Molinari, G. _Le mouvement socialiste et les réunions publiques_. Paris, 1872. _Mouvement Socialiste_. Published since 1899. Particularly valuable for students of revolutionary syndicalism. Orry, Albert. _Les Socialistes Indépendant_. Vol. 8 of Histoire des partis socialistes, edited by Zévaès. Paris, 1911. Parti Socialiste. Proceedings of annual conventions (1904-1913). Pataud, E. et Pouget, E. _Comment nous ferons la révolution_. Paris, 1909. Translated into English by Charlotte and Frederick Charles, under title: _Syndicalism and the Co-operative Commonwealth_. London, 1913. Pawlowski, A. _La confédération générale du travail_. Paris, 1910. Pelloutier, F. _Le congrès général du parti socialiste français_. Paris, 1900. Pelloutier, F. _Histoire des bourses du travail_. Paris, 1902. Pelloutier, Maurice. _Fernand Pelloutier, sa vie, son oeuvre_. Paris, 1911. Pelloutier, F. et M. _La vie ouvrière_. Paris, 1900. Perdiguier, Agricol. _Le livre du compagnonnage_. Second edition. Paris, 1841. Pierrot. _Syndicalism et révolution_. Second edition. Paris, 1908. Pouget, E. _Le sabotage_. Paris, 1910. English translation by Arturo M. Giovannitti. Pouget, E. _Les bases du syndicalisme_. Paris. Pouget, S. _Le syndicat_. Paris. Pouget, E. _Le parti du travail_. Paris. Pouget, E. _La confédération générale du travail_. Paris, 1908. Prolo, Jacques. _Les Anarchistes_. Vol. 10 of Histoire des partis socialistes, edited by Zévaès. Paris, 1912. Proudhon, J. P. _De la capacité politique des classes ouvrières_. Paris, 1865. Renard, Georges. _La république de 1848_. Paris, 1907. Renard, G. _Syndicats, trades unions, et corporations_. Paris, 1909. Rénault, Ch. _Histoire des grèves_. Paris, 1887. _Revue Socialiste_. Monthly. _Revue Syndicaliste_. Monthly published from May, 1905, to January, 1910. Séances du Congrès Ouvrier de France. Session de 1876. Paris, 1877. Seilhac, Leon de. _Syndicats ouvriers, fédérations, bourses du travail_. Paris, 1902. Seilhac, Leon de. _Les congrès ouvriers en France_. Paris, 1899. Seilhac, Leon de. _Le monde socialiste_. Paris, 1896. Severac, G. _Guide pratique des syndicats professionnels_. Paris, 1908. Smith, L. _Les coalitions et les grèves_. Paris, 1885. _Socialiste, Le_. Organe central du Parti Socialiste Français. Sombart, Werner. _Socialism and the Social Movement_. English tr. by M. Epstein. New York, 1909. Sorel, G. _L'avenir socialiste des syndicats_. Revised edition. Paris, 1901. Sorel, G. _La décomposition du marxisme_. Paris, 1908. Sorel, G. _Illusions du progrès_. Paris, 1911. Second edition. Sorel, G. _Réflexions sur la violence_. Paris, 1910. Second edition. Sorel, G. _Introduction à l'économie moderne_. Second edition. Paris. Sorel, G. _La révolution dreyfusienne_. Second edition. Paris, 1911. Sorel, G. "La polémique pour l'interprétation du marxisme." _Revue internationale de sociologie_. Paris, 1900. Sorel, G. "L'éthique du socialisme." _Morale Sociale_. Paris, 1900. Spargo, John. _Syndicalism, Industrial Unionism, and Socialism_. New York, 1913. Stoddart, J. T. _The New Socialism_. London, 1910. St. Leon, E. Martin. _Le compagnnonnage_. Paris, 1901. _Syndicalisme et socialisme_. Paris, 1908. Syndicat et syndicalisme; opinions par Griffuelhes, Yvetot, Pouget, etc. Paris. Terrail-Mermeix. _La France socialiste_. Paris, 1886. Terrail-Mermeix. _Le syndicalisme contre le socialisme_. Paris, 1907. _Terrassier, Le_. Published bi-weekly by some syndicats of the building-trades. _Temps Nouveaux_. Anarchist weekly. Thomas, Albert. _Le second empire_. Paris, 1907. Tridon, André. _The New Unionism_. New York, 1913. _Vie Ouvrière_. Revue Syndicaliste Bi-mensuelle. Paris. Villetard, Edmond. _History of the International_. Tr. from the French, 1874. _Voix du Peuple_. Organe de la Confédération Générale du Travail. Warbasse, James Peter. _The Ethics of Sabotage_. Pamphlet. New York, 1913. Ware, Fabian. _The Worker and his Country_. London, 1912. Warin, Robert. _Les Syndicats Jaunes_. Paris, 1908. Webb, Sydney and Beatrice. _An Examination of Syndicalism_. London, 1912. Webb, B. and S. _History of Trade Unionism_. Weill, George. _Histoire du mouvement social en France_. First edition, 1904. Second edition, 1910. Weill, G. "Die Formen der Arbeiterbewegung in Frankreich." _Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik_. Tübingen, 1909. Yvetot, George. _A. B. C. syndicaliste_. Paris. Yvetot, G. _Manuel du soldat_. Paris. Zévaès, Alexandre. _Histoire des partis socialistes en France_. 11 volumes. Paris, 1911. Zévaès, Alexandre. _Le Socialisme en France depuis 1871_. Paris, 1908. Zévaès, Alexandre. _Le Syndicalisme Contemporain_. Paris, 1911. Zévaès, Alexandre. _Le Socialisme en 1912_. Vol. 11 of Histoire des partis socialistes. Paris, 1912. Zévaès, Alexandre. _De la semaine sanglante au Congrès de Marseille (1871-1879)_. Vol. 2 of Histoire des partis socialistes, edited by Zévaès. Paris, 1911. Zévaès, Alexandre. _Les Guesdistes_. Vol. 3 of Histoire des partis socialistes. Paris, 1911. [Transcriber's note: List of corrected printers' errors: pages 14, 15, 48, 132, 145, 183 and 189 "working class" changed to "working-class" Page 5 "devolpment" changed to "development" ("it is also a development of the French Labor Movement.") page 13 "coöperative" changed to "co-operative" ("Revolution of 1848 and the co-operative movement") and ("Failure of co-operative central bank in 1868") page 13 "coöperation" changed to "co-operation" ("--Syndicats and co-operation--") page 16 -- added ("French workingmen--Causes of the") page 30 "Perdigiuer" changed to "Perdiguier" ("Agricol Perdiguier, _Le Livre du Compagnonnage_, 1841.") page 32 "resistance" change to "résistance" ("was the _société de résistance_") Page 32 "." replaced with "," ("_Les Associations Professionelles_, vol. i. pp. 201-203.") page 35 "presecuted" changed to "persecuted" ("organizations were persecuted;") page 40 "Cöopération" changed to "Co-opération" ("_La Co-opération_ (Paris, 1904)") page 51 "bourgois" changed to "bourgeois" ("separation which existed between bourgeois and workingmen") page 52 footnote reference altered, referred to wrong footnote page 56 "hemmoroids" changed to "hemorrhoids" ("which it leaves to the hemorrhoids of bourgeois of every stamp") page 62 "Counseil" changed to "Conseil" ("(the _Conseil fédéral national_)") page 65 "Arbeiter-bewegung" changed to "Arbeiterbewegung" ("_Theorie und Praxis des Generalstreiks in der modernen Arbeiterbewegung_") page 68 missing "not" added ("they argued that the general strike could not be successful") page 71 "employes" changed to "employees" ("of workingmen and of employees of both sexes") page 71 missing " added ("(_Parti syndical politicien_)."") page 75 missing "(" added ("_Bourses du Travail_ (1896)") page 80 "Nouveoux" changed to "Nouveaux" ("_Temps Nouveaux_, 23 Mars, 1901.") page 93 "Alemanists" changed to "Allemanists" ("defended by Allemanists and anarchists,") page 93 "Guerard" changed to "Guérard" ("M. Guérard who defended the idea before the Congress. Said M. Guérard:") page 94 "Guerard" changed to "Guérard" ("And M. Guérard, applauded by the audience,") page 96 "recomended" changed to "recommended" ("To this end the report recommended") page 97 "sub-committes" changed to "sub-committees" ("Only twenty Bourses formed sub-committees.") page 98 "Congès" changed to "Congrès" ("_X Congrès National Corporatif_") page 101 removed " ("the completest possible emancipation.") page 103 "posesses" changed to "possess" ("the workingmen who possess nothing.") page 104 "Guerard" changed to "Guérard" ("The secretary of the Confederation, M. Guérard,") page 104 , removed "," from "complained that the _Voix du Peuple_" page 109 "bourgeoise" changed to "bourgeoisie" ("alliance of the bourgeoisie and of the working-class") page 111 footnote reference altered, referred to wrong footnote page 113 removed " ("stop the offensive movement of the workingmen.") page 114 missing " added (""independently of all parliamentarism"") page 116 "Parlémentaires" changed to "Parlementaires" ("_Chambre des Deputés, Débats Parlementaires_") page 117 "Francais" changed to "Français" ("_Parti Socialiste Français_") page 117 "Jaures" changed to "Jaurès" ("and J. Jaurès outlined a plan according") page 126 "," replaced with "." ("the strike, the boycott, the label, and _sabotage_.") page 127 missing "." added ("It is a revolutionary fact of great value.") page 129 "merchchandise" change to "merchandise" ("and of perishable merchandise.") page 130 missing " added to end of phrase ("source of intrigues and of "wire-pulling."") page 135 "counterbalance" changed to "counter-balance" ("will counter-balance the centralizing tendencies") page 137 "particulary" changed to "particularly" ("Moreover, the syndicats, particularly") page 137 "train" changed to "trains" ("The very struggle which the syndicats carry on trains the workingmen") page 138 "workinmen" changed to "workingmen" ("The mass of workingmen") page 138 "massess" changed to "masses" ("keep the masses as quiet,") page 154 "Jaures" changed to "Jaurès" ("by M. Jaurès "the metaphysician of revolutionary syndicalism,"") page 155 "Movement" changed to "Mouvement" ("_Mouvement Socialiste_") page 155 "Sozialwissenchaft" changed to "Sozialwissenschaft" ("_Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik_") page 156 "Les" changed "Le" ("_Le Mouvement Socialiste_ (May, 1908), p. 390.") page 157 "Jaures" changed to "Jaurès" ("just as Kropotkin, Jaurès, Proudhon") page 158 "Guerard" changed to "Guérard" ("General Confederation of Labor, M. Guérard, wrote,") page 159 "approfundir" changed to "approfondir" ("his life in the deepening (_approfondir_)") page 164 "," replaced with "." ("relations between the adhering federations.") page 164 "it" replaced with "its" ("This section appoints its own secretary,") page 169 "idemnity" changed to "indemnity" ("employment bureaus with indemnity in 1901-2.") page 170 "Economistes" changed to "Économistes" ("_Journal des Économistes_") page 172 "Guerard" changed to "Guérard"("and by M. Guérard, the delegate of the railway workers.") page 177 "Debats" changed to "Débats" ("_Journal des Débats_ (27 April, 1906), p. 769.") page 181 "economie" changed to "economic" ("it was an instrument in economic struggles") page 182 "coöperation" changed to "co-operation" ("a co-operation of various political elements.") page 187 "," replaced with "." ("of the government. The reports of the") page 190 "Offie" changed to "Office" ("employees grievances of the Post Office employees") page 190 missing " added (""revolutionaries"") page 191 "coöperation" changed to "co-operation" ("soliciting the co-operation of the government.") page 196 extra "the" removed ("the passage of the three years'") page 200 missing " added ("" ... but particularly divergence of aims."") page 200 "sydicalists" changed to "syndicalists" ("The third group of revolutionary syndicalists") page 203 "Vivani" changed to "Viviani" ("(_e. g._, Millerand, Viviani, Briand)") page 209 "Economistes" changed to "Économistes" ("_Journal des Économistes_") page 211 extra "and" removed ("the strikers at home and creates") page 211 "yeas" changed to "years" ("in recent years") page 211 "Fèdèration" changed to "Fédération" ("_Fédération du Livre_") page 214 "sytematized" changed to "systematized" ("the principles systematized,") page 224 "Etude" changed to "Étude" ("_Étude historique, économique et juridique sur les coalitions et les grèves_") page 225 "Ecole" changed to "École" ("Conferences organisées a la Société des anciens élèves de l'École libre des Sciences politiques.") page 226 "Evolution" changed to "Évolution" ("Kritsky. _L'Évolution du syndicalisme en France_.") page 226 "," replaced with "." ("Louis, Paul.")] 
2153	----	and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D. Editorial note: _Mary Barton_, Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell's first novel, was published (anonymously) in 1848 by Chapman and Hall. MARY BARTON A Tale of Manchester Life by ELIZABETH GASKELL "'How knowest thou,' may the distressed Novel-wright exclaim, 'that I, here where I sit, am the Foolishest of existing mortals; that this my Long-ear of a fictitious Biography shall not find one and the other, into whose still longer ears it may be the means, under Providence, of instilling somewhat?' We answer, 'None knows, none can certainly know: therefore, write on, worthy Brother, even as thou canst, even as it is given thee.'" CARLYLE. CONTENTS PREFACE. I. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. II. A MANCHESTER TEA-PARTY. III. JOHN BARTON'S GREAT TROUBLE. IV. OLD ALICE'S HISTORY. V. THE MILL ON FIRE--JEM WILSON TO THE RESCUE. VI. POVERTY AND DEATH. VII. JEM WILSON'S REPULSE. VIII. MARGARET'S DEBUT AS A PUBLIC SINGER. IX. BARTON'S LONDON EXPERIENCES. X. RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL. XI. MR. CARSON'S INTENTIONS REVEALED. XII. OLD ALICE'S BAIRN. XIII. A TRAVELLER'S TALES. XIV. JEM'S INTERVIEW WITH POOR ESTHER. XV. A VIOLENT MEETING BETWEEN THE RIVALS. XVI. MEETING BETWEEN MASTERS AND WORKMEN. XVII. BARTON'S NIGHT-ERRAND. XVIII. MURDER. XIX. JEM WILSON ARRESTED ON SUSPICION. XX. MARY'S DREAM--AND THE AWAKENING. XXI. ESTHER'S MOTIVE IN SEEKING MARY. XXII. MARY'S EFFORTS TO PROVE AN ALIBI. XXIII. THE SUB-POENA. XXIV. WITH THE DYING. XXV. MRS. WILSON'S DETERMINATION. XXVI. THE JOURNEY TO LIVERPOOL. XXVII. IN THE LIVERPOOL DOCKS. XXVIII. "JOHN CROPPER, AHOY!" XXIX. A TRUE BILL AGAINST JEM. XXX. JOB LEGH'S DECEPTION. XXXI. HOW MARY PASSED THE NIGHT. XXXII. THE TRIAL AND VERDICT--"NOT GUILTY." XXXIII. REQUIESCAT IN PACE. XXXIV. THE RETURN HOME. XXXV. "FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES." XXXVI. JEM'S INTERVIEW WITH MR. DUNCOMBE. XXXVII. DETAILS CONNECTED WITH THE MURDER. XXXVIII. CONCLUSION. PREFACE. Three years ago I became anxious (from circumstances that need not be more fully alluded to) to employ myself in writing a work of fiction. Living in Manchester, but with a deep relish and fond admiration for the country, my first thought was to find a frame-work for my story in some rural scene; and I had already made a little progress in a tale, the period of which was more than a century ago, and the place on the borders of Yorkshire, when I bethought me how deep might be the romance in the lives of some of those who elbowed me daily in the busy streets of the town in which I resided. I had always felt a deep sympathy with the care-worn men, who looked as if doomed to struggle through their lives in strange alternations between work and want; tossed to and fro by circumstances, apparently in even a greater degree than other men. A little manifestation of this sympathy, and a little attention to the expression of feelings on the part of some of the work-people with whom I was acquainted, had laid open to me the hearts of one or two of the more thoughtful among them; I saw that they were sore and irritable against the rich, the even tenor of whose seemingly happy lives appeared to increase the anguish caused by the lottery-like nature of their own. Whether the bitter complaints made by them, of the neglect which they experienced from the prosperous--especially from the masters whose fortunes they had helped to build up--were well-founded or no, it is not for me to judge. It is enough to say, that this belief of the injustice and unkindness which they endure from their fellow-creatures, taints what might be resignation to God's will, and turns it to revenge in too many of the poor uneducated factory-workers of Manchester. The more I reflected on this unhappy state of things between those so bound to each other by common interests, as the employers and the employed must ever be, the more anxious I became to give some utterance to the agony which, from time to time, convulses this dumb people; the agony of suffering without the sympathy of the happy, or of erroneously believing that such is the case. If it be an error, that the woes, which come with ever-returning tide-like flood to overwhelm the workmen in our manufacturing towns, pass unregarded by all but the sufferers, it is at any rate an error so bitter in its consequences to all parties, that whatever public effort can do in the way of legislation, or private effort in the way of merciful deeds, or helpless love in the way of "widow's mites," should be done, and that speedily, to disabuse the work-people of so miserable a misapprehension. At present they seem to me to be left in a state, wherein lamentations and tears are thrown aside as useless, but in which the lips are compressed for curses, and the hands clenched and ready to smite. I know nothing of Political Economy, or the theories of trade. I have tried to write truthfully; and if my accounts agree or clash with any system, the agreement or disagreement is unintentional. To myself the idea which I have formed of the state of feeling among too many of the factory-people in Manchester, and which I endeavoured to represent in this tale (completed above a year ago), has received some confirmation from the events which have so recently occurred among a similar class on the Continent. OCTOBER, 1848. CHAPTER I. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. Oh! 'tis hard, 'tis hard to be working The whole of the live-long day, When all the neighbours about one Are off to their jaunts and play. There's Richard he carries his baby, And Mary takes little Jane, And lovingly they'll be wandering Through field and briery lane. MANCHESTER SONG. There are some fields near Manchester, well known to the inhabitants as "Green Heys Fields," through which runs a public footpath to a little village about two miles distant. In spite of these fields being flat and low, nay, in spite of the want of wood (the great and usual recommendation of level tracts of land), there is a charm about them which strikes even the inhabitant of a mountainous district, who sees and feels the effect of contrast in these common-place but thoroughly rural fields, with the busy, bustling manufacturing town he left but half-an-hour ago. Here and there an old black and white farm-house, with its rambling outbuildings, speaks of other times and other occupations than those which now absorb the population of the neighbourhood. Here in their seasons may be seen the country business of hay-making, ploughing, &c., which are such pleasant mysteries for townspeople to watch; and here the artisan, deafened with noise of tongues and engines, may come to listen awhile to the delicious sounds of rural life: the lowing of cattle, the milk-maids' call, the clatter and cackle of poultry in the old farm-yards. You cannot wonder, then, that these fields are popular places of resort at every holiday time; and you would not wonder, if you could see, or I properly describe, the charm of one particular stile, that it should be, on such occasions, a crowded halting-place. Close by it is a deep, clear pond, reflecting in its dark green depths the shadowy trees that bend over it to exclude the sun. The only place where its banks are shelving is on the side next to a rambling farm-yard, belonging to one of those old-world, gabled, black and white houses I named above, overlooking the field through which the public footpath leads. The porch of this farm-house is covered by a rose-tree; and the little garden surrounding it is crowded with a medley of old-fashioned herbs and flowers, planted long ago, when the garden was the only druggist's shop within reach, and allowed to grow in scrambling and wild luxuriance--roses, lavender, sage, balm (for tea), rosemary, pinks and wallflowers, onions and jessamine, in most republican and indiscriminate order. This farm-house and garden are within a hundred yards of the stile of which I spoke, leading from the large pasture field into a smaller one, divided by a hedge of hawthorn and black-thorn; and near this stile, on the further side, there runs a tale that primroses may often be found, and occasionally the blue sweet violet on the grassy hedge bank. I do not know whether it was on a holiday granted by the masters, or a holiday seized in right of Nature and her beautiful spring time by the workmen, but one afternoon (now ten or a dozen years ago) these fields were much thronged. It was an early May evening--the April of the poets; for heavy showers had fallen all the morning, and the round, soft, white clouds which were blown by a west wind over the dark blue sky, were sometimes varied by one blacker and more threatening. The softness of the day tempted forth the young green leaves, which almost visibly fluttered into life; and the willows, which that morning had had only a brown reflection in the water below, were now of that tender gray-green which blends so delicately with the spring harmony of colours. Groups of merry and somewhat loud-talking girls, whose ages might range from twelve to twenty, came by with a buoyant step. They were most of them factory girls, and wore the usual out-of-doors dress of that particular class of maidens; namely, a shawl, which at mid-day or in fine weather was allowed to be merely a shawl, but towards evening, or if the day were chilly, became a sort of Spanish mantilla or Scotch plaid, and was brought over the head and hung loosely down, or was pinned under the chin in no unpicturesque fashion. Their faces were not remarkable for beauty; indeed, they were below the average, with one or two exceptions; they had dark hair, neatly and classically arranged, dark eyes, but sallow complexions and irregular features. The only thing to strike a passer-by was an acuteness and intelligence of countenance, which has often been noticed in a manufacturing population. There were also numbers of boys, or rather young men, rambling among these fields, ready to bandy jokes with any one, and particularly ready to enter into conversation with the girls, who, however, held themselves aloof, not in a shy, but rather in an independent way, assuming an indifferent manner to the noisy wit or obstreperous compliments of the lads. Here and there came a sober quiet couple, either whispering lovers, or husband and wife, as the case might be; and if the latter, they were seldom unencumbered by an infant, carried for the most part by the father, while occasionally even three or four little toddlers had been carried or dragged thus far, in order that the whole family might enjoy the delicious May afternoon together. Sometime in the course of that afternoon, two working men met with friendly greeting at the stile so often named. One was a thorough specimen of a Manchester man; born of factory workers, and himself bred up in youth, and living in manhood, among the mills. He was below the middle size and slightly made; there was almost a stunted look about him; and his wan, colourless face gave you the idea, that in his childhood he had suffered from the scanty living consequent upon bad times and improvident habits. His features were strongly marked, though not irregular, and their expression was extreme earnestness; resolute either for good or evil; a sort of latent, stern enthusiasm. At the time of which I write, the good predominated over the bad in the countenance, and he was one from whom a stranger would have asked a favour with tolerable faith that it would be granted. He was accompanied by his wife, who might, without exaggeration, have been called a lovely woman, although now her face was swollen with crying, and often hidden behind her apron. She had the fresh beauty of the agricultural districts; and somewhat of the deficiency of sense in her countenance, which is likewise characteristic of the rural inhabitants in comparison with the natives of the manufacturing towns. She was far advanced in pregnancy, which perhaps occasioned the overpowering and hysterical nature of her grief. The friend whom they met was more handsome and less sensible-looking than the man I have just described; he seemed hearty and hopeful, and although his age was greater, yet there was far more of youth's buoyancy in his appearance. He was tenderly carrying a baby in arms, while his wife, a delicate, fragile-looking woman, limping in her gait, bore another of the same age; little, feeble twins, inheriting the frail appearance of their mother. The last-mentioned man was the first to speak, while a sudden look of sympathy dimmed his gladsome face. "Well, John, how goes it with you?" and, in a lower voice, he added, "Any news of Esther, yet?" Meanwhile the wives greeted each other like old friends, the soft and plaintive voice of the mother of the twins seeming to call forth only fresh sobs from Mrs. Barton. "Come, women," said John Barton, "you've both walked far enough. My Mary expects to have her bed in three weeks; and as for you, Mrs. Wilson, you know you're but a cranky sort of a body at the best of times." This was said so kindly, that no offence could be taken. "Sit you down here; the grass is well nigh dry by this time; and you're neither of you nesh [1] folk about taking cold. Stay," he added, with some tenderness, "here's my pocket-handkerchief to spread under you, to save the gowns women always think so much of; and now, Mrs. Wilson, give me the baby, I may as well carry him, while you talk and comfort my wife; poor thing, she takes on sadly about Esther." [Footnote 1: "Nesh;" Anglo-Saxon, nesc, tender.] These arrangements were soon completed: the two women sat down on the blue cotton handkerchiefs of their husbands, and the latter, each carrying a baby, set off for a further walk; but as soon as Barton had turned his back upon his wife, his countenance fell back into an expression of gloom. "Then you've heard nothing of Esther, poor lass?" asked Wilson. "No, nor shan't, as I take it. My mind is, she's gone off with somebody. My wife frets, and thinks she's drowned herself, but I tell her, folks don't care to put on their best clothes to drown themselves; and Mrs. Bradshaw (where she lodged, you know) says the last time she set eyes on her was last Tuesday, when she came down stairs, dressed in her Sunday gown, and with a new ribbon in her bonnet, and gloves on her hands, like the lady she was so fond of thinking herself." "She was as pretty a creature as ever the sun shone on." "Ay, she was a farrantly [2] lass; more's the pity now," added Barton, with a sigh. "You see them Buckinghamshire people as comes to work in Manchester, has quite a different look with them to us Manchester folk. You'll not see among the Manchester wenches such fresh rosy cheeks, or such black lashes to gray eyes (making them look like black), as my wife and Esther had. I never seed two such pretty women for sisters; never. Not but what beauty is a sad snare. Here was Esther so puffed up, that there was no holding her in. Her spirit was always up, if I spoke ever so little in the way of advice to her; my wife spoiled her, it is true, for you see she was so much older than Esther she was more like a mother to her, doing every thing for her." [Footnote 2: "Farrantly," comely, pleasant-looking.] "I wonder she ever left you," observed his friend. "That's the worst of factory work, for girls. They can earn so much when work is plenty, that they can maintain themselves any how. My Mary shall never work in a factory, that I'm determined on. You see Esther spent her money in dress, thinking to set off her pretty face; and got to come home so late at night, that at last I told her my mind: my missis thinks I spoke crossly, but I meant right, for I loved Esther, if it was only for Mary's sake. Says I, 'Esther, I see what you'll end at with your artificials, and your fly-away veils, and stopping out when honest women are in their beds; you'll be a street-walker, Esther, and then, don't you go to think I'll have you darken my door, though my wife is your sister.' So says she, 'Don't trouble yourself, John. I'll pack up and be off now, for I'll never stay to hear myself called as you call me.' She flushed up like a turkey-cock, and I thought fire would come out of her eyes; but when she saw Mary cry (for Mary can't abide words in a house), she went and kissed her, and said she was not so bad as I thought her. So we talked more friendly, for, as I said, I liked the lass well enough, and her pretty looks, and her cheery ways. But she said (and at the time I thought there was sense in what she said) we should be much better friends if she went into lodgings, and only came to see us now and then." "Then you still were friendly. Folks said you'd cast her off, and said you'd never speak to her again." "Folks always make one a deal worse than one is," said John Barton, testily. "She came many a time to our house after she left off living with us. Last Sunday se'nnight--no! it was this very last Sunday, she came to drink a cup of tea with Mary; and that was the last time we set eyes on her." "Was she any ways different in her manner?" asked Wilson. "Well, I don't know. I have thought several times since, that she was a bit quieter, and more womanly-like; more gentle, and more blushing, and not so riotous and noisy. She comes in, toward four o'clock, when afternoon church was loosing, and she goes and hangs her bonnet up on the old nail we used to call hers, while she lived with us. I remember thinking what a pretty lass she was, as she sat on a low stool by Mary, who was rocking herself, and in rather a poor way. She laughed and cried by turns, but all so softly and gently, like a child, that I couldn't find in my heart to scold her, especially as Mary was fretting already. One thing I do remember I did say, and pretty sharply too. She took our little Mary by the waist, and--" "Thou must leave off calling her 'little' Mary, she's growing up into as fine a lass as one can see on a summer's day; more of her mother's stock than thine," interrupted Wilson. "Well, well, I call her 'little,' because her mother's name is Mary. But, as I was saying, she takes Mary in a coaxing sort of way, and, 'Mary,' says she, 'what should you think if I sent for you some day and made a lady of you?' So I could not stand such talk as that to my girl, and I said, 'Thou'd best not put that nonsense i' the girl's head I can tell thee; I'd rather see her earning her bread by the sweat of her brow, as the Bible tells her she should do, ay, though she never got butter to her bread, than be like a do-nothing lady, worrying shopmen all morning, and screeching at her pianny all afternoon, and going to bed without having done a good turn to any one of God's creatures but herself.'" "Thou never could abide the gentlefolk," said Wilson, half amused at his friend's vehemence. "And what good have they ever done me that I should like them?" asked Barton, the latent fire lighting up his eye: and bursting forth, he continued, "If I am sick, do they come and nurse me? If my child lies dying (as poor Tom lay, with his white wan lips quivering, for want of better food than I could give him), does the rich man bring the wine or broth that might save his life? If I am out of work for weeks in the bad times, and winter comes, with black frost, and keen east wind, and there is no coal for the grate, and no clothes for the bed, and the thin bones are seen through the ragged clothes, does the rich man share his plenty with me, as he ought to do, if his religion wasn't a humbug? When I lie on my death-bed, and Mary (bless her) stands fretting, as I know she will fret," and here his voice faltered a little, "will a rich lady come and take her to her own home if need be, till she can look round, and see what best to do? No, I tell you, it's the poor, and the poor only, as does such things for the poor. Don't think to come over me with th' old tale, that the rich know nothing of the trials of the poor. I say, if they don't know, they ought to know. We're their slaves as long as we can work; we pile up their fortunes with the sweat of our brows; and yet we are to live as separate as if we were in two worlds; ay, as separate as Dives and Lazarus, with a great gulf betwixt us: but I know who was best off then," and he wound up his speech with a low chuckle that had no mirth in it. "Well, neighbour," said Wilson, "all that may be very true, but what I want to know now is about Esther--when did you last hear of her?" "Why, she took leave of us that Sunday night in a very loving way, kissing both wife Mary, and daughter Mary (if I must not call her little), and shaking hands with me; but all in a cheerful sort of manner, so we thought nothing about her kisses and shakes. But on Wednesday night comes Mrs. Bradshaw's son with Esther's box, and presently Mrs. Bradshaw follows with the key; and when we began to talk, we found Esther told her she was coming back to live with us, and would pay her week's money for not giving notice; and on Tuesday night she carried off a little bundle (her best clothes were on her back, as I said before), and told Mrs. Bradshaw not to hurry herself about the big box, but bring it when she had time. So of course she thought she should find Esther with us; and when she told her story, my missis set up such a screech, and fell down in a dead swoon. Mary ran up with water for her mother, and I thought so much about my wife, I did not seem to care at all for Esther. But the next day I asked all the neighbours (both our own and Bradshaw's), and they'd none of 'em heard or seen nothing of her. I even went to a policeman, a good enough sort of man, but a fellow I'd never spoke to before because of his livery, and I asks him if his 'cuteness could find any thing out for us. So I believe he asks other policemen; and one on 'em had seen a wench, like our Esther, walking very quickly, with a bundle under her arm, on Tuesday night, toward eight o'clock, and get into a hackney coach, near Hulme Church, and we don't know th' number, and can't trace it no further. I'm sorry enough for the girl, for bad's come over her, one way or another, but I'm sorrier for my wife. She loved her next to me and Mary, and she's never been the same body since poor Tom's death. However, let's go back to them; your old woman may have done her good." As they walked homewards with a brisker pace, Wilson expressed a wish that they still were the near neighbours they once had been. "Still our Alice lives in the cellar under No. 14, in Barber Street, and if you'd only speak the word she'd be with you in five minutes, to keep your wife company when she's lonesome. Though I'm Alice's brother, and perhaps ought not to say it, I will say there's none more ready to help with heart or hand than she is. Though she may have done a hard day's wash, there's not a child ill within the street but Alice goes to offer to sit up, and does sit up too, though may be she's to be at her work by six next morning." "She's a poor woman, and can feel for the poor, Wilson," was Barton's reply; and then he added, "Thank you kindly for your offer, and mayhap I may trouble her to be a bit with my wife, for while I'm at work, and Mary's at school, I know she frets above a bit. See, there's Mary!" and the father's eye brightened, as in the distance, among a group of girls, he spied his only daughter, a bonny lassie of thirteen or so, who came bounding along to meet and to greet her father, in a manner which showed that the stern-looking man had a tender nature within. The two men had crossed the last stile while Mary loitered behind to gather some buds of the coming hawthorn, when an over-grown lad came past her, and snatched a kiss, exclaiming, "For old acquaintance sake, Mary." "Take that for old acquaintance sake, then," said the girl, blushing rosy red, more with anger than shame, as she slapped his face. The tones of her voice called back her father and his friend, and the aggressor proved to be the eldest son of the latter, the senior by eighteen years of his little brothers. "Here, children, instead o' kissing and quarrelling, do ye each take a baby, for if Wilson's arms be like mine they are heartily tired." Mary sprang forward to take her father's charge, with a girl's fondness for infants, and with some little foresight of the event soon to happen at home; while young Wilson seemed to lose his rough, cubbish nature as he crowed and cooed to his little brother. "Twins is a great trial to a poor man, bless 'em," said the half-proud, half-weary father, as he bestowed a smacking kiss on the babe ere he parted with it. CHAPTER II. A MANCHESTER TEA-PARTY. Polly, put the kettle on, And let's have tea! Polly, put the kettle on, And we'll all have tea. "Here we are, wife; didst thou think thou'd lost us?" quoth hearty-voiced Wilson, as the two women rose and shook themselves in preparation for their homeward walk. Mrs. Barton was evidently soothed, if not cheered, by the unburdening of her fears and thoughts to her friend; and her approving look went far to second her husband's invitation that the whole party should adjourn from Green Heys Fields to tea, at the Bartons' house. The only faint opposition was raised by Mrs. Wilson, on account of the lateness of the hour at which they would probably return, which she feared on her babies' account. "Now, hold your tongue, missis, will you," said her husband, good-temperedly. "Don't you know them brats never goes to sleep till long past ten? and haven't you a shawl, under which you can tuck one lad's head, as safe as a bird's under its wing? And as for t'other one, I'll put it in my pocket rather than not stay, now we are this far away from Ancoats." "Or I can lend you another shawl," suggested Mrs. Barton. "Ay, any thing rather than not stay." The matter being decided, the party proceeded home, through many half-finished streets, all so like one another that you might have easily been bewildered and lost your way. Not a step, however, did our friends lose; down this entry, cutting off that corner, until they turned out of one of these innumerable streets into a little paved court, having the backs of houses at the end opposite to the opening, and a gutter running through the middle to carry off household slops, washing suds, &c. The women who lived in the court were busy taking in strings of caps, frocks, and various articles of linen, which hung from side to side, dangling so low, that if our friends had been a few minutes sooner, they would have had to stoop very much, or else the half-wet clothes would have flapped in their faces; but although the evening seemed yet early when they were in the open fields--among the pent-up houses, night, with its mists, and its darkness, had already begun to fall. Many greetings were given and exchanged between the Wilsons and these women, for not long ago they had also dwelt in this court. Two rude lads, standing at a disorderly looking house-door, exclaimed, as Mary Barton (the daughter) passed, "Eh, look! Polly Barton's gotten a sweetheart." Of course this referred to young Wilson, who stole a look to see how Mary took the idea. He saw her assume the air of a young fury, and to his next speech she answered not a word. Mrs. Barton produced the key of the door from her pocket; and on entering the house-place it seemed as if they were in total darkness, except one bright spot, which might be a cat's eye, or might be, what it was, a red-hot fire, smouldering under a large piece of coal, which John Barton immediately applied himself to break up, and the effect instantly produced was warm and glowing light in every corner of the room. To add to this (although the coarse yellow glare seemed lost in the ruddy glow from the fire), Mrs. Barton lighted a dip by sticking it in the fire, and having placed it satisfactorily in a tin candlestick, began to look further about her, on hospitable thoughts intent. The room was tolerably large, and possessed many conveniences. On the right of the door, as you entered, was a longish window, with a broad ledge. On each side of this, hung blue-and-white check curtains, which were now drawn, to shut in the friends met to enjoy themselves. Two geraniums, unpruned and leafy, which stood on the sill, formed a further defence from out-door pryers. In the corner between the window and the fire-side was a cupboard, apparently full of plates and dishes, cups and saucers, and some more nondescript articles, for which one would have fancied their possessors could find no use--such as triangular pieces of glass to save carving knives and forks from dirtying table-cloths. However, it was evident Mrs. Barton was proud of her crockery and glass, for she left her cupboard door open, with a glance round of satisfaction and pleasure. On the opposite side to the door and window was the staircase, and two doors; one of which (the nearest to the fire) led into a sort of little back kitchen, where dirty work, such as washing up dishes, might be done, and whose shelves served as larder, and pantry, and storeroom, and all. The other door, which was considerably lower, opened into the coal-hole--the slanting closet under the stairs; from which, to the fire-place, there was a gay-coloured piece of oil-cloth laid. The place seemed almost crammed with furniture (sure sign of good times among the mills). Beneath the window was a dresser with three deep drawers. Opposite the fire-place was a table, which I should call a Pembroke, only that it was made of deal, and I cannot tell how far such a name may be applied to such humble material. On it, resting against the wall, was a bright green japanned tea-tray, having a couple of scarlet lovers embracing in the middle. The fire-light danced merrily on this, and really (setting all taste but that of a child's aside) it gave a richness of colouring to that side of the room. It was in some measure propped up by a crimson tea-caddy, also of japan ware. A round table on one branching leg really for use, stood in the corresponding corner to the cupboard; and, if you can picture all this with a washy, but clean stencilled pattern on the walls, you can form some idea of John Barton's home. The tray was soon hoisted down, and before the merry chatter of cups and saucers began, the women disburdened themselves of their out-of-door things, and sent Mary up stairs with them. Then came a long whispering, and chinking of money, to which Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were too polite to attend; knowing, as they did full well, that it all related to the preparations for hospitality; hospitality that, in their turn, they should have such pleasure in offering. So they tried to be busily occupied with the children, and not to hear Mrs. Barton's directions to Mary. "Run, Mary dear, just round the corner, and get some fresh eggs at Tipping's (you may get one a-piece, that will be five-pence), and see if he has any nice ham cut, that he would let us have a pound of." "Say two pounds, missis, and don't be stingy," chimed in the husband. "Well, a pound and a half, Mary. And get it Cumberland ham, for Wilson comes from there-away, and it will have a sort of relish of home with it he'll like,--and Mary" (seeing the lassie fain to be off), "you must get a pennyworth of milk and a loaf of bread--mind you get it fresh and new--and, and--that's all, Mary." "No, it's not all," said her husband. "Thou must get sixpennyworth of rum, to warm the tea; thou'll get it at the 'Grapes.' And thou just go to Alice Wilson; he says she lives just right round the corner, under 14, Barber Street" (this was addressed to his wife), "and tell her to come and take her tea with us; she'll like to see her brother, I'll be bound, let alone Jane and the twins." "If she comes she must bring a tea-cup and saucer, for we have but half-a-dozen, and here's six of us," said Mrs. Barton. "Pooh! pooh! Jem and Mary can drink out of one, surely." But Mary secretly determined to take care that Alice brought her tea-cup and saucer, if the alternative was to be her sharing any thing with Jem. Alice Wilson had but just come in. She had been out all day in the fields, gathering wild herbs for drinks and medicine, for in addition to her invaluable qualities as a sick nurse and her worldly occupation as a washerwoman, she added a considerable knowledge of hedge and field simples; and on fine days, when no more profitable occupation offered itself, she used to ramble off into the lanes and meadows as far as her legs could carry her. This evening she had returned loaded with nettles, and her first object was to light a candle and see to hang them up in bunches in every available place in her cellar room. It was the perfection of cleanliness: in one corner stood the modest-looking bed, with a check curtain at the head, the whitewashed wall filling up the place where the corresponding one should have been. The floor was bricked, and scrupulously clean, although so damp that it seemed as if the last washing would never dry up. As the cellar window looked into an area in the street, down which boys might throw stones, it was protected by an outside shelter, and was oddly festooned with all manner of hedge-row, ditch, and field plants, which we are accustomed to call valueless, but which have a powerful effect either for good or for evil, and are consequently much used among the poor. The room was strewed, hung, and darkened with these bunches, which emitted no very fragrant odour in their process of drying. In one corner was a sort of broad hanging shelf, made of old planks, where some old hoards of Alice's were kept. Her little bit of crockery ware was ranged on the mantelpiece, where also stood her candlestick and box of matches. A small cupboard contained at the bottom coals, and at the top her bread and basin of oatmeal, her frying pan, tea-pot, and a small tin saucepan, which served as a kettle, as well as for cooking the delicate little messes of broth which Alice sometimes was able to manufacture for a sick neighbour. After her walk she felt chilly and weary, and was busy trying to light her fire with the damp coals, and half green sticks, when Mary knocked. "Come in," said Alice, remembering, however, that she had barred the door for the night, and hastening to make it possible for any one to come in. "Is that you, Mary Barton?" exclaimed she, as the light from her candle streamed on the girl's face. "How you are grown since I used to see you at my brother's! Come in, lass, come in." "Please," said Mary, almost breathless, "mother says you're to come to tea, and bring your cup and saucer, for George and Jane Wilson is with us, and the twins, and Jem. And you're to make haste, please." "I'm sure it's very neighbourly and kind in your mother, and I'll come, with many thanks. Stay, Mary, has your mother got any nettles for spring drink? If she hasn't I'll take her some." "No, I don't think she has." Mary ran off like a hare to fulfil what, to a girl of thirteen, fond of power, was the more interesting part of her errand--the money-spending part. And well and ably did she perform her business, returning home with a little bottle of rum, and the eggs in one hand, while her other was filled with some excellent red-and-white smoke-flavoured Cumberland ham, wrapped up in paper. She was at home, and frying ham, before Alice had chosen her nettles, put out her candle, locked her door, and walked in a very foot-sore manner as far as John Barton's. What an aspect of comfort did his houseplace present, after her humble cellar. She did not think of comparing; but for all that she felt the delicious glow of the fire, the bright light that revelled in every corner of the room, the savoury smells, the comfortable sounds of a boiling kettle, and the hissing, frizzling ham. With a little old-fashioned curtsey she shut the door, and replied with a loving heart to the boisterous and surprised greeting of her brother. And now all preparations being made, the party sat down; Mrs. Wilson in the post of honour, the rocking chair on the right hand side of the fire, nursing her baby, while its father, in an opposite arm-chair, tried vainly to quieten the other with bread soaked in milk. Mrs. Barton knew manners too well to do any thing but sit at the tea-table and make tea, though in her heart she longed to be able to superintend the frying of the ham, and cast many an anxious look at Mary as she broke the eggs and turned the ham, with a very comfortable portion of confidence in her own culinary powers. Jem stood awkwardly leaning against the dresser, replying rather gruffly to his aunt's speeches, which gave him, he thought, the air of being a little boy; whereas he considered himself as a young man, and not so very young neither, as in two months he would be eighteen. Barton vibrated between the fire and the tea-table, his only drawback being a fancy that every now and then his wife's face flushed and contracted as if in pain. At length the business actually began. Knives and forks, cups and saucers made a noise, but human voices were still, for human beings were hungry, and had no time to speak. Alice first broke silence; holding her tea-cup with the manner of one proposing a toast, she said, "Here's to absent friends. Friends may meet, but mountains never." It was an unlucky toast or sentiment, as she instantly felt. Every one thought of Esther, the absent Esther; and Mrs. Barton put down her food, and could not hide the fast dropping tears. Alice could have bitten her tongue out. It was a wet blanket to the evening; for though all had been said and suggested in the fields that could be said or suggested, every one had a wish to say something in the way of comfort to poor Mrs. Barton, and a dislike to talk about any thing else while her tears fell fast and scalding. So George Wilson, his wife and children, set off early home, not before (in spite of _mal-à-propos_ speeches) they had expressed a wish that such meetings might often take place, and not before John Barton had given his hearty consent; and declared that as soon as ever his wife was well again they would have just such another evening. "I will take care not to come and spoil it," thought poor Alice; and going up to Mrs. Barton she took her hand almost humbly, and said, "You don't know how sorry I am I said it." To her surprise, a surprise that brought tears of joy into her eyes, Mary Barton put her arms round her neck, and kissed the self-reproaching Alice. "You didn't mean any harm, and it was me as was so foolish; only this work about Esther, and not knowing where she is, lies so heavy on my heart. Good night, and never think no more about it. God bless you, Alice." Many and many a time, as Alice reviewed that evening in her after life, did she bless Mary Barton for these kind and thoughtful words. But just then all she could say was, "Good night, Mary, and may God bless _you_." CHAPTER III. JOHN BARTON'S GREAT TROUBLE. But when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed--she had Another morn than ours! HOOD. In the middle of that same night a neighbour of the Bartons was roused from her sound, well-earned sleep, by a knocking, which had at first made part of her dream; but starting up, as soon as she became convinced of its reality, she opened the window, and asked who was there? "Me, John Barton," answered he, in a voice tremulous with agitation. "My missis is in labour, and, for the love of God, step in while I run for th' doctor, for she's fearful bad." While the woman hastily dressed herself, leaving the window still open, she heard cries of agony, which resounded in the little court in the stillness of the night. In less than five minutes she was standing by Mrs. Barton's bed-side, relieving the terrified Mary, who went about, where she was told, like an automaton; her eyes tearless, her face calm, though deadly pale, and uttering no sound, except when her teeth chattered for very nervousness. The cries grew worse. The doctor was very long in hearing the repeated rings at his night-bell, and still longer in understanding who it was that made this sudden call upon his services; and then he begged Barton just to wait while he dressed himself, in order that no time might be lost in finding the court and house. Barton absolutely stamped with impatience, outside the doctor's door, before he came down; and walked so fast homewards, that the medical man several times asked him to go slower. "Is she so very bad?" asked he. "Worse, much worser than ever I saw her before," replied John. No! she was not--she was at peace. The cries were still for ever. John had no time for listening. He opened the latched door, stayed not to light a candle for the mere ceremony of showing his companion up the stairs, so well known to himself; but, in two minutes was in the room, where lay the dead wife, whom he had loved with all the power of his strong heart. The doctor stumbled up stairs by the fire-light, and met the awe-struck look of the neighbour, which at once told him the state of things. The room was still, as he, with habitual tip-toe step, approached the poor frail body, whom nothing now could more disturb. Her daughter knelt by the bed-side, her face buried in the clothes, which were almost crammed into her mouth, to keep down the choking sobs. The husband stood like one stupified. The doctor questioned the neighbour in whispers, and then approaching Barton, said, "You must go down stairs. This is a great shock, but bear it like a man. Go down." He went mechanically and sat down on the first chair. He had no hope. The look of death was too clear upon her face. Still, when he heard one or two unusual noises, the thought burst on him that it might only be a trance, a fit, a--he did not well know what,--but not death! Oh, not death! And he was starting up to go up stairs again, when the doctor's heavy cautious creaking footstep was heard on the stairs. Then he knew what it really was in the chamber above. "Nothing could have saved her--there has been some shock to the system--" and so he went on; but, to unheeding ears, which yet retained his words to ponder on; words not for immediate use in conveying sense, but to be laid by, in the store-house of memory, for a more convenient season. The doctor seeing the state of the case, grieved for the man; and, very sleepy, thought it best to go, and accordingly wished him good-night--but there was no answer, so he let himself out; and Barton sat on, like a stock or a stone, so rigid, so still. He heard the sounds above too, and knew what they meant. He heard the stiff, unseasoned drawer, in which his wife kept her clothes, pulled open. He saw the neighbour come down, and blunder about in search of soap and water. He knew well what she wanted, and _why_ she wanted them, but he did not speak, nor offer to help. At last she went, with some kindly-meant words (a text of comfort, which fell upon a deafened ear), and something about "Mary," but which Mary, in his bewildered state, he could not tell. He tried to realise it, to think it possible. And then his mind wandered off to other days, to far different times. He thought of their courtship; of his first seeing her, an awkward, beautiful rustic, far too shiftless for the delicate factory work to which she was apprenticed; of his first gift to her, a bead necklace, which had long ago been put by, in one of the deep drawers of the dresser, to be kept for Mary. He wondered if it was there yet, and with a strange curiosity he got up to feel for it; for the fire by this time was well-nigh out, and candle he had none. His groping hand fell on the piled-up tea things, which at his desire she had left unwashed till morning--they were all so tired. He was reminded of one of the daily little actions, which acquire such power when they have been performed for the last time, by one we love. He began to think over his wife's daily round of duties; and something in the remembrance that these would never more be done by her, touched the source of tears, and he cried aloud. Poor Mary, meanwhile, had mechanically helped the neighbour in all the last attentions to the dead; and when she was kissed, and spoken to soothingly, tears stole quietly down her cheeks: but she reserved the luxury of a full burst of grief till she should be alone. She shut the chamber-door softly, after the neighbour had gone, and then shook the bed by which she knelt, with her agony of sorrow. She repeated, over and over again, the same words; the same vain, unanswered address to her who was no more. "Oh, mother! mother, are you really dead! Oh, mother, mother!" At last she stopped, because it flashed across her mind that her violence of grief might disturb her father. All was still below. She looked on the face so changed, and yet so strangely like. She bent down to kiss it. The cold, unyielding flesh struck a shudder to her heart, and, hastily obeying her impulse, she grasped the candle, and opened the door. Then she heard the sobs of her father's grief; and quickly, quietly, stealing down the steps, she knelt by him, and kissed his hand. He took no notice at first, for his burst of grief would not be controlled. But when her shriller sobs, her terrified cries (which she could not repress), rose upon his ear, he checked himself. "Child, we must be all to one another, now _she_ is gone," whispered he. "Oh, father, what can I do for you? Do tell me! I'll do any thing." "I know thou wilt. Thou must not fret thyself ill, that's the first thing I ask. Thou must leave me, and go to bed now, like a good girl as thou art." "Leave you, father! oh, don't say so." "Ay, but thou must! thou must go to bed, and try and sleep; thou'lt have enough to do and to bear, poor wench, to-morrow." Mary got up, kissed her father, and sadly went up stairs to the little closet, where she slept. She thought it was of no use undressing, for that she could never, never sleep, so threw herself on her bed in her clothes, and before ten minutes had passed away, the passionate grief of youth had subsided into sleep. Barton had been roused by his daughter's entrance, both from his stupor and from his uncontrollable sorrow. He could think on what was to be done, could plan for the funeral, could calculate the necessity of soon returning to his work, as the extravagance of the past night would leave them short of money, if he long remained away from the mill. He was in a club, so that money was provided for the burial. These things settled in his own mind, he recalled the doctor's words, and bitterly thought of the shock his poor wife had so recently had, in the mysterious disappearance of her cherished sister. His feelings towards Esther almost amounted to curses. It was she who had brought on all this sorrow. Her giddiness, her lightness of conduct, had wrought this woe. His previous thoughts about her had been tinged with wonder and pity, but now he hardened his heart against her for ever. One of the good influences over John Barton's life had departed that night. One of the ties which bound him down to the gentle humanities of earth was loosened, and henceforward the neighbours all remarked he was a changed man. His gloom and his sternness became habitual instead of occasional. He was more obstinate. But never to Mary. Between the father and the daughter there existed in full force that mysterious bond which unites those who have been loved by one who is now dead and gone. While he was harsh and silent to others, he humoured Mary with tender love; she had more of her own way than is common in any rank with girls of her age. Part of this was the necessity of the case; for, of course, all the money went through her hands, and the household arrangements were guided by her will and pleasure. But part was her father's indulgence, for he left her, with full trust in her unusual sense and spirit, to choose her own associates, and her own times for seeing them. With all this, Mary had not her father's confidence in the matters which now began to occupy him, heart and soul; she was aware that he had joined clubs, and become an active member of a trades' union, but it was hardly likely that a girl of Mary's age (even when two or three years had elapsed since her mother's death) should care much for the differences between the employers and the employed,--an eternal subject for agitation in the manufacturing districts, which, however it may be lulled for a time, is sure to break forth again with fresh violence at any depression of trade, showing that in its apparent quiet, the ashes had still smouldered in the breasts of a few. Among these few was John Barton. At all times it is a bewildering thing to the poor weaver to see his employer removing from house to house, each one grander than the last, till he ends in building one more magnificent than all, or withdraws his money from the concern, or sells his mill to buy an estate in the country, while all the time the weaver, who thinks he and his fellows are the real makers of this wealth, is struggling on for bread for their children, through the vicissitudes of lowered wages, short hours, fewer hands employed, &c. And when he knows trade is bad, and could understand (at least partially) that there are not buyers enough in the market to purchase the goods already made, and consequently that there is no demand for more; when he would bear and endure much without complaining, could he also see that his employers were bearing their share; he is, I say, bewildered and (to use his own word) "aggravated" to see that all goes on just as usual with the mill-owners. Large houses are still occupied, while spinners' and weavers' cottages stand empty, because the families that once occupied them are obliged to live in rooms or cellars. Carriages still roll along the streets, concerts are still crowded by subscribers, the shops for expensive luxuries still find daily customers, while the workman loiters away his unemployed time in watching these things, and thinking of the pale, uncomplaining wife at home, and the wailing children asking in vain for enough of food, of the sinking health, of the dying life of those near and dear to him. The contrast is too great. Why should he alone suffer from bad times? I know that this is not really the case; and I know what is the truth in such matters: but what I wish to impress is what the workman feels and thinks. True, that with child-like improvidence, good times will often dissipate his grumbling, and make him forget all prudence and foresight. But there are earnest men among these people, men who have endured wrongs without complaining, but without ever forgetting or forgiving those whom (they believe) have caused all this woe. Among these was John Barton. His parents had suffered, his mother had died from absolute want of the necessaries of life. He himself was a good, steady workman, and, as such, pretty certain of steady employment. But he spent all he got with the confidence (you may also call it improvidence) of one who was willing, and believed himself able, to supply all his wants by his own exertions. And when his master suddenly failed, and all hands in that mill were turned back, one Tuesday morning, with the news that Mr. Hunter had stopped, Barton had only a few shillings to rely on; but he had good heart of being employed at some other mill, and accordingly, before returning home, he spent some hours in going from factory to factory, asking for work. But at every mill was some sign of depression of trade; some were working short hours, some were turning off hands, and for weeks Barton was out of work, living on credit. It was during this time his little son, the apple of his eye, the cynosure of all his strong power of love, fell ill of the scarlet fever. They dragged him through the crisis, but his life hung on a gossamer thread. Every thing, the doctor said, depended on good nourishment, on generous living, to keep up the little fellow's strength, in the prostration in which the fever had left him. Mocking words! when the commonest food in the house would not furnish one little meal. Barton tried credit; but it was worn out at the little provision shops, which were now suffering in their turn. He thought it would be no sin to steal, and would have stolen; but he could not get the opportunity in the few days the child lingered. Hungry himself, almost to an animal pitch of ravenousness, but with the bodily pain swallowed up in anxiety for his little sinking lad, he stood at one of the shop windows where all edible luxuries are displayed; haunches of venison, Stilton cheeses, moulds of jelly--all appetising sights to the common passer by. And out of this shop came Mrs. Hunter! She crossed to her carriage, followed by the shopman loaded with purchases for a party. The door was quickly slammed to, and she drove away; and Barton returned home with a bitter spirit of wrath in his heart, to see his only boy a corpse! You can fancy, now, the hoards of vengeance in his heart against the employers. For there are never wanting those who, either in speech or in print, find it their interest to cherish such feelings in the working classes; who know how and when to rouse the dangerous power at their command; and who use their knowledge with unrelenting purpose to either party. So while Mary took her own way, growing more spirited every day, and growing in her beauty too, her father was chairman at many a trades' union meeting; a friend of delegates, and ambitious of being a delegate himself; a Chartist, and ready to do any thing for his order. But now times were good; and all these feelings were theoretical, not practical. His most practical thought was getting Mary apprenticed to a dressmaker; for he had never left off disliking a factory life for a girl, on more accounts than one. Mary must do something. The factories being, as I said, out of the question, there were two things open--going out to service, and the dressmaking business; and against the first of these, Mary set herself with all the force of her strong will. What that will might have been able to achieve had her father been against her, I cannot tell; but he disliked the idea of parting with her, who was the light of his hearth, the voice of his otherwise silent home. Besides, with his ideas and feelings towards the higher classes, he considered domestic servitude as a species of slavery; a pampering of artificial wants on the one side, a giving-up of every right of leisure by day and quiet rest by night on the other. How far his strong exaggerated feelings had any foundation in truth, it is for you to judge. I am afraid that Mary's determination not to go to service arose from far less sensible thoughts on the subject than her father's. Three years of independence of action (since her mother's death such a time had now elapsed) had little inclined her to submit to rules as to hours and associates, to regulate her dress by a mistress's ideas of propriety, to lose the dear feminine privileges of gossiping with a merry neighbour, and working night and day to help one who was sorrowful. Besides all this, the sayings of her absent, her mysterious aunt, Esther, had an unacknowledged influence over Mary. She knew she was very pretty; the factory people as they poured from the mills, and in their freedom told the truth (whatever it might be) to every passer-by, had early let Mary into the secret of her beauty. If their remarks had fallen on an unheeding ear, there were always young men enough, in a different rank from her own, who were willing to compliment the pretty weaver's daughter as they met her in the streets. Besides, trust a girl of sixteen for knowing well if she is pretty; concerning her plainness she may be ignorant. So with this consciousness she had early determined that her beauty should make her a lady; the rank she coveted the more for her father's abuse; the rank to which she firmly believed her lost aunt Esther had arrived. Now, while a servant must often drudge and be dirty, must be known as a servant by all who visited at her master's house, a dressmaker's apprentice must (or so Mary thought) be always dressed with a certain regard to appearance; must never soil her hands, and need never redden or dirty her face with hard labour. Before my telling you so truly what folly Mary felt or thought, injures her without redemption in your opinion, think what are the silly fancies of sixteen years of age in every class, and under all circumstances. The end of all the thoughts of father and daughter was, as I said before, Mary was to be a dressmaker; and her ambition prompted her unwilling father to apply at all the first establishments, to know on what terms of painstaking and zeal his daughter might be admitted into ever so humble a workwoman's situation. But high premiums were asked at all; poor man! he might have known that without giving up a day's work to ascertain the fact. He would have been indignant, indeed, had he known that if Mary had accompanied him, the case might have been rather different, as her beauty would have made her desirable as a show-woman. Then he tried second-rate places; at all the payment of a sum of money was necessary, and money he had none. Disheartened and angry he went home at night, declaring it was time lost; that dressmaking was at all events a toilsome business, and not worth learning. Mary saw that the grapes were sour, and the next day set out herself, as her father could not afford to lose another day's work; and before night (as yesterday's experience had considerably lowered her ideas) she had engaged herself as apprentice (so called, though there were no deeds or indentures to the bond) to a certain Miss Simmonds, milliner and dressmaker, in a respectable little street leading off Ardwick Green, where her business was duly announced in gold letters on a black ground, enclosed in a bird's-eye maple frame, and stuck in the front parlour window; where the workwomen were called "her young ladies;" and where Mary was to work for two years without any remuneration, on consideration of being taught the business; and where afterwards she was to dine and have tea, with a small quarterly salary (paid quarterly, because so much more genteel than by the week), a _very_ small one, divisible into a minute weekly pittance. In summer she was to be there by six, bringing her day's meals during the first two years; in winter she was not to come till after breakfast. Her time for returning home at night must always depend upon the quantity of work Miss Simmonds had to do. And Mary was satisfied; and seeing this, her father was contented too, although his words were grumbling and morose; but Mary knew his ways, and coaxed and planned for the future so cheerily, that both went to bed with easy if not happy hearts. CHAPTER IV. OLD ALICE'S HISTORY. To envy nought beneath the ample sky; To mourn no evil deed, no hour mis-spent; And, like a living violet, silently Return in sweets to Heaven what goodness lent, Then bend beneath the chastening shower content. ELLIOTT. Another year passed on. The waves of time seemed long since to have swept away all trace of poor Mary Barton. But her husband still thought of her, although with a calm and quiet grief, in the silent watches of the night: and Mary would start from her hard-earned sleep, and think in her half-dreamy, half-awakened state, she saw her mother stand by her bed-side, as she used to do "in the days of long-ago;" with a shaded candle and an expression of ineffable tenderness, while she looked on her sleeping child. But Mary rubbed her eyes and sank back on her pillow, awake, and knowing it was a dream; and still, in all her troubles and perplexities, her heart called on her mother for aid, and she thought, "If mother had but lived, she would have helped me." Forgetting that the woman's sorrows are far more difficult to mitigate than a child's, even by the mighty power of a mother's love; and unconscious of the fact, that she was far superior in sense and spirit to the mother she mourned. Aunt Esther was still mysteriously absent, and people had grown weary of wondering and began to forget. Barton still attended his club, and was an active member of a trades' union; indeed, more frequently than ever, since the time of Mary's return in the evening was so uncertain; and, as she occasionally, in very busy times, remained all night. His chiefest friend was still George Wilson, although he had no great sympathy on the questions that agitated Barton's mind. Still their hearts were bound by old ties to one another, and the remembrance of former times gave an unspoken charm to their meetings. Our old friend, the cub-like lad, Jem Wilson, had shot up into the powerful, well-made young man, with a sensible face enough; nay, a face that might have been handsome, had it not been here and there marked by the small-pox. He worked with one of the great firms of engineers, who send from out their towns of workshops engines and machinery to the dominions of the Czar and the Sultan. His father and mother were never weary of praising Jem, at all which commendation pretty Mary Barton would toss her head, seeing clearly enough that they wished her to understand what a good husband he would make, and to favour his love, about which he never dared to speak, whatever eyes and looks revealed. One day, in the early winter time, when people were provided with warm substantial gowns, not likely soon to wear out, and when, accordingly, business was rather slack at Miss Simmonds', Mary met Alice Wilson, coming home from her half-day's work at some tradesman's house. Mary and Alice had always liked each other; indeed, Alice looked with particular interest on the motherless girl, the daughter of her whose forgiving kiss had so comforted her in many sleepless hours. So there was a warm greeting between the tidy old woman and the blooming young work-girl; and then Alice ventured to ask if she would come in and take her tea with her that very evening. "You'll think it dull enough to come just to sit with an old woman like me, but there's a tidy young lass as lives in the floor above, who does plain work, and now and then a bit in your own line, Mary; she's grand-daughter to old Job Legh, a spinner, and a good girl she is. Do come, Mary! I've a terrible wish to make you known to each other. She's a genteel-looking lass, too." At the beginning of this speech Mary had feared the intended visitor was to be no other than Alice's nephew; but Alice was too delicate-minded to plan a meeting, even for her dear Jem, when one would have been an unwilling party; and Mary, relieved from her apprehension by the conclusion, gladly agreed to come. How busy Alice felt! it was not often she had any one to tea; and now her sense of the duties of a hostess were almost too much for her. She made haste home, and lighted the unwilling fire, borrowing a pair of bellows to make it burn the faster. For herself she was always patient; she let the coals take their time. Then she put on her pattens, and went to fill her kettle at the pump in the next court, and on the way she borrowed a cup; of odd saucers she had plenty, serving as plates when occasion required. Half an ounce of tea and a quarter of a pound of butter went far to absorb her morning's wages; but this was an unusual occasion. In general, she used herb-tea for herself, when at home, unless some thoughtful mistress made her a present of tea-leaves from her more abundant household. The two chairs drawn out for visitors, and duly swept and dusted; an old board arranged with some skill upon two old candle-boxes set on end (rather ricketty to be sure, but she knew the seat of old, and when to sit lightly; indeed the whole affair was more for apparent dignity of position than for any real ease); a little, very little round table put just before the fire, which by this time was blazing merrily; her unlackered, ancient, third-hand tea-tray arranged with a black tea-pot, two cups with a red and white pattern, and one with the old friendly willow pattern, and saucers, not to match (on one of the extra supply, the lump of butter flourished away); all these preparations complete, Alice began to look about her with satisfaction, and a sort of wonder what more could be done to add to the comfort of the evening. She took one of the chairs away from its appropriate place by the table, and putting it close to the broad large hanging shelf I told you about when I first described her cellar-dwelling, and mounting on it, she pulled towards her an old deal box, and took thence a quantity of the oat bread of the north, the clap-bread of Cumberland and Westmoreland, and descending carefully with the thin cakes threatening to break to pieces in her hand, she placed them on the bare table, with the belief that her visitors would have an unusual treat in eating the bread of her childhood. She brought out a good piece of a four-pound loaf of common household bread as well, and then sat down to rest, really to rest, and not to pretend, on one of the rush-bottomed chairs. The candle was ready to be lighted, the kettle boiled, the tea was awaiting its doom in its paper parcel; all was ready. A knock at the door! It was Margaret, the young workwoman who lived in the rooms above, who having heard the bustle, and the subsequent quiet, began to think it was time to pay her visit below. She was a sallow, unhealthy, sweet-looking young woman, with a careworn look; her dress was humble and very simple, consisting of some kind of dark stuff gown, her neck being covered by a drab shawl or large handkerchief, pinned down behind and at the sides in front. The old woman gave her a hearty greeting, and made her sit down on the chair she had just left, while she balanced herself on the board seat, in order that Margaret might think it was quite her free and independent choice to sit there. "I cannot think what keeps Mary Barton. She's quite grand with her late hours," said Alice, as Mary still delayed. The truth was, Mary was dressing herself; yes, to come to poor old Alice's--she thought it worth while to consider what gown she should put on. It was not for Alice, however, you may be pretty sure; no, they knew each other too well. But Mary liked making an impression, and in this it must be owned she was pretty often gratified--and there was this strange girl to consider just now. So she put on her pretty new blue merino, made tight to her throat, her little linen collar and linen cuffs, and sallied forth to impress poor gentle Margaret. She certainly succeeded. Alice, who never thought much about beauty, had never told Margaret how pretty Mary was; and, as she came in half-blushing at her own self-consciousness, Margaret could hardly take her eyes off her, and Mary put down her long black lashes with a sort of dislike of the very observation she had taken such pains to secure. Can you fancy the bustle of Alice to make the tea, to pour it out, and sweeten it to their liking, to help and help again to clap-bread and bread-and-butter? Can you fancy the delight with which she watched her piled-up clap-bread disappear before the hungry girls, and listened to the praises of her home-remembered dainty? "My mother used to send me some clap-bread by any north-country person--bless her! She knew how good such things taste when far away from home. Not but what every one likes it. When I was in service my fellow-servants were always glad to share with me. Eh, it's a long time ago, yon." "Do tell us about it, Alice," said Margaret. "Why, lass, there's nothing to tell. There was more mouths at home than could be fed. Tom, that's Will's father (you don't know Will, but he's a sailor to foreign parts), had come to Manchester, and sent word what terrible lots of work was to be had, both for lads and lasses. So father sent George first (you know George, well enough, Mary), and then work was scarce out toward Burton, where we lived, and father said I maun try and get a place. And George wrote as how wages were far higher in Manchester than Milnthorpe or Lancaster; and, lasses, I was young and thoughtless, and thought it was a fine thing to go so far from home. So, one day, th' butcher he brings us a letter fra George, to say he'd heard on a place--and I was all agog to go, and father was pleased, like; but mother said little, and that little was very quiet. I've often thought she was a bit hurt to see me so ready to go--God forgive me! But she packed up my clothes, and some o' the better end of her own as would fit me, in yon little paper box up there--it's good for nought now, but I would liefer live without fire than break it up to be burnt; and yet it's going on for eighty years old, for she had it when she was a girl, and brought all her clothes in it to father's, when they were married. But, as I was saying, she did not cry, though the tears was often in her eyes; and I seen her looking after me down the lane as long as I were in sight, with her hand shading her eyes--and that were the last look I ever had on her." Alice knew that before long she should go to that mother; and, besides, the griefs and bitter woes of youth have worn themselves out before we grow old; but she looked so sorrowful that the girls caught her sadness, and mourned for the poor woman who had been dead and gone so many years ago. "Did you never see her again, Alice? Did you never go home while she was alive?" asked Mary. "No, nor since. Many a time and oft have I planned to go. I plan it yet, and hope to go home again before it please God to take me. I used to try and save money enough to go for a week when I was in service; but first one thing came, and then another. First, missis's children fell ill of the measles, just when th' week I'd ask'd for came, and I couldn't leave them, for one and all cried for me to nurse them. Then missis herself fell sick, and I could go less than ever. For, you see, they kept a little shop, and he drank, and missis and me was all there was to mind children, and shop, and all, and cook and wash besides." Mary was glad she had not gone into service, and said so. "Eh, lass! thou little knows the pleasure o' helping others; I was as happy there as could be; almost as happy as I was at home. Well, but next year I thought I could go at a leisure time, and missis telled me I should have a fortnight then, and I used to sit up all that winter working hard at patchwork, to have a quilt of my own making to take to my mother. But master died, and missis went away fra Manchester, and I'd to look out for a place again." "Well, but," interrupted Mary, "I should have thought that was the best time to go home." "No, I thought not. You see it was a different thing going home for a week on a visit, may be with money in my pocket to give father a lift, to going home to be a burden to him. Besides, how could I hear o' a place there? Anyways I thought it best to stay, though perhaps it might have been better to ha' gone, for then I should ha' seen mother again;" and the poor old woman looked puzzled. "I'm sure you did what you thought right," said Margaret, gently. "Ay, lass, that's it," said Alice, raising her head and speaking more cheerfully. "That's the thing, and then let the Lord send what He sees fit; not but that I grieved sore, oh, sore and sad, when toward spring next year, when my quilt were all done to th' lining, George came in one evening to tell me mother was dead. I cried many a night at after; [3] I'd no time for crying by day, for that missis was terrible strict; she would not hearken to my going to th' funeral; and indeed I would have been too late, for George set off that very night by th' coach, and th' letter had been kept or summut (posts were not like th' posts now-a-days), and he found the burial all over, and father talking o' flitting; for he couldn't abide the cottage after mother was gone." [Footnote 3: A common Lancashire phrase. "Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, _at after_ supper." SHAKSPEARE, Richard III.] "Was it a pretty place?" asked Mary. "Pretty, lass! I never seed such a bonny bit anywhere. You see there are hills there as seem to go up into th' skies, not near may be, but that makes them all the bonnier. I used to think they were the golden hills of heaven, about which my mother sang when I was a child, 'Yon are the golden hills o' heaven, Where ye sall never win.' Something about a ship and a lover that should hae been na lover, the ballad was. Well, and near our cottage were rocks. Eh, lasses! ye don't know what rocks are in Manchester! Gray pieces o' stone as large as a house, all covered over wi' moss of different colours, some yellow, some brown; and the ground beneath them knee-deep in purple heather, smelling sae sweet and fragrant, and the low music of the humming-bee for ever sounding among it. Mother used to send Sally and me out to gather ling and heather for besoms, and it was such pleasant work! We used to come home of an evening loaded so as you could not see us, for all that it was so light to carry. And then mother would make us sit down under the old hawthorn tree (where we used to make our house among the great roots as stood above th' ground), to pick and tie up the heather. It seems all like yesterday, and yet it's a long long time agone. Poor sister Sally has been in her grave this forty year and more. But I often wonder if the hawthorn is standing yet, and if the lasses still go to gather heather, as we did many and many a year past and gone. I sicken at heart to see the old spot once again. May be next summer I may set off, if God spares me to see next summer." "Why have you never been in all these many years?" asked Mary. "Why, lass! first one wanted me and then another; and I couldn't go without money either, and I got very poor at times. Tom was a scapegrace, poor fellow, and always wanted help of one kind or another; and his wife (for I think scapegraces are always married long before steady folk) was but a helpless kind of body. She were always ailing, and he were always in trouble; so I had enough to do with my hands and my money too, for that matter. They died within twelvemonth of each other, leaving one lad (they had had seven, but the Lord had taken six to Himself), Will, as I was telling you on; and I took him myself, and left service to make a bit on a home-place for him, and a fine lad he was, the very spit of his father as to looks, only steadier. For he was steady, although nought would serve him but going to sea. I tried all I could to set him again a sailor's life. Says I, 'Folks is as sick as dogs all the time they're at sea. Your own mother telled me (for she came from foreign parts, being a Manx woman) that she'd ha thanked any one for throwing her into the water.' Nay, I sent him a' the way to Runcorn by th' Duke's canal, that he might know what th' sea were; and I looked to see him come back as white as a sheet wi' vomiting. But the lad went on to Liverpool and saw real ships, and came back more set than ever on being a sailor, and he said as how he had never been sick at all, and thought he could stand the sea pretty well. So I telled him he mun do as he liked; and he thanked me and kissed me, for all I was very frabbit [4] with him; and now he's gone to South America, at t'other side of the sun, they tell me." [Footnote 4: "Frabbit," peevish.] Mary stole a glance at Margaret to see what she thought of Alice's geography; but Margaret looked so quiet and demure, that Mary was in doubt if she were not really ignorant. Not that Mary's knowledge was very profound, but she had seen a terrestrial globe, and knew where to find France and the continents on a map. After this long talking Alice seemed lost for a time in reverie; and the girls, respecting her thoughts, which they suspected had wandered to the home and scenes of her childhood, were silent. All at once she recalled her duties as hostess, and by an effort brought back her mind to the present time. "Margaret, thou must let Mary hear thee sing. I don't know about fine music myself, but folks say Margaret is a rare singer, and I know she can make me cry at any time by singing 'Th' Owdham Weaver.' Do sing that, Margaret, there's a good lass." With a faint smile, as if amused at Alice's choice of a song, Margaret began. Do you know "The Oldham Weaver?" Not unless you are Lancashire born and bred, for it is a complete Lancashire ditty. I will copy it for you. THE OLDHAM WEAVER. I. Oi'm a poor cotton-weyver, as mony a one knoowas, Oi've nowt for t' yeat, an' oi've woorn eawt my clooas, Yo'ad hardly gi' tuppence for aw as oi've on, My clogs are boath brosten, an' stuckins oi've none, Yo'd think it wur hard, To be browt into th' warld, To be--clemmed, [5] an' do th' best as yo con. II. Owd Dicky o' Billy's kept telling me lung, Wee s'd ha' better toimes if I'd but howd my tung, Oi've howden my tung, till oi've near stopped my breath, Oi think i' my heeart oi'se soon clem to deeath, Owd Dicky's weel crammed, He never wur clemmed, An' he ne'er picked ower i' his loife. [6] III. We tow'rt on six week--thinking aitch day wur th' last, We shifted, an' shifted, till neaw we're quoite fast; We lived upo' nettles, whoile nettles wur good, An' Waterloo porridge the best o' eawr food, Oi'm tellin' yo' true, Oi can find folk enow, As wur livin' na better nor me. IV. Owd Billy o' Dans sent th' baileys one day, Fur a shop deebt oi eawd him, as oi could na pay, But he wur too lat, fur owd Billy o' th' Bent, Had sowd th' tit an' cart, an' ta'en goods fur th' rent, We'd neawt left bo' th' owd stoo', That wur seeats fur two, An' on it ceawred Marget an' me. V. Then t' baileys leuked reawnd as sloy as a meawse, When they seed as aw t' goods were ta'en eawt o' t' heawse, Says one chap to th' tother, "Aws gone, theaw may see;" Says oi, "Ne'er freet, mon, yeaur welcome ta' me." They made no moor ado But whopped up th' eawd stoo', An' we booath leet, whack--upo' t' flags! VI. Then oi said to eawr Marget, as we lay upo' t' floor, "We's never be lower i' this warld, oi'm sure, If ever things awtern, oi'm sure they mun mend, For oi think i' my heart we're booath at t' far eend; For meeat we ha' none; Nor looms t' weyve on,-- Edad! they're as good lost as fund." VII. Eawr Marget declares had hoo cloo'as to put on, Hoo'd goo up to Lunnon an' talk to th' greet mon; An' if things were na awtered when there hoo had been, Hoo's fully resolved t' sew up meawth an' eend; Hoo's neawt to say again t' king, But hoo loikes a fair thing, An' hoo says hoo can tell when hoo's hurt. [Footnote 5: "Clem," to starve with hunger. "Hard is the choice, when the valiant must eat their arms or _clem_."--_Ben Jonson._] [Footnote 6: To "pick ower," means to throw the shuttle in hand-loom weaving.] The air to which this is sung is a kind of droning recitative, depending much on expression and feeling. To read it, it may, perhaps, seem humorous; but it is that humour which is near akin to pathos, and to those who have seen the distress it describes, it is a powerfully pathetic song. Margaret had both witnessed the destitution, and had the heart to feel it; and withal, her voice was of that rich and rare order, which does not require any great compass of notes to make itself appreciated. Alice had her quiet enjoyment of tears. But Margaret, with fixed eye, and earnest, dreamy look, seemed to become more and more absorbed in realising to herself the woe she had been describing, and which she felt might at that very moment be suffering and hopeless within a short distance of their comparative comfort. Suddenly she burst forth with all the power of her magnificent voice, as if a prayer from her very heart for all who were in distress, in the grand supplication, "Lord, remember David." Mary held her breath, unwilling to lose a note, it was so clear, so perfect, so imploring. A far more correct musician than Mary might have paused with equal admiration of the really scientific knowledge, with which the poor depressed-looking young needle-woman used her superb and flexile voice. Deborah Travers herself (once an Oldham factory girl, and afterwards the darling of fashionable crowds as Mrs. Knyvett) might have owned a sister in her art. She stopped; and with tears of holy sympathy in her eyes, Alice thanked the songstress, who resumed her calm, demure manner, much to Mary's wonder, for she looked at her unweariedly, as if surprised that the hidden power should not be perceived in the outward appearance. When Alice's little speech of thanks was over, there was quiet enough to hear a fine, though rather quavering, male voice, going over again one or two strains of Margaret's song. "That's grandfather!" exclaimed she. "I must be going, for he said he should not be at home till past nine." "Well, I'll not say nay, for I've to be up by four for a very heavy wash at Mrs. Simpson's; but I shall be terrible glad to see you again at any time, lasses; and I hope you'll take to one another." As the girls ran up the cellar steps together, Margaret said: "Just step in and see grandfather. I should like him to see you." And Mary consented. CHAPTER V. THE MILL ON FIRE--JEM WILSON TO THE RESCUE. Learned he was; nor bird, nor insect flew, But he its leafy home and history knew; Nor wild-flower decked the rock, nor moss the well, But he its name and qualities could tell. ELLIOTT. There is a class of men in Manchester, unknown even to many of the inhabitants, and whose existence will probably be doubted by many, who yet may claim kindred with all the noble names that science recognises. I said "in Manchester," but they are scattered all over the manufacturing districts of Lancashire. In the neighbourhood of Oldham there are weavers, common hand-loom weavers, who throw the shuttle with unceasing sound, though Newton's "Principia" lie open on the loom, to be snatched at in work hours, but revelled over in meal times, or at night. Mathematical problems are received with interest, and studied with absorbing attention by many a broad-spoken, common-looking, factory-hand. It is perhaps less astonishing that the more popularly interesting branches of natural history have their warm and devoted followers among this class. There are botanists among them, equally familiar with either the Linnæan or the Natural system, who know the name and habitat of every plant within a day's walk from their dwellings; who steal the holiday of a day or two when any particular plant should be in flower, and tying up their simple food in their pocket-handkerchiefs, set off with single purpose to fetch home the humble-looking weed. There are entomologists, who may be seen with a rude-looking net, ready to catch any winged insect, or a kind of dredge, with which they rake the green and slimy pools; practical, shrewd, hard-working men, who pore over every new specimen with real scientific delight. Nor is it the common and more obvious divisions of Entomology and Botany that alone attract these earnest seekers after knowledge. Perhaps it may be owing to the great annual town-holiday of Whitsun-week so often falling in May or June that the two great, beautiful families of Ephemeridæ and Phryganidæ have been so much and so closely studied by Manchester workmen, while they have in a great measure escaped general observation. If you will refer to the preface to Sir J. E. Smith's Life (I have it not by me, or I would copy you the exact passage), you will find that he names a little circumstance corroborative of what I have said. Sir J. E. Smith, being on a visit to Roscoe, of Liverpool, made some inquiries from him as to the habitat of a very rare plant, said to be found in certain places in Lancashire. Mr. Roscoe knew nothing of the plant; but stated, that if any one could give him the desired information, it would be a hand-loom weaver in Manchester, whom he named. Sir J. E. Smith proceeded by coach to Manchester, and on arriving at that town, he inquired of the porter who was carrying his luggage if he could direct him to So and So. "Oh, yes," replied the man. "He does a bit in my way;" and, on further investigation, it turned out, that both the porter, and his friend the weaver, were skilful botanists, and able to give Sir J. E. Smith the very information which he wanted. Such are the tastes and pursuits of some of the thoughtful, little understood, working men of Manchester. And Margaret's grandfather was one of these. He was a little wiry-looking old man, who moved with a jerking motion, as if his limbs were worked by a string like a child's toy, with dun coloured hair lying thin and soft at the back and sides of his head; his forehead was so large it seemed to overbalance the rest of his face, which had indeed lost its natural contour by the absence of all the teeth. The eyes absolutely gleamed with intelligence; so keen, so observant, you felt as if they were almost wizard-like. Indeed, the whole room looked not unlike a wizard's dwelling. Instead of pictures were hung rude wooden frames of impaled insects; the little table was covered with cabalistic books; and a case of mysterious instruments lay beside, one of which Job Legh was using when his grand-daughter entered. On her appearance he pushed his spectacles up so as to rest midway on his forehead, and gave Mary a short, kind welcome. But Margaret he caressed as a mother caresses her first-born; stroking her with tenderness, and almost altering his voice as he spoke to her. Mary looked round on the odd, strange things she had never seen at home, and which seemed to her to have a very uncanny look. "Is your grandfather a fortune-teller?" whispered she to her new friend. "No," replied Margaret, in the same voice; "but you're not the first as has taken him for such. He is only fond of such things as most folks know nothing about." "And do you know aught about them, too?" "I know a bit about some of the things grandfather is fond on; just because he's fond on 'em I tried to learn about them." "What things are these?" said Mary, struck with the weird looking creatures that sprawled around the room in their roughly-made glass cases. But she was not prepared for the technical names which Job Legh pattered down on her ear, on which they fell like hail on a skylight; and the strange language only bewildered her more than ever. Margaret saw the state of the case, and came to the rescue. "Look, Mary, at this horrid scorpion. He gave me such a fright: I'm all of a twitter yet when I think of it. Grandfather went to Liverpool one Whitsun-week to go strolling about the docks and pick up what he could from the sailors, who often bring some queer thing or another from the hot countries they go to; and so he sees a chap with a bottle in his hand, like a druggist's physic-bottle; and says grandfather, 'What have ye gotten there?' So the sailor holds it up, and grandfather knew it was a rare kind o' scorpion, not common even in the East Indies where the man came from; and says he, 'How did ye catch this fine fellow, for he wouldn't be taken for nothing I'm thinking?' And the man said as how when they were unloading the ship he'd found him lying behind a bag of rice, and he thought the cold had killed him, for he was not squashed nor injured a bit. He did not like to part with any of the spirit out of his grog to put the scorpion in, but slipped him into the bottle, knowing there were folks enow who would give him something for him. So grandfather gives him a shilling." "Two shilling," interrupted Job Legh, "and a good bargain it was." "Well! grandfather came home as proud as Punch, and pulled the bottle out of his pocket. But you see th' scorpion were doubled up, and grandfather thought I couldn't fairly see how big he was. So he shakes him out right before the fire; and a good warm one it was, for I was ironing, I remember. I left off ironing, and stooped down over him, to look at him better, and grandfather got a book, and began to read how this very kind were the most poisonous and vicious species, how their bite were often fatal, and then went on to read how people who were bitten got swelled, and screamed with pain. I was listening hard, but as it fell out, I never took my eyes off the creature, though I could not ha' told I was watching it. Suddenly it seemed to give a jerk, and before I could speak, it gave another, and in a minute it was as wild as could be, running at me just like a mad dog." "What did you do?" asked Mary. "Me! why, I jumped first on a chair, and then on all the things I'd been ironing on the dresser, and I screamed for grandfather to come up by me, but he did not hearken to me." "Why, if I'd come up by thee, who'd ha' caught the creature, I should like to know?" "Well, I begged grandfather to crush it, and I had the iron right over it once, ready to drop, but grandfather begged me not to hurt it in that way. So I couldn't think what he'd have, for he hopped round the room as if he were sore afraid, for all he begged me not to injure it. At last he goes to th' kettle, and lifts up the lid, and peeps in. What on earth is he doing that for, thinks I; he'll never drink his tea with a scorpion running free and easy about the room. Then he takes the tongs, and he settles his spectacles on his nose, and in a minute he had lifted the creature up by th' leg, and dropped him into the boiling water." "And did that kill him?" said Mary. "Ay, sure enough; he boiled for longer time than grandfather liked though. But I was so afeard of his coming round again. I ran to the public-house for some gin, and grandfather filled the bottle, and then we poured off the water, and picked him out of the kettle, and dropped him into the bottle, and he were there above a twelvemonth." "What brought him to life at first?" asked Mary. "Why, you see, he were never really dead, only torpid--that is, dead asleep with the cold, and our good fire brought him round." "I'm glad father does not care for such things," said Mary. "Are you! Well, I'm often downright glad grandfather is so fond of his books, and his creatures, and his plants. It does my heart good to see him so happy, sorting them all at home, and so ready to go in search of more, whenever he's a spare day. Look at him now! he's gone back to his books, and he'll be as happy as a king, working away till I make him go to bed. It keeps him silent, to be sure; but so long as I see him earnest, and pleased, and eager, what does that matter? Then, when he has his talking bouts, you can't think how much he has to say. Dear grandfather! you don't know how happy we are!" Mary wondered if the dear grandfather heard all this, for Margaret did not speak in an under tone; but no! he was far too deep and eager in solving a problem. He did not even notice Mary's leave-taking, and she went home with the feeling that she had that night made the acquaintance of two of the strangest people she ever saw in her life. Margaret, so quiet, so common place, until her singing powers were called forth; so silent from home, so cheerful and agreeable at home; and her grandfather so very different to any one Mary had ever seen. Margaret had said he was not a fortune-teller, but she did not know whether to believe her. To resolve her doubts, she told the history of the evening to her father, who was interested by her account, and curious to see and judge for himself. Opportunities are not often wanting where inclination goes before, and ere the end of that winter Mary looked upon Margaret almost as an old friend. The latter would bring her work when Mary was likely to be at home in the evenings and sit with her; and Job Legh would put a book and his pipe in his pocket and just step round the corner to fetch his grand-child, ready for a talk if he found Barton in; ready to pull out pipe and book if the girls wanted him to wait, and John was still at his club. In short, ready to do whatever would give pleasure to his darling Margaret. I do not know what points of resemblance (or dissimilitude, for the one joins people as often as the other) attracted the two girls to each other. Margaret had the great charm of possessing good strong common sense, and do you not perceive how involuntarily this is valued? It is so pleasant to have a friend who possesses the power of setting a difficult question in a clear light; whose judgment can tell what is best to be done; and who is so convinced of what is "wisest, best," that in consideration of the end, all difficulties in the way diminish. People admire talent, and talk about their admiration. But they value common sense without talking about it, and often without knowing it. So Mary and Margaret grew in love one toward the other; and Mary told many of her feelings in a way she had never done before to any one. Most of her foibles also were made known to Margaret, but not all. There was one cherished weakness still concealed from every one. It concerned a lover, not beloved, but favoured by fancy. A gallant, handsome young man; but--not beloved. Yet Mary hoped to meet him every day in her walks, blushed when she heard his name, and tried to think of him as her future husband, and above all, tried to think of herself as his future wife. Alas! poor Mary! Bitter woe did thy weakness work thee. She had other lovers. One or two would gladly have kept her company, but she held herself too high, they said. Jem Wilson said nothing, but loved on and on, ever more fondly; he hoped against hope; he would not give up, for it seemed like giving up life to give up thought of Mary. He did not dare to look to any end of all this; the present, so that he saw her, touched the hem of her garment, was enough. Surely, in time, such deep love would beget love. He would not relinquish hope, and yet her coldness of manner was enough to daunt any man; and it made Jem more despairing than he would acknowledge for a long time even to himself. But one evening he came round by Barton's house, a willing messenger for his father, and opening the door saw Margaret sitting asleep before the fire. She had come in to speak to Mary; and worn out by a long working, watching night, she fell asleep in the genial warmth. An old-fashioned saying about a pair of gloves came into Jem's mind, and stepping gently up he kissed Margaret with a friendly kiss. She awoke, and perfectly understanding the thing, she said, "For shame of yourself, Jem! What would Mary say?" Lightly said, lightly answered. "She'd nobbut say, practice makes perfect." And they both laughed. But the words Margaret had said rankled in Jem's mind. Would Mary care? Would she care in the very least? They seemed to call for an answer by night, and by day; and Jem felt that his heart told him Mary was quite indifferent to any action of his. Still he loved on, and on, ever more fondly. Mary's father was well aware of the nature of Jem Wilson's feelings for his daughter, but he took no notice of them to any one, thinking Mary full young yet for the cares of married life, and unwilling, too, to entertain the idea of parting with her at any time, however distant. But he welcomed Jem at his house, as he would have done his father's son, whatever were his motives for coming; and now and then admitted the thought, that Mary might do worse when her time came, than marry Jem Wilson, a steady workman at a good trade, a good son to his parents, and a fine manly spirited chap--at least when Mary was not by: for when she was present he watched her too closely, and too anxiously, to have much of what John Barton called "spunk" in him. It was towards the end of February, in that year, and a bitter black frost had lasted for many weeks. The keen east wind had long since swept the streets clean, though on a gusty day the dust would rise like pounded ice, and make people's faces quite smart with the cold force with which it blew against them. Houses, sky, people, and every thing looked as if a gigantic brush had washed them all over with a dark shade of Indian ink. There was some reason for this grimy appearance on human beings, whatever there might be for the dun looks of the landscape; for soft water had become an article not even to be purchased; and the poor washerwomen might be seen vainly trying to procure a little by breaking the thick gray ice that coated the ditches and ponds in the neighbourhood. People prophesied a long continuance to this already lengthened frost; said the spring would be very late; no spring fashions required; no summer clothing purchased for a short uncertain summer. Indeed there was no end to the evil prophesied during the continuance of that bleak east wind. Mary hurried home one evening, just as daylight was fading, from Miss Simmonds', with her shawl held up to her mouth, and her head bent as if in deprecation of the meeting wind. So she did not perceive Margaret till, she was close upon her at the very turning into the court. "Bless me, Margaret! is that you? Where are you bound to?" "To nowhere but your own house (that is, if you'll take me in). I've a job of work to finish to-night; mourning, as must be in time for the funeral to-morrow; and grandfather has been out moss-hunting, and will not be home till late." "Oh, how charming it will be. I'll help you if you're backward. Have you much to do?" "Yes, I only got the order yesterday at noon; and there's three girls beside the mother; and what with trying on and matching the stuff (for there was not enough in the piece they chose first), I'm above a bit behindhand. I've the skirts all to make. I kept that work till candlelight; and the sleeves, to say nothing of little bits to the bodies; for the missis is very particular, and I could scarce keep from smiling while they were crying so, really taking on sadly I'm sure, to hear first one and then t'other clear up to notice the sit of her gown. They weren't to be misfits I promise you, though they were in such trouble." "Well, Margaret, you're right welcome as you know, and I'll sit down and help you with pleasure, though I was tired enough of sewing to-night at Miss Simmonds'." By this time Mary had broken up the raking coal, and lighted her candle; and Margaret settled herself to her work on one side of the table, while her friend hurried over her tea at the other. The things were then lifted _en masse_ to the dresser; and dusting her side of the table with the apron she always wore at home, Mary took up some breadths and began to run them together. "Who's it all for, for if you told me I've forgotten?" "Why for Mrs. Ogden as keeps the greengrocer's shop in Oxford Road. Her husband drank himself to death, and though she cried over him and his ways all the time he was alive, she's fretted sadly for him now he's dead." "Has he left her much to go upon?" asked Mary, examining the texture of the dress. "This is beautifully fine soft bombazine." "No, I'm much afeared there's but little, and there's several young children, besides the three Miss Ogdens." "I should have thought girls like them would ha' made their own gowns," observed Mary. "So I dare say they do, many a one, but now they seem all so busy getting ready for the funeral; for it's to be quite a grand affair, well-nigh twenty people to breakfast, as one of the little ones told me; the little thing seemed to like the fuss, and I do believe it comforted poor Mrs. Ogden to make all the piece o' work. Such a smell of ham boiling and fowls roasting while I waited in the kitchen; it seemed more like a wedding nor [7] a funeral. They said she'd spend a matter o' sixty pound on th' burial." [Footnote 7: "Nor," generally used in Lancashire for "than." "They had lever sleep _nor_ be in laundery."--_Dunbar_.] "I thought you said she was but badly off," said Mary. "Ay, I know she's asked for credit at several places, saying her husband laid hands on every farthing he could get for drink. But th' undertakers urge her on you see, and tell her this thing's usual, and that thing's only a common mark of respect, and that every body has t'other thing, till the poor woman has no will o' her own. I dare say, too, her heart strikes her (it always does when a person's gone) for many a word and many a slighting deed to him, who's stiff and cold; and she thinks to make up matters, as it were, by a grand funeral, though she and all her children, too, may have to pinch many a year to pay the expenses, if ever they pay them at all." "This mourning, too, will cost a pretty penny," said Mary. "I often wonder why folks wear mourning; it's not pretty or becoming; and it costs a deal of money just when people can spare it least; and if what the Bible tells us be true, we ought not to be sorry when a friend, who's been good, goes to his rest; and as for a bad man, one's glad enough to get shut [8] on him. I cannot see what good comes out o' wearing mourning." [Footnote 8: "Shut," quit.] "I'll tell you what I think th' fancy was sent for (Old Alice calls every thing 'sent for,' and I believe she's right). It does do good, though not as much as it costs, that I do believe, in setting people (as is cast down by sorrow and feels themselves unable to settle to any thing but crying) something to do. Why now I told you how they were grieving; for, perhaps, he was a kind husband and father, in his thoughtless way, when he wasn't in liquor. But they cheered up wonderful while I was there, and I asked 'em for more directions than usual, that they might have something to talk over and fix about; and I left 'em my fashion-book (though it were two months old) just a purpose." "I don't think every one would grieve a that way. Old Alice wouldn't." "Old Alice is one in a thousand. I doubt, too, if she would fret much, however sorry she might be. She would say it were sent, and fall to trying to find out what good it were to do. Every sorrow in her mind is sent for good. Did I ever tell you, Mary, what she said one day when she found me taking on about something?" "No; do tell me. What were you fretting about, first place?" "I can't tell you just now; perhaps I may sometime." "When?" "Perhaps this very evening, if it rises in my heart; perhaps never. It's a fear that sometimes I can't abide to think about, and sometimes I don't like to think on any thing else. Well, I was fretting about this fear, and Alice comes in for something, and finds me crying. I would not tell her no more than I would you, Mary; so she says, 'Well, dear, you must mind this, when you're going to fret and be low about any thing, "An anxious mind is never a holy mind."' Oh, Mary, I have so often checked my grumbling sin' [9] she said that." [Footnote 9: "Sin'," since. "_Sin_ that his lord was twenty yere of age." _Prologue to Canterbury Tales._] The weary sound of stitching was the only sound heard for a little while, till Mary inquired, "Do you expect to get paid for this mourning?" "Why I do not much think I shall. I've thought it over once or twice, and I mean to bring myself to think I shan't, and to like to do it as my bit towards comforting them. I don't think they can pay, and yet they're just the sort of folk to have their minds easier for wearing mourning. There's only one thing I dislike making black for, it does so hurt the eyes." Margaret put down her work with a sigh, and shaded her eyes. Then she assumed a cheerful tone, and said, "You'll not have to wait long, Mary, for my secret's on the tip of my tongue. Mary! do you know I sometimes think I'm growing a little blind, and then what would become of grandfather and me? Oh, God help me, Lord help me!" She fell into an agony of tears, while Mary knelt by her, striving to soothe and to comfort her; but, like an inexperienced person, striving rather to deny the correctness of Margaret's fear, than helping her to meet and overcome the evil. "No," said Margaret, quietly fixing her tearful eyes on Mary; "I know I'm not mistaken. I have felt one going some time, long before I ever thought what it would lead to; and last autumn I went to a doctor; and he did not mince the matter, but said unless I sat in a darkened room, with my hands before me, my sight would not last me many years longer. But how could I do that, Mary? For one thing, grandfather would have known there was somewhat the matter; and, oh! it will grieve him sore whenever he's told, so the later the better; and besides, Mary, we've sometimes little enough to go upon, and what I earn is a great help. For grandfather takes a day here, and a day there, for botanising or going after insects, and he'll think little enough of four or five shillings for a specimen; dear grandfather! and I'm so loath to think he should be stinted of what gives him such pleasure. So I went to another doctor to try and get him to say something different, and he said, 'Oh, it was only weakness,' and gived me a bottle of lotion; but I've used three bottles (and each of 'em cost two shillings), and my eye is so much worse, not hurting so much, but I can't see a bit with it. There now, Mary," continued she, shutting one eye, "now you only look like a great black shadow, with the edges dancing and sparkling." "And can you see pretty well with th' other?" "Yes, pretty near as well as ever. Th' only difference is, that if I sew a long time together, a bright spot like th' sun comes right where I'm looking; all the rest is quite clear but just where I want to see. I've been to both doctors again, and now they're both o' the same story; and I suppose I'm going dark as fast as may be. Plain work pays so bad, and mourning has been so plentiful this winter, I were tempted to take in any black work I could; and now I'm suffering from it." "And yet, Margaret, you're going on taking it in; that's what you'd call foolish in another." "It is, Mary! and yet what can I do? Folk mun live; and I think I should go blind any way, and I darn't tell grandfather, else I would leave it off, but he will so fret." Margaret rocked herself backward and forward to still her emotion. "Oh Mary!" she said, "I try to get his face off by heart, and I stare at him so when he's not looking, and then shut my eyes to see if I can remember his dear face. There's one thing, Mary, that serves a bit to comfort me. You'll have heard of old Jacob Butterworth, the singing weaver? Well, I know'd him a bit, so I went to him, and said how I wished he'd teach me the right way o' singing; and he says I've a rare fine voice, and I go once a week, and take a lesson fra' him. He's been a grand singer in his day. He's led th' chorusses at the Festivals, and got thanked many a time by London folk; and one foreign singer, Madame Catalani, turned round and shook him by th' hand before the Oud Church [10] full o' people. He says I may gain ever so much money by singing; but I don't know. Any rate it's sad work, being blind." [Footnote 10: "Old Church;" now the Cathedral of Manchester.] She took up her sewing, saying her eyes were rested now, and for some time they sewed on in silence. Suddenly there were steps heard in the little paved court; person after person ran past the curtained window. "Something's up," said Mary. She went to the door and stopping the first person she saw, inquired the cause of the commotion. "Eh, wench! donna ye see the fire-light? Carsons' mill is blazing away like fun;" and away her informant ran. "Come, Margaret, on wi' your bonnet, and let's go to see Carsons' mill; it's afire, and they say a burning mill is such a grand sight. I never saw one." "Well, I think it's a fearful sight. Besides I've all this work to do." But Mary coaxed in her sweet manner, and with her gentle caresses, promising to help with the gowns all night long if necessary, nay, saying she should quite enjoy it. The truth was, Margaret's secret weighed heavily and painfully on her mind, and she felt her inability to comfort; besides, she wanted to change the current of Margaret's thoughts; and in addition to these unselfish feelings, came the desire she had honestly expressed, of seeing a factory on fire. So in two minutes they were ready. At the threshold of the house they met John Barton, to whom they told their errand. "Carsons' mill! Ay, there is a mill on fire somewhere, sure enough, by the light, and it will be a rare blaze, for there's not a drop o' water to be got. And much Carsons will care, for they're well insured, and the machines are a' th' oud-fashioned kind. See if they don't think it a fine thing for themselves. They'll not thank them as tries to put it out." He gave way for the impatient girls to pass. Guided by the ruddy light more than by any exact knowledge of the streets that led to the mill, they scampered along with bent heads, facing the terrible east wind as best they might. Carsons' mill ran lengthways from east to west. Along it went one of the oldest thoroughfares in Manchester. Indeed all that part of the town was comparatively old; it was there that the first cotton mills were built, and the crowded alleys and back streets of the neighbourhood made a fire there particularly to be dreaded. The staircase of the mill ascended from the entrance at the western end, which faced into a wide dingy-looking street, consisting principally of public-houses, pawn-brokers' shops, rag and bone warehouses, and dirty provision shops. The other, the east end of the factory, fronted into a very narrow back street, not twenty feet wide, and miserably lighted and paved. Right against this end of the factory were the gable ends of the last house in the principal street--a house which from its size, its handsome stone facings, and the attempt at ornament in the front, had probably been once a gentleman's house; but now the light which streamed from its enlarged front windows made clear the interior of the splendidly fitted up room, with its painted walls, its pillared recesses, its gilded and gorgeous fittings up, its miserable, squalid inmates. It was a gin palace. Mary almost wished herself away, so fearful (as Margaret had said) was the sight when they joined the crowd assembled to witness the fire. There was a murmur of many voices whenever the roaring of the flames ceased for an instant. It was easy to perceive the mass were deeply interested. "What do they say?" asked Margaret, of a neighbour in the crowd, as she caught a few words, clear and distinct, from the general murmur. "There never is anyone in the mill, surely!" exclaimed Mary, as the sea of upward-turned faces moved with one accord to the eastern end, looking into Dunham Street, the narrow back lane already mentioned. The western end of the mill, whither the raging flames were driven by the wind, was crowned and turreted with triumphant fire. It sent forth its infernal tongues from every window hole, licking the black walls with amorous fierceness; it was swayed or fell before the mighty gale, only to rise higher and yet higher, to ravage and roar yet more wildly. This part of the roof fell in with an astounding crash, while the crowd struggled more and more to press into Dunham Street, for what were magnificent terrible flames, what were falling timbers or tottering walls, in comparison with human life? There, where the devouring flames had been repelled by the yet more powerful wind, but where yet black smoke gushed out from every aperture, there, at one of the windows on the fourth story, or rather a doorway where a crane was fixed to hoist up goods, might occasionally be seen, when the thick gusts of smoke cleared partially away for an instant, the imploring figures of two men. They had remained after the rest of the workmen for some reason or other, and, owing to the wind having driven the fire in the opposite direction, had perceived no sight or sound of alarm, till long after (if any thing could be called long in that throng of terrors which passed by in less time than half an hour) the fire had consumed the old wooden staircase at the other end of the building. I am not sure whether it was not the first sound of the rushing crowd below that made them fully aware of their awful position. "Where are the engines?" asked Margaret of her neighbour. "They're coming, no doubt; but, bless you, I think it's bare ten minutes since we first found out th' fire; it rages so wi' this wind, and all so dry-like." "Is no one gone for a ladder?" gasped Mary, as the men were perceptibly, though not audibly, praying the great multitude below for help. "Ay, Wilson's son and another man were off like a shot, well nigh five minute agone. But th' masons, and slaters, and such like, have left their work, and locked up the yards." Wilson! then, was that man whose figure loomed out against the ever increasing dull hot light behind, whenever the smoke was clear,--was that George Wilson? Mary sickened with terror. She knew he worked for Carsons; but at first she had had no idea any lives were in danger; and since she had become aware of this, the heated air, the roaring flames, the dizzy light, and the agitated and murmuring crowd, had bewildered her thoughts. "Oh! let us go home, Margaret; I cannot stay." "We cannot go! See how we are wedged in by folks. Poor Mary! ye won't hanker after a fire again. Hark! listen!" For through the hushed crowd, pressing round the angle of the mill, and filling up Dunham Street, might be heard the rattle of the engine, the heavy, quick tread of loaded horses. "Thank God!" said Margaret's neighbour, "the engine's come." Another pause; the plugs were stiff, and water could not be got. Then there was a pressure through the crowd, the front rows bearing back on those behind, till the girls were sick with the close ramming confinement. Then a relaxation, and a breathing freely once more. "'Twas young Wilson and a fireman wi' a ladder," said Margaret's neighbour, a tall man who could overlook the crowd. "Oh, tell us what you see?" begged Mary. "They've gotten it fixed again the gin-shop wall. One o' the men i' th' factory has fell back; dazed wi' the smoke, I'll warrant. The floor's not given way there. God!" said he, bringing his eye lower down, "th' ladder's too short! It's a' over wi' them, poor chaps. Th' fire's coming slow and sure to that end, and afore they've either gotten water, or another ladder, they'll be dead out and out. Lord have mercy on them!" A sob, as if of excited women, was heard in the hush of the crowd. Another pressure like the former! Mary clung to Margaret's arm with a pinching grasp, and longed to faint, and be insensible, to escape from the oppressing misery of her sensations. A minute or two. "They've taken th' ladder into th' Temple of Apollor. Can't press back with it to the yard it came from." A mighty shout arose; a sound to wake the dead. Up on high, quivering in the air, was seen the end of the ladder, protruding out of a garret window, in the gable end of the gin palace, nearly opposite to the doorway where the men had been seen. Those in the crowd nearest the factory, and consequently best able to see up to the garret window, said that several men were holding one end, and guiding by their weight its passage to the door-way. The garret window-frame had been taken out before the crowd below were aware of the attempt. At length--for it seemed long, measured by beating hearts, though scarce two minutes had elapsed--the ladder was fixed, an aerial bridge at a dizzy height, across the narrow street. Every eye was fixed in unwinking anxiety, and people's very breathing seemed stilled in suspense. The men were nowhere to be seen, but the wind appeared, for the moment, higher than ever, and drove back the invading flames to the other end. Mary and Margaret could see now; right above them danced the ladder in the wind. The crowd pressed back from under; firemen's helmets appeared at the window, holding the ladder firm, when a man, with quick, steady tread, and unmoving head, passed from one side to the other. The multitude did not even whisper while he crossed the perilous bridge, which quivered under him; but when he was across, safe comparatively in the factory, a cheer arose for an instant, checked, however, almost immediately, by the uncertainty of the result, and the desire not in any way to shake the nerves of the brave fellow who had cast his life on such a die. "There he is again!" sprung to the lips of many, as they saw him at the doorway, standing as if for an instant to breathe a mouthful of the fresher air, before he trusted himself to cross. On his shoulders he bore an insensible body. "It's Jem Wilson and his father," whispered Margaret; but Mary knew it before. The people were sick with anxious terror. He could no longer balance himself with his arms; every thing must depend on nerve and eye. They saw the latter was fixed, by the position of the head, which never wavered; the ladder shook under the double weight; but still he never moved his head--he dared not look below. It seemed an age before the crossing was accomplished. At last the window was gained; the bearer relieved from his burden; both had disappeared. Then the multitude might shout; and above the roaring flames, louder than the blowing of the mighty wind, arose that tremendous burst of applause at the success of the daring enterprise. Then a shrill cry was heard, asking "Is the oud man alive, and likely to do?" "Ay," answered one of the firemen to the hushed crowd below. "He's coming round finely, now he's had a dash of cowd water." He drew back his head; and the eager inquiries, the shouts, the sea-like murmurs of the moving rolling mass began again to be heard--but for an instant though. In far less time than even that in which I have endeavoured briefly to describe the pause of events, the same bold hero stepped again upon the ladder, with evident purpose to rescue the man yet remaining in the burning mill. He went across in the same quick steady manner as before, and the people below, made less acutely anxious by his previous success, were talking to each other, shouting out intelligence of the progress of the fire at the other end of the factory, telling of the endeavours of the firemen at that part to obtain water, while the closely packed body of men heaved and rolled from side to side. It was different from the former silent breathless hush. I do not know if it were from this cause, or from the recollection of peril past, or that he looked below, in the breathing moment before returning with the remaining person (a slight little man) slung across his shoulders, but Jem Wilson's step was less steady, his tread more uncertain; he seemed to feel with his foot for the next round of the ladder, to waver, and finally to stop half-way. By this time the crowd was still enough; in the awful instant that intervened no one durst speak, even to encourage. Many turned sick with terror, and shut their eyes to avoid seeing the catastrophe they dreaded. It came. The brave man swayed from side to side, at first as slightly as if only balancing himself; but he was evidently losing nerve, and even sense: it was only wonderful how the animal instinct of self-preservation did not overcome every generous feeling, and impel him at once to drop the helpless, inanimate body he carried; perhaps the same instinct told him, that the sudden loss of so heavy a weight would of itself be a great and imminent danger. "Help me! she's fainted," cried Margaret. But no one heeded. All eyes were directed upwards. At this point of time a rope, with a running noose, was dexterously thrown by one of the firemen, after the manner of a lasso, over the head and round the bodies of the two men. True, it was with rude and slight adjustment: but, slight as it was, it served as a steadying guide; it encouraged the sinking heart, the dizzy head. Once more Jem stepped onwards. He was not hurried by any jerk or pull. Slowly and gradually the rope was hauled in, slowly and gradually did he make the four or five paces between him and safety. The window was gained, and all were saved. The multitude in the street absolutely danced with triumph, and huzzaed and yelled till you would have fancied their very throats would crack; and then with all the fickleness of interest characteristic of a large body of people, pressed and stumbled, and cursed and swore in the hurry to get out of Dunham Street, and back to the immediate scene of the fire, the mighty diapason of whose roaring flames formed an awful accompaniment to the screams, and yells, and imprecations, of the struggling crowd. As they pressed away, Margaret was left, pale and almost sinking under the weight of Mary's body, which she had preserved in an upright position by keeping her arms tight round Mary's waist, dreading, with reason, the trampling of unheeding feet. Now, however, she gently let her down on the cold clean pavement; and the change of posture, and the difference in temperature, now that the people had withdrawn from their close neighbourhood, speedily restored her to consciousness. Her first glance was bewildered and uncertain. She had forgotten where she was. Her cold, hard bed felt strange; the murky glare in the sky affrighted her. She shut her eyes to think, to recollect. Her next look was upwards. The fearful bridge had been withdrawn; the window was unoccupied. "They are safe," said Margaret. "All? Are all safe, Margaret?" asked Mary. "Ask yon fireman, and he'll tell you more about it than I can. But I know they're all safe." The fireman hastily corroborated Margaret's words. "Why did you let Jem Wilson go twice?" asked Margaret. "Let!--why we could not hinder him. As soon as ever he'd heard his father speak (which he was na long a doing), Jem were off like a shot; only saying he knowed better nor us where to find t'other man. We'd all ha' gone, if he had na been in such a hurry, for no one can say as Manchester firemen is ever backward when there's danger." So saying, he ran off; and the two girls, without remark or discussion, turned homewards. They were overtaken by the elder Wilson, pale, grimy, and blear-eyed, but apparently as strong and well as ever. He loitered a minute or two alongside of them, giving an account of his detention in the mill; he then hastily wished good-night, saying he must go home and tell his missis he was all safe and well: but after he had gone a few steps, he turned back, came on Mary's side of the pavement, and in an earnest whisper, which Margaret could not avoid hearing, he said, "Mary, if my boy comes across you to-night, give him a kind word or two for my sake. Do! bless you, there's a good wench." Mary hung her head and answered not a word, and in an instant he was gone. When they arrived at home, they found John Barton smoking his pipe, unwilling to question, yet very willing to hear all the details they could give him. Margaret went over the whole story, and it was amusing to watch his gradually increasing interest and excitement. First, the regular puffing abated, then ceased. Then the pipe was fairly taken out of his mouth, and held suspended. Then he rose, and at every further point he came a step nearer to the narrator. When it was ended, he swore (an unusual thing for him) that if Jem Wilson wanted Mary he should have her to-morrow, if he had not a penny to keep her. Margaret laughed, but Mary, who was now recovered from her agitation, pouted, and looked angry. The work which they had left was resumed: but with full hearts, fingers never go very quickly; and I am sorry to say, that owing to the fire, the two younger Miss Ogdens were in such grief for the loss of their excellent father, that they were unable to appear before the little circle of sympathising friends gathered together to comfort the widow, and see the funeral set off. CHAPTER VI. POVERTY AND DEATH. "How little can the rich man know Of what the poor man feels, When Want, like some dark dæmon foe, Nearer and nearer steals! _He_ never tramp'd the weary round, A stroke of work to gain, And sicken'd at the dreaded sound Telling him 'twas in vain. Foot-sore, heart-sore, _he_ never came Back through the winter's wind, To a dark cellar, there no flame, No light, no food, to find. _He_ never saw his darlings lie Shivering, the flags their bed; _He_ never heard that maddening cry, 'Daddy, a bit of bread!'" MANCHESTER SONG. John Barton was not far wrong in his idea that the Messrs. Carson would not be over much grieved for the consequences of the fire in their mill. They were well insured; the machinery lacked the improvements of late years, and worked but poorly in comparison with that which might now be procured. Above all, trade was very slack; cottons could find no market, and goods lay packed and piled in many a warehouse. The mills were merely worked to keep the machinery, human and metal, in some kind of order and readiness for better times. So this was an excellent opportunity, Messrs. Carson thought, for refitting their factory with first-rate improvements, for which the insurance money would amply pay. They were in no hurry about the business, however. The weekly drain of wages given for labour, useless in the present state of the market, was stopped. The partners had more leisure than they had known for years; and promised wives and daughters all manner of pleasant excursions, as soon as the weather should become more genial. It was a pleasant thing to be able to lounge over breakfast with a review or newspaper in hand; to have time for becoming acquainted with agreeable and accomplished daughters, on whose education no money had been spared, but whose fathers, shut up during a long day with calicoes and accounts, had so seldom had leisure to enjoy their daughters' talents. There were happy family evenings, now that the men of business had time for domestic enjoyments. There is another side to the picture. There were homes over which Carsons' fire threw a deep, terrible gloom; the homes of those who would fain work, and no man gave unto them--the homes of those to whom leisure was a curse. There, the family music was hungry wails, when week after week passed by, and there was no work to be had, and consequently no wages to pay for the bread the children cried aloud for in their young impatience of suffering. There was no breakfast to lounge over; their lounge was taken in bed, to try and keep warmth in them that bitter March weather, and, by being quiet, to deaden the gnawing wolf within. Many a penny that would have gone little way enough in oatmeal or potatoes, bought opium to still the hungry little ones, and make them forget their uneasiness in heavy troubled sleep. It was mother's mercy. The evil and the good of our nature came out strongly then. There were desperate fathers; there were bitter-tongued mothers (O God! what wonder!); there were reckless children; the very closest bonds of nature were snapt in that time of trial and distress. There was Faith such as the rich can never imagine on earth; there was "Love strong as death;" and self-denial, among rude, coarse men, akin to that of Sir Philip Sidney's most glorious deed. The vices of the poor sometimes astound us _here_; but when the secrets of all hearts shall be made known, their virtues will astound us in far greater degree. Of this I am certain. As the cold bleak spring came on (spring, in name alone), and consequently as trade continued dead, other mills shortened hours, turned off hands, and finally stopped work altogether. Barton worked short hours; Wilson, of course, being a hand in Carsons' factory, had no work at all. But his son, working at an engineer's, and a steady man, obtained wages enough to maintain all the family in a careful way. Still it preyed on Wilson's mind to be so long indebted to his son. He was out of spirits and depressed. Barton was morose, and soured towards mankind as a body, and the rich in particular. One evening, when the clear light at six o'clock contrasted strangely with the Christmas cold, and when the bitter wind piped down every entry, and through every cranny, Barton sat brooding over his stinted fire, and listening for Mary's step, in unacknowledged trust that her presence would cheer him. The door was opened, and Wilson came breathless in. "You've not got a bit o' money by you, Barton?" asked he. "Not I; who has now, I'd like to know. Whatten you want it for?" "I donnot [11] want it for mysel, tho' we've none to spare. But don ye know Ben Davenport as worked at Carsons'? He's down wi' the fever, and ne'er a stick o' fire, nor a cowd [12] potato in the house." [Footnote 11: "Don" is constantly used in Lancashire for "do;" as it was by our older writers. "And that may non Hors _don_."--_Sir J. Mondeville._ "But for th' entent to _don_ this sinne."--_Chaucer._] [Footnote 12: "Cowd," cold. Teut., _kaud_. Dutch, _koud_.] "I han got no money, I tell ye," said Barton. Wilson looked disappointed. Barton tried not to be interested, but he could not help it in spite of his gruffness. He rose, and went to the cupboard (his wife's pride long ago). There lay the remains of his dinner, hastily put by ready for supper. Bread, and a slice of cold fat boiled bacon. He wrapped them in his handkerchief, put them in the crown of his hat, and said--"Come, let's be going." "Going--art thou going to work this time o' day?" "No, stupid, to be sure not. Going to see the fellow thou spoke on." So they put on their hats and set out. On the way Wilson said Davenport was a good fellow, though too much of the Methodee; that his children were too young to work, but not too young to be cold and hungry; that they had sunk lower and lower, and pawned thing after thing, and that now they lived in a cellar in Berry Street, off Store Street. Barton growled inarticulate words of no benevolent import to a large class of mankind, and so they went along till they arrived in Berry Street. It was unpaved; and down the middle a gutter forced its way, every now and then forming pools in the holes with which the street abounded. Never was the Old Edinburgh cry of "Gardez l'eau" more necessary than in this street. As they passed, women from their doors tossed household slops of _every_ description into the gutter; they ran into the next pool, which overflowed and stagnated. Heaps of ashes were the stepping-stones, on which the passer-by, who cared in the least for cleanliness, took care not to put his foot. Our friends were not dainty, but even they picked their way till they got to some steps leading down into a small area, where a person standing would have his head about one foot below the level of the street, and might at the same time, without the least motion of his body, touch the window of the cellar and the damp muddy wall right opposite. You went down one step even from the foul area into the cellar in which a family of human beings lived. It was very dark inside. The window-panes were, many of them, broken and stuffed with rags, which was reason enough for the dusky light that pervaded the place even at mid-day. After the account I have given of the state of the street, no one can be surprised that on going into the cellar inhabited by Davenport, the smell was so foetid as almost to knock the two men down. Quickly recovering themselves, as those inured to such things do, they began to penetrate the thick darkness of the place, and to see three or four little children rolling on the damp, nay wet, brick floor, through which the stagnant, filthy moisture of the street oozed up; the fire-place was empty and black; the wife sat on her husband's lair, and cried in the dank loneliness. "See, missis, I'm back again.--Hold your noise, children, and don't mither [13] your mammy for bread; here's a chap as has got some for you." [Footnote 13: "Mither," to trouble and perplex. "I'm welly mithered"--I'm well nigh crazed.] In that dim light, which was darkness to strangers, they clustered round Barton, and tore from him the food he had brought with him. It was a large hunch of bread, but it vanished in an instant. "We mun do summut for 'em," said he to Wilson. "Yo stop here, and I'll be back in half-an-hour." So he strode, and ran, and hurried home. He emptied into the ever-useful pocket-handkerchief the little meal remaining in the mug. Mary would have her tea at Miss Simmonds'; her food for the day was safe. Then he went up-stairs for his better coat, and his one, gay, red-and-yellow silk pocket-handkerchief--his jewels, his plate, his valuables, these were. He went to the pawn-shop; he pawned them for five shillings; he stopped not, nor stayed, till he was once more in London Road, within five minutes' walk of Berry Street--then he loitered in his gait, in order to discover the shops he wanted. He bought meat, and a loaf of bread, candles, chips, and from a little retail yard he purchased a couple of hundredweights of coals. Some money yet remained--all destined for them, but he did not yet know how best to spend it. Food, light, and warmth, he had instantly seen were necessary; for luxuries he would wait. Wilson's eyes filled with tears when he saw Barton enter with his purchases. He understood it all, and longed to be once more in work, that he might help in some of these material ways, without feeling that he was using his son's money. But though "silver and gold he had none," he gave heart-service and love works of far more value. Nor was John Barton behind in these. "The fever" was (as it usually is in Manchester) of a low, putrid, typhoid kind; brought on by miserable living, filthy neighbourhood, and great depression of mind and body. It is virulent, malignant, and highly infectious. But the poor are fatalists with regard to infection; and well for them it is so, for in their crowded dwellings no invalid can be isolated. Wilson asked Barton if he thought he should catch it, and was laughed at for his idea. The two men, rough, tender nurses as they were, lighted the fire, which smoked and puffed into the room as if it did not know the way up the damp, unused chimney. The very smoke seemed purifying and healthy in the thick clammy air. The children clamoured again for bread; but this time Barton took a piece first to the poor, helpless, hopeless woman, who still sat by the side of her husband, listening to his anxious miserable mutterings. She took the bread, when it was put into her hand, and broke a bit, but could not eat. She was past hunger. She fell down on the floor with a heavy unresisting bang. The men looked puzzled. "She's well-nigh clemmed," said Barton. "Folk do say one mustn't give clemmed people much to eat; but, bless us, she'll eat nought." "I'll tell yo what I'll do," said Wilson. "I'll take these two big lads, as does nought but fight, home to my missis's for to-night, and I'll get a jug o' tea. Them women always does best with tea and such-like slop." So Barton was now left alone with a little child, crying (when it had done eating) for mammy; with a fainting, dead-like woman; and with the sick man, whose mutterings were rising up to screams and shrieks of agonised anxiety. He carried the woman to the fire, and chafed her hands. He looked around for something to raise her head. There was literally nothing but some loose bricks. However, those he got; and taking off his coat he covered them with it as well as he could. He pulled her feet to the fire, which now began to emit some faint heat. He looked round for water, but the poor woman had been too weak to drag herself out to the distant pump, and water there was none. He snatched the child, and ran up the area-steps to the room above, and borrowed their only saucepan with some water in it. Then he began, with the useful skill of a working-man, to make some gruel; and when it was hastily made he seized a battered iron table-spoon (kept when many other little things had been sold in a lot), in order to feed baby, and with it he forced one or two drops between her clenched teeth. The mouth opened mechanically to receive more, and gradually she revived. She sat up and looked round; and recollecting all, fell down again in weak and passive despair. Her little child crawled to her, and wiped with its fingers the thick-coming tears which she now had strength to weep. It was now high time to attend to the man. He lay on straw, so damp and mouldy no dog would have chosen it in preference to flags; over it was a piece of sacking, coming next to his worn skeleton of a body; above him was mustered every article of clothing that could be spared by mother or children this bitter weather; and in addition to his own, these might have given as much warmth as one blanket, could they have been kept on him; but as he restlessly tossed to and fro, they fell off and left him shivering in spite of the burning heat of his skin. Every now and then he started up in his naked madness, looking like the prophet of woe in the fearful plague-picture; but he soon fell again in exhaustion, and Barton found he must be closely watched, lest in these falls he should injure himself against the hard brick floor. He was thankful when Wilson re-appeared, carrying in both hands a jug of steaming tea, intended for the poor wife; but when the delirious husband saw drink, he snatched at it with animal instinct, with a selfishness he had never shown in health. Then the two men consulted together. It seemed decided, without a word being spoken on the subject, that both should spend the night with the forlorn couple; that was settled. But could no doctor be had? In all probability, no; the next day an infirmary order might be begged, but meanwhile the only medical advice they could have must be from a druggist's. So Barton (being the moneyed man) set out to find a shop in London Road. It is a pretty sight to walk through a street with lighted shops; the gas is so brilliant, the display of goods so much more vividly shown than by day, and of all shops a druggist's looks the most like the tales of our childhood, from Aladdin's garden of enchanted fruits to the charming Rosamond with her purple jar. No such associations had Barton; yet he felt the contrast between the well-filled, well-lighted shops and the dim gloomy cellar, and it made him moody that such contrasts should exist. They are the mysterious problem of life to more than him. He wondered if any in all the hurrying crowd had come from such a house of mourning. He thought they all looked joyous, and he was angry with them. But he could not, you cannot, read the lot of those who daily pass you by in the street. How do you know the wild romances of their lives; the trials, the temptations they are even now enduring, resisting, sinking under? You may be elbowed one instant by the girl desperate in her abandonment, laughing in mad merriment with her outward gesture, while her soul is longing for the rest of the dead, and bringing itself to think of the cold-flowing river as the only mercy of God remaining to her here. You may pass the criminal, meditating crimes at which you will to-morrow shudder with horror as you read them. You may push against one, humble and unnoticed, the last upon earth, who in Heaven will for ever be in the immediate light of God's countenance. Errands of mercy--errands of sin--did you ever think where all the thousands of people you daily meet are bound? Barton's was an errand of mercy; but the thoughts of his heart were touched by sin, by bitter hatred of the happy, whom he, for the time, confounded with the selfish. He reached a druggist's shop, and entered. The druggist (whose smooth manners seemed to have been salved over with his own spermaceti) listened attentively to Barton's description of Davenport's illness; concluded it was typhus fever, very prevalent in that neighbourhood; and proceeded to make up a bottle of medicine, sweet spirits of nitre, or some such innocent potion, very good for slight colds, but utterly powerless to stop, for an instant, the raging fever of the poor man it was intended to relieve. He recommended the same course they had previously determined to adopt, applying the next morning for an infirmary order; and Barton left the shop with comfortable faith in the physic given him; for men of his class, if they believe in physic at all, believe that every description is equally efficacious. Meanwhile, Wilson had done what he could at Davenport's home. He had soothed, and covered the man many a time; he had fed and hushed the little child, and spoken tenderly to the woman, who lay still in her weakness and her weariness. He had opened a door, but only for an instant; it led into a back cellar, with a grating instead of a window, down which dropped the moisture from pigsties, and worse abominations. It was not paved; the floor was one mass of bad smelling mud. It had never been used, for there was not an article of furniture in it; nor could a human being, much less a pig, have lived there many days. Yet the "back apartment" made a difference in the rent. The Davenports paid threepence more for having two rooms. When he turned round again, he saw the woman suckling the child from her dry, withered breast. "Surely the lad is weaned!" exclaimed he, in surprise. "Why, how old is he?" "Going on two year," she faintly answered. "But, oh! it keeps him quiet when I've nought else to gi' him, and he'll get a bit of sleep lying there, if he's getten [14] nought beside. We han done our best to gi' the childer [15] food, howe'er we pinched ourselves." [Footnote 14: "For he had _geten_ him yet no benefice."--_Prologue to Canterbury Tales._] [Footnote 15: Wicklife uses "_childre_" in his Apology, page 26.] "Han [16] ye had no money fra th' town?" [Footnote 16: "What concord _han_ light and dark."--_Spenser._] "No; my master is Buckinghamshire born; and he's feared the town would send him back to his parish, if he went to th' board; so we've just borne on in hope o' better times. But I think they'll never come in my day;" and the poor woman began her weak high-pitched cry again. "Here, sup [17] this drop o' gruel, and then try and get a bit o' sleep. John and I'll watch by your master to-night." [Footnote 17: "And thay _soupe_ the brothe thereof."--_Sir J. Mandeville._] "God's blessing be on you!" She finished the gruel, and fell into a deep sleep. Wilson covered her with his coat as well as he could, and tried to move lightly for fear of disturbing her; but there need have been no such dread, for her sleep was profound and heavy with exhaustion. Once only she roused to pull the coat round her little child. And now all Wilson's care, and Barton's to boot, was wanted to restrain the wild mad agony of the fevered man. He started up, he yelled, he seemed infuriated by overwhelming anxiety. He cursed and swore, which surprised Wilson, who knew his piety in health, and who did not know the unbridled tongue of delirium. At length he seemed exhausted, and fell asleep; and Barton and Wilson drew near the fire, and talked together in whispers. They sat on the floor, for chairs there were none; the sole table was an old tub turned upside-down. They put out the candle and conversed by the flickering fire-light. "Han yo known this chap long?" asked Barton. "Better nor three year. He's worked wi' Carsons that long, and were alway a steady, civil-spoken fellow, though, as I said afore, somewhat of a Methodee. I wish I'd gotten a letter he sent his missis, a week or two agone, when he were on tramp for work. It did my heart good to read it; for, yo see, I were a bit grumbling mysel; it seemed hard to be spunging on Jem, and taking a' his flesh-meat money to buy bread for me and them as I ought to be keeping. But, yo know, though I can earn nought, I mun eat summut. Well, as I telled ye, I were grumbling, when she (indicating the sleeping woman by a nod) brought me Ben's letter, for she could na read hersel. It were as good as Bible-words; ne'er a word o' repining; a' about God being our Father, and that we mun bear patiently whate'er He sends." "Don ye think He's th' masters' Father, too? I'd be loath to have 'em for brothers." "Eh, John! donna talk so; sure there's many and many a master as good or better nor us." "If you think so, tell me this. How comes it they're rich, and we're poor? I'd like to know that. Han they done as they'd be done by for us?" But Wilson was no arguer; no speechifier as he would have called it. So Barton, seeing he was likely to have it his own way, went on. "You'll say (at least many a one does), they'n [18] getten capital an' we'n getten none. I say, our labour's our capital and we ought to draw interest on that. They get interest on their capital somehow a' this time, while ourn is lying idle, else how could they all live as they do? Besides, there's many on 'em as had nought to begin wi'; there's Carsons, and Duncombes, and Mengies, and many another, as comed into Manchester with clothes to their back, and that were all, and now they're worth their tens of thousands, a' getten out of our labour; why the very land as fetched but sixty pound twenty year agone is now worth six hundred, and that, too, is owing to our labour: but look at yo, and see me, and poor Davenport yonder; whatten better are we? They'n screwed us down to th' lowest peg, in order to make their great big fortunes, and build their great big houses, and we, why we're just clemming, many and many of us. Can you say there's nought wrong in this?" [Footnote 18: "They'n," contraction of "they han," they have.] "Well, Barton, I'll not gainsay ye. But Mr. Carson spoke to me after th' fire, and says he, 'I shall ha' to retrench, and be very careful in my expenditure during these bad times, I assure ye;' so yo see th' masters suffer too." "Han they ever seen a child o' their'n die for want o' food?" asked Barton, in a low, deep voice. "I donnot mean," continued he, "to say as I'm so badly off. I'd scorn to speak for mysel; but when I see such men as Davenport there dying away, for very clemming, I cannot stand it. I've but gotten Mary, and she keeps hersel pretty much. I think we'll ha' to give up house-keeping; but that I donnot mind." And in this kind of talk the night, the long heavy night of watching, wore away. As far as they could judge, Davenport continued in the same state, although the symptoms varied occasionally. The wife slept on, only roused by a cry of her child now and then, which seemed to have power over her, when far louder noises failed to disturb her. The watchers agreed, that as soon as it was likely Mr. Carson would be up and visible, Wilson should go to his house, and beg for an Infirmary order. At length the gray dawn penetrated even into the dark cellar. Davenport slept, and Barton was to remain there until Wilson's return; so stepping out into the fresh air, brisk and reviving, even in that street of abominations, Wilson took his way to Mr. Carson's. Wilson had about two miles to walk before he reached Mr. Carson's house, which was almost in the country. The streets were not yet bustling and busy. The shopmen were lazily taking down the shutters, although it was near eight o'clock; for the day was long enough for the purchases people made in that quarter of the town, while trade was so flat. One or two miserable-looking women were setting off on their day's begging expedition. But there were few people abroad. Mr. Carson's was a good house, and furnished with disregard to expense. But in addition to lavish expenditure, there was much taste shown, and many articles chosen for their beauty and elegance adorned his rooms. As Wilson passed a window which a housemaid had thrown open, he saw pictures and gilding, at which he was tempted to stop and look; but then he thought it would not be respectful. So he hastened on to the kitchen door. The servants seemed very busy with preparations for breakfast; but good-naturedly, though hastily, told him to step in, and they could soon let Mr. Carson know he was there. So he was ushered into a kitchen hung round with glittering tins, where a roaring fire burnt merrily, and where numbers of utensils hung round, at whose nature and use Wilson amused himself by guessing. Meanwhile, the servants bustled to and fro; an out-door man-servant came in for orders, and sat down near Wilson; the cook broiled steaks, and the kitchen-maid toasted bread, and boiled eggs. The coffee steamed upon the fire, and altogether the odours were so mixed and appetising, that Wilson began to yearn for food to break his fast, which had lasted since dinner the day before. If the servants had known this, they would have willingly given him meat and bread in abundance; but they were like the rest of us, and not feeling hunger themselves, forgot it was possible another might. So Wilson's craving turned to sickness, while they chattered on, making the kitchen's free and keen remarks upon the parlour. "How late you were last night, Thomas!" "Yes, I was right weary of waiting; they told me to be at the rooms by twelve; and there I was. But it was two o'clock before they called me." "And did you wait all that time in the street?" asked the housemaid, who had done her work for the present, and come into the kitchen for a bit of gossip. "My eye as like! you don't think I'm such a fool as to catch my death of cold, and let the horses catch their death too, as we should ha' done if we'd stopped there. No! I put th' horses up in th' stables at th' Spread Eagle, and went mysel, and got a glass or two by th' fire. They're driving a good custom, them, wi' coachmen. There were five on us, and we'd many a quart o' ale, and gin wi' it, to keep out cold." "Mercy on us, Thomas; you'll get a drunkard at last!" "If I do, I know whose blame it will be. It will be missis's, and not mine. Flesh and blood can't sit to be starved to death on a coach-box, waiting for folks as don't know their own mind." A servant, semi-upper-housemaid, semi-lady's-maid, now came down with orders from her mistress. "Thomas, you must ride to the fishmonger's, and say missis can't give above half-a-crown a pound for salmon for Tuesday; she's grumbling because trade's so bad. And she'll want the carriage at three to go to the lecture, Thomas; at the Royal Execution, you know." "Ay, ay, I know." "And you'd better all of you mind your P's and Q's, for she's very black this morning. She's got a bad headache." "It's a pity Miss Jenkins is not here to match her. Lord! how she and missis did quarrel which had got the worst headaches; it was that Miss Jenkins left for; she would not give up having bad headaches, and missis could not abide any one to have 'em but herself." "Missis will have her breakfast up-stairs, cook, and the cold partridge as was left yesterday, and put plenty of cream in her coffee, and she thinks there's a roll left, and she would like it well buttered." So saying, the maid left the kitchen to be ready to attend to the young ladies' bell when they chose to ring, after their late assembly the night before. In the luxurious library, at the well-spread breakfast-table, sat the two Mr. Carsons, father and son. Both were reading; the father a newspaper, the son a review, while they lazily enjoyed their nicely prepared food. The father was a prepossessing-looking old man; perhaps self-indulgent you might guess. The son was strikingly handsome, and knew it. His dress was neat and well appointed, and his manners far more gentlemanly than his father's. He was the only son, and his sisters were proud of him; his father and mother were proud of him: he could not set up his judgment against theirs; he was proud of himself. The door opened and in bounded Amy, the sweet youngest daughter of the house, a lovely girl of sixteen, fresh and glowing, and bright as a rosebud. She was too young to go to assemblies, at which her father rejoiced, for he had little Amy with her pretty jokes, and her bird-like songs, and her playful caresses all the evening to amuse him in his loneliness; and she was not too much tired, like Sophy and Helen, to give him her sweet company at breakfast the next morning. He submitted willingly while she blinded him with her hands, and kissed his rough red face all over. She took his newspaper away after a little pretended resistance, and would not allow her brother Harry to go on with his review. "I'm the only lady this morning, papa, so you know you must make a great deal of me." "My darling, I think you have your own way always, whether you're the only lady or not." "Yes, papa, you're pretty good and obedient, I must say that; but I'm sorry to say Harry is very naughty, and does not do what I tell him; do you, Harry?" "I'm sure I don't know what you mean to accuse me of, Amy; I expected praise and not blame; for did not I get you that eau de Portugal from town, that you could not meet with at Hughes', you little ungrateful puss?" "Did you! Oh, sweet Harry; you're as sweet as eau de Portugal yourself; you're almost as good as papa; but still you know you did go and forget to ask Bigland for that rose, that new rose they say he has got." "No, Amy, I did not forget. I asked him, and he has got the Rose, _sans reproche_; but do you know, little Miss Extravagance, a very small one is half-a-guinea?" "Oh, I don't mind. Papa will give it me, won't you, dear father? He knows his little daughter can't live without flowers and scents." Mr. Carson tried to refuse his darling, but she coaxed him into acquiescence, saying she must have it, it was one of her necessaries. Life was not worth having without flowers. "Then, Amy," said her brother, "try and be content with peonies and dandelions." "Oh, you wretch! I don't call them flowers. Besides, you're every bit as extravagant. Who gave half-a-crown for a bunch of lilies of the valley at Yates', a month ago, and then would not let his poor little sister have them, though she went on her knees to beg them? Answer me that, Master Hal." "Not on compulsion," replied her brother, smiling with his mouth, while his eyes had an irritated expression, and he went first red, then pale, with vexed embarrassment. "If you please, sir," said a servant, entering the room, "here's one of the mill people wanting to see you; his name is Wilson, he says." "I'll come to him directly; stay, tell him to come in here." Amy danced off into the conservatory which opened out of the room, before the gaunt, pale, unwashed, unshaven weaver was ushered in. There he stood at the door, sleeking his hair with old country habit, and every now and then stealing a glance round at the splendour of the apartment. "Well, Wilson, and what do you want to-day, man?" "Please, sir, Davenport's ill of the fever, and I'm come to know if you've got an Infirmary order for him?" "Davenport--Davenport; who is the fellow? I don't know the name." "He's worked in your factory better nor three year, sir." "Very likely; I don't pretend to know the names of the men I employ; that I leave to the overlooker. So he's ill, eh?" "Ay, sir, he's very bad; we want to get him in at the fever wards. "I doubt if I have an in-patient's order to spare; they're always wanted for accidents, you know. But I'll give you an out-patient's, and welcome." So saying, he rose up, unlocked a drawer, pondered a minute, and then gave Wilson an out-patient's order to be presented the following Monday. Monday! How many days there were before Monday! Meanwhile, the younger Mr. Carson had ended his review, and began to listen to what was going on. He finished his breakfast, got up, and pulled five shillings out of his pocket, which he gave to Wilson as he passed him, for the "poor fellow." He went past quickly, and calling for his horse, mounted gaily, and rode away. He was anxious to be in time to have a look and a smile from lovely Mary Barton, as she went to Miss Simmonds'. But to-day he was to be disappointed. Wilson left the house, not knowing whether to be pleased or grieved. It was long to Monday, but they had all spoken kindly to him, and who could tell if they might not remember this, and do something before Monday. Besides, the cook, who, when she had had time to think, after breakfast was sent in, had noticed his paleness, had had meat and bread ready to put in his hand when he came out of the parlour; and a full stomach makes every one of us more hopeful. When he reached Berry Street, he had persuaded himself he bore good news, and felt almost elated in his heart. But it fell when he opened the cellar-door, and saw Barton and the wife both bending over the sick man's couch with awe-struck, saddened look. "Come here," said Barton. "There's a change comed over him sin' yo left, is there not?" Wilson looked. The flesh was sunk, the features prominent, bony, and rigid. The fearful clay-colour of death was over all. But the eyes were open and sensible, though the films of the grave were settling upon them. "He wakened fra his sleep, as yo left him in, and began to mutter and moan; but he soon went off again, and we never knew he were awake till he called his wife, but now she's here he's gotten nought to say to her." Most probably, as they all felt, he could not speak, for his strength was fast ebbing. They stood round him still and silent; even the wife checked her sobs, though her heart was like to break. She held her child to her breast, to try and keep him quiet. Their eyes were all fixed on the yet living one, whose moments of life were passing so rapidly away. At length he brought (with jerking, convulsive effort) his two hands into the attitude of prayer. They saw his lips move, and bent to catch the words, which came in gasps, and not in tones. "Oh Lord God! I thank thee, that the hard struggle of living is over." "Oh, Ben! Ben!" wailed forth his wife, "have you no thought for me? Oh, Ben! Ben! do say one word to help me through life." He could not speak again. The trump of the archangel would set his tongue free; but not a word more would it utter till then. Yet he heard, he understood, and though sight failed, he moved his hand gropingly over the covering. They knew what he meant, and guided it to her head, bowed and hidden in her hands, when she had sunk in her woe. It rested there, with a feeble pressure of endearment. The face grew beautiful, as the soul neared God. A peace beyond understanding came over it. The hand was a heavy, stiff weight on the wife's head. No more grief or sorrow for him. They reverently laid out the corpse--Wilson fetching his only spare shirt to array it in. The wife still lay hidden in the clothes, in a stupor of agony. There was a knock at the door, and Barton went to open it. It was Mary, who had received a message from her father, through a neighbour, telling her where he was; and she had set out early to come and have a word with him before her day's work; but some errands she had to do for Miss Simmonds had detained her until now. "Come in, wench!" said her father. "Try if thou canst comfort yon poor, poor woman, kneeling down there. God help her." Mary did not know what to say, or how to comfort; but she knelt down by her, and put her arm round her neck, and in a little while fell to crying herself so bitterly, that the source of tears was opened by sympathy in the widow, and her full heart was, for a time, relieved. And Mary forgot all purposed meeting with her gay lover, Harry Carson; forgot Miss Simmonds' errands, and her anger, in the anxious desire to comfort the poor lone woman. Never had her sweet face looked more angelic, never had her gentle voice seemed so musical as when she murmured her broken sentences of comfort. "Oh, don't cry so, dear Mrs. Davenport, pray don't take on so. Sure he's gone where he'll never know care again. Yes, I know how lonesome you must feel; but think of your children. Oh! we'll all help to earn food for 'em. Think how sorry _he'd_ be, if he sees you fretting so. Don't cry so, please don't." And she ended by crying herself, as passionately as the poor widow. It was agreed that the town must bury him; he had paid to a burial club as long as he could; but by a few weeks' omission, he had forfeited his claim to a sum of money now. Would Mrs. Davenport and the little child go home with Mary? The latter brightened up as she urged this plan; but no! where the poor, fondly loved remains were, there would the mourner be; and all that they could do was to make her as comfortable as their funds would allow, and to beg a neighbour to look in and say a word at times. So she was left alone with her dead, and they went to work that had work, and he who had none, took upon him the arrangements for the funeral. Mary had many a scolding from Miss Simmonds that day for her absence of mind. To be sure Miss Simmonds was much put out by Mary's non-appearance in the morning with certain bits of muslin, and shades of silk which were wanted to complete a dress to be worn that night; but it was true enough that Mary did not mind what she was about; she was too busy planning how her old black gown (her best when her mother died) might be spunged, and turned, and lengthened into something like decent mourning for the widow. And when she went home at night (though it was very late, as a sort of retribution for her morning's negligence), she set to work at once, and was so busy, and so glad over her task, that she had, every now and then, to check herself in singing merry ditties, that she felt little accorded with the sewing on which she was engaged. So when the funeral day came, Mrs. Davenport was neatly arrayed in black, a satisfaction to her poor heart in the midst of her sorrow. Barton and Wilson both accompanied her, as she led her two elder boys, and followed the coffin. It was a simple walking funeral, with nothing to grate on the feelings of any; far more in accordance with its purpose, to my mind, than the gorgeous hearses, and nodding plumes, which form the grotesque funeral pomp of respectable people. There was no "rattling the bones over the stones," of the pauper's funeral. Decently and quietly was he followed to the grave by one determined to endure her woe meekly for his sake. The only mark of pauperism attendant on the burial concerned the living and joyous, far more than the dead, or the sorrowful. When they arrived in the churchyard, they halted before a raised and handsome tombstone; in reality a wooden mockery of stone respectabilities which adorned the burial-ground. It was easily raised in a very few minutes, and below was the grave in which pauper bodies were piled until within a foot or two of the surface; when the soil was shovelled over, and stamped down, and the wooden cover went to do temporary duty over another hole. [19] But little they recked of this who now gave up their dead. [Footnote 19: The case, to my certain knowledge, in one churchyard in Manchester. There may be more.] CHAPTER VII. JEM WILSON'S REPULSE. "How infinite the wealth of love and hope Garnered in these same tiny treasure-houses! And oh! what bankrupts in the world we feel, When Death, like some remorseless creditor, Seizes on all we fondly thought our own!" "THE TWINS." The ghoul-like fever was not to be braved with impunity, and baulked of its prey. The widow had reclaimed her children; her neighbours, in the good Samaritan sense of the word, had paid her little arrears of rent, and made her a few shillings beforehand with the world. She determined to flit from that cellar to another less full of painful associations, less haunted by mournful memories. The board, not so formidable as she had imagined, had inquired into her case; and, instead of sending her to Stoke Claypole, her husband's Buckinghamshire parish, as she had dreaded, had agreed to pay her rent. So food for four mouths was all she was now required to find; only for three she would have said; for herself and the unweaned child were but reckoned as one in her calculation. She had a strong heart, now her bodily strength had been recruited by a week or two of food, and she would not despair. So she took in some little children to nurse, who brought their daily food with them, which she cooked for them, without wronging their helplessness of a crumb; and when she had restored them to their mothers at night, she set to work at plain sewing, "seam, and gusset, and band," and sat thinking how she might best cheat the factory inspector, and persuade him that her strong, big, hungry Ben was above thirteen. Her plan of living was so far arranged, when she heard, with keen sorrow, that Wilson's twin lads were ill of the fever. They had never been strong. They were like many a pair of twins, and seemed to have but one life divided between them. One life, one strength, and in this instance, I might almost say, one brain; for they were helpless, gentle, silly children, but not the less dear to their parents and to their strong, active, manly, elder brother. They were late on their feet, late in talking, late every way; had to be nursed and cared for when other lads of their age were tumbling about in the street, and losing themselves, and being taken to the police-office miles away from home. Still want had never yet come in at the door to make love for these innocents fly out at the window. Nor was this the case even now, when Jem Wilson's earnings, and his mother's occasional charrings were barely sufficient to give all the family their fill of food. But when the twins, after ailing many days, and caring little for their meat, fell sick on the same afternoon, with the same heavy stupor of suffering, the three hearts that loved them so, each felt, though none acknowledged to the other, that they had little chance for life. It was nearly a week before the tale of their illness spread as far as the court where the Wilsons had once dwelt, and the Bartons yet lived. Alice had heard of the illness of her little nephews several days before, and had locked her cellar door, and gone off straight to her brother's house, in Ancoats; but she was often absent for days, sent for, as her neighbours knew, to help in some sudden emergency of illness or distress, so that occasioned no surprise. Margaret met Jem Wilson several days after his brothers were seriously ill, and heard from him the state of things at his home. She told Mary of it as she entered the court late that evening; and Mary listened with saddened heart to the strange contrast which such woeful tidings presented to the gay and loving words she had been hearing on her walk home. She blamed herself for being so much taken up with visions of the golden future, that she had lately gone but seldom on Sunday afternoons, or other leisure time, to see Mrs. Wilson, her mother's friend; and with hasty purpose of amendment she only stayed to leave a message for her father with the next-door neighbour, and then went off at a brisk pace on her way to the house of mourning. She stopped with her hand on the latch of the Wilsons' door, to still her beating heart, and listened to the hushed quiet within. She opened the door softly: there sat Mrs. Wilson in the old rocking-chair, with one sick, death-like boy lying on her knee, crying without let or pause, but softly, gently, as fearing to disturb the troubled, gasping child; while behind her, old Alice let her fast-dropping tears fall down on the dead body of the other twin, which she was laying out on a board, placed on a sort of sofa-settee in a corner of the room. Over the child, which yet breathed, the father bent, watching anxiously for some ground of hope, where hope there was none. Mary stepped slowly and lightly across to Alice. "Ay, poor lad! God has taken him early, Mary." Mary could not speak; she did not know what to say; it was so much worse than she expected. At last she ventured to whisper, "Is there any chance for the other one, think you?" Alice shook her head, and told with a look that she believed there was none. She next endeavoured to lift the little body, and carry it to its old accustomed bed in its parents' room. But earnest as the father was in watching the yet-living, he had eyes and ears for all that concerned the dead, and sprang gently up, and took his dead son on his hard couch in his arms with tender strength, and carried him upstairs as if afraid of wakening him. The other child gasped longer, louder, with more of effort. "We mun get him away from his mother. He cannot die while she's wishing him." "Wishing him?" said Mary, in a tone of inquiry. "Ay; donno ye know what wishing means? There's none can die in the arms of those who are wishing them sore to stay on earth. The soul o' them as holds them won't let the dying soul go free; so it has a hard struggle for the quiet of death. We mun get him away fra' his mother, or he'll have a hard death, poor lile [20] fellow." [Footnote 20: "Lile," a north-country word for "little." "Wit _leil_ labour to live."--_Piers Ploughman._] So without circumlocution she went and offered to take the sinking child. But the mother would not let him go, and looking in Alice's face with brimming and imploring eyes, declared in earnest whispers, that she was not wishing him, that she would fain have him released from his suffering. Alice and Mary stood by with eyes fixed on the poor child, whose struggles seemed to increase, till at last his mother said with a choking voice, "May happen [21] yo'd better take him, Alice; I believe my heart's wishing him a' this while, for I cannot, no, I cannot bring mysel to let my two childer go in one day; I cannot help longing to keep him, and yet he sha'not suffer longer for me." [Footnote 21: "May happen," perhaps.] She bent down, and fondly, oh! with what passionate fondness, kissed her child, and then gave him up to Alice, who took him with tender care. Nature's struggles were soon exhausted, and he breathed his little life away in peace. Then the mother lifted up her voice and wept. Her cries brought her husband down to try with his aching heart to comfort hers. Again Alice laid out the dead, Mary helping with reverent fear. The father and mother carried him up-stairs to the bed, where his little brother lay in calm repose. Mary and Alice drew near the fire, and stood in quiet sorrow for some time. Then Alice broke the silence by saying, "It will be bad news for Jem, poor fellow, when he comes home." "Where is he?" asked Mary. "Working over-hours at th' shop. They'n getten a large order fra' forrin parts; and yo' know, Jem mun work, though his heart's well-nigh breaking for these poor laddies." Again they were silent in thought, and again Alice spoke first. "I sometimes think the Lord is against planning. Whene'er I plan over-much, He is sure to send and mar all my plans, as if He would ha' me put the future into His hands. Afore Christmas-time I was as full as full could be, of going home for good and all; yo' han heard how I've wished it this terrible long time. And a young lass from behind Burton came into place in Manchester last Martinmas; so after awhile, she had a Sunday out, and she comes to me, and tells me some cousins o' mine bid her find me out, and say how glad they should be to ha' me to bide wi' 'em, and look after th' childer, for they'n getten a big farm, and she's a deal to do among th' cows. So many a winter's night did I lie awake and think, that please God, come summer, I'd bid George and his wife good bye, and go home at last. Little did I think how God Almighty would baulk me, for not leaving my days in His hands, who had led me through the wilderness hitherto. Here's George out o' work, and more cast down than ever I seed him; wanting every chip o' comfort he can get, e'en afore this last heavy stroke; and now I'm thinking the Lord's finger points very clear to my fit abiding place; and I'm sure if George and Jane can say 'His will be done,' it's no more than what I'm beholden to do." So saying, she fell to tidying the room, removing as much as she could every vestige of sickness; making up the fire, and setting on the kettle for a cup of tea for her sister-in-law, whose low moans and sobs were occasionally heard in the room below. Mary helped her in all these little offices. They were busy in this way when the door was softly opened, and Jem came in, all grimed and dirty from his night-work, his soiled apron wrapped round his middle, in guise and apparel in which he would have been sorry at another time to have been seen by Mary. But just now he hardly saw her; he went straight up to Alice, and asked how the little chaps were. They had been a shade better at dinner-time, and he had been working away through the long afternoon, and far into the night, in the belief that they had taken the turn. He had stolen out during the half-hour allowed at the works for tea, to buy them an orange or two, which now puffed out his jacket-pocket. He would make his aunt speak; he would not understand her shakes of the head and fast coursing tears. "They're both gone," said she. "Dead!" "Ay! poor fellows. They took worse about two o'clock. Joe went first, as easy as a lamb, and Will died harder like." "Both!" "Ay, lad! both. The Lord has ta'en them from some evil to come, or He would na ha' made choice o' them. Ye may rest sure o' that." Jem went to the cupboard, and quietly extricated from his pocket the oranges he had bought. But he stayed long there, and at last his sturdy frame shook with his strong agony. The two women were frightened, as women always are, on witnessing a man's overpowering grief. They cried afresh in company. Mary's heart melted within her as she witnessed Jem's sorrow, and she stepped gently up to the corner where he stood, with his back turned to them, and putting her hand softly on his arm, said, "Oh, Jem, don't give way so; I cannot bear to see you." Jem felt a strange leap of joy in his heart, and knew the power she had of comforting him. He did not speak, as though fearing to destroy by sound or motion the happiness of that moment, when her soft hand's touch thrilled through his frame, and her silvery voice was whispering tenderness in his ear. Yes! it might be very wrong; he could almost hate himself for it; with death and woe so surrounding him, it yet was happiness, was bliss, to be so spoken to by Mary. "Don't, Jem, please don't," whispered she again, believing that his silence was only another form of grief. He could not contain himself. He took her hand in his firm yet trembling grasp, and said, in tones that instantly produced a revulsion in her mood, "Mary, I almost loathe myself when I feel I would not give up this minute, when my brothers lie dead, and father and mother are in such trouble, for all my life that's past and gone. And, Mary (as she tried to release her hand), you know what makes me feel so blessed." She did know--he was right there. But as he turned to catch a look at her sweet face, he saw that it expressed unfeigned distress, almost amounting to vexation; a dread of him, that he thought was almost repugnance. He let her hand go, and she quickly went away to Alice's side. "Fool that I was--nay, wretch that I was--to let myself take this time of trouble to tell her how I loved her; no wonder that she turns away from such a selfish beast." Partly to relieve her from his presence, and partly from natural desire, and partly, perhaps, from a penitent wish to share to the utmost his parents' sorrow, he soon went up-stairs to the chamber of death. Mary mechanically helped Alice in all the duties she performed through the remainder of that long night, but she did not see Jem again. He remained up-stairs until after the early dawn showed Mary that she need have no fear of going home through the deserted and quiet streets, to try and get a little sleep before work hour. So leaving kind messages to George and Jane Wilson, and hesitating whether she might dare to send a few kind words to Jem, and deciding that she had better not, she stepped out into the bright morning light, so fresh a contrast to the darkened room where death had been. "They had Another morn than ours." Mary lay down on her bed in her clothes; and whether it was this, or the broad daylight that poured in through the sky-window, or whether it was over-excitement, it was long before she could catch a wink of sleep. Her thoughts ran on Jem's manner and words; not but what she had known the tale they told for many a day; but still she wished he had not put it so plainly. "Oh dear," said she to herself, "I wish he would not mistake me so; I never dare to speak a common word o' kindness, but his eye brightens and his cheek flushes. It's very hard on me; for father and George Wilson are old friends; and Jem and I ha' known each other since we were quite children. I cannot think what possesses me, that I must always be wanting to comfort him when he's downcast, and that I must go meddling wi' him to-night, when sure enough it was his aunt's place to speak to him. I don't care for him, and yet, unless I'm always watching myself, I'm speaking to him in a loving voice. I think I cannot go right, for I either check myself till I'm downright cross to him, or else I speak just natural, and that's too kind and tender by half. And I'm as good as engaged to be married to another; and another far handsomer than Jem; only I think I like Jem's face best for all that; liking's liking, and there's no help for it. Well, when I'm Mrs. Harry Carson, may happen I can put some good fortune in Jem's way. But will he thank me for it? He's rather savage at times, that I can see, and perhaps kindness from me, when I'm another's, will only go against the grain. I'll not plague myself wi' thinking any more about him, that I won't." So she turned on her pillow, and fell asleep, and dreamt of what was often in her waking thoughts; of the day when she should ride from church in her carriage, with wedding-bells ringing, and take up her astonished father, and drive away from the old dim work-a-day court for ever, to live in a grand house, where her father should have newspapers, and pamphlets, and pipes, and meat dinners every day,--and all day long if he liked. Such thoughts mingled in her predilection for the handsome young Mr. Carson, who, unfettered by work-hours, let scarcely a day pass without contriving a meeting with the beautiful little milliner he had first seen while lounging in a shop where his sisters were making some purchases, and afterwards never rested till he had freely, though respectfully, made her acquaintance in her daily walks. He was, to use his own expression to himself, quite infatuated by her, and was restless each day till the time came when he had a chance, and, of late, more than a chance of meeting her. There was something of keen practical shrewdness about her, which contrasted very bewitchingly with the simple, foolish, unworldly ideas she had picked up from the romances which Miss Simmonds' young ladies were in the habit of recommending to each other. Yes! Mary was ambitious, and did not favour Mr. Carson the less because he was rich and a gentleman. The old leaven, infused years ago by her aunt Esther, fermented in her little bosom, and perhaps all the more, for her father's aversion to the rich and the gentle. Such is the contrariness of the human heart, from Eve downwards, that we all, in our old-Adam state, fancy things forbidden sweetest. So Mary dwelt upon and enjoyed the idea of some day becoming a lady, and doing all the elegant nothings appertaining to ladyhood. It was a comfort to her, when scolded by Miss Simmonds, to think of the day when she would drive up to the door in her own carriage, to order her gowns from the hasty tempered yet kind dressmaker. It was a pleasure to her to hear the general admiration of the two elder Miss Carsons, acknowledged beauties in ball-room and street, on horseback and on foot, and to think of the time when she should ride and walk with them in loving sisterhood. But the best of her plans, the holiest, that which in some measure redeemed the vanity of the rest, were those relating to her father; her dear father, now oppressed with care, and always a disheartened, gloomy person. How she would surround him with every comfort she could devise (of course, he was to live with them), till he should acknowledge riches to be very pleasant things, and bless his lady-daughter! Every one who had shown her kindness in her low estate should then be repaid a hundred-fold. Such were the castles in air, the Alnaschar-visions in which Mary indulged, and which she was doomed in after days to expiate with many tears. Meanwhile, her words--or, even more, her tones--would maintain their hold on Jem Wilson's memory. A thrill would yet come over him when he remembered how her hand had rested on his arm. The thought of her mingled with all his grief, and it was profound, for the loss of his brothers. CHAPTER VIII. MARGARET'S DEBUT AS A PUBLIC SINGER. "Deal gently with them, they have much endured. Scoff not at their fond hopes and earnest plans, Though they may seem to thee wild dreams and fancies. Perchance, in the rough school of stern experience, They've something learned which Theory does not teach; Or if they greatly err, deal gently still, And let their error but the stronger plead 'Give us the light and guidance that we need!'" LOVE THOUGHTS. One Sunday afternoon, about three weeks after that mournful night, Jem Wilson set out with the ostensible purpose of calling on John Barton. He was dressed in his best, his Sunday suit of course; while his face glittered with the scrubbing he had bestowed on it. His dark black hair had been arranged and re-arranged before the household looking-glass, and in his button-hole he stuck a narcissus (a sweet Nancy is its pretty Lancashire name), hoping it would attract Mary's notice, so that he might have the delight of giving it her. It was a bad beginning of his visit of happiness that Mary saw him some minutes before he came into her father's house. She was sitting at the end of the dresser, with the little window-blind drawn on one side, in order that she might see the passers-by, in the intervals of reading her Bible, which lay open before her. So she watched all the greeting a friend gave Jem; she saw the face of condolence, the sympathetic shake of the hand, and had time to arrange her own face and manner before Jem came in, which he did, as if he had eyes for no one but her father, who sat smoking his pipe by the fire, while he read an old "Northern Star," borrowed from a neighbouring public-house. Then he turned to Mary, who, he felt by the sure instinct of love, by which almost his body thought, was present. Her hands were busy adjusting her dress; a forced and unnecessary movement Jem could not help thinking. Her accost was quiet and friendly, if grave; she felt that she reddened like a rose, and wished she could prevent it, while Jem wondered if her blushes arose from fear, or anger, or love. She was very cunning, I am afraid. She pretended to read diligently, and not to listen to a word that was said, while, in fact, she heard all sounds, even to Jem's long, deep sighs, which wrung her heart. At last she took up her Bible, and as if their conversation disturbed her, went up-stairs to her little room. And she had scarcely spoken a word to Jem; scarcely looked at him; never noticed his beautiful sweet Nancy, which only awaited her least word of praise to be hers! He did not know--that pang was spared--that in her little dingy bed-room, stood a white jug, filled with a luxuriant bunch of early spring roses, making the whole room fragrant and bright. They were the gift of her richer lover. So Jem had to go on sitting with John Barton, fairly caught in his own trap, and had to listen to his talk, and answer him as best he might. "There's the right stuff in this here 'Star,' and no mistake. Such a right-down piece for short hours." "At the same rate of wages as now?" asked Jem. "Ay, ay! else where's the use? It's only taking out o' the masters' pocket what they can well afford. Did I ever tell yo what th' Infirmary chap let me into, many a year agone?" "No," said Jem, listlessly. "Well! yo must know I were in th' Infirmary for a fever, and times were rare and bad; and there be good chaps there to a man, while he's wick, [22] whate'er they may be about cutting him up at after. [23] So when I were better o' th' fever, but weak as water, they says to me, says they, 'If yo can write, yo may stay in a week longer, and help our surgeon wi' sorting his papers; and we'll take care yo've your belly full o' meat and drink. Yo'll be twice as strong in a week.' So there wanted but one word to that bargain. So I were set to writing and copying; th' writing I could do well enough, but they'd such queer ways o' spelling that I'd ne'er been used to, that I'd to look first at th' copy and then at my letters, for all the world like a cock picking up grains o' corn. But one thing startled me e'en then, and I thought I'd make bold to ask the surgeon the meaning o't. I've gotten no head for numbers, but this I know, that by _far th' greater part o' th' accidents as comed in, happened in th' last two hours o' work_, when folk getten tired and careless. Th' surgeon said it were all true, and that he were going to bring that fact to light." [Footnote 22: "Wick," alive. Anglo-Saxon, cwic. "The _quick_ and the dead."--_Book of Common Prayer._] [Footnote 23: "At after." "_At after souper goth this noble king._" _Chaucer; The Squire's Tale._] Jem was pondering Mary's conduct; but the pause made him aware he ought to utter some civil listening noise; so he said "Very true." "Ay, it's true enough, my lad, that we're sadly over-borne, and worse will come of it afore long. Block-printers is going to strike; they'n getten a bang-up union, as won't let 'em be put upon. But there's many a thing will happen afore long, as folk don't expect. Yo may take my word for that, Jem." Jem was very willing to take it, but did not express the curiosity he should have done. So John Barton thought he'd try another hint or two. "Working folk won't be ground to the dust much longer. We'n a' had as much to bear as human nature can bear. So, if th' masters can't do us no good, and they say they can't, we mun try higher folk." Still Jem was not curious. He gave up hope of seeing Mary again by her own good free will; and the next best thing would be, to be alone to think of her. So, muttering something which he meant to serve as an excuse for his sudden departure, he hastily wished John good afternoon, and left him to resume his pipe and his politics. For three years past, trade had been getting worse and worse, and the price of provisions higher and higher. This disparity between the amount of the earnings of the working classes and the price of their food, occasioned, in more cases than could well be imagined, disease and death. Whole families went through a gradual starvation. They only wanted a Dante to record their sufferings. And yet even his words would fall short of the awful truth; they could only present an outline of the tremendous facts of the destitution that surrounded thousands upon thousands in the terrible years 1839, 1840, and 1841. Even philanthropists who had studied the subject, were forced to own themselves perplexed in their endeavour to ascertain the real causes of the misery; the whole matter was of so complicated a nature, that it became next to impossible to understand it thoroughly. It need excite no surprise then to learn that a bad feeling between working-men and the upper classes became very strong in this season of privation. The indigence and sufferings of the operatives induced a suspicion in the minds of many of them, that their legislators, their magistrates, their employers, and even the ministers of religion, were, in general, their oppressors and enemies; and were in league for their prostration and enthralment. The most deplorable and enduring evil that arose out of the period of commercial depression to which I refer, was this feeling of alienation between the different classes of society. It is so impossible to describe, or even faintly to picture, the state of distress which prevailed in the town at that time, that I will not attempt it; and yet I think again that surely, in a Christian land, it was not known even so feebly as words could tell it, or the more happy and fortunate would have thronged with their sympathy and their aid. In many instances the sufferers wept first, and then they cursed. Their vindictive feelings exhibited themselves in rabid politics. And when I hear, as I have heard, of the sufferings and privations of the poor, of provision shops where ha'porths of tea, sugar, butter, and even flour, were sold to accommodate the indigent,--of parents sitting in their clothes by the fire-side during the whole night for seven weeks together, in order that their only bed and bedding might be reserved for the use of their large family,--of others sleeping upon the cold hearth-stone for weeks in succession, without adequate means of providing themselves with food or fuel (and this in the depth of winter),--of others being compelled to fast for days together, uncheered by any hope of better fortune, living, moreover, or rather starving, in a crowded garret, or damp cellar, and gradually sinking under the pressure of want and despair into a premature grave; and when this has been confirmed by the evidence of their care-worn looks, their excited feelings, and their desolate homes,--can I wonder that many of them, in such times of misery and destitution, spoke and acted with ferocious precipitation? An idea was now springing up among the operatives, that originated with the Chartists, but which came at last to be cherished as a darling child by many and many a one. They could not believe that government knew of their misery; they rather chose to think it possible that men could voluntarily assume the office of legislators for a nation, ignorant of its real state; as who should make domestic rules for the pretty behaviour of children, without caring to know that those children had been kept for days without food. Besides, the starving multitudes had heard, that the very existence of their distress had been denied in Parliament; and though they felt this strange and inexplicable, yet the idea that their misery had still to be revealed in all its depths, and that then some remedy would be found, soothed their aching hearts, and kept down their rising fury. So a petition was framed, and signed by thousands in the bright spring days of 1839, imploring Parliament to hear witnesses who could testify to the unparalleled destitution of the manufacturing districts. Nottingham, Sheffield, Glasgow, Manchester, and many other towns, were busy appointing delegates to convey this petition, who might speak, not merely of what they had seen, and had heard, but from what they had borne and suffered. Life-worn, gaunt, anxious, hunger-stamped men, were those delegates. One of them was John Barton. He would have been ashamed to own the flutter of spirits his appointment gave him. There was the childish delight of seeing London--that went a little way, and but a little way. There was the vain idea of speaking out his notions before so many grand folk--that went a little further; and last, there was the really pure gladness of heart, arising from the idea that he was one of those chosen to be instruments in making known the distresses of the people, and consequently in procuring them some grand relief, by means of which they should never suffer want or care any more. He hoped largely, but vaguely, of the results of his expedition. An argosy of the precious hopes of many otherwise despairing creatures, was that petition to be heard concerning their sufferings. The night before the morning on which the Manchester delegates were to leave for London, Barton might be said to hold a levée, so many neighbours came dropping in. Job Legh had early established himself and his pipe by John Barton's fire, not saying much, but puffing away, and imagining himself of use in adjusting the smoothing-irons that hung before the fire, ready for Mary when she should want them. As for Mary, her employment was the same as that of Beau Tibbs' wife, "just washing her father's two shirts," in the pantry back-kitchen; for she was anxious about his appearance in London. (The coat had been redeemed, though the silk handkerchief was forfeited.) The door stood open, as usual, between the houseplace and back-kitchen, so she gave her greeting to their friends as they entered. "So, John, yo're bound for London, are yo?" said one. "Ay, I suppose I mun go," answered John, yielding to necessity as it were. "Well, there's many a thing I'd like yo to speak on to the Parliament people. Thou'lt not spare 'em, John, I hope. Tell 'em our minds; how we're thinking we've been clemmed long enough, and we donnot see whatten good they'n been doing, if they can't give us what we're all crying for sin' the day we were born." "Ay, ay! I'll tell 'em that, and much more to it, when it gets to my turn; but thou knows there's many will have their word afore me." "Well, thou'lt speak at last. Bless thee, lad, do ask 'em to make th' masters break th' machines. There's never been good times sin' spinning-jennies came up." "Machines is th' ruin of poor folk," chimed in several voices. "For my part," said a shivering, half-clad man, who crept near the fire, as if ague-stricken, "I would like thee to tell 'em to pass th' Short-hours Bill. Flesh and blood gets wearied wi' so much work; why should factory hands work so much longer nor other trades? Just ask 'em that, Barton, will ye?" Barton was saved the necessity of answering, by the entrance of Mrs. Davenport, the poor widow he had been so kind to; she looked half-fed, and eager, but was decently clad. In her hand she brought a little newspaper parcel, which she took to Mary, who opened it, and then called out, dangling a shirt collar from her soapy fingers: "See, father, what a dandy you'll be in London! Mrs. Davenport has brought you this; made new cut, all after the fashion.--Thank you for thinking on him." "Eh, Mary!" said Mrs. Davenport, in a low voice. "Whatten's all I can do, to what he's done for me and mine? But, Mary, sure I can help ye, for you'll be busy wi' this journey." "Just help me wring these out, and then I'll take 'em to th' mangle." So Mrs. Davenport became a listener to the conversation; and after a while joined in. "I'm sure, John Barton, if yo are taking messages to the Parliament folk, yo'll not object to telling 'em what a sore trial it is, this law o' theirs, keeping childer fra' factory work, whether they be weakly or strong. There's our Ben; why, porridge seems to go no way wi' him, he eats so much; and I han gotten no money to send him t' school, as I would like; and there he is, rampaging about th' streets a' day, getting hungrier and hungrier, and picking up a' manner o' bad ways; and th' inspector won't let him in to work in th' factory, because he's not right age; though he's twice as strong as Sankey's little ritling [24] of a lad, as works till he cries for his legs aching so, though he is right age, and better." [Footnote 24: "Ritling," probably a corruption of "ricketling," a child that suffers from the rickets--a weakling.] "I've one plan I wish to tell John Barton," said a pompous, careful-speaking man, "and I should like him for to lay it afore the Honourable House. My mother comed out o' Oxfordshire, and were under-laundry-maid in Sir Francis Dashwood's family; and when we were little ones, she'd tell us stories of their grandeur; and one thing she named were, that Sir Francis wore two shirts a day. Now he were all as one as a Parliament man; and many on 'em, I han no doubt, are like extravagant. Just tell 'em, John, do, that they'd be doing th' Lancashire weavers a great kindness, if they'd ha' their shirts a' made o' calico; 'twould make trade brisk, that would, wi' the power o' shirts they wear." Job Legh now put in his word. Taking the pipe out of his mouth, and addressing the last speaker, he said: "I'll tell ye what, Bill, and no offence, mind ye; there's but hundreds of them Parliament folk as wear so many shirts to their back; but there's thousands and thousands o' poor weavers as han only gotten one shirt i' th' world; ay, and don't know where t' get another when that rag's done, though they're turning out miles o' calico every day; and many a mile o't is lying in warehouses, stopping up trade for want o' purchasers. Yo take my advice, John Barton, and ask Parliament to set trade free, so as workmen can earn a decent wage, and buy their two, ay and three, shirts a-year; that would make weaving brisk." He put his pipe in his mouth again, and redoubled his puffing to make up for lost time. "I'm afeard, neighbours," said John Barton, "I've not much chance o' telling 'em all yo say; what I think on, is just speaking out about the distress that they say is nought. When they hear o' children born on wet flags, without a rag t' cover 'em, or a bit o' food for th' mother; when they hear of folk lying down to die i' th' streets, or hiding their want i' some hole o' a cellar till death come to set 'em free; and when they hear o' all this plague, pestilence, and famine, they'll surely do somewhat wiser for us than we can guess at now. Howe'er, I han no objection, if so be there's an opening, to speak up for what yo say; anyhow, I'll do my best, and yo see now, if better times don't come after Parliament knows all." Some shook their heads, but more looked cheery; and then one by one dropped off, leaving John and his daughter alone. "Didst thou mark how poorly Jane Wilson looked?" asked he, as they wound up their hard day's work by a supper eaten over the fire, which glowed and glimmered through the room, and formed their only light. "No, I can't say as I did. But she's never rightly held up her head since the twins died; and all along she has never been a strong woman." "Never sin' her accident. Afore that I mind her looking as fresh and likely a girl as e'er a one in Manchester." "What accident, father?" "She cotched [25] her side again a wheel. It were afore wheels were boxed up. It were just when she were to have been married, and many a one thought George would ha' been off his bargain; but I knew he wern't the chap for that trick. Pretty near the first place she went to when she were able to go about again, was th' Oud Church; poor wench, all pale and limping she went up the aisle, George holding her up as tender as a mother, and walking as slow as e'er he could, not to hurry her, though there were plenty enow of rude lads to cast their jests at him and her. Her face were white like a sheet when she came in church, but afore she got to th' altar she were all one flush. But for a' that it's been a happy marriage, and George has stuck by me through life like a brother. He'll never hold up his head again if he loses Jane. I didn't like her looks to-night." [Footnote 25: "Cotched," caught.] And so he went to bed, the fear of forthcoming sorrow to his friend mingling with his thoughts of to-morrow, and his hopes for the future. Mary watched him set off, with her hands over her eyes to shade them from the bright slanting rays of the morning sun, and then she turned into the house to arrange its disorder before going to her work. She wondered if she should like or dislike the evening and morning solitude; for several hours when the clock struck she thought of her father, and wondered where he was; she made good resolutions according to her lights; and by-and-bye came the distractions and events of the broad full day to occupy her with the present, and to deaden the memory of the absent. One of Mary's resolutions was, that she would not be persuaded or induced to see Mr. Harry Carson during her father's absence. There was something crooked in her conscience after all; for this very resolution seemed an acknowledgment that it was wrong to meet him at any time; and yet she had brought herself to think her conduct quite innocent and proper, for although unknown to her father, and certain, even did he know it, to fail of obtaining his sanction, she esteemed her love-meetings with Mr. Carson as sure to end in her father's good and happiness. But now that he was away, she would do nothing that he would disapprove of; no, not even though it was for his own good in the end. Now, amongst Miss Simmonds' young ladies was one who had been from the beginning a confidant in Mary's love affair, made so by Mr. Carson himself. He had felt the necessity of some third person to carry letters and messages, and to plead his cause when he was absent. In a girl named Sally Leadbitter he had found a willing advocate. She would have been willing to have embarked in a love-affair herself (especially a clandestine one), for the mere excitement of the thing; but her willingness was strengthened by sundry half-sovereigns, which from time to time Mr. Carson bestowed upon her. Sally Leadbitter was vulgar-minded to the last degree; never easy unless her talk was of love and lovers; in her eyes it was an honour to have had a long list of wooers. So constituted, it was a pity that Sally herself was but a plain, red-haired, freckled girl; never likely, one would have thought, to become a heroine on her own account. But what she lacked in beauty she tried to make up for by a kind of witty boldness, which gave her what her betters would have called piquancy. Considerations of modesty or propriety never checked her utterance of a good thing. She had just talent enough to corrupt others. Her very good-nature was an evil influence. They could not hate one who was so kind; they could not avoid one who was so willing to shield them from scrapes by any exertion of her own; whose ready fingers would at any time make up for their deficiencies, and whose still more convenient tongue would at any time invent for them. The Jews, or Mohammedans (I forget which), believe that there is one little bone of our body, one of the vertebræ, if I remember rightly, which will never decay and turn to dust, but will lie incorrupt and indestructible in the ground until the Last Day: this is the Seed of the Soul. The most depraved have also their Seed of the Holiness that shall one day overcome their evil, their one good quality, lurking hidden, but safe, among all the corrupt and bad. Sally's seed of the future soul was her love for her mother, an aged bedridden woman. For her she had self-denial; for her, her good-nature rose into tenderness; to cheer her lonely bed, her spirits, in the evenings when her body was often woefully tired, never flagged, but were ready to recount the events of the day, to turn them into ridicule, and to mimic, with admirable fidelity, any person gifted with an absurdity who had fallen under her keen eye. But the mother was lightly principled like Sally herself; nor was there need to conceal from her the reason why Mr. Carson gave her so much money. She chuckled with pleasure, and only hoped that the wooing would be long a-doing. Still neither she, nor her daughter, nor Harry Carson liked this resolution of Mary, not to see him during her father's absence. One evening (and the early summer evenings were long and bright now), Sally met Mr. Carson by appointment, to be charged with a letter for Mary, imploring her to see him, which Sally was to back with all her powers of persuasion. After parting from him she determined, as it was not so very late, to go at once to Mary's, and deliver the message and letter. She found Mary in great sorrow. She had just heard of George Wilson's sudden death: her old friend, her father's friend, Jem's father--all his claims came rushing upon her. Though not guarded from unnecessary sight or sound of death, as the children of the rich are, yet it had so often been brought home to her this last three or four months. It was so terrible thus to see friend after friend depart. Her father, too, who had dreaded Jane Wilson's death the evening before he set off. And she, the weakly, was left behind while the strong man was taken. At any rate the sorrow her father had so feared for him was spared. Such were the thoughts which came over her. She could not go to comfort the bereaved, even if comfort were in her power to give; for she had resolved to avoid Jem; and she felt that this of all others was not the occasion on which she could keep up a studiously cold manner. And in this shock of grief, Sally Leadbitter was the last person she wished to see. However, she rose to welcome her, betraying her tear-swollen face. "Well, I shall tell Mr. Carson to-morrow how you're fretting for him; it's no more nor he's doing for you, I can tell you." "For him, indeed!" said Mary, with a toss of her pretty head. "Ay, miss, for him! You've been sighing as if your heart would break now for several days, over your work; now arn't you a little goose not to go and see one who I am sure loves you as his life, and whom you love; 'How much, Mary?' 'This much,' as the children say" (opening her arms very wide). "Nonsense," said Mary, pouting; "I often think I don't love him at all." "And I'm to tell him that, am I, next time I see him?" asked Sally. "If you like," replied Mary. "I'm sure I don't care for that or any thing else now;" weeping afresh. But Sally did not like to be the bearer of any such news. She saw she had gone on the wrong tack, and that Mary's heart was too full to value either message or letter as she ought. So she wisely paused in their delivery, and said in a more sympathetic tone than she had heretofore used, "Do tell me, Mary, what's fretting you so? You know I never could abide to see you cry." "George Wilson's dropped down dead this afternoon," said Mary, fixing her eyes for one minute on Sally, and the next hiding her face in her apron as she sobbed anew. "Dear, dear! All flesh is grass; here to-day and gone to-morrow, as the Bible says. Still he was an old man, and not good for much; there's better folk than him left behind. Is th' canting old maid as was his sister alive yet?" "I don't know who you mean," said Mary, sharply; for she did know, and did not like to have her dear, simple Alice so spoken of. "Come, Mary, don't be so innocent. Is Miss Alice Wilson alive, then; will that please you? I haven't seen her hereabouts lately." "No, she's left living here. When the twins died she thought she could, may be, be of use to her sister, who was sadly cast down, and Alice thought she could cheer her up; at any rate she could listen to her when her heart grew overburdened; so she gave up her cellar and went to live with them." "Well, good go with her. I'd no fancy for her, and I'd no fancy for her making my pretty Mary into a Methodee." "She wasn't a Methodee, she was Church o' England." "Well, well, Mary, you're very particular. You know what I meant. Look, who is this letter from?" holding up Henry Carson's letter. "I don't know, and don't care," said Mary, turning very red. "My eye! as if I didn't know you did know and did care." "Well, give it me," said Mary, impatiently, and anxious in her present mood for her visitor's departure. Sally relinquished it unwillingly. She had, however, the pleasure of seeing Mary dimple and blush as she read the letter, which seemed to say the writer was not indifferent to her. "You must tell him I can't come," said Mary, raising her eyes at last. "I have said I won't meet him while father is away, and I won't." "But, Mary, he does so look for you. You'd be quite sorry for him, he's so put out about not seeing you. Besides you go when your father's at home, without letting on [26] to him, and what harm would there be in going now?" [Footnote 26: "Letting on," informing. In Anglo-Saxon, one meaning of "lætan" was "to admit;" and we say, to _let_ out a secret.] "Well, Sally! you know my answer, I won't; and I won't." "I'll tell him to come and see you himself some evening, instead o' sending me; he'd may be find you not so hard to deal with." Mary flashed up. "If he dares to come here while father's away, I'll call the neighbours in to turn him out, so don't be putting him up to that." "Mercy on us! one would think you were the first girl that ever had a lover; have you never heard what other girls do and think no shame of?" "Hush, Sally! that's Margaret Jennings at the door." And in an instant Margaret was in the room. Mary had begged Job Legh to let her come and sleep with her. In the uncertain fire-light you could not help noticing that she had the groping walk of a blind person. "Well, I must go, Mary," said Sally. "And that's your last word?" "Yes, yes; good-night." She shut the door gladly on her unwelcome visitor--unwelcome at that time at least. "Oh Margaret, have ye heard this sad news about George Wilson?" "Yes, that I have. Poor creatures, they've been sore tried lately. Not that I think sudden death so bad a thing; it's easy, and there's no terrors for him as dies. For them as survives it's very hard. Poor George! he were such a hearty looking man." "Margaret," said Mary, who had been closely observing her friend, "thou'rt very blind to-night, arn't thou? Is it wi' crying? Your eyes are so swollen and red." "Yes, dear! but not crying for sorrow. Han ye heard where I was last night?" "No; where?" "Look here." She held up a bright golden sovereign. Mary opened her large gray eyes with astonishment. "I'll tell you all how and about it. You see there's a gentleman lecturing on music at th' Mechanics', and he wants folk to sing his songs. Well, last night th' counter got a sore throat and couldn't make a note. So they sent for me. Jacob Butterworth had said a good word for me, and they asked me would I sing? You may think I was frightened, but I thought now or never, and said I'd do my best. So I tried o'er the songs wi' th' lecturer, and then th' managers told me I were to make myself decent and be there by seven." "And what did you put on?" asked Mary. "Oh, why didn't you come in for my pretty pink gingham?" "I did think on't; but you had na come home then. No! I put on my merino, as was turned last winter, and my white shawl, and did my hair pretty tidy; it did well enough. Well, but as I was saying, I went at seven. I couldn't see to read my music, but I took th' paper in wi' me, to ha' somewhat to do wi' my fingers. Th' folks' heads danced, as I stood as right afore 'em all as if I'd been going to play at ball wi' 'em. You may guess I felt squeamish, but mine weren't the first song, and th' music sounded like a friend's voice, telling me to take courage. So to make a long story short, when it were all o'er th' lecturer thanked me, and th' managers said as how there never was a new singer so applauded (for they'd clapped and stamped after I'd done, till I began to wonder how many pair o' shoes they'd get through a week at that rate, let alone their hands). So I'm to sing again o' Thursday; and I got a sovereign last night, and am to have half-a-sovereign every night th' lecturer is at th' Mechanics'." "Well, Margaret, I'm right glad to hear it." "And I don't think you've heard the best bit yet. Now that a way seemed opened to me, of not being a burden to any one, though it did please God to make me blind, I thought I'd tell grandfather. I only telled him about the singing and the sovereign last night, for I thought I'd not send him to bed wi' a heavy heart; but this morning I telled him all." "And how did he take it?" "He's not a man of many words; and it took him by surprise like." "I wonder at that; I've noticed it in your ways ever since you telled me." "Ay, that's it! If I'd not telled you, and you'd seen me every day, you'd not ha' noticed the little mite o' difference fra' day to day." "Well, but what did your grandfather say?" "Why, Mary," said Margaret, half smiling, "I'm a bit loath to tell yo, for unless yo knew grandfather's ways like me, yo'd think it strange. He were taken by surprise, and he said: 'Damn yo!' Then he began looking at his book as it were, and were very quiet, while I telled him all about it; how I'd feared, and how downcast I'd been; and how I were now reconciled to it, if it were th' Lord's will; and how I hoped to earn money by singing; and while I were talking, I saw great big tears come dropping on th' book; but in course I never let on that I saw 'em. Dear grandfather! and all day long he's been quietly moving things out o' my way, as he thought might trip me up, and putting things in my way, as he thought I might want; never knowing I saw and felt what he were doing; for, yo see, he thinks I'm out and out blind, I guess--as I shall be soon." Margaret sighed, in spite of her cheerful and relieved tone. Though Mary caught the sigh, she felt it was better to let it pass without notice, and began, with the tact which true sympathy rarely fails to supply, to ask a variety of questions respecting her friend's musical debut, which tended to bring out more distinctly how successful it had been. "Why, Margaret," at length she exclaimed, "thou'lt become as famous, may be, as that grand lady fra' London, as we seed one night driving up to th' concert room door in her carriage." "It looks very like it," said Margaret, with a smile. "And be sure, Mary, I'll not forget to give thee a lift now an' then when that comes about. Nay, who knows, if thou'rt a good girl, but mayhappen I may make thee my lady's maid! Wouldn't that be nice? So I'll e'en sing to mysel' th' beginning o' one o' my songs, 'An' ye shall walk in silk attire, An' siller hae to spare.'" "Nay, don't stop; or else give me something a bit more new, for somehow I never quite liked that part about thinking o' Donald mair." "Well, though I'm a bit tir'd, I don't care if I do. Before I come, I were practising well nigh upon two hours this one which I'm to sing o' Thursday. Th' lecturer said he were sure it would just suit me, and I should do justice to it; and I should be right sorry to disappoint him, he were so nice and encouraging like to me. Eh! Mary, what a pity there isn't more o' that way, and less scolding and rating i' th' world! It would go a vast deal further. Beside, some o' th' singers said they were a'most certain it were a song o' his own, because he were so fidgetty and particular about it, and so anxious I should give it th' proper expression. And that makes me care still more. Th' first verse, he said, were to be sung 'tenderly, but joyously!' I'm afraid I don't quite hit that, but I'll try. 'What a single word can do! Thrilling all the heart-strings through, Calling forth fond memories, Raining round hope's melodies, Steeping all in one bright hue-- What a single word can do!' Now it falls into th' minor key, and must be very sad like. I feel as if I could do that better than t'other. 'What a single word can do! Making life seem all untrue, Driving joy and hope away, Leaving not one cheering ray Blighting every flower that grew-- What a single word can do!'" Margaret certainly made the most of this little song. As a factory worker, listening outside, observed, "She spun it reet [27] fine!" And if she only sang it at the Mechanics' with half the feeling she put into it that night, the lecturer must have been hard to please, if he did not admit that his expectations were more than fulfilled. [Footnote 27: "Reet," right; often used for "very."] When it was ended, Mary's looks told more than words could have done what she thought of it; and partly to keep in a tear which would fain have rolled out, she brightened into a laugh, and said, "For certain, th' carriage is coming. So let us go and dream on it." CHAPTER IX. BARTON'S LONDON EXPERIENCES. "A life of self-indulgence is for us, A life of self-denial is for them; For us the streets, broad-built and populous, For them unhealthy corners, garrets dim, And cellars where the water-rat may swim! For us green paths refreshed by frequent rain, For them dark alleys where the dust lies grim! Not doomed by us to this appointed pain-- God made us rich and poor--of what do these complain?" MRS. NORTON'S "CHILD OF THE ISLANDS." The next evening it was a warm, pattering, incessant rain, just the rain to waken up the flowers. But in Manchester, where, alas! there are no flowers, the rain had only a disheartening and gloomy effect; the streets were wet and dirty, the drippings from the houses were wet and dirty, and the people were wet and dirty. Indeed, most kept within-doors; and there was an unusual silence of footsteps in the little paved courts. Mary had to change her clothes after her walk home; and had hardly settled herself before she heard some one fumbling at the door. The noise continued long enough to allow her to get up, and go and open it. There stood--could it be? yes it was, her father! Drenched and way-worn, there he stood! He came in with no word to Mary in return for her cheery and astonished greeting. He sat down by the fire in his wet things, unheeding. But Mary would not let him so rest. She ran up and brought down his working-day clothes, and went into the pantry to rummage up their little bit of provision while he changed by the fire, talking all the while as gaily as she could, though her father's depression hung like lead on her heart. For Mary, in her seclusion at Miss Simmonds',--where the chief talk was of fashions, and dress, and parties to be given, for which such and such gowns would be wanted, varied with a slight whispered interlude occasionally about love and lovers,--had not heard the political news of the day: that Parliament had refused to listen to the working-men, when they petitioned with all the force of their rough, untutored words to be heard concerning the distress which was riding, like the Conqueror on his Pale Horse, among the people; which was crushing their lives out of them, and stamping woe-marks over the land. When he had eaten and was refreshed, they sat in silence for some time; for Mary wished him to tell her what oppressed him so, yet durst not ask. In this she was wise; for when we are heavy laden in our hearts, it falls in better with our humour to reveal our case in our own way, and our own time. Mary sat on a stool at her father's feet in old childish guise, and stole her hand into his, while his sadness infected her, and she "caught the trick of grief, and sighed," she knew not why. "Mary, we mun speak to our God to hear us, for man will not hearken; no, not now, when we weep tears o' blood." In an instant Mary understood the fact, if not the details, that so weighed down her father's heart. She pressed his hand with silent sympathy. She did not know what to say, and was so afraid of speaking wrongly, that she was silent. But when his attitude had remained unchanged for more than half-an-hour, his eyes gazing vacantly and fixedly at the fire, no sound but now and then a deep drawn sigh to break the weary ticking of the clock, and the drip-drop from the roof without, Mary could bear it no longer. Any thing to rouse her father. Even bad news. "Father, do you know George Wilson's dead?" (Her hand was suddenly and almost violently compressed.) "He dropped down dead in Oxford Road yester morning. It's very sad, isn't it, father?" Her tears were ready to flow as she looked up in her father's face for sympathy. Still the same fixed look of despair, not varied by grief for the dead. "Best for him to die," he said, in a low voice. This was unbearable. Mary got up under pretence of going to tell Margaret that she need not come to sleep with her to-night, but really to ask Job Legh to come and cheer her father. She stopped outside their door. Margaret was practising her singing, and through the still night air her voice rang out like that of an angel. "Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people, saith your God." The old Hebrew prophetic words fell like dew on Mary's heart. She could not interrupt. She stood listening and "comforted," till the little buzz of conversation again began, and then entered and told her errand. Both grandfather and grand-daughter rose instantly to fulfil her request. "He's just tired out, Mary," said old Job. "He'll be a different man to-morrow." There is no describing the looks and tones that have power over an aching, heavy laden heart; but in an hour or so John Barton was talking away as freely as ever, though all his talk ran, as was natural, on the disappointment of his fond hope, of the forlorn hope of many. "Ay, London's a fine place," said he, "and finer folk live in it than I ever thought on, or ever heerd tell on except in th' story-books. They are having their good things now, that afterwards they may be tormented." Still at the old parable of Dives and Lazarus! Does it haunt the minds of the rich as it does those of the poor? "Do tell us all about London, dear father," asked Mary, who was sitting at her old post by her father's knee. "How can I tell yo a' about it, when I never seed one-tenth of it. It's as big as six Manchesters, they telled me. One-sixth may be made up o' grand palaces, and three-sixths o' middling kind, and th' rest o' holes o' iniquity and filth, such as Manchester knows nought on, I'm glad to say." "Well, father, but did you see th' Queen?" "I believe I didn't, though one day I thought I'd seen her many a time. You see," said he, turning to Job Legh, "there were a day appointed for us to go to Parliament House. We were most on us biding at a public-house in Holborn, where they did very well for us. Th' morning of taking our petition we'd such a spread for breakfast as th' Queen hersel might ha' sitten down to. I suppose they thought we wanted putting in heart. There were mutton kidneys, and sausages, and broiled ham, and fried beef and onions; more like a dinner nor a breakfast. Many on our chaps though, I could see, could eat but little. Th' food stuck in their throats when they thought o' them at home, wives and little ones, as had, may be at that very time, nought to eat. Well, after breakfast, we were all set to walk in procession, and a time it took to put us in order, two and two, and the petition as was yards long, carried by th' foremost pairs. The men looked grave enough, yo may be sure; and such a set of thin, wan, wretched-looking chaps as they were!" "Yourself is none to boast on." "Ay, but I were fat and rosy to many a one. Well, we walked on and on through many a street, much the same as Deansgate. We had to walk slowly, slowly, for th' carriages an' cabs as thronged th' streets. I thought by-and-bye we should may be get clear on 'em, but as th' streets grew wider they grew worse, and at last we were fairly blocked up at Oxford Street. We getten across at last though, and my eyes! the grand streets we were in then! They're sadly puzzled how to build houses though in London; there'd be an opening for a good steady master-builder there, as know'd his business. For yo see the houses are many on 'em built without any proper shape for a body to live in; some on 'em they've after thought would fall down, so they've stuck great ugly pillars out before 'em. And some on 'em (we thought they must be th' tailor's sign) had getten stone men and women as wanted clothes stuck on 'em. I were like a child, I forgot a' my errand in looking about me. By this it were dinner-time, or better, as we could tell by th' sun, right above our heads, and we were dusty and tired, going a step now and a step then. Well, at last we getten into a street grander nor all, leading to th' Queen's palace, and there it were I thought I saw th' Queen. Yo've seen th' hearses wi' white plumes, Job?" Job assented. "Well, them undertaker folk are driving a pretty trade in London. Wellnigh every lady we saw in a carriage had hired one o' them plumes for the day, and had it niddle noddling on her head. It were th' Queen's Drawing-room, they said, and th' carriages went bowling along toward her house, some wi' dressed up gentlemen like circus folk in 'em, and rucks [28] o' ladies in others. Carriages themselves were great shakes too. Some o' th' gentlemen as couldn't get inside hung on behind, wi' nosegays to smell at, and sticks to keep off folk as might splash their silk stockings. I wondered why they didn't hire a cab rather than hang on like a whip-behind boy; but I suppose they wished to keep wi' their wives, Darby and Joan like. Coachmen were little squat men, wi' wigs like th' oud fashioned parsons. Well, we could na get on for these carriages, though we waited and waited. Th' horses were too fat to move quick; they'n never known want o' food, one might tell by their sleek coats; and police pushed us back when we tried to cross. One or two on 'em struck wi' their sticks, and coachmen laughed, and some officers as stood nigh put their spy-glasses in their eye, and left 'em sticking there like mountebanks. One o' th' police struck me. 'Whatten business have yo to do that?' said I. [Footnote 28: "Rucks," a great quantity.] "'You're frightening them horses,' says he, in his mincing way (for Londoners are mostly all tongue-tied, and can't say their a's and i's properly), 'and it's our business to keep you from molesting the ladies and gentlemen going to her Majesty's Drawing-room.' "'And why are we to be molested?' asked I, 'going decently about our business, which is life and death to us, and many a little one clemming at home in Lancashire? Which business is of most consequence i' the sight o' God, think yo, our'n or them gran ladies and gentlemen as yo think so much on?' "But I might as well ha' held my peace, for he only laughed." John ceased. After waiting a little to see if he would go on of himself, Job said, "Well, but that's not a' your story, man. Tell us what happened when yo got to th' Parliament House." After a little pause John answered, "If yo please, neighbour, I'd rather say nought about that. It's not to be forgotten or forgiven either by me or many another; but I canna tell of our down-casting just as a piece of London news. As long as I live, our rejection that day will bide in my heart; and as long as I live I shall curse them as so cruelly refused to hear us; but I'll not speak of it no [29] more." [Footnote 29: A similar use of a double negative is not unfrequent in Chaucer; as in the "Miller's Tale": "That of no wife toke he non offering For curtesie, he sayd, he n'old non."] So, daunted in their inquiries, they sat silent for a few minutes. Old Job, however, felt that some one must speak, else all the good they had done in dispelling John Barton's gloom was lost. So after awhile he thought of a subject, neither sufficiently dissonant from the last to jar on the full heart, nor too much the same to cherish the continuance of the gloomy train of thought. "Did you ever hear tell," said he to Mary, "that I were in London once?" "No!" said she, with surprise, and looking at Job with increased respect. "Ay, but I were though, and Peg there too, though she minds nought about it, poor wench! You must know I had but one child, and she were Margaret's mother. I loved her above a bit, and one day when she came (standing behind me for that I should not see her blushes, and stroking my cheeks in her own coaxing way), and told me she and Frank Jennings (as was a joiner lodging near us) should be so happy if they were married, I could not find in my heart t' say her nay, though I went sick at the thought of losing her away from my home. Howe'er, she were my only child, and I never said nought of what I felt, for fear o' grieving her young heart. But I tried to think o' the time when I'd been young mysel, and had loved her blessed mother, and how we'd left father and mother and gone out into th' world together, and I'm now right thankful I held my peace, and didna fret her wi' telling her how sore I was at parting wi' her that were the light o' my eyes." "But," said Mary, "you said the young man were a neighbour." "Ay, so he were; and his father afore him. But work were rather slack in Manchester, and Frank's uncle sent him word o' London work and London wages, so he were to go there; and it were there Margaret was to follow him. Well, my heart aches yet at thought of those days. She so happy, and he so happy; only the poor father as fretted sadly behind their backs. They were married, and stayed some days wi' me afore setting off; and I've often thought sin' Margaret's heart failed her many a time those few days, and she would fain ha' spoken; but I knew fra' mysel it were better to keep it pent up, and I never let on what I were feeling. I knew what she meant when she came kissing, and holding my hand, and all her old childish ways o' loving me. Well, they went at last. You know them two letters, Margaret?" "Yes, sure," replied his grand-daughter. "Well, them two were the only letters I ever had fra' her, poor lass. She said in them she were very happy, and I believe she were. And Frank's family heard he were in good work. In one o' her letters, poor thing, she ends wi' saying, 'Farewell, Grandad!' wi' a line drawn under grandad, and fra' that an' other hints I knew she were in th' family way; and I said nought, but I screwed up a little money, thinking come Whitsuntide I'd take a holiday and go and see her an' th' little one. But one day towards Whitsuntide comed Jennings wi' a grave face, and says he, 'I hear our Frank and your Margaret's both getten the fever.' You might ha' knocked me down wi' a straw, for it seemed as if God told me what th' upshot would be. Old Jennings had gotten a letter, yo see, fra' the landlady they lodged wi'; a well-penned letter, asking if they'd no friends to come and nurse them. She'd caught it first, and Frank, who was as tender o' her as her own mother could ha' been, had nursed her till he'd caught it himsel; and she expecting her down-lying [30] every day. Well, t' make a long story short, Old Jennings and I went up by that night's coach. So you see, Mary, that was the way I got to London." [Footnote 30: "Down-lying," lying-in.] "But how was your daughter when you got there?" asked Mary, anxiously. "She were at rest, poor wench, and so were Frank. I guessed as much when I see'd th' landlady's face, all swelled wi' crying, when she opened th' door to us. We said, 'Where are they?' and I knew they were dead, fra' her look; but Jennings didn't, as I take it; for when she showed us into a room wi' a white sheet on th' bed, and underneath it, plain to be seen, two still figures, he screeched out as if he'd been a woman. "Yet he'd other childer and I'd none. There lay my darling, my only one. She were dead, and there were no one to love me, no, not one. I disremember [31] rightly what I did; but I know I were very quiet, while my heart were crushed within me. [Footnote 31: "Disremember," forget.] "Jennings could na' stand being in th' room at all, so th' landlady took him down, and I were glad to be alone. It grew dark while I sat there; and at last th' landlady come up again, and said, 'Come here.' So I got up and walked into th' light, but I had to hold by th' stair-rails, I were so weak and dizzy. She led me into a room, where Jennings lay on a sofa fast asleep, wi' his pocket handkercher over his head for a night-cap. She said he'd cried himself fairly off to sleep. There were tea on th' table all ready; for she were a kind-hearted body. But she still said, 'Come here,' and took hold o' my arm. So I went round the table, and there were a clothes-basket by th' fire, wi' a shawl put o'er it. 'Lift that up,' says she, and I did; and there lay a little wee babby fast asleep. My heart gave a leap, and th' tears comed rushing into my eyes first time that day. 'Is it hers?' said I, though I knew it were. 'Yes,' said she. 'She were getting a bit better o' the fever, and th' babby were born; and then the poor young man took worse and died, and she were not many hours behind.' "Little mite of a thing! and yet it seemed her angel come back to comfort me. I were quite jealous o' Jennings whenever he went near the babby. I thought it were more my flesh and blood than his'n, and yet I were afeared he would claim it. However, that were far enough fra' his thoughts; he'd plenty other childer, and as I found out at after he'd all along been wishing me to take it. Well, we buried Margaret and her husband in a big, crowded, lonely churchyard in London. I were loath to leave them there, as I thought, when they rose again, they'd feel so strange at first away fra Manchester, and all old friends; but it couldna be helped. Well, God watches o'er their grave there as well as here. That funeral cost a mint o' money, but Jennings and I wished to do th' thing decent. Then we'd the stout little babby to bring home. We'd not overmuch money left; but it were fine weather, and we thought we'd take th' coach to Brummagem, and walk on. It were a bright May morning when last I saw London town, looking back from a big hill a mile or two off. And in that big mass o' a place I were leaving my blessed child asleep--in her last sleep. Well, God's will be done! She's gotten to heaven afore me; but I shall get there at last, please God, though it's a long while first. "The babby had been fed afore we set out, and th' coach moving kept it asleep, bless its little heart. But when th' coach stopped for dinner it were awake, and crying for its pobbies. [32] So we asked for some bread and milk, and Jennings took it first for to feed it; but it made its mouth like a square, and let it run out at each o' th' four corners. 'Shake it, Jennings,' says I; 'that's the way they make water run through a funnel, when it's o'er full; and a child's mouth is broad end o' th' funnel, and th' gullet the narrow one.' So he shook it, but it only cried th' more. 'Let me have it,' says I, thinking he were an awkward oud chap. But it were just as bad wi' me. By shaking th' babby we got better nor a gill into its mouth, but more nor that came up again, wetting a' th' nice dry clothes landlady had put on. Well, just as we'd gotten to th' dinner-table, and helped oursels, and eaten two mouthful, came in th' guard, and a fine chap wi' a sample o' calico flourishing in his hand. 'Coach is ready!' says one; 'Half-a-crown your dinner!' says th' other. Well, we thought it a deal for both our dinners, when we'd hardly tasted 'em; but, bless your life, it were half-a-crown apiece, and a shilling for th' bread and milk as were possetted all over babby's clothes. We spoke up again [33] it; but every body said it were the rule, so what could two poor oud chaps like us do again it? Well, poor babby cried without stopping to take breath, fra' that time till we got to Brummagem for the night. My heart ached for th' little thing. It caught wi' its wee mouth at our coat sleeves and at our mouths, when we tried t' comfort it by talking to it. Poor little wench! It wanted its mammy, as were lying cold in th' grave. 'Well,' says I, 'it'll be clemmed to death, if it lets out its supper as it did its dinner. Let's get some woman to feed it; it comes natural to women to do for babbies.' So we asked th' chamber-maid at the inn, and she took quite kindly to it; and we got a good supper, and grew rare and sleepy, what wi' th' warmth, and wi' our long ride i' th' open air. Th' chamber-maid said she would like t' have it t' sleep wi' her, only missis would scold so; but it looked so quiet and smiling like, as it lay in her arms, that we thought 'twould be no trouble to have it wi' us. I says: 'See, Jennings, how women-folk do quieten babbies; it's just as I said.' He looked grave; he were always thoughtful-looking, though I never heard him say any thing very deep. At last says he-- [Footnote 32: "Pobbies," or "pobs," child's porridge.] [Footnote 33: "Again," for against. "He that is not with me, he is ageyn me."--_Wickliffe's Version._] "'Young woman! have you gotten a spare night-cap?' "'Missis always keeps night-caps for gentlemen as does not like to unpack,' says she, rather quick. "'Ay, but young woman, it's one of your night-caps I want. Th' babby seems to have taken a mind to yo; and may be in th' dark it might take me for yo if I'd getten your night-cap on.' "The chambermaid smirked and went for a cap, but I laughed outright at th' oud bearded chap thinking he'd make hissel like a woman just by putting on a woman's cap. Howe'er he'd not be laughed out on't, so I held th' babby till he were in bed. Such a night as we had on it! Babby began to scream o' th' oud fashion, and we took it turn and turn about to sit up and rock it. My heart were very sore for th' little one, as it groped about wi' its mouth; but for a' that I could scarce keep fra' smiling at th' thought o' us two oud chaps, th' one wi' a woman's night-cap on, sitting on our hinder ends for half th' night, hushabying a babby as wouldn't be hushabied. Toward morning, poor little wench! it fell asleep, fairly tired out wi' crying, but even in its sleep it gave such pitiful sobs, quivering up fra' the very bottom of its little heart, that once or twice I almost wished it lay on its mother's breast, at peace for ever. Jennings fell asleep too; but I began for to reckon up our money. It were little enough we had left, our dinner the day afore had ta'en so much. I didn't know what our reckoning would be for that night lodging, and supper, and breakfast. Doing a sum alway sent me asleep ever sin' I were a lad; so I fell sound in a short time, and were only wakened by chambermaid tapping at th' door, to say she'd dress the babby afore her missis were up if we liked. But bless yo', we'd never thought o' undressing it th' night afore, and now it were sleeping so sound, and we were so glad o' the peace and quietness, that we thought it were no good to waken it up to screech again. "Well! (there's Mary asleep for a good listener!) I suppose you're getting weary of my tale, so I'll not be long over ending it. Th' reckoning left us very bare, and we thought we'd best walk home, for it were only sixty mile, they telled us, and not stop again for nought, save victuals. So we left Brummagem, (which is as black a place as Manchester, without looking so like home), and walked a' that day, carrying babby turn and turn about. It were well fed by chambermaid afore we left, and th' day were fine, and folk began to have some knowledge o' th' proper way o' speaking, and we were more cheery at thoughts o' home (though mine, God knows, were lonesome enough). We stopped none for dinner, but at baggin-time [34] we getten a good meal at a public-house, an' fed th' babby as well as we could, but that were but poorly. We got a crust too, for it to suck--chambermaid put us up to that. That night, whether we were tired or whatten, I don't know, but it were dree [35] work, and poor wench had slept out her sleep, and began th' cry as wore my heart out again. Says Jennings, says he, [Footnote 34: "Baggin-time," time of the evening meal.] [Footnote 35: "Dree," long and tedious. Anglo-Saxon, "dreogan," to suffer, to endure.] "'We should na ha' set out so like gentlefolk a top o' the coach yesterday.' "'Nay, lad! We should ha' had more to walk, if we had na ridden, and I'm sure both you and I'se [36] weary o' tramping.' [Footnote 36: "I have not been, nor _is_, nor never schal."--_Wickliffe's "Apology," p. 1._] "So he were quiet a bit. But he were one o' them as were sure to find out somewhat had been done amiss, when there were no going back to undo it. So presently he coughs, as if he were going to speak, and I says to mysel, 'At it again, my lad.' Says he, "'I ax pardon, neighbour, but it strikes me it would ha' been better for my son if he had never begun to keep company wi' your daughter.' "Well! that put me up, and my heart got very full, and but that I were carrying _her_ babby, I think I should ha' struck him. At last I could hold in no longer, and says I, "'Better say at once it would ha' been better for God never to ha' made th' world, for then we'd never ha' been in it, to have had th' heavy hearts we have now.' "Well! he said that were rank blasphemy; but I thought his way of casting up again th' events God had pleased to send, were worse blasphemy. Howe'er, I said nought more angry, for th' little babby's sake, as were th' child o' his dead son, as well as o' my dead daughter. "Th' longest lane will have a turning, and that night came to an end at last; and we were foot-sore and tired enough, and to my mind th' babby were getting weaker and weaker, and it wrung my heart to hear its little wail; I'd ha' given my right hand for one of yesterday's hearty cries. We were wanting our breakfasts, and so were it too, motherless babby! We could see no public-house, so about six o'clock (only we thought it were later) we stopped at a cottage where a woman were moving about near th' open door. Says I, 'Good woman, may we rest us a bit?' 'Come in,' says she, wiping a chair, as looked bright enough afore, wi' her apron. It were a cheery, clean room; and we were glad to sit down again, though I thought my legs would never bend at th' knees. In a minute she fell a noticing th' babby, and took it in her arms, and kissed it again and again. 'Missis,' says I, 'we're not without money, and if yo'd give us somewhat for breakfast, we'd pay yo honest, and if yo would wash and dress that poor babby, and get some pobbies down its throat, for it's well-nigh clemmed, I'd pray for yo' till my dying day.' So she said nought, but gived me th' babby back, and afore yo' could say Jack Robinson, she'd a pan on th' fire, and bread and cheese on th' table. When she turned round, her face looked red, and her lips were tight pressed together. Well! we were right down glad on our breakfast, and God bless and reward that woman for her kindness that day; she fed th' poor babby as gently and softly, and spoke to it as tenderly as its own poor mother could ha' done. It seemed as if that stranger and it had known each other afore, maybe in Heaven, where folk's spirits come from they say; th' babby looked up so lovingly in her eyes, and made little noises more like a dove than aught else. Then she undressed it (poor darling! it were time), touching it so softly; and washed it from head to foot, and as many on its things were dirty; and what bits o' things its mother had gotten ready for it had been sent by th' carrier fra London, she put 'em aside; and wrapping little naked babby in her apron, she pulled out a key, as were fastened to a black ribbon, and hung down her breast, and unlocked a drawer in th' dresser. I were sorry to be prying, but I could na' help seeing in that drawer some little child's clothes, all strewed wi' lavendar, and lying by 'em a little whip an' a broken rattle. I began to have an insight into that woman's heart then. She took out a thing or two; and locked the drawer, and went on dressing babby. Just about then come her husband down, a great big fellow as didn't look half awake, though it were getting late; but he'd heard all as had been said down-stairs, as were plain to be seen; but he were a gruff chap. We'd finished our breakfast, and Jennings were looking hard at th' woman as she were getting the babby to sleep wi' a sort of rocking way. At length says he, 'I ha learnt th' way now; it's two jiggits and a shake, two jiggits and a shake. I can get that babby asleep now mysel.' "The man had nodded cross enough to us, and had gone to th' door, and stood there whistling wi' his hands in his breeches-pockets, looking abroad. But at last he turns and says, quite sharp, "'I say, missis, I'm to have no breakfast to-day, I s'pose.' "So wi' that she kissed th' child, a long, soft kiss; and looking in my face to see if I could take her meaning, gave me th' babby without a word. I were loath to stir, but I saw it were better to go. So giving Jennings a sharp nudge (for he'd fallen asleep), I says, 'Missis, what's to pay?' pulling out my money wi' a jingle that she might na guess we were at all bare o' cash. So she looks at her husband, who said ne'er a word, but were listening wi' all his ears nevertheless; and when she saw he would na say, she said, hesitating, as if pulled two ways, by her fear o' him, 'Should you think sixpence over much?' It were so different to public-house reckoning, for we'd eaten a main deal afore the chap came down. So says I, 'And, missis, what should we gie you for the babby's bread and milk?' (I had it once in my mind to say 'and for a' your trouble with it,' but my heart would na let me say it, for I could read in her ways how it had been a work o' love.) So says she, quite quick, and stealing a look at her husband's back, as looked all ear, if ever a back did, 'Oh, we could take nought for the little babby's food, if it had eaten twice as much, bless it.' Wi' that he looked at her; such a scowling look! She knew what he meant, and stepped softly across the floor to him, and put her hand on his arm. He seem'd as though he'd shake it off by a jerk on his elbow, but she said quite low, 'For poor little Johnnie's sake, Richard.' He did not move or speak again, and after looking in his face for a minute, she turned away, swallowing deep in her throat. She kissed th' sleeping babby as she passed, when I paid her. To quieten th' gruff husband, and stop him if he rated her, I could na help slipping another sixpence under th' loaf, and then we set off again. Last look I had o' that woman she were quietly wiping her eyes wi' the corner of her apron, as she went about her husband's breakfast. But I shall know her in heaven." He stopped to think of that long-ago May morning, when he had carried his grand-daughter under the distant hedge-rows and beneath the flowering sycamores. "There's nought more to say, wench," said he to Margaret, as she begged him to go on. "That night we reached Manchester, and I'd found out that Jennings would be glad enough to give up babby to me, so I took her home at once, and a blessing she's been to me." They were all silent for a few minutes; each following out the current of their thoughts. Then, almost simultaneously, their attention fell upon Mary. Sitting on her little stool, her head resting on her father's knee, and sleeping as soundly as any infant, her breath (still like an infant's) came and went as softly as a bird steals to her leafy nest. Her half-open mouth was as scarlet as the winter-berries, and contrasted finely with the clear paleness of her complexion, where the eloquent blood flushed carnation at each motion. Her black eye-lashes lay on the delicate cheek, which was still more shaded by the masses of her golden hair, that seemed to form a nest-like pillow for her as she lay. Her father in fond pride straightened one glossy curl, for an instant, as if to display its length and silkiness. The little action awoke her, and, like nine out of ten people in similar circumstances, she exclaimed, opening her eyes to their fullest extent, "I'm not asleep. I've been awake all the time." Even her father could not keep from smiling, and Job Legh and Margaret laughed outright. "Come, wench," said Job, "don't look so gloppened [37] because thou'st fallen asleep while an oud chap like me was talking on oud times. It were like enough to send thee to sleep. Try if thou canst keep thine eyes open while I read thy father a bit on a poem as is written by a weaver like oursel. A rare chap I'll be bound is he who could weave verse like this." [Footnote 37: "Gloppened," amazed, frightened.] So adjusting his spectacles on nose, cocking his chin, crossing his legs, and coughing to clear his voice, he read aloud a little poem of Samuel Bamford's [38] he had picked up somewhere. [Footnote 38: The fine-spirited author of "Passages in the Life of a Radical"--a man who illustrates his order, and shows what nobility may be in a cottage.] God help the poor, who, on this wintry morn, Come forth from alleys dim and courts obscure. God help yon poor pale girl, who droops forlorn, And meekly her affliction doth endure; God help her, outcast lamb; she trembling stands, All wan her lips, and frozen red her hands; Her sunken eyes are modestly down-cast, Her night-black hair streams on the fitful blast; Her bosom, passing fair, is half revealed, And oh! so cold, the snow lies there congealed; Her feet benumbed, her shoes all rent and worn, God help thee, outcast lamb, who standst forlorn! God help the poor! God help the poor! An infant's feeble wail Comes from yon narrow gateway, and behold! A female crouching there, so deathly pale, Huddling her child, to screen it from the cold; Her vesture scant, her bonnet crushed and torn; A thin shawl doth her baby dear enfold: And so she 'bides the ruthless gale of morn, Which almost to her heart hath sent its cold. And now she, sudden, darts a ravening look, As one, with new hot bread, goes past the nook; And, as the tempting load is onward borne, She weeps. God help thee, helpless one, forlorn! God help the poor! God help the poor! Behold yon famished lad, No shoes, nor hose, his wounded feet protect; With limping gait, and looks so dreamy sad, He wanders onward, stopping to inspect Each window, stored with articles of food. He yearns but to enjoy one cheering meal; Oh! to the hungry palate, viands rude, Would yield a zest the famished only feel! He now devours a crust of mouldy bread; With teeth and hands the precious boon is torn; Unmindful of the storm that round his head Impetuous sweeps. God help thee, child forlorn! God help the poor! God help the poor! Another have I found-- A bowed and venerable man is he; His slouched hat with faded crape is bound; His coat is gray, and threadbare too, I see. "The rude winds" seem "to mock his hoary hair;" His shirtless bosom to the blast is bare. Anon he turns and casts a wistful eye, And with scant napkin wipes the blinding spray; And looks around, as if he fain would spy Friends he had feasted in his better day: Ah! some are dead; and some have long forborne To know the poor; and he is left forlorn! God help the poor! God help the poor, who in lone valleys dwell, Or by far hills, where whin and heather grow; Theirs is a story sad indeed to tell, Yet little cares the world, and less 't would know About the toil and want men undergo. The wearying loom doth call them up at morn, They work till worn-out nature sinks to sleep, They taste, but are not fed. The snow drifts deep Around the fireless cot, and blocks the door; The night-storm howls a dirge across the moor; And shall they perish thus--oppressed and lorn? Shall toil and famine, hopeless, still be borne? No! God will yet arise, and help the poor. "Amen!" said Barton, solemnly, and sorrowfully. "Mary! wench, couldst thou copy me them lines, dost think?--that's to say, if Job there has no objection." "Not I. More they're heard and read and the better, say I." So Mary took the paper. And the next day, on the blank half sheet of a valentine, all bordered with hearts and darts--a valentine she had once suspected to come from Jem Wilson--she copied Bamford's beautiful little poem. CHAPTER X. RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL. "My heart, once soft as woman's tear, is gnarled With gloating on the ills I cannot cure." ELLIOTT. "Then guard and shield her innocence, Let her not fall like me; 'Twere better, Oh! a thousand times, She in her grave should be." "THE OUTCAST." Despair settled down like a heavy cloud; and now and then, through the dead calm of sufferings, came pipings of stormy winds, foretelling the end of these dark prognostics. In times of sorrowful or fierce endurance, we are often soothed by the mere repetition of old proverbs which tell the experience of our forefathers; but now, "it's a long lane that has no turning," "the weariest day draws to an end," &c., seemed false and vain sayings, so long and so weary was the pressure of the terrible times. Deeper and deeper still sank the poor; it showed how much lingering suffering it takes to kill men, that so few (in comparison) died during those times. But remember! we only miss those who do men's work in their humble sphere; the aged, the feeble, the children, when they die, are hardly noted by the world; and yet to many hearts, their deaths make a blank which long years will never fill up. Remember, too, that though it may take much suffering to kill the able-bodied and effective members of society, it does _not_ take much to reduce them to worn, listless, diseased creatures, who thenceforward crawl through life with moody hearts and pain-stricken bodies. The people had thought the poverty of the preceding years hard to bear, and had found its yoke heavy; but this year added sorely to its weight. Former times had chastised them with whips, but this chastised them with scorpions. Of course, Barton had his share of mere bodily sufferings. Before he had gone up to London on his vain errand, he had been working short time. But in the hopes of speedy redress by means of the interference of Parliament, he had thrown up his place; and now, when he asked leave to resume work, he was told they were diminishing their number of hands every week, and he was made aware by the remarks of fellow workmen, that a Chartist delegate, and a leading member of a Trades' Union, was not likely to be favoured in his search after employment. Still he tried to keep up a brave heart concerning himself. He knew he could bear hunger; for that power of endurance had been called forth when he was a little child, and had seen his mother hide her daily morsel to share it among her children, and when he, being the eldest, had told the noble lie, that "he was not hungry, could not eat a bit more," in order to imitate his mother's bravery, and still the sharp wail of the younger infants. Mary, too, was secure of two meals a day at Miss Simmonds'; though, by the way, the dress-maker, too, feeling the effect of bad times, had left off giving tea to her apprentices, setting them the example of long abstinence by putting off her own meal until work was done for the night, however late that might be. But the rent! It was half-a-crown a week--nearly all Mary's earnings--and much less room might do for them, only two.--(Now came the time to be thankful that the early dead were saved from the evil to come.)--The agricultural labourer generally has strong local attachments; but they are far less common, almost obliterated, among the inhabitants of a town. Still there are exceptions, and Barton formed one. He had removed to his present house just after the last bad times, when little Tom had sickened and died. He had then thought the bustle of a removal would give his poor stunned wife something to do, and he had taken more interest in the details of the proceeding than he otherwise would have done, in the hope of calling her forth to action again. So he seemed to know every brass-headed nail driven up for her convenience. One only had been displaced. It was Esther's bonnet nail, which, in his deep revengeful anger against her, after his wife's death, he had torn out of the wall, and cast into the street. It would be hard work to leave that house, which yet seemed hallowed by his wife's presence in the happy days of old. But he was a law unto himself, though sometimes a bad, fierce law; and he resolved to give the rent-collector notice, and look out for a cheaper abode, and tell Mary they must flit. Poor Mary! she loved the house, too. It was wrenching up her natural feelings of home, for it would be long before the fibres of her heart would gather themselves about another place. This trial was spared. The collector (of himself), on the very Monday when Barton planned to give him notice of his intention to leave, lowered the rent threepence a week, just enough to make Barton compromise and agree to stay on a little longer. But by degrees the house was stripped of its little ornaments. Some were broken; and the odd twopences and threepences wanted to pay for their repairs, were required for the far sterner necessity of food. And by-and-bye Mary began to part with other superfluities at the pawn-shop. The smart tea-tray and tea-caddy, long and carefully kept, went for bread for her father. He did not ask for it, or complain, but she saw hunger in his shrunk, fierce, animal look. Then the blankets went, for it was summer time, and they could spare them; and their sale made a fund, which Mary fancied would last till better times came. But it was soon all gone; and then she looked around the room to crib it of its few remaining ornaments. To all these proceedings her father said never a word. If he fasted, or feasted (after the sale of some article), on an unusual meal of bread and cheese, he took all with a sullen indifference, which depressed Mary's heart. She often wished he would apply for relief from the Guardian's relieving office; often wondered the Trades' Union did nothing for him. Once when she asked him as he sat, grimed, unshaven, and gaunt, after a day's fasting over the fire, why he did not get relief from the town, he turned round, with grim wrath, and said, "I don't want money, child! D----n their charity and their money! I want work, and it is my right. I want work." He would bear it all, he said to himself. And he did bear it, but not meekly; that was too much to expect. Real meekness of character is called out by experience of kindness. And few had been kind to him. Yet through it all, with stern determination he refused the assistance his Trades' Union would have given him. It had not much to give, but with worldly wisdom, thought it better to propitiate an active, useful member, than to help those who were unenergetic, though they had large families to provide for. Not so thought John Barton. With him need was right. "Give it to Tom Darbyshire," he said. "He's more claim on it than me, for he's more need of it, with his seven children." Now Tom Darbyshire was, in his listless, grumbling way, a backbiting enemy of John Barton's. And he knew it; but he was not to be influenced by that in a matter like this. Mary went early to her work; but her cheery laugh over it was now missed by the other girls. Her mind wandered over the present distress, and then settled, as she stitched, on the visions of the future, where yet her thoughts dwelt more on the circumstances of ease, and the pomps and vanities awaiting her, than on the lover with whom she was to share them. Still she was not insensible to the pride of having attracted one so far above herself in station; not insensible to the secret pleasure of knowing that he, whom so many admired, had often said he would give any thing for one of her sweet smiles. Her love for him was a bubble, blown out of vanity; but it looked very real and very bright. Sally Leadbitter, meanwhile, keenly observed the signs of the times; she found out that Mary had begun to affix a stern value to money as the "Purchaser of Life," and many girls had been dazzled and lured by gold, even without the betraying love which she believed to exist in Mary's heart. So she urged young Mr. Carson, by representations of the want she was sure surrounded Mary, to bring matters more to a point. But he had a kind of instinctive dread of hurting Mary's pride of spirit, and durst not hint his knowledge in any way of the distress that many must be enduring. He felt that for the present he must still be content with stolen meetings and summer evening strolls, and the delight of pouring sweet honeyed words into her ear, while she listened with a blush and a smile that made her look radiant with beauty. No, he would be cautious in order to be certain; for Mary, one way or another, he must make his. He had no doubt of the effect of his own personal charms in the long run; for he knew he was handsome, and believed himself fascinating. If he had known what Mary's home was, he would not have been so much convinced of his increasing influence over her, by her being more and more ready to linger with him in the sweet summer air. For when she returned for the night her father was often out, and the house wanted the cheerful look it had had in the days when money was never wanted to purchase soap and brushes, black-lead and pipe-clay. It was dingy and comfortless; for, of course, there was not even the dumb familiar home-friend, a fire. And Margaret, too, was now so often from home, singing at some of those grand places. And Alice; oh, Mary wished she had never left her cellar to go and live at Ancoats with her sister-in-law. For in that matter Mary felt very guilty; she had put off and put off going to see the widow after George Wilson's death from dread of meeting Jem, or giving him reason to think she wished to be as intimate with him as formerly; and now she was so much ashamed of her delay that she was likely never to go at all. If her father was at home it was no better; indeed it was worse. He seldom spoke, less than ever; and often when he did speak they were sharp angry words, such as he had never given her formerly. Her temper was high, too, and her answers not over-mild; and once in his passion he had even beaten her. If Sally Leadbitter or Mr. Carson had been at hand at that moment, Mary would have been ready to leave home for ever. She sat alone, after her father had flung out of the house, bitterly thinking on the days that were gone; angry with her own hastiness, and believing that her father did not love her; striving to heap up one painful thought on another. Who cared for her? Mr. Carson might, but in this grief that seemed no comfort. Mother dead! Father so often angry, so lately cruel (for it was a hard blow, and blistered and reddened Mary's soft white skin with pain): and then her heart turned round, and she remembered with self-reproach how provokingly she had looked and spoken, and how much her father had to bear; and oh, what a kind and loving parent he had been, till these days of trial. The remembrance of one little instance of his fatherly love thronged after another into her mind, and she began to wonder how she could have behaved to him as she had done. Then he came home; and but for very shame she would have confessed her penitence in words. But she looked sullen, from her effort to keep down emotion; and for some time her father did not know how to begin to speak. At length he gulped down pride, and said: "Mary, I'm not above saying I'm very sorry I beat thee. Thou wert a bit aggravating, and I'm not the man I was. But it were wrong, and I'll try never to lay hands on thee again." So he held out his arms, and in many tears she told him her repentance for her fault. He never struck her again. Still, he often was angry. But that was almost better than being silent. Then he sat near the fire-place (from habit), smoking, or chewing opium. Oh, how Mary loathed that smell! And in the dusk, just before it merged into the short summer night, she had learned to look with dread towards the window, which now her father would have kept uncurtained; for there were not seldom seen sights which haunted her in her dreams. Strange faces of pale men, with dark glaring eyes, peered into the inner darkness, and seemed desirous to ascertain if her father were at home. Or a hand and arm (the body hidden) was put within the door, and beckoned him away. He always went. And once or twice, when Mary was in bed, she heard men's voices below, in earnest, whispered talk. They were all desperate members of Trades' Unions, ready for any thing; made ready by want. While all this change for gloom yet struck fresh and heavy on Mary's heart, her father startled her out of a reverie one evening, by asking her when she had been to see Jane Wilson. From his manner of speaking, she was made aware that he had been; but at the time of his visit he had never mentioned any thing about it. Now, however, he gruffly told her to go next day without fail, and added some abuse of her for not having been before. The little outward impulse of her father's speech gave Mary the push which she, in this instance, required; and, accordingly, timing her visit so as to avoid Jem's hours at home, she went the following afternoon to Ancoats. The outside of the well-known house struck her as different; for the door was closed, instead of open, as it once had always stood. The window-plants, George Wilson's pride and especial care, looked withering and drooping. They had been without water for a long time, and now, when the widow had reproached herself severely for neglect, in her ignorant anxiety, she gave them too much. On opening the door, Alice was seen, not stirring about in her habitual way, but knitting by the fire-side. The room felt hot, although the fire burnt gray and dim, under the bright rays of the afternoon sun. Mrs. Wilson was "siding" [39] the dinner things, and talking all the time, in a kind of whining, shouting voice, which Mary did not at first understand. She understood at once, however, that her absence had been noted, and talked over; she saw a constrained look on Mrs. Wilson's sorrow-stricken face, which told her a scolding was to come. [Footnote 39: To "side," to put aside, or in order.] "Dear Mary, is that you?" she began. "Why, who would ha' dreamt of seeing you! We thought you'd clean forgotten us; and Jem has often wondered if he should know you, if he met you in the street." Now, poor Jane Wilson had been sorely tried; and at present her trials had had no outward effect, but that of increased acerbity of temper. She wished to show Mary how much she was offended, and meant to strengthen her cause, by putting some of her own sharp speeches into Jem's mouth. Mary felt guilty, and had no good reason to give as an apology; so for a minute she stood silent, looking very much ashamed, and then turned to speak to aunt Alice, who, in her surprised, hearty greeting to Mary, had dropped her ball of worsted, and was busy trying to set the thread to rights, before the kitten had entangled it past redemption, once round every chair, and twice round the table. "You mun speak louder than that, if you mean her to hear; she become as deaf as a post this last few weeks. I'd ha' told you, if I'd remembered how long it were sin' you'd seen her." "Yes, my dear, I'm getting very hard o' hearing of late," said Alice, catching the state of the case, with her quick-glancing eyes. "I suppose it's the beginning of th' end." "Don't talk o' that way," screamed her sister-in-law. "We've had enow of ends and deaths without forecasting more." She covered her face with her apron, and sat down to cry. "He was such a good husband," said she, in a less excited tone, to Mary, as she looked up with tear-streaming eyes from behind her apron. "No one can tell what I've lost in him, for no one knew his worth like me." Mary's listening sympathy softened her, and she went on to unburden her heavy laden heart. "Eh, dear, dear! No one knows what I've lost. When my poor boys went, I thought th' Almighty had crushed me to th' ground, but I never thought o' losing George; I did na think I could ha' borne to ha' lived without him. And yet I'm here, and he's--" A fresh burst of crying interrupted her speech. "Mary,"--beginning to speak again,--"did you ever hear what a poor creature I were when he married me? And he such a handsome fellow! Jem's nothing to what his father were at his age." Yes! Mary had heard, and so she said. But the poor woman's thoughts had gone back to those days, and her little recollections came out, with many interruptions of sighs, and tears, and shakes of the head. "There were nought about me for him to choose me. I were just well enough afore that accident, but at after I were downright plain. And there was Bessy Witter as would ha' given her eyes for him; she as is Mrs. Carson now, for she were a handsome lass, although I never could see her beauty then; and Carson warn't so much above her, as they're both above us all now." Mary went very red, and wished she could help doing so, and wished also that Mrs. Wilson would tell her more about the father and mother of her lover; but she durst not ask, and Mrs. Wilson's thoughts soon returned to her husband, and their early married days. "If you'll believe me, Mary, there never was such a born goose at house-keeping as I were; and yet he married me! I had been in a factory sin' five years old a'most, and I knew nought about cleaning, or cooking, let alone washing and such-like work. The day after we were married he goes to his work at after breakfast, and says he, 'Jenny, we'll ha' th' cold beef, and potatoes, and that's a dinner fit for a prince.' I were anxious to make him comfortable, God knows how anxious. And yet I'd no notion how to cook a potato. I know'd they were boiled, and I know'd their skins were taken off, and that were all. So I tidyed my house in a rough kind o' way, and then I looked at that very clock up yonder," pointing at one that hung against the wall, "and I seed it were nine o'clock, so, thinks I, th' potatoes shall be well boiled at any rate, and I gets 'em on th' fire in a jiffy (that's to say, as soon as I could peel 'em, which were a tough job at first), and then I fell to unpacking my boxes! and at twenty minutes past twelve he comes home, and I had th' beef ready on th' table, and I went to take the potatoes out o' th' pot; but oh! Mary, th' water had boiled away, and they were all a nasty brown mass, as smelt through all the house. He said nought, and were very gentle; but, oh, Mary, I cried so that afternoon. I shall ne'er forget it; no, never. I made many a blunder at after, but none that fretted me like that." "Father does not like girls to work in factories," said Mary. "No, I know he doesn't; and reason good. They oughtn't to go at after they're married, that I'm very clear about. I could reckon up" (counting with her fingers) "ay, nine men I know, as has been driven to th' public-house by having wives as worked in factories; good folk, too, as thought there was no harm in putting their little ones out at nurse, and letting their house go all dirty, and their fires all out; and that was a place as was tempting for a husband to stay in, was it? He soon finds out gin-shops, where all is clean and bright, and where th' fire blazes cheerily, and gives a man a welcome as it were." Alice, who was standing near for the convenience of hearing, had caught much of this speech, and it was evident the subject had previously been discussed by the women, for she chimed in. "I wish our Jem could speak a word to th' Queen about factory work for married women. Eh! but he comes it strong, when once yo get him to speak about it. Wife o' his'n will never work away fra' home." "I say it's Prince Albert as ought to be asked how he'd like his missis to be from home when he comes in, tired and worn, and wanting some one to cheer him; and may be, her to come in by-and-bye, just as tired and down in th' mouth; and how he'd like for her never to be at home to see to th' cleaning of his house, or to keep a bright fire in his grate. Let alone his meals being all hugger-mugger and comfortless. I'd be bound, prince as he is, if his missis served him so, he'd be off to a gin-palace, or summut o' that kind. So why can't he make a law again poor folks' wives working in factories?" Mary ventured to say that she thought the Queen and Prince Albert could not make laws, but the answer was, "Pooh! don't tell me it's not the Queen as makes laws; and isn't she bound to obey Prince Albert? And if he said they mustn't, why she'd say they mustn't, and then all folk would say, oh no, we never shall do any such thing no more." "Jem's getten on rarely," said Alice, who had not heard her sister's last burst of eloquence, and whose thoughts were still running on her nephew, and his various talents. "He's found out summut about a crank or a tank, I forget rightly which it is, but th' master's made him foreman, and he all the while turning off hands; but he said he could na part wi' Jem, nohow. He's good wage now: I tell him he'll be thinking of marrying soon, and he deserves a right down good wife, that he does." Mary went very red, and looked annoyed, although there was a secret spring of joy deep down in her heart, at hearing Jem so spoken of. But his mother only saw the annoyed look, and was piqued accordingly. She was not over and above desirous that her son should marry. His presence in the house seemed a relic of happier times, and she had some little jealousy of his future wife, whoever she might be. Still she could not bear any one not to feel gratified and flattered by Jem's preference, and full well she knew how above all others he preferred Mary. Now she had never thought Mary good enough for Jem, and her late neglect in coming to see her still rankled a little in her breast. So she determined to invent a little, in order to do away with any idea Mary might have that Jem would choose her for "his right down good wife," as aunt Alice called it. "Ay, he'll be for taking a wife soon," and then, in a lower voice, as if confidentially, but really to prevent any contradiction or explanation from her simple sister-in-law, she added, "It'll not be long afore Molly Gibson (that's her at th' provision-shop round the corner) will hear a secret as will not displease her, I'm thinking. She's been casting sheep's eyes at our Jem this many a day, but he thought her father would not give her to a common working man; but now he's as good as her, every bit. I thought once he'd a fancy for thee, Mary, but I donnot think yo'd ever ha' suited, so it's best as it is." By an effort Mary managed to keep down her vexation, and to say, "She hoped he'd be happy with Molly Gibson. She was very handsome, for certain." "Ay, and a notable body, too. I'll just step up stairs and show you the patchwork quilt she gave me but last Saturday." Mary was glad she was going out of the room. Her words irritated her; perhaps not the less because she did not fully believe them. Besides she wanted to speak to Alice, and Mrs. Wilson seemed to think that she, as the widow, ought to absorb all the attention. "Dear Alice," began Mary, "I'm so grieved to find you so deaf; it must have come on very rapid." "Yes, dear, it's a trial; I'll not deny it. Pray God give me strength to find out its teaching. I felt it sore one fine day when I thought I'd go gather some meadow-sweet to make tea for Jane's cough; and the fields seemed so dree and still, and at first I could na make out what was wanting; and then it struck me it were th' song o' the birds, and that I never should hear their sweet music no more, and I could na help crying a bit. But I've much to be thankful for. I think I'm a comfort to Jane, if I'm only some one to scold now and then; poor body! It takes off her thoughts from her sore losses when she can scold a bit. If my eyes are left I can do well enough; I can guess at what folk are saying." The splendid red and yellow patch quilt now made its appearance, and Jane Wilson would not be satisfied unless Mary praised it all over, border, centre, and ground-work, right side and wrong; and Mary did her duty, saying all the more, because she could not work herself up to any very hearty admiration of her rival's present. She made haste, however, with her commendations, in order to avoid encountering Jem. As soon as she was fairly away from the house and street, she slackened her pace, and began to think. Did Jem really care for Molly Gibson? Well, if he did, let him. People seemed all to think he was much too good for her (Mary's own self). Perhaps some one else, far more handsome, and far more grand, would show him one day that she was good enough to be Mrs. Henry Carson. So temper, or what Mary called "spirit," led her to encourage Mr. Carson more than ever she had done before. Some weeks after this, there was a meeting of the Trades' Union to which John Barton belonged. The morning of the day on which it was to take place he had lain late in bed, for what was the use of getting up? He had hesitated between the purchase of meal or opium, and had chosen the latter, for its use had become a necessity with him. He wanted it to relieve him from the terrible depression its absence occasioned. A large lump seemed only to bring him into a natural state, or what had been his natural state formerly. Eight o'clock was the hour fixed for the meeting; and at it were read letters, filled with details of woe, from all parts of the country. Fierce, heavy gloom brooded over the assembly; and fiercely and heavily did the men separate, towards eleven o'clock, some irritated by the opposition of others to their desperate plans. It was not a night to cheer them, as they quitted the glare of the gas-lighted room, and came out into the street. Unceasing, soaking rain was falling; the very lamps seemed obscured by the damp upon the glass, and their light reached but to a little distance from the posts. The streets were cleared of passers-by; not a creature seemed stirring, except here and there a drenched policeman in his oil-skin cape. Barton wished the others good night, and set off home. He had gone through a street or two, when he heard a step behind him; but he did not care to look and see who it was. A little further, and the person quickened step, and touched his arm very lightly. He turned, and saw, even by the darkness visible of that badly-lighted street, that the woman who stood by him was of no doubtful profession. It was told by her faded finery, all unfit to meet the pelting of that pitiless storm; the gauze bonnet, once pink, now dirty white; the muslin gown, all draggled, and soaking wet up to the very knees; the gay-coloured barège shawl, closely wrapped round the form, which yet shivered and shook, as the woman whispered: "I want to speak to you." He swore an oath, and bade her begone. "I really do. Don't send me away. I'm so out of breath, I cannot say what I would all at once." She put her hand to her side, and caught her breath with evident pain. "I tell thee I'm not the man for thee," adding an opprobrious name. "Stay," said he, as a thought suggested by her voice flashed across him. He gripped her arm--the arm he had just before shaken off, and dragged her, faintly resisting, to the nearest lamp-post. He pushed her bonnet back, and roughly held the face she would fain have averted, to the light, and in her large, unnaturally bright gray eyes, her lovely mouth, half open, as if imploring the forbearance she could not ask for in words, he saw at once the long-lost Esther; she who had caused his wife's death. Much was like the gay creature of former years; but the glaring paint, the sharp features, the changed expression of the whole! But most of all, he loathed the dress; and yet the poor thing, out of her little choice of attire, had put on the plainest she had, to come on that night's errand. "So it's thee, is it! It's thee!" exclaimed John, as he ground his teeth, and shook her with passion. "I've looked for thee long at corners o' streets, and such like places. I knew I should find thee at last. Thee'll may be bethink thee o' some words I spoke, which put thee up at th' time; summut about street-walkers; but oh no! thou art none o' them naughts; no one thinks thou art, who sees thy fine draggle-tailed dress, and thy pretty pink cheeks!" stopping for very want of breath. "Oh, mercy! John, mercy! listen to me for Mary's sake!" She meant his daughter, but the name only fell on his ear as belonging to his wife; and it was adding fuel to the fire. In vain did her face grow deadly pale round the vivid circle of paint, in vain did she gasp for mercy,--he burst forth again. "And thou names that name to me! and thou thinks the thought of her will bring thee mercy! Dost thou know it was thee who killed her, as sure as ever Cain killed Abel. She'd loved thee as her own, and she trusted thee as her own, and when thou wert gone she never held up head again, but died in less than a three week; and at the judgment day she'll rise, and point to thee as her murderer; or if she don't, I will." He flung her, trembling, sickening, fainting, from him, and strode away. She fell with a feeble scream against the lamp-post, and lay there in her weakness, unable to rise. A policeman came up in time to see the close of these occurrences, and concluding from Esther's unsteady, reeling fall, that she was tipsy, he took her in her half-unconscious state to the lock-ups for the night. The superintendent of that abode of vice and misery was roused from his dozing watch through the dark hours, by half-delirious wails and moanings, which he reported as arising from intoxication. If he had listened, he would have heard these words, repeated in various forms, but always in the same anxious, muttering way. "He would not listen to me; what can I do? He would not listen to me, and I wanted to warn him! Oh, what shall I do to save Mary's child? What shall I do? How can I keep her from being such a one as I am; such a wretched, loathsome creature! She was listening just as I listened, and loving just as I loved, and the end will be just like my end. How shall I save her? She won't hearken to warning, or heed it more than I did; and who loves her well enough to watch over her as she should be watched? God keep her from harm! And yet I won't pray for her; sinner that I am! Can my prayers be heard? No! they'll only do harm. How shall I save her? He would not listen to me." So the night wore away. The next morning she was taken up to the New Bailey. It was a clear case of disorderly vagrancy, and she was committed to prison for a month. How much might happen in that time! CHAPTER XI. MR. CARSON'S INTENTIONS REVEALED. "O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? Or canst thou break that heart of his, Whase only faut is loving thee?" BURNS. "I can like of the wealth, I must confess, Yet more I prize the man, though moneyless; I am not of their humour yet that can For title or estate affect a man; Or of myself one body deign to make With him I loathe, for his possessions' sake." WITHER'S "FIDELIA." Barton returned home after his encounter with Esther, uneasy and dissatisfied. He had said no more than he had been planning to say for years, in case she was ever thrown in his way, in the character in which he felt certain he should meet her. He believed she deserved it all, and yet he now wished he had not said it. Her look, as she asked for mercy, haunted him through his broken and disordered sleep; her form, as he last saw her, lying prostrate in helplessness, would not be banished from his dreams. He sat up in bed to try and dispel the vision. Now, too late, his conscience smote him for his harshness. It would have been all very well, he thought, to have said what he did, if he had added some kind words, at last. He wondered if his dead wife was conscious of that night's occurrence; and he hoped not, for with her love for Esther he believed it would embitter Heaven to have seen her so degraded and repulsed. For he now recalled her humility, her tacit acknowledgment of her lost character; and he began to marvel if there was power in the religion he had often heard of, to turn her from her ways. He felt that no earthly power that he knew of could do it, but there glimmered on his darkness the idea that religion might save her. Still, where to find her again? In the wilderness of a large town, where to meet with an individual of so little value or note to any? And evening after evening he paced those streets in which he had heard her footsteps following him, peering under every fantastic, discreditable bonnet, in the hopes of once more meeting Esther, and addressing her in a far different manner from what he had done before. But he returned, night after night, disappointed in his search, and at last gave it up in despair, and tried to recall his angry feelings towards her, in order to find relief from his present self-reproach. He often looked at Mary, and wished she were not so like her aunt, for the very bodily likeness seemed to suggest the possibility of a similar likeness in their fate; and then this idea enraged his irritable mind, and he became suspicious and anxious about Mary's conduct. Now hitherto she had been so remarkably free from all control, and almost from all inquiry concerning her actions, that she did not brook this change in her father's behaviour very well. Just when she was yielding more than ever to Mr. Carson's desire of frequent meetings, it was hard to be so questioned concerning her hours of leaving off work, whether she had come straight home, &c. She could not tell lies; though she could conceal much if she were not questioned. So she took refuge in obstinate silence, alleging as a reason for it her indignation at being so cross-examined. This did not add to the good feeling between father and daughter, and yet they dearly loved each other; and in the minds of each, one principal reason for maintaining such behaviour as displeased the other, was the believing that this conduct would insure that person's happiness. Her father now began to wish Mary were married. Then this terrible superstitious fear suggested by her likeness to Esther would be done away with. He felt that he could not resume the reins he had once slackened. But with a husband it would be different. If Jem Wilson would but marry her! With his character for steadiness and talent! But he was afraid Mary had slighted him, he came so seldom now to the house. He would ask her. "Mary, what's come o'er thee and Jem Wilson? Yo were great friends at one time." "Oh, folk say he's going to be married to Molly Gibson, and of course courting takes up a deal o' time," answered Mary, as indifferently as she could. "Thou'st played thy cards badly, then," replied her father, in a surly tone. "At one time he were desperate fond o' thee, or I'm much mistaken. Much fonder of thee than thou deservedst." "That's as people think," said Mary, pertly, for she remembered that the very morning before she had met Mr. Carson, who had sighed, and swore, and protested all manner of tender vows that she was the loveliest, sweetest, best, &c. And when she had seen him afterwards riding with one of his beautiful sisters, had he not evidently pointed her out as in some way or other an object worthy of attention and interest, and then lingered behind his sister's horse for a moment to kiss his hand repeatedly. So, as for Jem Wilson, she could whistle him down the wind. But her father was not in the mood to put up with pertness, and he upbraided her with the loss of Jem Wilson till she had to bite her lips till the blood came, in order to keep down the angry words that would rise in her heart. At last her father left the house, and then she might give way to her passionate tears. It so happened that Jem, after much anxious thought, had determined that day to "put his fate to the touch, to win or lose it all." He was in a condition to maintain a wife in comfort. It was true his mother and aunt must form part of the household; but such is not an uncommon case among the poor, and if there were the advantage of previous friendship between the parties, it was not, he thought, an obstacle to matrimony. Both mother and aunt he believed would welcome Mary. And oh! what a certainty of happiness the idea of that welcome implied. He had been absent and abstracted all day long with the thought of the coming event of the evening. He almost smiled at himself for his care in washing and dressing in preparation for his visit to Mary. As if one waistcoat or another could decide his fate in so passionately momentous a thing. He believed he only delayed before his little looking-glass for cowardice, for absolute fear of a girl. He would try not to think so much about the affair, and he thought the more. Poor Jem! it is not an auspicious moment for thee! "Come in," said Mary, as some one knocked at the door, while she sat sadly at her sewing, trying to earn a few pence by working over hours at some mourning. Jem entered, looking more awkward and abashed than he had ever done before. Yet here was Mary all alone, just as he had hoped to find her. She did not ask him to take a chair, but after standing a minute or two he sat down near her. "Is your father at home, Mary?" said he, by way of making an opening, for she seemed determined to keep silence, and went on stitching away. "No, he's gone to his Union, I suppose." Another silence. It was no use waiting, thought Jem. The subject would never be led to by any talk he could think of in his anxious fluttered state. He had better begin at once. "Mary!" said he, and the unusual tone of his voice made her look up for an instant, but in that time she understood from his countenance what was coming, and her heart beat so suddenly and violently she could hardly sit still. Yet one thing she was sure of; nothing he could say should make her have him. She would show them all _who_ would be glad to have her. She was not yet calm after her father's irritating speeches. Yet her eyes fell veiled before that passionate look fixed upon her. "Dear Mary! (for how dear you are, I cannot rightly tell you in words). It's no new story I'm going to speak about. You must ha' seen and known it long; for since we were boy and girl, I ha' loved you above father and mother and all; and all I've thought on by day and dreamt on by night, has been something in which you've had a share. I'd no way of keeping you for long, and I scorned to try and tie you down; and I lived in terror lest some one else should take you to himself. But now, Mary, I'm foreman in th' works, and, dear Mary! listen," as she, in her unbearable agitation, stood up and turned away from him. He rose, too, and came nearer, trying to take hold of her hand; but this she would not allow. She was bracing herself up to refuse him, for once and for all. "And now, Mary, I've a home to offer you, and a heart as true as ever man had to love you and cherish you; we shall never be rich folk, I dare say; but if a loving heart and a strong right arm can shield you from sorrow, or from want, mine shall do it. I cannot speak as I would like; my love won't let itself be put in words. But oh! darling, say you believe me, and that you'll be mine." She could not speak at once; her words would not come. "Mary, they say silence gives consent; is it so?" he whispered. Now or never the effort must be made. "No! it does not with me." Her voice was calm, although she trembled from head to foot. "I will always be your friend, Jem, but I can never be your wife." "Not my wife!" said he, mournfully. "Oh Mary, think awhile! you cannot be my friend if you will not be my wife. At least I can never be content to be only your friend. Do think awhile! If you say No you will make me hopeless, desperate. It's no love of yesterday. It has made the very groundwork of all that people call good in me. I don't know what I shall be if you won't have me. And, Mary! think how glad your father would be! it may sound vain, but he's told me more than once how much he should like to see us two married!" Jem intended this for a powerful argument, but in Mary's present mood it told against him more than any thing; for it suggested the false and foolish idea, that her father, in his evident anxiety to promote her marriage with Jem, had been speaking to him on the subject with some degree of solicitation. "I tell you, Jem, it cannot be. Once for all, I will never marry you." "And is this the end of all my hopes and fears? the end of my life, I may say, for it is the end of all worth living for!" His agitation rose and carried him into passion. "Mary! you'll hear, may be, of me as a drunkard, and may be as a thief, and may be as a murderer. Remember! when all are speaking ill of me, you will have no right to blame me, for it's your cruelty that will have made me what I feel I shall become. You won't even say you'll try and like me; will you, Mary?" said he, suddenly changing his tone from threatening despair to fond passionate entreaty, as he took her hand and held it forcibly between both of his, while he tried to catch a glimpse of her averted face. She was silent, but it was from deep and violent emotion. He could not bear to wait; he would not hope, to be dashed away again; he rather in his bitterness of heart chose the certainty of despair, and before she could resolve what to answer, he flung away her hand and rushed out of the house. "Jem! Jem!" cried she, with faint and choking voice. It was too late; he left street after street behind him with his almost winged speed, as he sought the fields, where he might give way unobserved to all the deep despair he felt. It was scarcely ten minutes since he had entered the house, and found Mary at comparative peace, and now she lay half across the dresser, her head hidden in her hands, and every part of her body shaking with the violence of her sobs. She could not have told at first (if you had asked her, and she could have commanded voice enough to answer) why she was in such agonised grief. It was too sudden for her to analyse, or think upon it. She only felt that by her own doing her life would be hereafter dreary and blank. By-and-bye her sorrow exhausted her body by its power, and she seemed to have no strength left for crying. She sat down; and now thoughts crowded on her mind. One little hour ago, and all was still unsaid, and she had her fate in her own power. And yet, how long ago had she determined to say pretty much what she did, if the occasion ever offered. It was as if two people were arguing the matter; that mournful, desponding communion between her former self and her present self. Herself, a day, an hour ago; and herself now. For we have every one of us felt how a very few minutes of the months and years called life, will sometimes suffice to place all time past and future in an entirely new light; will make us see the vanity or the criminality of the bye-gone, and so change the aspect of the coming time, that we look with loathing on the very thing we have most desired. A few moments may change our character for life, by giving a totally different direction to our aims and energies. To return to Mary. Her plan had been, as we well know, to marry Mr. Carson, and the occurrence an hour ago was only a preliminary step. True; but it had unveiled her heart to her; it had convinced her she loved Jem above all persons or things. But Jem was a poor mechanic, with a mother and aunt to keep; a mother, too, who had shown her pretty clearly she did not desire her for a daughter-in-law: while Mr. Carson was rich, and prosperous, and gay, and (she believed) would place her in all circumstances of ease and luxury, where want could never come. What were these hollow vanities to her, now she had discovered the passionate secret of her soul? She felt as if she almost hated Mr. Carson, who had decoyed her with his baubles. She now saw how vain, how nothing to her, would be all gaieties and pomps, all joys and pleasures, unless she might share them with Jem; yes, with him she harshly rejected so short a time ago. If he were poor, she loved him all the better. If his mother did think her unworthy of him, what was it but the truth, as she now owned with bitter penitence. She had hitherto been walking in grope-light towards a precipice; but in the clear revelation of that past hour, she saw her danger, and turned away resolutely and for ever. That was some comfort: I mean her clear perception of what she ought not to do; of what no luring temptation should ever again induce her to hearken to. How she could best undo the wrong she had done to Jem and herself by refusing his love, was another anxious question. She wearied herself with proposing plans, and rejecting them. She was roused to a consciousness of time by hearing the neighbouring church clock strike twelve. Her father she knew might be expected home any minute, and she was in no mood for a meeting with him. So she hastily gathered up her work, and went to her own little bed-room, leaving him to let himself in. She put out her candle, that her father might not see its light under the door; and sat down on her bed to think. But after turning things over in her mind again and again, she could only determine at once to put an end to all further communication with Mr. Carson, in the most decided way she could. Maidenly modesty (and true love is ever modest) seemed to oppose every plan she could think of, for showing Jem how much she repented her decision against him, and how dearly she had now discovered that she loved him. She came to the unusual wisdom of resolving to do nothing, but try and be patient, and improve circumstances as they might turn up. Surely, if Jem knew of her remaining unmarried, he would try his fortune again. He would never be content with one rejection; she believed she could not in his place. She had been very wrong, but now she would try and do right, and have womanly patience, until he saw her changed and repentant mind in her natural actions. Even if she had to wait for years, it was no more than now it was easy to look forward to, as a penance for her giddy flirting on the one hand, and her cruel mistake concerning her feelings on the other. So anticipating a happy ending to the course of her love, however distant it might be, she fell asleep just as the earliest factory bells were ringing. She had sunk down in her clothes, and her sleep was unrefreshing. She wakened up shivery and chill in body, and sorrow-stricken in mind, though she could not at first rightly tell the cause of her depression. She recalled the events of the night before, and still resolved to adhere to those determinations she had then formed. But patience seemed a far more difficult virtue this morning. She hastened down-stairs, and in her earnest sad desire to do right, now took much pains to secure a comfortable though scanty breakfast for her father; and when he dawdled into the room, in an evidently irritable temper, she bore all with the gentleness of penitence, till at last her mild answers turned away wrath. She loathed the idea of meeting Sally Leadbitter at her daily work; yet it must be done, and she tried to nerve herself for the encounter, and to make it at once understood, that having determined to give up having any thing further to do with Mr. Carson, she considered the bond of intimacy broken between them. But Sally was not the person to let these resolutions be carried into effect too easily. She soon became aware of the present state of Mary's feelings, but she thought they merely arose from the changeableness of girlhood, and that the time would come when Mary would thank her for almost forcing her to keep up her meetings and communications with her rich lover. So, when two days had passed over in rather too marked avoidance of Sally on Mary's part, and when the former was made aware by Mr. Carson's complaints that Mary was not keeping her appointments with him, and that unless he detained her by force, he had no chance of obtaining a word as she passed him in the street on her rapid walk home, she resolved to compel Mary to what she called her own good. She took no notice during the third day of Mary's avoidance as they sat at work; she rather seemed to acquiesce in the coolness of their intercourse. She put away her sewing early, and went home to her mother, who, she said, was more ailing than usual. The other girls soon followed her example, and Mary, casting a rapid glance up and down the street, as she stood last on Miss Simmonds' door-step, darted homewards, in hopes of avoiding the person whom she was fast learning to dread. That night she was safe from any encounter on her road, and she arrived at home, which she found as she expected, empty; for she knew it was a club night, which her father would not miss. She sat down to recover breath, and to still her heart, which panted more from nervousness than from over-exertion, although she had walked so quickly. Then she rose, and taking off her bonnet, her eye caught the form of Sally Leadbitter passing the window with a lingering step, and looking into the darkness with all her might, as if to ascertain if Mary were returned. In an instant she re-passed and knocked at the house-door, but without awaiting an answer, she entered. "Well, Mary, dear" (knowing well how little "dear" Mary considered her just then); "i's so difficult to get any comfortable talk at Miss Simmonds', I thought I'd just step up and see you at home." "I understood from what you said your mother was ailing, and that you wanted to be with her," replied Mary, in no welcoming tone. "Ay, but mother's better now," said the unabashed Sally. "Your father's out I suppose?" looking round as well as she could; for Mary made no haste to perform the hospitable offices of striking a match, and lighting a candle. "Yes, he's out," said Mary, shortly, and busying herself at last about the candle, without ever asking her visitor to sit down. "So much the better," answered Sally, "for to tell you the truth, Mary, I've a friend at th' end of the street, as is anxious to come and see you at home, since you're grown so particular as not to like to speak to him in the street. He'll be here directly." "Oh, Sally, don't let him," said Mary, speaking at last heartily; and running to the door she would have fastened it, but Sally held her hands, laughing meanwhile at her distress. "Oh, please, Sally," struggling, "dear Sally! don't let him come here, the neighbours will so talk, and father'll go mad if he hears; he'll kill me, Sally, he will. Besides, I don't love him--I never did. Oh, let me go," as footsteps approached; and then, as they passed the house, and seemed to give her a respite, she continued, "Do, Sally, dear Sally, go and tell him I don't love him, and that I don't want to have any thing more to do with him. It was very wrong, I dare say, keeping company with him at all, but I'm very sorry, if I've led him to think too much of me; and I don't want him to think any more. Will you tell him this, Sally? and I'll do any thing for you if you will." "I'll tell you what I'll do," said Sally, in a more relenting mood, "I'll go back with you to where he's waiting for us; or rather, I should say, where I told him to wait for a quarter of an hour, till I seed if your father was at home; and if I didn't come back in that time, he said he'd come here, and break the door open but he'd see you." "Oh, let us go, let us go," said Mary, feeling that the interview must be, and had better be anywhere than at home, where her father might return at any minute. She snatched up her bonnet, and was at the end of the court in an instant; but then, not knowing whether to turn to the right or to the left, she was obliged to wait for Sally, who came leisurely up, and put her arm through Mary's, with a kind of decided hold, intended to prevent the possibility of her changing her mind, and turning back. But this, under the circumstances, was quite different to Mary's plan. She had wondered more than once if she must not have another interview with Mr. Carson; and had then determined, while she expressed her resolution that it should be the final one, to tell him how sorry she was if she had thoughtlessly given him false hopes. For be it remembered, she had the innocence, or the ignorance, to believe his intentions honourable; and he, feeling that at any price he must have her, only that he would obtain her as cheaply as he could, had never undeceived her; while Sally Leadbitter laughed in her sleeve at them both, and wondered how it would all end,--whether Mary would gain her point of marriage, with her sly affectation of believing such to be Mr. Carson's intention in courting her. Not very far from the end of the street, into which the court where Mary lived opened, they met Mr. Carson, his hat a good deal slouched over his face as if afraid of being recognised. He turned when he saw them coming, and led the way without uttering a word (although they were close behind) to a street of half-finished houses. The length of the walk gave Mary time to recoil from the interview which was to follow; but even if her own resolve to go through with it had failed, there was the steady grasp of Sally Leadbitter, which she could not evade without an absolute struggle. At last he stopped in the shelter and concealment of a wooden fence, put up to keep the building rubbish from intruding on the foot-pavement. Inside this fence, a minute afterwards, the girls were standing by him; Mary now returning Sally's detaining grasp with interest, for she had determined on the way to make her a witness, willing or unwilling, to the ensuing conversation. But Sally's curiosity led her to be a very passive prisoner in Mary's hold. With more freedom than he had ever used before, Mr. Carson put his arm firmly round Mary's waist, in spite of her indignant resistance. "Nay, nay! you little witch! Now I have caught you, I shall keep you prisoner. Tell me now what has made you run away from me so fast these few days--tell me, you sweet little coquette!" Mary ceased struggling, but turned so as to be almost opposite to him, while she spoke out calmly and boldly, "Mr. Carson! I want to speak to you for once and for all. Since I met you last Monday evening, I have made up my mind to have nothing more to do with you. I know I've been wrong in leading you to think I liked you; but I believe I didn't rightly know my own mind; and I humbly beg your pardon, sir, if I've led you to think too much of me." For an instant he was surprised; the next, vanity came to his aid, and convinced him that she could only be joking. He, young, agreeable, rich, handsome! No! she was only showing a little womanly fondness for coquetting. "You're a darling little rascal to go on in this way! 'Humbly begging my pardon if you've made me think too much of you.' As if you didn't know I think of you from morning to night. But you want to be told it again and again, do you?" "No, indeed, sir, I don't. I would far liefer [40] that you should say you will never think of me again, than that you should speak of me in this way. For indeed, sir, I never was more in earnest than I am, when I say to-night is the last night I will ever speak to you." [Footnote 40: "Liefer," rather. "Yet had I _levre_ unwist for sorrow die." _Chaucer; "Troilus and Creseide."_] "Last night, you sweet little equivocator, but not last day. Ha, Mary! I've caught you, have I?" as she, puzzled by his perseverance in thinking her joking, hesitated in what form she could now put her meaning. "I mean, sir," she said, sharply, "that I will never speak to you again at any time, after to-night." "And what's made this change, Mary?" said he, seriously enough now. "Have I done any thing to offend you?" added he, earnestly. "No, sir," she answered gently, but yet firmly. "I cannot tell you exactly why I've changed my mind; but I shall not alter it again; and as I said before, I beg your pardon if I've done wrong by you. And now, sir, if you please, good night." "But I do not please. You shall not go. What have I done, Mary? Tell me. You must not go without telling me how I have vexed you. What would you have me do?" "Nothing, sir! but (in an agitated tone) oh! let me go! You cannot change my mind; it's quite made up. Oh, sir! why do you hold me so tight? If you _will_ know why I won't have any thing more to do with you, it is that I cannot love you. I have tried, and I really cannot." This naive and candid avowal served her but little. He could not understand how it could be true. Some reason lurked behind. He was passionately in love. What should he do to tempt her? A thought struck him. "Listen! Mary. Nay, I cannot let you go till you have heard me. I do love you dearly; and I won't believe but what you love me a very little, just a very little. Well, if you don't like to own it, never mind! I only want now to tell you how much I love you, by what I am ready to give up for you. You know (or perhaps you are not fully aware) how little my father and mother would like me to marry you. So angry would they be, and so much ridicule should I have to brave, that of course I have never thought of it till now. I thought we could be happy enough without marriage." (Deep sank those words into Mary's heart.) "But now, if you like, I'll get a licence to-morrow morning--nay, to-night, and I'll marry you in defiance of all the world, rather than give you up. In a year or two my father will forgive me, and meanwhile you shall have every luxury money can purchase, and every charm that love can devise to make your life happy. After all, my mother was but a factory girl." (This was said half to himself, as if to reconcile himself to this bold step.) "Now, Mary, you see how willing I am to--to sacrifice a good deal for you; I even offer you marriage, to satisfy your little ambitious heart; so, now, won't you say you can love me a little, little bit?" He pulled her towards him. To his surprise, she still resisted. Yes! though all she had pictured to herself for so many months in being the wife of Mr. Carson was now within her grasp, she resisted. His speech had given her but one feeling, that of exceeding great relief. For she had dreaded, now she knew what true love was, to think of the attachment she might have created; the deep feeling her flirting conduct might have called out. She had loaded herself with reproaches for the misery she might have caused. It was a relief to gather that the attachment was of that low, despicable kind, which can plan to seduce the object of its affection; that the feeling she had caused was shallow enough, for it only pretended to embrace self, at the expense of the misery, the ruin, of one falsely termed beloved. She need not be penitent to such a plotter! That was the relief. "I am obliged to you, sir, for telling me what you have. You may think I am a fool; but I did think you meant to marry me all along; and yet, thinking so, I felt I could not love you. Still I felt sorry I had gone so far in keeping company with you. Now, sir, I tell you, if I had loved you before, I don't think I should have loved you now you have told me you meant to ruin me; for that's the plain English of not meaning to marry me till just this minute. I said I was sorry, and humbly begged your pardon; that was before I knew what you were. Now I scorn you, sir, for plotting to ruin a poor girl. Good night." And with a wrench, for which she had reserved all her strength, she was off like a bolt. They heard her flying footsteps echo down the quiet street. The next sound was Sally's laugh, which grated on Mr. Carson's ears, and keenly irritated him. "And what do you find so amusing, Sally?" asked he. "Oh, sir, I beg your pardon. I humbly beg your pardon, as Mary says, but I can't help laughing, to think how she's outwitted us." (She was going to have said, "outwitted you," but changed the pronoun.) "Why, Sally, had you any idea she was going to fly out in this style?" "No, I hadn't, to be sure. But if you did think of marrying her, why (if I may be so bold as to ask) did you go and tell her you had no thought of doing otherwise by her? That was what put her up at last!" "Why I had repeatedly before led her to infer that marriage was not my object. I never dreamed she could have been so foolish as to have mistaken me, little provoking romancer though she be! So I naturally wished her to know what a sacrifice of prejudice, of--of myself, in short, I was willing to make for her sake; yet I don't think she was aware of it after all. I believe I might have any lady in Manchester if I liked, and yet I was willing and ready to marry a poor dress-maker. Don't you understand me now? and don't you see what a sacrifice I was making to humour her? and all to no avail." Sally was silent, so he went on: "My father would have forgiven any temporary connexion, far sooner than my marrying one so far beneath me in rank." "I thought you said, sir, your mother was a factory girl," reminded Sally, rather maliciously. "Yes, yes!--but then my father was in much such a station; at any rate, there was not the disparity there is between Mary and me." Another pause. "Then you mean to give her up, sir? She made no bones of saying she gave you up." "No, I do not mean to give her up, whatever you and she may please to think. I am more in love with her than ever; even for this charming capricious ebullition of hers. She'll come round, you may depend upon it. Women always do. They always have second thoughts, and find out that they are best in casting off a lover. Mind! I don't say I shall offer her the same terms again." With a few more words of no importance, the allies parted. CHAPTER XII. OLD ALICE'S BAIRN. "I lov'd him not; and yet, now he is gone, I feel I am alone. I check'd him while he spoke; yet, could he speak, Alas! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought, And wearied all my thought." W. S. LANDOR. And now Mary had, as she thought, dismissed both her lovers. But they looked on their dismissals with very different eyes. He who loved her with all his heart and with all his soul, considered his rejection final. He did not comfort himself with the idea, which would have proved so well founded in his case, that women have second thoughts about casting off their lovers. He had too much respect for his own heartiness of love to believe himself unworthy of Mary; that mock humble conceit did not enter his head. He thought he did not "hit Mary's fancy;" and though that may sound a trivial every-day expression, yet the reality of it cut him to the heart. Wild visions of enlistment, of drinking himself into forgetfulness, of becoming desperate in some way or another, entered his mind; but then the thought of his mother stood like an angel with a drawn sword in the way to sin. For, you know, "he was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow;" dependent on him for daily bread. So he could not squander away health and time, which were to him money wherewith to support her failing years. He went to his work, accordingly, to all outward semblance just as usual; but with a heavy, heavy heart within. Mr. Carson, as we have seen, persevered in considering Mary's rejection of him as merely a "charming caprice." If she were at work, Sally Leadbitter was sure to slip a passionately loving note into her hand, and then so skilfully move away from her side, that Mary could not all at once return it, without making some sensation among the work-women. She was even forced to take several home with her. But after reading one, she determined on her plan. She made no great resistance to receiving them from Sally, but kept them unopened, and occasionally returned them in a blank half-sheet of paper. But far worse than this, was the being so constantly waylaid as she went home by her persevering lover; who had been so long acquainted with all her habits, that she found it difficult to evade him. Late or early, she was never certain of being free from him. Go this way or that, he might come up some cross street when she had just congratulated herself on evading him for that day. He could not have taken a surer mode of making himself odious to her. And all this time Jem Wilson never came! Not to see her--that she did not expect--but to see her father; to--she did not know what, but she had hoped he would have come on some excuse, just to see if she hadn't changed her mind. He never came. Then she grew weary and impatient, and her spirits sank. The persecution of the one lover, and the neglect of the other, oppressed her sorely. She could not now sit quietly through the evening at her work; or, if she kept, by a strong effort, from pacing up and down the room, she felt as if she must sing to keep off thought while she sewed. And her songs were the maddest, merriest, she could think of. "Barbara Allen," and such sorrowful ditties, did well enough for happy times; but now she required all the aid that could be derived from external excitement to keep down the impulse of grief. And her father, too--he was a great anxiety to her, he looked so changed and so ill. Yet he would not acknowledge to any ailment. She knew, that be it as late as it would, she never left off work until (if the poor servants paid her pretty regularly for the odd jobs of mending she did for them) she had earned a few pence, enough for one good meal for her father on the next day. But very frequently all she could do in the morning, after her late sitting up at night, was to run with the work home, and receive the money from the person for whom it was done. She could not stay often to make purchases of food, but gave up the money at once to her father's eager clutch; sometimes prompted by savage hunger it is true, but more frequently by a craving for opium. On the whole he was not so hungry as his daughter. For it was a long fast from the one o'clock dinner-hour at Miss Simmonds' to the close of Mary's vigil, which was often extended to midnight. She was young, and had not yet learned to bear "clemming." One evening, as she sang a merry song over her work, stopping occasionally to sigh, the blind Margaret came groping in. It had been one of Mary's additional sorrows that her friend had been absent from home, accompanying the lecturer on music in his round among the manufacturing towns of Yorkshire and Lancashire. Her grandfather, too, had seen this a good time for going his expeditions in search of specimens; so that the house had been shut up for several weeks. "Oh! Margaret, Margaret! how glad I am to see you. Take care. There, now, you're all right, that's father's chair. Sit down."--She kissed her over and over again. "It seems like the beginning o' brighter times, to see you again, Margaret. Bless you! And how well you look!" "Doctors always send ailing folk for change of air! and you know I've had plenty o' that same lately." "You've been quite a traveller for sure! Tell us all about it, do, Margaret. Where have you been to, first place?" "Eh, lass, that would take a long time to tell. Half o'er the world I sometimes think. Bolton, and Bury, and Owdham, and Halifax, and--but Mary, guess who I saw there! May be you know though, so it's not fair guessing." "No, I donnot. Tell me, Margaret, for I cannot abide waiting and guessing." "Well, one night as I were going fra' my lodgings wi' the help on a lad as belonged to th' landlady, to find the room where I were to sing, I heard a cough before me, walking along. Thinks I, that's Jem Wilson's cough, or I'm much mistaken. Next time came a sneeze and a cough, and then I were certain. First I hesitated whether I should speak, thinking if it were a stranger he'd may be think me forrard. [41] But I knew blind folks must not be nesh about using their tongues, so says I, 'Jem Wilson, is that you?' And sure enough it was, and nobody else. Did you know he were in Halifax, Mary?" [Footnote 41: "Forrard," forward.] "No;" she answered, faintly and sadly; for Halifax was all the same to her heart as the Antipodes; equally inaccessible by humble penitent looks and maidenly tokens of love. "Well, he's there, however; he's putting up an engine for some folks there, for his master. He's doing well, for he's getten four or five men under him; we'd two or three meetings, and he telled me all about his invention for doing away wi' the crank, or somewhat. His master's bought it from him, and ta'en out a patent, and Jem's a gentleman for life wi' the money his master gied him. But you'll ha' heard all this, Mary?" No! she had not. "Well, I thought it all happened afore he left Manchester, and then in course you'd ha' known. But may be it were all settled after he got to Halifax; however, he's gotten two or three hunder pounds for his invention. But what's up with you, Mary? you're sadly out o' sorts. You've never been quarrelling wi' Jem, surely?" Now Mary cried outright; she was weak in body, and unhappy in mind, and the time was come when she might have the relief of telling her grief. She could not bring herself to confess how much of her sorrow was caused by her having been vain and foolish; she hoped that need never be known, and she could not bear to think of it. "Oh, Margaret; do you know Jem came here one night when I were put out, and cross. Oh, dear! dear! I could bite my tongue out when I think on it. And he told me how he loved me, and I thought I did not love him, and I told him I didn't; and, Margaret,--he believed me, and went away so sad, and so angry; and now I'd do any thing,--I would, indeed," her sobs choked the end of her sentence. Margaret looked at her with sorrow, but with hope; for she had no doubt in her own mind, that it was only a temporary estrangement. "Tell me, Margaret," said Mary, taking her apron down from her eyes, and looking at Margaret with eager anxiety, "what can I do to bring him back to me? Should I write to him?" "No," replied her friend, "that would not do. Men are so queer, they like to have a' the courting to themselves." "But I did not mean to write him a courting letter," said Mary, somewhat indignantly. "If you wrote at all, it would be to give him a hint you'd taken the rue, and would be very glad to have him now. I believe now he'd rather find that out himself." "But he won't try," said Mary, sighing. "How can he find it out when he's at Halifax?" "If he's a will he's a way, depend upon it. And you would not have him if he's not a will to you, Mary! No, dear!" changing her tone from the somewhat hard way in which sensible people too often speak, to the soft accents of tenderness which come with such peculiar grace from them; "you must just wait and be patient. You may depend upon it, all will end well, and better than if you meddled in it now." "But it's so hard to be patient," pleaded Mary. "Ay, dear; being patient is the hardest work we, any on us, have to do through life, I take it. Waiting is far more difficult than doing. I've known that about my sight, and many a one has known it in watching the sick; but it's one of God's lessons we all must learn, one way or another." After a pause. "Have ye been to see his mother of late?" "No; not for some weeks. When last I went she was so frabbit [42] with me, that I really thought she wished I'd keep away." [Footnote 42: "Frabbit," ill-tempered.] "Well! if I were you I'd go. Jem will hear on't, and it will do you far more good in his mind than writing a letter, which, after all, you would find a tough piece of work when you came to settle to it. 'Twould be hard to say neither too much nor too little. But I must be going, grandfather is at home, and it's our first night together, and he must not be sitting wanting me any longer." She rose up from her seat, but still delayed going. "Mary! I've somewhat else I want to say to you, and I don't rightly know how to begin. You see, grandfather and I know what bad times is, and we know your father is out o' work, and I'm getting more money than I can well manage; and, dear, would you just take this bit o' gold, and pay me back in good times?" The tears stood in Margaret's eyes as she spoke. "Dear Margaret, we're not so bad pressed as that." (The thought of her father, and his ill looks, and his one meal a day, rushed upon Mary.) "And yet, dear, if it would not put you out o' your way,--I would work hard to make it up to you;--but would not your grandfather be vexed?" "Not he, wench! It were more his thought than mine, and we have gotten ever so many more at home, so don't hurry yoursel about paying. It's hard to be blind, to be sure, else money comes in so easily now to what it used to do; and it's downright pleasure to earn it, for I do so like singing." "I wish I could sing," said Mary, looking at the sovereign. "Some has one kind o' gifts, and some another. Many's the time when I could see, that I longed for your beauty, Mary! We're like childer, ever wanting what we han not got. But now I must say just one more word. Remember, if you're sore pressed for money, we shall take it very unkind if you donnot let us know. Good bye to ye." In spite of her blindness she hurried away, anxious to rejoin her grandfather, and desirous also to escape from Mary's expressions of gratitude. Her visit had done Mary good in many ways. It had strengthened her patience and her hope. It had given her confidence in Margaret's sympathy; and last, and really least in comforting power (of so little value are silver and gold in comparison to love, that gift in every one's power to bestow), came the consciousness of the money-value of the sovereign she held in her hand. The many things it might purchase! First of all came the thought of a comfortable supper for her father that very night; and acting instantly upon the idea, she set off in hopes that all the provision-shops might not yet be closed, although it was so late. That night the cottage shone with unusual light, and fire-gleam; and the father and daughter sat down to a meal they thought almost extravagant. It was so long since they had had enough to eat. "Food gives heart," say the Lancashire people; and the next day Mary made time to go and call on Mrs. Wilson, according to Margaret's advice. She found her quite alone, and more gracious than she had been the last time Mary had visited her. Alice was gone out, she said. "She would just step to the post-office, all for no earthly use. For it were to ask if they hadn't a letter lying there for her from her foster-son Will Wilson, the sailor-lad." "What made her think there were a letter?" asked Mary. "Why, yo see, a neighbour as has been in Liverpool, telled us Will's ship were come in. Now he said last time he were in Liverpool he'd ha' come to ha' seen Alice, but his ship had but a week holiday, and hard work for the men in that time too. So Alice makes sure he'll come this, and has had her hand behind her ear at every noise in th' street, thinking it were him. And to-day she were neither to have nor to hold, but off she would go to th' post, and see if he had na sent her a line to th' old house near yo. I tried to get her to give up going, for let alone her deafness she's getten so dark, she cannot see five yards afore her; but no, she would go, poor old body." "I did not know her sight had failed her; she used to have good eyes enough when she lived near us." "Ay, but it's gone lately a good deal. But you never ask after Jem--" anxious to get in a word on the subject nearest her heart. "No," replied Mary, blushing scarlet. "How is he?" "I cannot justly say how he is, seeing he's at Halifax; but he were very well when he wrote last Tuesday. Han ye heard o' his good luck?" Rather to her disappointment, Mary owned she had heard of the sum his master had paid him for his invention. "Well! and did not Margaret tell yo what he'd done wi' it? It's just like him though, ne'er to say a word about it. Why, when it were paid what does he do, but get his master to help him to buy an income for me and Alice. He had her name put down for her life; but, poor thing, she'll not be long to the fore, I'm thinking. She's sadly failed of late. And so, Mary, yo see, we're two ladies o' property. It's a matter o' twenty pound a year they tell me. I wish the twins had lived, bless 'em," said she, dropping a few tears. "They should ha' had the best o' schooling, and their belly-fulls o' food. I suppose they're better off in heaven, only I should so like to see 'em." Mary's heart filled with love at this new proof of Jem's goodness; but she could not talk about it. She took Jane Wilson's hand, and pressed it with affection; and then turned the subject to Will, her sailor nephew. Jane was a little bit sorry, but her prosperity had made her gentler, and she did not resent what she felt as Mary's indifference to Jem and his merits. "He's been in Africa and that neighbourhood, I believe. He's a fine chap, but he's not gotten Jem's hair. His has too much o' the red in it. He sent Alice (but, maybe, she telled you) a matter o' five pound when he were over before; but that were nought to an income, yo know." "It's not every one that can get a hundred or two at a time," said Mary. "No! no! that's true enough. There's not many a one like Jem. That's Alice's step," said she, hastening to open the door to her sister-in-law. Alice looked weary, and sad, and dusty. The weariness and the dust would not have been noticed either by her, or the others, if it had not been for the sadness. "No letters!" said Mrs. Wilson. "No, none! I must just wait another day to hear fra my lad. It's very dree work, waiting!" said Alice. Margaret's words came into Mary's mind. Every one has their time and kind of waiting. "If I but knew he were safe, and not drowned!" spoke Alice. "If I but knew he _were_ drowned, I would ask grace to say, Thy will be done. It's the waiting." "It's hard work to be patient to all of us," said Mary; "I know I find it so, but I did not know one so good as you did, Alice; I shall not think so badly of myself for being a bit impatient, now I've heard you say you find it difficult." The idea of reproach to Alice was the last in Mary's mind; and Alice knew it was. Nevertheless, she said, "Then, my dear, I ask your pardon, and God's pardon, too, if I've weakened your faith, by showing you how feeble mine was. Half our life's spent in waiting, and it ill becomes one like me, wi' so many mercies, to grumble. I'll try and put a bridle o'er my tongue, and my thoughts too." She spoke in a humble and gentle voice, like one asking forgiveness. "Come, Alice," interposed Mrs. Wilson, "don't fret yoursel for e'er a trifle wrong said here or there. See! I've put th' kettle on, and you and Mary shall ha' a dish o' tea in no time." So she bustled about, and brought out a comfortable-looking substantial loaf, and set Mary to cut bread and butter, while she rattled out the tea-cups--always a cheerful sound. Just as they were sitting down, there was a knock heard at the door, and without waiting for it to be opened from the inside, some one lifted the latch, and in a man's voice asked, if one George Wilson lived there? Mrs. Wilson was entering on a long and sorrowful explanation of his having once lived there, but of his having dropped down dead; when Alice, with the instinct of love (for in all usual and common instances, sight and hearing failed to convey impressions to her until long after other people had received them), arose, and tottered to the door. "My bairn!--my own dear bairn!" she exclaimed, falling on Will Wilson's neck. You may fancy the hospitable and welcoming commotion that ensued; how Mrs. Wilson laughed, and talked, and cried, altogether, if such a thing can be done; and how Mary gazed with wondering pleasure at her old playmate; now a dashing, bronzed-looking, ringletted sailor, frank, and hearty, and affectionate. But it was something different from common to see Alice's joy at once more having her foster-child with her. She did not speak, for she really could not; but the tears came coursing down her old withered cheeks, and dimmed the horn spectacles she had put on, in order to pry lovingly into his face. So what with her failing sight, and her tear-blinded eyes, she gave up the attempt of learning his face by heart through the medium of that sense, and tried another. She passed her sodden, shrivelled hands, all trembling with eagerness, over his manly face, bent meekly down in order that she might more easily make her strange inspection. At last, her soul was satisfied. After tea, Mary, feeling sure there was much to be said on both sides, at which it would be better no one should be present, not even an intimate friend like herself, got up to go away. This seemed to arouse Alice from her dreamy consciousness of exceeding happiness, and she hastily followed Mary to the door. There, standing outside, with the latch in her hand, she took hold of Mary's arm, and spoke nearly the first words she had uttered since her nephew's return. "My dear! I shall never forgive mysel, if my wicked words to-night are any stumbling-block in your path. See how the Lord has put coals of fire on my head! Oh! Mary, don't let my being an unbelieving Thomas weaken your faith. Wait patiently on the Lord, whatever your trouble may be." CHAPTER XIII. A TRAVELLER'S TALES. "The mermaid sat upon the rocks All day long, Admiring her beauty and combing her locks, And singing a mermaid song. "And hear the mermaid's song you may, As sure as sure can be, If you will but follow the sun all day, And souse with him into the sea." W. S. LANDOR. It was perhaps four or five days after the events mentioned in the last chapter, that one evening, as Mary stood lost in reverie at the window, she saw Will Wilson enter the court, and come quickly up to her door. She was glad to see him, for he had always been a friend of hers, perhaps too much like her in character ever to become any thing nearer or dearer. She opened the door in readiness to receive his frank greeting, which she as frankly returned. "Come, Mary! on with bonnet and shawl, or whatever rigging you women require before leaving the house. I'm sent to fetch you, and I can't lose time when I'm under orders." "Where am I to go to?" asked Mary, as her heart leaped up at the thought of who might be waiting for her. "Not very far," replied he. "Only to old Job Legh's round the corner here. Aunt would have me come and see these new friends of hers, and then we meant to ha' come on here to see you and your father, but the old gentleman seems inclined to make a night of it, and have you all there. Where's your father? I want to see him. He must come too." "He's out, but I'll leave word next door for him to follow me; that's to say, if he comes home afore long." She added, hesitatingly, "Is any one else at Job's?" "No! My aunt Jane would not come for some maggot or other; and as for Jem! I don't know what you've all been doing to him, but he's as down-hearted a chap as I'd wish to see. He's had his sorrows sure enough, poor lad! But it's time for him to be shaking off his dull looks, and not go moping like a girl." "Then he's come fra Halifax, is he?" asked Mary. "Yes! his body's come, but I think he's left his heart behind him. His tongue I'm sure he has, as we used to say to childer, when they would not speak. I try to rouse him up a bit, and I think he likes having me with him, but still he's as gloomy and as dull as can be. 'Twas only yesterday he took me to the works, and you'd ha' thought us two Quakers as the spirit hadn't moved, all the way down we were so mum. It's a place to craze a man, certainly; such a noisy black hole! There were one or two things worth looking at, the bellows for instance, or the gale they called a bellows. I could ha' stood near it a whole day; and if I'd a berth in that place, I should like to be bellows-man, if there is such a one. But Jem weren't diverted even with that; he stood as grave as a judge while it blew my hat out o' my hand. He's lost all relish for his food, too, which frets my aunt sadly. Come! Mary, ar'n't you ready?" She had not been able to gather if she were to see Jem at Job Legh's; but when the door was opened, she at once saw and felt he was not there. The evening then would be a blank; at least so she thought for the first five minutes; but she soon forgot her disappointment in the cheerful meeting of old friends, all, except herself, with some cause for rejoicing at that very time. Margaret, who could not be idle, was knitting away, with her face looking full into the room, away from her work. Alice sat meek and patient with her dimmed eyes and gentle look, trying to see and to hear, but never complaining; indeed, in her inner self she was blessing God for her happiness; for the joy of having her nephew, her child, near her, was far more present to her mind, than her deprivations of sight and hearing. Job was in the full glory of host and hostess too, for by a tacit agreement he had roused himself from his habitual abstraction, and had assumed many of Margaret's little household duties. While he moved about he was deep in conversation with the young sailor, trying to extract from him any circumstances connected with the natural history of the different countries he had visited. "Oh! if you are fond of grubs, and flies, and beetles, there's no place for 'em like Sierra Leone. I wish you'd had some of ours; we had rather too much of a good thing; we drank them with our drink, and could scarcely keep from eating them with our food. I never thought any folk could care for such fat green beasts as those, or I would ha' brought you them by the thousand. A plate full o' peas-soup would ha' been full enough for you, I dare say; it were often too full for us." "I would ha' given a good deal for some on 'em," said Job. "Well, I knew folk at home liked some o' the queer things one meets with abroad; but I never thought they'd care for them nasty slimy things. I were always on the look-out for a mermaid, for that I knew were a curiosity." "You might ha' looked long enough," said Job, in an under-tone of contempt, which, however, the quick ears of the sailor caught. "Not so long, master, in some latitudes, as you think. It stands to reason th' sea hereabouts is too cold for mermaids; for women here don't go half-naked on account o' climate. But I've been in lands where muslin were too hot to wear on land, and where the sea were more than milk-warm; and though I'd never the good luck to see a mermaid in that latitude, I know them that has." "Do tell us about it," cried Mary. "Pooh, pooh!" said Job the naturalist. Both speeches determined Will to go on with his story. What could a fellow who had never been many miles from home know about the wonders of the deep, that he should put him down in that way? "Well, it were Jack Harris, our third mate last voyage, as many and many a time telled us all about it. You see he were becalmed off Chatham Island (that's in the Great Pacific, and a warm enough latitude for mermaids, and sharks, and such like perils). So some of the men took the long boat, and pulled for the island to see what it were like; and when they got near, they heard a puffing, like a creature come up to take breath; you've never heard a diver? No! Well! you've heard folks in th' asthma, and it were for all the world like that. So they looked around, and what should they see but a mermaid, sitting on a rock, and sunning herself. The water is always warmer when it's rough, you know, so I suppose in the calm she felt it rather chilly, and had come up to warm herself." "What was she like?" asked Mary, breathlessly. Job took his pipe off the chimney-piece and began to smoke with very audible puffs, as if the story were not worth listening to. "Oh! Jack used to say she was for all the world as beautiful as any of the wax ladies in the barbers' shops; only, Mary, there were one little difference: her hair was bright grass green." "I should not think that was pretty," said Mary, hesitatingly; as if not liking to doubt the perfection of any thing belonging to such an acknowledged beauty. "Oh! but it is when you're used to it. I always think when first we get sight of land, there's no colour so lovely as grass green. However, she had green hair sure enough; and were proud enough of it, too; for she were combing it out full-length when first they saw her. They all thought she were a fair prize, and may be as good as a whale in ready money (they were whale-fishers you know). For some folk think a deal of mermaids, whatever other folk do." This was a hit at Job, who retaliated in a series of sonorous spittings and puffs. "So, as I were saying, they pulled towards her, thinking to catch her. She were all the while combing her beautiful hair, and beckoning to them, while with the other hand she held a looking-glass." "How many hands had she?" asked Job. "Two, to be sure, just like any other woman," answered Will, indignantly. "Oh! I thought you said she beckoned with one hand, and combed her hair with another, and held a looking-glass with a third," said Job, with provoking quietness. "No! I didn't! at least if I did, I meant she did one thing after another, as any one but" (here he mumbled a word or two) "could understand. Well, Mary," turning very decidedly towards her, "when she saw them coming near, whether it were she grew frightened at their fowling-pieces, as they had on board, for a bit o' shooting on the island, or whether it were she were just a fickle jade as did not rightly know her own mind (which, seeing one half of her was woman, I think myself was most probable), but when they were only about two oars' length from the rock where she sat, down she plopped into the water, leaving nothing but her hinder end of a fish tail sticking up for a minute, and then that disappeared too." "And did they never see her again?" asked Mary. "Never so plain; the man who had the second watch one night declared he saw her swimming round the ship, and holding up her glass for him to look in; and then he saw the little cottage near Aber in Wales (where his wife lived) as plain as ever he saw it in life, and his wife standing outside, shading her eyes as if she were looking for him. But Jack Harris gave him no credit, for he said he were always a bit of a romancer, and beside that, were a home-sick, down-hearted chap." "I wish they had caught her," said Mary, musing. "They got one thing as belonged to her," replied Will, "and that I've often seen with my own eyes, and I reckon it's a sure proof of the truth of their story; for them that wants proof." "What was it?" asked Margaret, almost anxious her grandfather should be convinced. "Why, in her hurry she left her comb on the rock, and one o' the men spied it; so they thought that were better than nothing, and they rowed there and took it, and Jack Harris had it on board the _John Cropper_, and I saw him comb his hair with it every Sunday morning." "What was it like?" asked Mary, eagerly; her imagination running on coral combs, studded with pearls. "Why, if it had not had such a strange yarn belonging to it, you'd never ha' noticed it from any other small-tooth comb." "I should rather think not," sneered Job Legh. The sailor bit his lips to keep down his anger against an old man. Margaret felt very uneasy, knowing her grandfather so well, and not daring to guess what caustic remark might come next to irritate the young sailor guest. Mary, however, was too much interested by the wonders of the deep to perceive the incredulity with which Job Legh received Wilson's account of the mermaid; and when he left off, half offended, and very much inclined not to open his lips again through the evening, she eagerly said, "Oh do tell us something more of what you hear and see on board ship. Do, Will!" "What's the use, Mary, if folk won't believe one. There are things I saw with my own eyes, that some people would pish and pshaw at, as if I were a baby to be put down by cross noises. But I'll tell you, Mary," with an emphasis on _you_, "some more of the wonders of the sea, sin' you're not too wise to believe me. I have seen a fish fly." This did stagger Mary. She had heard of mermaids as signs of inns, and as sea-wonders, but never of flying fish. Not so Job. He put down his pipe, and nodding his head as a token of approbation, he said "Ay, ay! young man. Now you're speaking truth." "Well now! you'll swallow that, old gentleman. You'll credit me when I say I've seen a crittur half fish, half bird, and you won't credit me when I say there be such beasts as mermaids, half fish, half woman. To me, one's just as strange as t'other." "You never saw the mermaid yoursel," interposed Margaret, gently. But "love me, love my dog," was Will Wilson's motto, only his version was "believe me, believe Jack Harris;" and the remark was not so soothing to him as it was intended to have been. "It's the Exocetus; one of the Malacopterygii Abdominales," said Job, much interested. "Ay, there you go! You're one o' them folks as never knows beasts unless they're called out o' their names. Put 'em in Sunday clothes and you know 'em, but in their work-a-day English you never know nought about 'em. I've met wi' many o' your kidney; and if I'd ha' known it, I'd ha' christened poor Jack's mermaid wi' some grand gibberish of a name. Mermaidicus Jack Harrisensis; that's just like their new-fangled words. D'ye believe there's such a thing as the Mermaidicus, master?" asked Will, enjoying his own joke uncommonly, as most people do. "Not I! Tell me about the--" "Well!" said Will, pleased at having excited the old gentleman's faith and credit at last. "It were on this last voyage, about a day's sail from Madeira, that one of our men--" "Not Jack Harris, I hope," murmured Job. "Called me," continued Will, not noticing the interruption, "to see the what d'ye call it--flying fish I say it is. It were twenty feet out o' water, and it flew near on to a hundred yards. But I say, old gentleman, I ha' gotten one dried, and if you'll take it, why, I'll give it you; only," he added, in a lower tone, "I wish you'd just gie me credit for the Mermaidicus." I really believe if the assuming faith in the story of the mermaid had been made the condition of receiving the flying fish, Job Legh, sincere man as he was, would have pretended belief; he was so much delighted at the idea of possessing this specimen. He won the sailor's heart by getting up to shake both his hands in his vehement gratitude, puzzling poor old Alice, who yet smiled through her wonder; for she understood the action to indicate some kindly feeling towards her nephew. Job wanted to prove his gratitude, and was puzzled how to do it. He feared the young man would not appreciate any of his duplicate Araneides; not even the great American Mygale, one of his most precious treasures; or else he would gladly have bestowed any duplicate on the donor of a real dried Exocetus. What could he do for him? He could ask Margaret to sing. Other folks beside her old doating grandfather thought a deal of her songs. So Margaret began some of her noble old-fashioned songs. She knew no modern music (for which her auditors might have been thankful), but she poured her rich voice out in some of the old canzonets she had lately learnt while accompanying the musical lecturer on his tour. Mary was amused to see how the young sailor sat entranced; mouth, eyes, all open, in order to catch every breath of sound. His very lids refused to wink, as if afraid in that brief proverbial interval to lose a particle of the rich music that floated through the room. For the first time the idea crossed Mary's mind that it was possible the plain little sensible Margaret, so prim and demure, might have power over the heart of the handsome, dashing, spirited Will Wilson. Job, too, was rapidly changing his opinion of his new guest. The flying fish went a great way, and his undisguised admiration for Margaret's singing carried him still further. It was amusing enough to see these two, within the hour so barely civil to each other, endeavouring now to be ultra-agreeable. Will, as soon as he had taken breath (a long, deep gasp of admiration) after Margaret's song, sidled up to Job, and asked him in a sort of doubting tone, "You wouldn't like a live Manx cat, would ye, master?" "A what?" exclaimed Job. "I don't know its best name," said Will, humbly. "But we call 'em just Manx cats. They're cats without tails." Now Job, in all his natural history, had never heard of such animals; so Will continued, "Because I'm going, afore joining my ship, to see mother's friends in the island, and would gladly bring you one, if so be you'd like to have it. They look as queer and out o' nature as flying fish, or"--he gulped the words down that should have followed. "Especially when you see 'em walking a roof-top, right again the sky, when a cat, as is a proper cat, is sure to stick her tail stiff out behind, like a slack-rope dancer a-balancing; but these cats having no tail, cannot stick it out, which captivates some people uncommonly. If yo'll allow me, I'll bring one for Miss there," jerking his head at Margaret. Job assented with grateful curiosity, wishing much to see the tail-less phenomenon. "When are you going to sail?" asked Mary. "I cannot justly say; our ship's bound for America next voyage, they tell me. A mess-mate will let me know when her sailing-day is fixed; but I've got to go to th' Isle o' Man first. I promised uncle last time I were in England to go this next time. I may have to hoist the blue Peter any day; so, make much of me while you have me, Mary." Job asked him if he had ever been in America. "Haven't I? North and South both! This time we're bound to North. Yankee-Land, as we call it, where Uncle Sam lives." "Uncle who?" said Mary. "Oh, it's a way sailors have of speaking. I only mean I'm going to Boston, U. S., that's Uncle Sam." Mary did not understand, so she left him and went to sit by Alice, who could not hear conversation unless expressly addressed to her. She had sat patiently silent the greater part of the night, and now greeted Mary with a quiet smile. "Where's yo'r father?" asked she. "I guess he's at his Union; he's there most evenings." Alice shook her head; but whether it were that she did not hear, or that she did not quite approve of what she heard, Mary could not make out. She sat silently watching Alice, and regretting over her dimmed and veiled eyes, formerly so bright and speaking; as if Alice understood by some other sense what was passing in Mary's mind, she turned suddenly round, and answered Mary's thought. "Yo're mourning for me, my dear; and there's no need, Mary. I'm as happy as a child. I sometimes think I am a child, whom the Lord is hushabying to my long sleep. For when I were a nurse-girl, my missis alway telled me to speak very soft and low, and to darken the room that her little one might go to sleep; and now all noises are hushed and still to me, and the bonny earth seems dim and dark, and I know it's my Father lulling me away to my long sleep. I'm very well content, and yo mustn't fret for me. I've had well nigh every blessing in life I could desire." Mary thought of Alice's long-cherished, fond wish to revisit the home of her childhood, so often and often deferred, and now probably never to take place. Or if it did, how changed from the fond anticipation of what it was to have been! It would be a mockery to the blind and deaf Alice. The evening came quickly to an end. There was the humble cheerful meal, and then the bustling merry farewell, and Mary was once more in the quietness and solitude of her own dingy, dreary-looking home; her father still out, the fire extinguished, and her evening's task of work lying all undone upon the dresser. But it had been a pleasant little interlude to think upon. It had distracted her attention for a few hours from the pressure of many uneasy thoughts, of the dark, heavy, oppressive times, when sorrow and want seemed to surround her on every side; of her father, his changed and altered looks, telling so plainly of broken health, and an embittered heart; of the morrow, and the morrow beyond that, to be spent in that close monotonous work-room, with Sally Leadbitter's odious whispers hissing in her ear; and of the hunted look, so full of dread, from Miss Simmonds' door-step up and down the street, lest her persecuting lover should be near: for he lay in wait for her with wonderful perseverance, and of late had made himself almost hateful, by the unmanly force which he had used to detain her to listen to him, and the indifference with which he exposed her to the remarks of the passers-by, any one of whom might circulate reports which it would be terrible for her father to hear--and worse than death should they reach Jem Wilson. And all this she had drawn upon herself by her giddy flirting. Oh! how she loathed the recollection of the hot summer evening, when, worn out by stitching and sewing, she had loitered homewards with weary languor, and first listened to the voice of the tempter. And Jem Wilson! Oh, Jem, Jem, why did you not come to receive some of the modest looks and words of love which Mary longed to give you, to try and make up for the hasty rejection which you as hastily took to be final, though both mourned over it with many tears. But day after day passed away, and patience seemed of no avail; and Mary's cry was ever the old moan of the Moated Grange, "Why comes he not," she said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead." CHAPTER XIV. JEM'S INTERVIEW WITH POOR ESTHER. "Know the temptation ere you judge the crime! Look on this tree--'twas green, and fair, and graceful; Yet now, save these few shoots, how dry and rotten! Thou canst not tell the cause. Not long ago, A neighbour oak, with which its roots were twined, In falling wrenched them with such cruel force, That though we covered them again with care, Its beauty withered, and it pined away. So, could we look into the human breast, How oft the fatal blight that meets our view, Should we trace down to the torn, bleeding fibres Of a too trusting heart--where it were shame, For pitying tears, to give contempt or blame." "STREET WALKS." The month was over;--the honeymoon to the newly-married; the exquisite convalescence to the "living mother of a living child;" the "first dark days of nothingness" to the widow and the child bereaved; the term of penance, of hard labour, and solitary confinement, to the shrinking, shivering, hopeless prisoner. "Sick, and in prison, and ye visited me." Shall you, or I, receive such blessing? I know one who will. An overseer of a foundry, an aged man, with hoary hair, has spent his Sabbaths, for many years, in visiting the prisoners and the afflicted in Manchester New Bailey; not merely advising and comforting, but putting means into their power of regaining the virtue and the peace they had lost; becoming himself their guarantee in obtaining employment, and never deserting those who have once asked help from him. [43] [Footnote 43: Vide _Manchester Guardian_, of Wednesday, March 18, 1846; and also the Reports of Captain Williams, prison inspector.] Esther's term of imprisonment was ended. She received a good character in the governor's books; she had picked her daily quantity of oakum, had never deserved the extra punishment of the tread-mill, and had been civil and decorous in her language. And once more she was out of prison. The door closed behind her with a ponderous clang, and in her desolation she felt as if shut out of home--from the only shelter she could meet with, houseless and pennyless as she was, on that dreary day. But it was but for an instant that she stood there doubting. One thought had haunted her both by night and by day, with monomaniacal incessancy; and that thought was how to save Mary (her dead sister's only child, her own little pet in the days of her innocence) from following in the same downward path to vice. To whom could she speak and ask for aid? She shrank from the idea of addressing John Barton again; her heart sank within her, at the remembrance of his fierce repulsing action, and far fiercer words. It seemed worse than death to reveal her condition to Mary, else she sometimes thought that this course would be the most terrible, the most efficient warning. She must speak; to that she was soul-compelled; but to whom? She dreaded addressing any of her former female acquaintance, even supposing they had sense, or spirit, or interest enough to undertake her mission. To whom shall the outcast prostitute tell her tale? Who will give her help in her day of need? Hers is the leper-sin, and all stand aloof dreading to be counted unclean. In her wild night wanderings, she had noted the haunts and habits of many a one who little thought of a watcher in the poor forsaken woman. You may easily imagine that a double interest was attached by her to the ways and companionships of those with whom she had been acquainted in the days which, when present, she had considered hardly-worked and monotonous, but which now in retrospection seemed so happy and unclouded. Accordingly, she had, as we have seen, known where to meet with John Barton on that unfortunate night, which had only produced irritation in him, and a month's imprisonment to her. She had also observed that he was still intimate with the Wilsons. She had seen him walking and talking with both father and son; her old friends too; and she had shed unregarded, unvalued tears, when some one had casually told her of George Wilson's sudden death. It now flashed across her mind, that to the son, to Mary's play-fellow, her elder brother in the days of childhood, her tale might be told, and listened to with interest, and some mode of action suggested by him by which Mary might be guarded and saved. All these thoughts had passed through her mind while yet she was in prison; so when she was turned out, her purpose was clear, and she did not feel her desolation of freedom as she would otherwise have done. That night she stationed herself early near the foundry where she knew Jem worked; he stayed later than usual, being detained by some arrangements for the morrow. She grew tired and impatient; many workmen had come out of the door in the long, dead, brick wall, and eagerly had she peered into their faces, deaf to all insult or curse. He must have gone home early; one more turn in the street, and she would go. During that turn he came out, and in the quiet of that street of workshops and warehouses, she directly heard his steps. Now her heart failed her for an instant; but still she was not daunted from her purpose, painful as its fulfilment was sure to be. She laid her hand on his arm. As she expected, after a momentary glance at the person who thus endeavoured to detain him, he made an effort to shake it off, and pass on. But trembling as she was, she had provided against this by a firm and unusual grasp. "You must listen to me, Jem Wilson," she said, with almost an accent of command. "Go away, missis; I've nought to do with you, either in hearkening, or talking." He made another struggle. "You must listen," she said again, authoritatively, "for Mary Barton's sake." The spell of her name was as potent as that of the mariner's glittering eye. "He listened like a three-year child." "I know you care enough for her to wish to save her from harm." He interrupted his earnest gaze into her face, with the exclamation-- "And who can yo be to know Mary Barton, or to know that she's ought to me?" There was a little strife in Esther's mind for an instant, between the shame of acknowledging herself, and the additional weight to her revelation which such acknowledgment would give. Then she spoke. "Do you remember Esther, the sister of John Barton's wife? the aunt to Mary? And the Valentine I sent you last February ten years?" "Yes, I mind her well! But yo are not Esther, are you?" He looked again into her face, and seeing that indeed it was his boyhood's friend, he took her hand, and shook it with a cordiality that forgot the present in the past. "Why, Esther! Where han ye been this many a year? Where han ye been wandering that we none of us could find you out?" The question was asked thoughtlessly, but answered with fierce earnestness. "Where have I been? What have I been doing? Why do you torment me with questions like these? Can you not guess? But the story of my life is wanted to give force to my speech, afterwards I will tell it you. Nay! don't change your fickle mind now, and say you don't want to hear it. You must hear it, and I must tell it; and then see after Mary, and take care she does not become like me. As she is loving now, so did I love once; one above me far." She remarked not, in her own absorption, the change in Jem's breathing, the sudden clutch at the wall which told the fearfully vivid interest he took in what she said. "He was so handsome, so kind! Well, the regiment was ordered to Chester (did I tell you he was an officer?), and he could not bear to part from me, nor I from him, so he took me with him. I never thought poor Mary would have taken it so to heart! I always meant to send for her to pay me a visit when I was married; for, mark you! he promised me marriage. They all do. Then came three years of happiness. I suppose I ought not to have been happy, but I was. I had a little girl, too. Oh! the sweetest darling that ever was seen! But I must not think of her," putting her hand wildly up to her forehead, "or I shall go mad; I shall." "Don't tell me any more about yoursel," said Jem, soothingly. "What! you're tired already, are you? but I'll tell you; as you've asked for it, you shall hear it. I won't recall the agony of the past for nothing. I will have the relief of telling it. Oh, how happy I was!"--sinking her voice into a plaintive child-like manner. "It came like a shot on me when one day he came to me and told me he was ordered to Ireland, and must leave me behind; at Bristol we then were." Jem muttered some words; she caught their meaning, and in a pleading voice continued, "Oh, don't abuse him; don't speak a word against him! You don't know how I love him yet; yet, when I am sunk so low. You don't guess how kind he was. He gave me fifty pound before we parted, and I knew he could ill spare it. Don't, Jem, please," as his muttered indignation rose again. For her sake he ceased. "I might have done better with the money; I see now. But I did not know the value of money. Formerly I had earned it easily enough at the factory, and as I had no more sensible wants, I spent it on dress and on eating. While I lived with him, I had it for asking; and fifty pounds would, I thought, go a long way. So I went back to Chester, where I'd been so happy, and set up a small-ware shop, and hired a room near. We should have done well, but alas! alas! my little girl fell ill, and I could not mind my shop and her too; and things grew worse and worse. I sold my goods any how to get money to buy her food and medicine; I wrote over and over again to her father for help, but he must have changed his quarters, for I never got an answer. The landlord seized the few bobbins and tapes I had left, for shop-rent; and the person to whom the mean little room, to which we had been forced to remove, belonged, threatened to turn us out unless his rent was paid; it had run on many weeks, and it was winter, cold bleak winter; and my child was so ill, so ill, and I was starving. And I could not bear to see her suffer, and forgot how much better it would be for us to die together;--oh her moans, her moans, which money would give me the means of relieving! So I went out into the street, one January night--Do you think God will punish me for that?" she asked with wild vehemence, almost amounting to insanity, and shaking Jem's arm in order to force an answer from him. But before he could shape his heart's sympathy into words, her voice had lost its wildness, and she spoke with the quiet of despair. "But it's no matter! I've done that since, which separates us as far asunder as heaven and hell can be." Her voice rose again to the sharp pitch of agony. "My darling! my darling! even after death I may not see thee, my own sweet one! She was so good--like a little angel. What is that text, I don't remember,--that text mother used to teach me when I sat on her knee long ago; it begins, 'Blessed are the pure'"-- "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." "Ay, that's it! It would break mother's heart if she knew what I am now--it did break Mary's heart, you see. And now I recollect it was about her child I wanted so to see you, Jem. You know Mary Barton, don't you?" said she, trying to collect her thoughts. Yes, Jem knew her. How well, his beating heart could testify! "Well, there's something to do for her; I forget what; wait a minute! She is so like my little girl;" said she, raising her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, in search of the sympathy of Jem's countenance. He deeply pitied her; but oh! how he longed to recall her mind to the subject of Mary, and the lover above her in rank, and the service to be done for her sake. But he controlled himself to silence. After awhile, she spoke again, and in a calmer voice. "When I came to Manchester (for I could not stay in Chester after her death), I found you all out very soon. And yet I never thought my poor sister was dead. I suppose I would not think so. I used to watch about the court where John lived, for many and many a night, and gather all I could about them from the neighbours' talk; for I never asked a question. I put this and that together, and followed one, and listened to the other; many's the time I've watched the policeman off his beat, and peeped through the chink of the window-shutter to see the old room, and sometimes Mary or her father sitting up late for some reason or another. I found out Mary went to learn dress-making, and I began to be frightened for her; for it's a bad life for a girl to be out late at night in the streets, and after many an hour of weary work, they're ready to follow after any novelty that makes a little change. But I made up my mind, that bad as I was, I could watch over Mary and perhaps keep her from harm. So I used to wait for her at nights, and follow her home, often when she little knew any one was near her. There was one of her companions I never could abide, and I'm sure that girl is at the bottom of some mischief. By-and-bye, Mary's walks homewards were not alone. She was joined soon after she came out, by a man; a gentleman. I began to fear for her, for I saw she was light-hearted, and pleased with his attentions; and I thought worse of him for having such long talks with that bold girl I told you of. But I was laid up for a long time with spitting of blood; and could do nothing. I'm sure it made me worse, thinking about what might be happening to Mary. And when I came out, all was going on as before, only she seemed fonder of him than ever; and oh Jem! her father won't listen to me, and it's you must save Mary! You're like a brother to her, and maybe could give her advice and watch over her, and at any rate John will hearken to you; only he's so stern and so cruel." She began to cry a little at the remembrance of his harsh words; but Jem cut her short by his hoarse, stern inquiry, "Who is this spark that Mary loves? Tell me his name!" "It's young Carson, old Carson's son, that your father worked for." There was a pause. She broke the silence. "Oh! Jem, I charge you with the care of her! I suppose it would be murder to kill her, but it would be better for her to die than to live to lead such a life as I do. Do you hear me, Jem?" "Yes! I hear you. It would be better. Better we were all dead." This was said as if thinking aloud; but he immediately changed his tone, and continued, "Esther, you may trust to my doing all I can for Mary. That I have determined on. And now listen to me! you loathe the life you lead, else you would not speak of it as you do. Come home with me. Come to my mother. She and my aunt Alice live together. I will see that they give you a welcome. And to-morrow I will see if some honest way of living cannot be found for you. Come home with me." She was silent for a minute, and he hoped he had gained his point. Then she said, "God bless you, Jem, for the words you have just spoken. Some years ago you might have saved me, as I hope and trust you will yet save Mary. But it is too late now;--too late," she added, with accents of deep despair. Still he did not relax his hold. "Come home," he said. "I tell you, I cannot. I could not lead a virtuous life if I would. I should only disgrace you. If you will know all," said she, as he still seemed inclined to urge her, "I must have drink. Such as live like me could not bear life if they did not drink. It's the only thing to keep us from suicide. If we did not drink, we could not stand the memory of what we have been, and the thought of what we are, for a day. If I go without food, and without shelter, I must have my dram. Oh! you don't know the awful nights I have had in prison for want of it!" said she, shuddering, and glaring round with terrified eyes, as if dreading to see some spiritual creature, with dim form, near her. "It is so frightful to see them," whispering in tones of wildness, although so low spoken. "There they go round and round my bed the whole night through. My mother, carrying little Annie (I wonder how they got together) and Mary--and all looking at me with their sad, stony eyes; oh Jem! it is so terrible! They don't turn back either, but pass behind the head of the bed, and I feel their eyes on me everywhere. If I creep under the clothes I still see them; and what is worse," hissing out her words with fright, "they see me. Don't speak to me of leading a better life--I must have drink. I cannot pass to-night without a dram; I dare not." Jem was silent from deep sympathy. Oh! could he, then, do nothing for her! She spoke again, but in a less excited tone, although it was thrillingly earnest. "You are grieved for me! I know it better than if you told me in words. But you can do nothing for me. I am past hope. You can yet save Mary. You must. She is innocent, except for the great error of loving one above her in station. Jem! you _will_ save her?" With heart and soul, though in few words, Jem promised that if aught earthly could keep her from falling, he would do it. Then she blessed him, and bade him good-night. "Stay a minute," said he, as she was on the point of departure. "I may want to speak to you again. I mun know where to find you--where do you live?" She laughed strangely. "And do you think one sunk so low as I am has a home? Decent, good people have homes. We have none. No, if you want me, come at night, and look at the corners of the streets about here. The colder, the bleaker, the more stormy the night, the more certain you will be to find me. For then," she added, with a plaintive fall in her voice, "it is so cold sleeping in entries, and on door-steps, and I want a dram more than ever." Again she rapidly turned off, and Jem also went on his way. But before he reached the end of the street, even in the midst of the jealous anguish that filled his heart, his conscience smote him. He had not done enough to save her. One more effort, and she might have come. Nay, twenty efforts would have been well rewarded by her yielding. He turned back, but she was gone. In the tumult of his other feelings, his self-reproach was deadened for the time. But many and many a day afterwards he bitterly regretted his omission of duty; his weariness of well-doing. Now, the great thing was to reach home, and solitude. Mary loved another! Oh! how should he bear it? He had thought her rejection of him a hard trial, but that was nothing now. He only remembered it, to be thankful he had not yielded to the temptation of trying his fate again, not in actual words, but in a meeting, where her manner should tell far more than words, that her sweeter smiles, her dainty movements, her pretty household ways, were all to be reserved to gladden another's eyes and heart. And he must live on; that seemed the strangest. That a long life (and he knew men did live long, even with deep, biting sorrow corroding at their hearts) must be spent without Mary; nay, with the consciousness she was another's! That hell of thought he would reserve for the quiet of his own room, the dead stillness of night. He was on the threshold of home now. He entered. There were the usual faces, the usual sights. He loathed them, and then he cursed himself because he loathed them. His mother's love had taken a cross turn, because he had kept the tempting supper she had prepared for him waiting until it was nearly spoilt. Alice, her dulled senses deadening day by day, sat mutely near the fire; her happiness, bounded by the circle of the consciousness of the presence of her foster child, knowing that his voice repeated what was passing to her deafened ear, that his arm removed each little obstacle to her tottering steps. And Will, out of the very kindness of his heart, talked more and more merrily than ever. He saw Jem was downcast, and fancied his rattling might cheer him; at any rate, it drowned his aunt's muttered grumblings, and in some measure concealed the blank of the evening. At last, bed-time came; and Will withdrew to his neighbouring lodging; and Jane and Alice Wilson had raked the fire, and fastened doors and shutters, and pattered up stairs, with their tottering foot-steps, and shrill voices. Jem, too, went to the closet termed his bed-room. There was no bolt to the door; but by one strong effort of his right arm, a heavy chest was moved against it, and he could sit down on the side of his bed, and think. Mary loved another! That idea would rise uppermost in his mind, and had to be combated in all its forms of pain. It was, perhaps, no great wonder that she should prefer one so much above Jem in the external things of life. But the gentleman; why did he, with his range of choice among the ladies of the land, why did he stoop down to carry off the poor man's darling? With all the glories of the garden at his hand, why did he prefer to cull the wild-rose,--Jem's own fragrant wild-rose? His _own!_ Oh! never now his own!--Gone for evermore! Then uprose the guilty longing for blood!--The frenzy of jealousy!--Some one should die. He would rather Mary were dead, cold in her grave, than that she were another's. A vision of her pale, sweet face, with her bright hair all bedabbled with gore, seemed to float constantly before his aching eyes. But hers were ever open, and contained, in their soft, deathly look, such mute reproach! What had she done to deserve such cruel treatment from him? She had been wooed by one whom Jem knew to be handsome, gay, and bright, and she had given him her love. That was all! It was the wooer who should die. Yes, die, knowing the cause of his death. Jem pictured him (and gloated on the picture), lying smitten, yet conscious; and listening to the upbraiding accusation of his murderer. How he had left his own rank, and dared to love a maiden of low degree; and--oh! stinging agony of all--how she, in return, had loved him! Then the other nature spoke up, and bade him remember the anguish he should so prepare for Mary! At first he refused to listen to that better voice; or listened only to pervert. He would glory in her wailing grief! he would take pleasure in her desolation of heart! No! he could not, said the still small voice. It would be worse, far worse, to have caused such woe, than it was now to bear his present heavy burden. But it was too heavy, too grievous to be borne, and live. He would slay himself, and the lovers should love on, and the sun shine bright, and he with his burning, woeful heart would be at rest. "Rest that is reserved for the people of God." Had he not promised with such earnest purpose of soul, as makes words more solemn than oaths, to save Mary from becoming such as Esther? Should he shrink from the duties of life, into the cowardliness of death? Who would then guard Mary, with her love and her innocence? Would it not be a goodly thing to serve her, although she loved him not; to be her preserving angel, through the perils of life; and she, unconscious all the while? He braced up his soul, and said to himself, that with God's help he would be that earthly keeper. And now the mists and the storms seemed clearing away from his path, though it still was full of stinging thorns. Having done the duty nearest to him (of reducing the tumult of his own heart to something like order), the second became more plain before him. Poor Esther's experience had led her, perhaps, too hastily to the conclusion, that Mr. Carson's intentions were evil towards Mary; at least she had given no just ground for the fears she entertained that such was the case. It was possible, nay, to Jem's heart, very probable, that he might only be too happy to marry her. She was a lady by right of nature, Jem thought; in movement, grace, and spirit. what was birth to a Manchester manufacturer, many of whom glory, and justly too, in being the architects of their own fortunes? And, as far as wealth was concerned, judging another by himself, Jem could only imagine it a great privilege to lay it at the feet of the loved one. Harry Carson's mother had been a factory girl; so, after all, what was the great reason for doubting his intentions towards Mary? There might probably be some little awkwardness about the affair at first: Mary's father having such strong prejudices on the one hand; and something of the same kind being likely to exist on the part of Mr. Carson's family. But Jem knew he had power over John Barton's mind; and it would be something to exert that power in promoting Mary's happiness, and to relinquish all thought of self in so doing. Oh! why had Esther chosen him for this office? It was beyond his strength to act rightly! Why had she singled him out? The answer came when he was calm enough to listen for it. Because Mary had no other friend capable of the duty required of him; the duty of a brother, as Esther imagined him to be in feeling, from his long friendship. He would be unto her as a brother. As such, he ought to ascertain Harry Carson's intentions towards her in winning her affections. He would ask him, straightforwardly, as became man speaking to man, not concealing, if need were, the interest he felt in Mary. Then, with the resolve to do his duty to the best of his power, peace came into his soul; he had left the windy storm and tempest behind. Two hours before day-dawn he fell asleep. CHAPTER XV. A VIOLENT MEETING BETWEEN THE RIVALS. "What thoughtful heart can look into this gulf That darkly yawns 'twixt rich and poor, And not find food for saddest meditation! Can see, without a pang of keenest grief, Them fiercely battling (like some natural foes) Whom God had made, with help and sympathy, To stand as brothers, side by side, united! Where is the wisdom that shall bridge this gulf, And bind them once again in trust and love?" "LOVE-TRUTHS." We must return to John Barton. Poor John! He never got over his disappointing journey to London. The deep mortification he then experienced (with, perhaps, as little selfishness for its cause as mortification ever had) was of no temporary nature; indeed, few of his feelings were. Then came a long period of bodily privation; of daily hunger after food; and though he tried to persuade himself he could bear want himself with stoical indifference, and did care about it as little as most men, yet the body took its revenge for its uneasy feelings. The mind became soured and morose, and lost much of its equipoise. It was no longer elastic, as in the days of youth, or in times of comparative happiness; it ceased to hope. And it is hard to live on when one can no longer hope. The same state of feeling which John Barton entertained, if belonging to one who had had leisure to think of such things, and physicians to give names to them, would have been called monomania; so haunting, so incessant, were the thoughts that pressed upon him. I have somewhere read a forcibly described punishment among the Italians, worthy of a Borgia. The supposed or real criminal was shut up in a room, supplied with every convenience and luxury; and at first mourned little over his imprisonment. But day by day he became aware that the space between the walls of his apartment was narrowing, and then he understood the end. Those painted walls would come into hideous nearness, and at last crush the life out of him. And so day by day, nearer and nearer, came the diseased thoughts of John Barton. They excluded the light of heaven, the cheering sounds of earth. They were preparing his death. It is true, much of their morbid power might be ascribed to the use of opium. But before you blame too harshly this use, or rather abuse, try a hopeless life, with daily cravings of the body for food. Try, not alone being without hope yourself, but seeing all around you reduced to the same despair, arising from the same circumstances; all around you telling (though they use no words or language), by their looks and feeble actions, that they are suffering and sinking under the pressure of want. Would you not be glad to forget life, and its burdens? And opium gives forgetfulness for a time. It is true they who thus purchase it pay dearly for their oblivion; but can you expect the uneducated to count the cost of their whistle? Poor wretches! They pay a heavy price. Days of oppressive weariness and languor, whose realities have the feeble sickliness of dreams; nights, whose dreams are fierce realities of agony; sinking health, tottering frames, incipient madness, and worse, the _consciousness_ of incipient madness; this is the price of their whistle. But have you taught them the science of consequences? John Barton's overpowering thought, which was to work out his fate on earth, was rich and poor; why are they so separate, so distinct, when God has made them all? It is not His will, that their interests are so far apart. Whose doing is it? And so on into the problems and mysteries of life, until, bewildered and lost, unhappy and suffering, the only feeling that remained clear and undisturbed in the tumult of his heart, was hatred to the one class and keen sympathy with the other. But what availed his sympathy? No education had given him wisdom; and without wisdom, even love, with all its effects, too often works but harm. He acted to the best of his judgment, but it was a widely-erring judgment. The actions of the uneducated seem to me typified in those of Frankenstein, that monster of many human qualities, ungifted with a soul, a knowledge of the difference between good and evil. The people rise up to life; they irritate us, they terrify us, and we become their enemies. Then, in the sorrowful moment of our triumphant power, their eyes gaze on us with a mute reproach. Why have we made them what they are; a powerful monster, yet without the inner means for peace and happiness? John Barton became a Chartist, a Communist, all that is commonly called wild and visionary. Ay! but being visionary is something. It shows a soul, a being not altogether sensual; a creature who looks forward for others, if not for himself. And with all his weakness he had a sort of practical power, which made him useful to the bodies of men to whom he belonged. He had a ready kind of rough Lancashire eloquence, arising out of the fulness of his heart, which was very stirring to men similarly circumstanced, who liked to hear their feelings put into words. He had a pretty clear head at times, for method and arrangement; a necessary talent to large combinations of men. And what perhaps more than all made him relied upon and valued, was the consciousness which every one who came in contact with him felt, that he was actuated by no selfish motives; that his class, his order, was what he stood by, not the rights of his own paltry self. For even in great and noble men, as soon as self comes into prominent existence, it becomes a mean and paltry thing. A little time before this, there had come one of those occasions for deliberation among the employed, which deeply interested John Barton; and the discussions concerning which had caused his frequent absence from home of late. I am not sure if I can express myself in the technical terms of either masters or workmen, but I will try simply to state the case on which the latter deliberated. An order for coarse goods came in from a new foreign market. It was a large order, giving employment to all the mills engaged in that species of manufacture: but it was necessary to execute it speedily, and at as low prices as possible, as the masters had reason to believe a duplicate order had been sent to one of the continental manufacturing towns, where there were no restrictions on food, no taxes on building or machinery, and where consequently they dreaded that the goods could be made at a much lower price than they could afford them for; and that, by so acting and charging, the rival manufacturers would obtain undivided possession of the market. It was clearly their interest to buy cotton as cheaply, and to beat down wages as low as possible. And in the long run the interests of the workmen would have been thereby benefited. Distrust each other as they may, the employers and the employed must rise or fall together. There may be some difference as to chronology, none as to fact. But the masters did not choose to make all these facts known. They stood upon being the masters, and that they had a right to order work at their own prices, and they believed that in the present depression of trade, and unemployment of hands, there would be no great difficulty in getting it done. Now let us turn to the workmen's view of the question. The masters (of the tottering foundation of whose prosperity they were ignorant) seemed doing well, and like gentlemen, "lived at home in ease," while they were starving, gasping on from day to day; and there was a foreign order to be executed, the extent of which, large as it was, was greatly exaggerated; and it was to be done speedily. Why were the masters offering such low wages under these circumstances? Shame upon them! It was taking advantage of their work-people being almost starved; but they would starve entirely rather than come into such terms. It was bad enough to be poor, while by the labour of their thin hands, the sweat of their brows, the masters were made rich; but they would not be utterly ground down to dust. No! they would fold their hands, and sit idle, and smile at the masters, whom even in death they could baffle. With Spartan endurance they determined to let the employers know their power, by refusing to work. So class distrusted class, and their want of mutual confidence wrought sorrow to both. The masters would not be bullied, and compelled to reveal why they felt it wisest and best to offer only such low wages; they would not be made to tell that they were even sacrificing capital to obtain a decisive victory over the continental manufacturers. And the workmen sat silent and stern with folded hands, refusing to work for such pay. There was a strike in Manchester. Of course it was succeeded by the usual consequences. Many other Trades' Unions, connected with different branches of business, supported with money, countenance, and encouragement of every kind, the stand which the Manchester power-loom weavers were making against their masters. Delegates from Glasgow, from Nottingham, and other towns, were sent to Manchester, to keep up the spirit of resistance; a committee was formed, and all the requisite officers elected; chairman, treasurer, honorary secretary:--among them was John Barton. The masters, meanwhile, took their measures. They placarded the walls with advertisements for power-loom weavers. The workmen replied by a placard in still larger letters, stating their grievances. The masters met daily in town, to mourn over the time (so fast slipping away) for the fulfilment of the foreign orders; and to strengthen each other in their resolution not to yield. If they gave up now, they might give up always. It would never do. And amongst the most energetic of the masters, the Carsons, father and son, took their places. It is well known, that there is no religionist so zealous as a convert; no masters so stern, and regardless of the interests of their work-people, as those who have risen from such a station themselves. This would account for the elder Mr. Carson's determination not to be bullied into yielding; not even to be bullied into giving reasons for acting as the masters did. It was the employer's will, and that should be enough for the employed. Harry Carson did not trouble himself much about the grounds for his conduct. He liked the excitement of the affair. He liked the attitude of resistance. He was brave, and he liked the idea of personal danger, with which some of the more cautious tried to intimidate the violent among the masters. Meanwhile, the power-loom weavers living in the more remote parts of Lancashire, and the neighbouring counties, heard of the masters' advertisements for workmen; and in their solitary dwellings grew weary of starvation, and resolved to come to Manchester. Foot-sore, way-worn, half-starved looking men they were, as they tried to steal into town in the early dawn, before people were astir, or late in the dusk of evening. And now began the real wrong-doing of the Trades' Unions. As to their decision to work, or not, at such a particular rate of wages, that was either wise or unwise; all error of judgment at the worst. But they had no right to tyrannise over others, and tie them down to their own procrustean bed. Abhorring what they considered oppression in the masters, why did they oppress others? Because, when men get excited, they know not what they do. Judge, then, with something of the mercy of the Holy One, whom we all love. In spite of policemen set to watch over the safety of the poor country weavers,--in spite of magistrates, and prisons, and severe punishments,--the poor depressed men tramping in from Burnley, Padiham, and other places, to work at the condemned "Starvation Prices," were waylaid, and beaten, and left almost for dead by the road-side. The police broke up every lounging knot of men:--they separated quietly, to reunite half-a-mile further out of town. Of course the feeling between the masters and workmen did not improve under these circumstances. Combination is an awful power. It is like the equally mighty agency of steam; capable of almost unlimited good or evil. But to obtain a blessing on its labours, it must work under the direction of a high and intelligent will; incapable of being misled by passion, or excitement. The will of the operatives had not been guided to the calmness of wisdom. So much for generalities. Let us now return to individuals. A note, respectfully worded, although its tone of determination was strong, had been sent from the power-loom weavers, requesting that a "deputation" of them might have a meeting with the masters, to state the conditions they must have fulfilled before they would end the turn-out. They thought they had attained a sufficiently commanding position to dictate. John Barton was appointed one of the deputation. The masters agreed to this meeting, being anxious to end the strife, although undetermined among themselves how far they should yield, or whether they should yield at all. Some of the old, whose experience had taught them sympathy, were for concession. Others, white-headed men too, had only learnt hardness and obstinacy from the days of the years of their lives, and sneered at the more gentle and yielding. The younger men were one and all for an unflinching resistance to claims urged with so much violence. Of this party Harry Carson was the leader. But like all energetic people, the more he had to do the more time he seemed to find. With all his letter-writing, his calling, his being present at the New Bailey, when investigations of any case of violence against knob-sticks [44] were going on, he beset Mary more than ever. She was weary of her life for him. From blandishments he had even gone to threats--threats that whether she would or not she should be his; he showed an indifference that was almost insulting to every thing that might attract attention and injure her character. [Footnote 44: "Knob-sticks," those who consent to work at lower wages.] And still she never saw Jem. She knew he had returned home. She heard of him occasionally through his cousin, who roved gaily from house to house, finding and making friends everywhere. But she never saw him. What was she to think? Had he given her up? Were a few hasty words, spoken in a moment of irritation, to stamp her lot through life? At times she thought that she could bear this meekly, happy in her own constant power of loving. For of change or of forgetfulness she did not dream. Then at other times her state of impatience was such, that it required all her self-restraint to prevent her from going and seeking him out, and (as man would do to man, or woman to woman) begging him to forgive her hasty words, and allow her to retract them, and bidding him accept of the love that was filling her whole heart. She wished Margaret had not advised her against such a manner of proceeding; she believed it was her friend's words that seemed to make such a simple action impossible, in spite of all the internal urgings. But a friend's advice is only thus powerful, when it puts into language the secret oracle of our souls. It was the whisperings of her womanly nature that caused her to shrink from any unmaidenly action, not Margaret's counsel. All this time, this ten days or so, of Will's visit to Manchester, there was something going on which interested Mary even now, and which, in former times, would have exceedingly amused and excited her. She saw as clearly as if told in words, that the merry, random, boisterous sailor had fallen deeply in love with the quiet, prim, somewhat plain Margaret: she doubted if Margaret was aware of it, and yet, as she watched more closely, she began to think some instinct made the blind girl feel whose eyes were so often fixed upon her pale face; that some inner feeling made the delicate and becoming rose-flush steal over her countenance. She did not speak so decidedly as before; there was a hesitation in her manner, that seemed to make her very attractive; as if something softer, more loveable than excellent sense, were coming in as a motive for speech; her eyes had always been soft, and were in no ways disfigured by her blindness, and now seemed to have a new charm, as they quivered under their white down-cast lids. She must be conscious, thought Mary,--heart answering heart. Will's love had no blushings, no downcast eyes, no weighing of words; it was as open and undisguised as his nature; yet he seemed afraid of the answer its acknowledgment might meet with. It was Margaret's angelic voice that had entranced him, and which made him think of her as a being of some other sphere, that he feared to woo. So he tried to propitiate Job in all manner of ways. He went over to Liverpool to rummage in his great sea-chest for the flying-fish (no very odorous present by the way). He hesitated over a child's caul for some time, which was, in his eyes, a far greater treasure than any Exocetus. What use could it be of to a landsman? Then Margaret's voice rang in his ears; and he determined to sacrifice it, his most precious possession, to one whom she loved, as she did her grandfather. It was rather a relief to him, when, having put it and the flying-fish together in a brown paper parcel, and sat upon them for security all the way in the railroad, he found that Job was so indifferent to the precious caul, that he might easily claim it again. He hung about Margaret, till he had received many warnings and reproaches from his conscience in behalf of his dear aunt Alice's claims upon his time. He went away, and then he bethought him of some other little word with Job. And he turned back, and stood talking once more in Margaret's presence, door in hand, only waiting for some little speech of encouragement to come in and sit down again. But as the invitation was not given, he was forced to leave at last, and go and do his duty. Four days had Jem Wilson watched for Mr. Harry Carson without success; his hours of going and returning to his home were so irregular, owing to the meetings and consultations among the masters, which were rendered necessary by the turn-out. On the fifth, without any purpose on Jem's part, they met. It was the workmen's dinner-hour, the interval between twelve and one; when the streets of Manchester are comparatively quiet, for a few shopping ladies and lounging gentlemen count for nothing in that busy, bustling, living place. Jem had been on an errand for his master, instead of returning to his dinner; and in passing along a lane, a road (called, in compliment to the intentions of some future builder, a street), he encountered Harry Carson, the only person, as far as he saw beside himself, treading the unfrequented path. Along one side ran a high broad fence, blackened over by coal-tar, and spiked and stuck with pointed nails at the top, to prevent any one from climbing over into the garden beyond. By this fence was the foot-path. The carriage road was such as no carriage, no, not even a cart, could possibly have passed along, without Hercules to assist in lifting it out of the deep clay ruts. On the other side of the way was a dead brick wall; and a field after that, where there was a sawpit, and joiner's shed. Jem's heart beat violently when he saw the gay, handsome young man approaching, with a light, buoyant step. This, then, was he whom Mary loved. It was, perhaps, no wonder; for he seemed to the poor smith so elegant, so well-appointed, that he felt his superiority in externals, strangely and painfully, for an instant. Then something uprose within him, and told him, that "a man's a man for a' that, for a' that, and twice as much as a' that." And he no longer felt troubled by the outward appearance of his rival. Harry Carson came on, lightly bounding over the dirty places with almost a lad's buoyancy. To his surprise the dark, sturdy-looking artisan stopped him by saying respectfully, "May I speak a word wi' you, sir?" "Certainly, my good man," looking his astonishment; then finding that the promised speech did not come very quickly, he added, "But make haste, for I'm in a hurry." Jem had cast about for some less abrupt way of broaching the subject uppermost in his mind than he now found himself obliged to use. With a husky voice that trembled as he spoke, he said, "I think, sir, yo're keeping company wi' a young woman called Mary Barton?" A light broke in upon Harry Carson's mind, and he paused before he gave the answer for which the other waited. Could this man be a lover of Mary's? And (strange, stinging thought) could he be beloved by her, and so have caused her obstinate rejection of himself? He looked at Jem from head to foot, a black, grimy mechanic, in dirty fustian clothes, strongly built, and awkward (according to the dancing-master); then he glanced at himself, and recalled the reflection he had so lately quitted in his bed-room. It was impossible. No woman with eyes could choose the one when the other wooed. It was Hyperion to a Satyr. That quotation came aptly; he forgot "That a man's a man for a' that." And yet here was a clue, which he had often wanted, to her changed conduct towards him. If she loved this man. If-- he hated the fellow, and longed to strike him. He would know all. "Mary Barton! let me see. Ay, that is the name of the girl. An arrant flirt, the little hussy is; but very pretty. Ay, Mary Barton is her name." Jem bit his lips. Was it then so; that Mary was a flirt, the giddy creature of whom he spoke? He would not believe it, and yet how he wished the suggestive words unspoken. That thought must keep now, though. Even if she were, the more reason for there being some one to protect her; poor, faulty darling. "She's a good girl, sir, though may be a bit set up with her beauty; but she's her father's only child, sir, and--" he stopped; he did not like to express suspicion, and yet he was determined he would be certain there was ground for none. What should he say? "Well, my fine fellow, and what have I to do with that? It's but loss of my time, and yours, too, if you've only stopped me to tell me Mary Barton is very pretty; I know that well enough." He seemed as though he would have gone on, but Jem put his black, working, right hand upon his arm to detain him. The haughty young man shook it off, and with his glove pretended to brush away the sooty contamination that might be left upon his light great-coat sleeve. The little action aroused Jem. "I will tell you in plain words what I have got to say to you, young man. It's been telled me by one as knows, and has seen, that you walk with this same Mary Barton, and are known to be courting her; and her as spoke to me about it, thinks as how Mary loves you. That may be, or may not. But I'm an old friend of hers, and her father's; and I just wished to know if you mean to marry the girl. Spite of what you said of her lightness, I ha' known her long enough to be sure she'll make a noble wife for any one, let him be what he may; and I mean to stand by her like a brother; and if you mean rightly, you'll not think the worse on me for what I've now said; and if--but no, I'll not say what I'll do to the man who wrongs a hair of her head. He shall rue it the longest day he lives, that's all. Now, sir, what I ask of you is this. If you mean fair and honourable by her, well and good; but if not, for your own sake as well as hers, leave her alone, and never speak to her more." Jem's voice quivered with the earnestness with which he spoke, and he eagerly waited for some answer. Harry Carson, meanwhile, instead of attending very particularly to the purpose the man had in addressing him, was trying to gather from his speech what was the real state of the case. He succeeded so far as to comprehend that Jem inclined to believe that Mary loved his rival; and consequently, that if the speaker were attached to her himself, he was not a favoured admirer. The idea came into Mr. Carson's mind, that perhaps, after all, Mary loved him in spite of her frequent and obstinate rejections; and that she had employed this person (whoever he was) to bully him into marrying her. He resolved to try and ascertain more correctly the man's relation to her. Either he was a lover, and if so, not a favoured one (in which case Mr. Carson could not at all understand the man's motives for interesting himself in securing her marriage); or he was a friend, an accomplice, whom she had employed to bully him. So little faith in goodness have the mean and selfish! "Before I make you into my confidant, my good man," said Mr. Carson, in a contemptuous tone, "I think it might be as well to inquire your right to meddle with our affairs. Neither Mary nor I, as I conceive, called you in as a mediator." He paused; he wanted a distinct answer to this last supposition. None came; so he began to imagine he was to be threatened into some engagement, and his angry spirit rose. "And so, my fine fellow, you will have the kindness to leave us to ourselves, and not meddle with what does not concern you. If you were a brother, or father of hers, the case might have been different. As it is, I can only consider you an impertinent meddler." Again he would have passed on, but Jem stood in a determined way before him, saying, "You say if I had been her brother, or her father, you'd have answered me what I ask. Now, neither father nor brother could love her as I have loved her, ay, and as I love her still; if love gives a right to satisfaction, it's next to impossible any one breathing can come up to my right. Now, sir, tell me! do you mean fair by Mary or not? I've proved my claim to know, and, by G----, I will know." "Come, come, no impudence," replied Mr. Carson, who, having discovered what he wanted to know (namely, that Jem was a lover of Mary's, and that she was not encouraging his suit), wished to pass on. "Father, brother, or rejected lover" (with an emphasis on the word rejected), "no one has a right to interfere between my little girl and me. No one shall. Confound you, man! get out of my way, or I'll make you," as Jem still obstructed his path with dogged determination. "I won't, then, till you've given me your word about Mary," replied the mechanic, grinding his words out between his teeth, and the livid paleness of the anger he could no longer keep down covering his face till he looked ghastly. "Won't you?" (with a taunting laugh), "then I'll make you." The young man raised his slight cane, and smote the artisan across the face with a stinging stroke. An instant afterwards he lay stretched in the muddy road, Jem standing over him, panting with rage. What he would have done next in his moment of ungovernable passion, no one knows; but a policeman from the main street, into which this road led, had been sauntering about for some time, unobserved by either of the parties, and expecting some kind of conclusion like the present to the violent discussion going on between the two young men. In a minute he had pinioned Jem, who sullenly yielded to the surprise. Mr. Carson was on his feet directly, his face glowing with rage or shame. "Shall I take him to the lock-ups for assault, sir?" said the policeman. "No, no," exclaimed Mr. Carson; "I struck him first. It was no assault on his side; though," he continued, hissing out his words to Jem, who even hated freedom procured for him, however justly, at the intervention of his rival, "I will never forgive or forget your insult. Trust me," he gasped the words in excess of passion, "Mary shall fare no better for your insolent interference." He laughed, as if with the consciousness of power. Jem replied with equal excitement--"And if you dare to injure her in the least, I will await you where no policeman can step in between. And God shall judge between us two." The policeman now interfered with persuasions and warnings. He locked his arm in Jem's to lead him away in an opposite direction to that in which he saw Mr. Carson was going. Jem submitted gloomily, for a few steps, then wrenched himself free. The policeman shouted after him, "Take care, my man! there's no girl on earth worth what you'll be bringing on yourself if you don't mind." But Jem was out of hearing. CHAPTER XVI. MEETING BETWEEN MASTERS AND WORKMEN. "Not for a moment take the scorner's chair; While seated there, thou know'st not how a word, A tone, a look, may gall thy brother's heart, And make him turn in bitterness against thee." "LOVE-TRUTHS." The day arrived on which the masters were to have an interview with a deputation of the work-people. The meeting was to take place in a public room, at an hotel; and there, about eleven o'clock, the mill-owners, who had received the foreign orders, began to collect. Of course, the first subject, however full their minds might be of another, was the weather. Having done their duty by all the showers and sunshine which had occurred during the past week, they fell to talking about the business which brought them together. There might be about twenty gentlemen in the room, including some by courtesy, who were not immediately concerned in the settlement of the present question; but who, nevertheless, were sufficiently interested to attend. These were divided into little groups, who did not seem unanimous by any means. Some were for a slight concession, just a sugar-plum to quieten the naughty child, a sacrifice to peace and quietness. Some were steadily and vehemently opposed to the dangerous precedent of yielding one jot or one tittle to the outward force of a turn-out. It was teaching the work-people how to become masters, said they. Did they want the wildest thing heareafter, they would know that the way to obtain their wishes would be to strike work. Besides, one or two of those present had only just returned from the New Bailey, where one of the turn-outs had been tried for a cruel assault on a poor north-country weaver, who had attempted to work at the low price. They were indignant, and justly so, at the merciless manner in which the poor fellow had been treated; and their indignation at wrong, took (as it so often does) the extreme form of revenge. They felt as if, rather than yield to the body of men who were resorting to such cruel measures towards their fellow-workmen, they, the masters, would sooner relinquish all the benefits to be derived from the fulfilment of the commission, in order that the workmen might suffer keenly. They forgot that the strike was in this instance the consequence of want and need, suffered unjustly, as the endurers believed; for, however insane, and without ground of reason, such was their belief, and such was the cause of their violence. It is a great truth, that you cannot extinguish violence by violence. You may put it down for a time; but while you are crowing over your imaginary success, see if it does not return with seven devils worse than its former self! No one thought of treating the workmen as brethren and friends, and openly, clearly, as appealing to reasonable men, stating the exact and full circumstances which led the masters to think it was the wise policy of the time to make sacrifices themselves, and to hope for them from the operatives. In going from group to group in the room, you caught such a medley of sentences as the following: "Poor devils! they're near enough to starving, I'm afraid. Mrs. Aldred makes two cows' heads into soup every week, and people come several miles to fetch it; and if these times last we must try and do more. But we must not be bullied into any thing!" "A rise of a shilling or so won't make much difference, and they will go away thinking they've gained their point." "That's the very thing I object to. They'll think so, and whenever they've a point to gain, no matter how unreasonable, they'll strike work." "It really injures them more than us." "I don't see how our interests can be separated." "The d----d brute had thrown vitriol on the poor fellow's ankles, and you know what a bad part that is to heal. He had to stand still with the pain, and that left him at the mercy of the cruel wretch, who beat him about the head till you'd hardly have known he was a man. They doubt if he'll live." "If it were only for that, I'll stand out against them, even if it were the cause of my ruin." "Ay, I for one won't yield one farthing to the cruel brutes; they're more like wild beasts than human beings." (Well! who might have made them different?) "I say, Carson, just go and tell Duncombe of this fresh instance of their abominable conduct. He's wavering, but I think this will decide him." The door was now opened, and a waiter announced that the men were below, and asked if it were the pleasure of the gentlemen that they should be shown up. They assented, and rapidly took their places round the official table; looking, as like as they could, to the Roman senators who awaited the irruption of Brennus and his Gauls. Tramp, tramp, came the heavy clogged feet up the stairs; and in a minute five wild, earnest-looking men stood in the room. John Barton, from some mistake as to time, was not among them. Had they been larger boned men, you would have called them gaunt; as it was, they were little of stature, and their fustian clothes hung loosely upon their shrunk limbs. In choosing their delegates, too, the operatives had had more regard to their brains, and power of speech, than to their wardrobes; they might have read the opinions of that worthy Professor Teufelsdruch, in Sartor Resartus, to judge from the dilapidated coats and trousers, which yet clothed men of parts and of power. It was long since many of them had known the luxury of a new article of dress; and air-gaps were to be seen in their garments. Some of the masters were rather affronted at such a ragged detachment coming between the wind and their nobility; but what cared they? At the request of a gentleman hastily chosen to officiate as chairman, the leader of the delegates read, in a high-pitched, psalm-singing voice, a paper, containing the operatives' statement of the case at issue, their complaints, and their demands, which last were not remarkable for moderation. He was then desired to withdraw for a few minutes, with his fellow delegates, to another room, while the masters considered what should be their definitive answer. When the men had left the room, a whispered earnest consultation took place, every one re-urging his former arguments. The conceders carried the day, but only by a majority of one. The minority haughtily and audibly expressed their dissent from the measures to be adopted, even after the delegates re-entered the room; their words and looks did not pass unheeded by the quick-eyed operatives; their names were registered in bitter hearts. The masters could not consent to the advance demanded by the workmen. They would agree to give one shilling per week more than they had previously offered. Were the delegates empowered to accept such offer? They were empowered to accept or decline any offer made that day by the masters. Then it might be as well for them to consult among themselves as to what should be their decision. They again withdrew. It was not for long. They came back, and positively declined any compromise of their demands. Then up sprang Mr. Henry Carson, the head and voice of the violent party among the masters, and addressing the chairman, even before the scowling operatives, he proposed some resolutions, which he, and those who agreed with him, had been concocting during this last absence of the deputation. They were, firstly, withdrawing the proposal just made, and declaring all communication between the masters and that particular Trades' Union at an end; secondly, declaring that no master would employ any workman in future, unless he signed a declaration that he did not belong to any Trades' Union, and pledged himself not to assist or subscribe to any society, having for its object interference with the masters' powers; and, thirdly, that the masters should pledge themselves to protect and encourage all workmen willing to accept employment on those conditions, and at the rate of wages first offered. Considering that the men who now stood listening with lowering brows of defiance were all of them leading members of the Union, such resolutions were in themselves sufficiently provocative of animosity: but not content with simply stating them, Harry Carson went on to characterise the conduct of the workmen in no measured terms; every word he spoke rendering their looks more livid, their glaring eyes more fierce. One among them would have spoken, but checked himself in obedience to the stern glance and pressure on his arm, received from the leader. Mr. Carson sat down, and a friend instantly got up to second the motion. It was carried, but far from unanimously. The chairman announced it to the delegates (who had been once more turned out of the room for a division). They received it with deep brooding silence, but spake never a word, and left the room without even a bow. Now there had been some by-play at this meeting, not recorded in the Manchester newspapers, which gave an account of the more regular part of the transaction. While the men had stood grouped near the door, on their first entrance, Mr. Harry Carson had taken out his silver pencil, and had drawn an admirable caricature of them--lank, ragged, dispirited, and famine-stricken. Underneath he wrote a hasty quotation from the fat knight's well-known speech in Henry IV. He passed it to one of his neighbours, who acknowledged the likeness instantly, and by him it was sent round to others, who all smiled and nodded their heads. When it came back to its owner he tore the back of the letter on which it was drawn, in two; twisted them up, and flung them into the fire-place; but, careless whether they reached their aim or not, he did not look to see that they fell just short of any consuming cinders. This proceeding was closely observed by one of the men. He watched the masters as they left the hotel (laughing, some of them were, at passing jokes), and when all had gone, he re-entered. He went to the waiter, who recognised him. "There's a bit on a picture up yonder, as one o' the gentlemen threw away; I've a little lad at home as dearly loves a picture; by your leave I'll go up for it." The waiter, good-natured and sympathetic, accompanied him up-stairs; saw the paper picked up and untwisted, and then being convinced, by a hasty glance at its contents, that it was only what the man had called it, "a bit of a picture," he allowed him to bear away his prize. Towards seven o'clock that evening many operatives began to assemble in a room in the Weavers' Arms public-house, a room appropriated for "festive occasions," as the landlord, in his circular, on opening the premises, had described it. But, alas! it was on no festive occasion that they met there on this night. Starved, irritated, despairing men, they were assembling to hear the answer that morning given by the masters to their delegates; after which, as was stated in the notice, a gentleman from London would have the honour of addressing the meeting on the present state of affairs between the employers and the employed, or (as he chose to term them) the idle and the industrious classes. The room was not large, but its bareness of furniture made it appear so. Unshaded gas flared down upon the lean and unwashed artisans as they entered, their eyes blinking at the excess of light. They took their seats on benches, and awaited the deputation. The latter, gloomily and ferociously, delivered the masters' ultimatum, adding thereunto not one word of their own; and it sank all the deeper into the sore hearts of the listeners for their forbearance. Then the "gentleman from London" (who had been previously informed of the masters' decision) entered. You would have been puzzled to define his exact position, or what was the state of his mind as regarded education. He looked so self-conscious, so far from earnest, among the group of eager, fierce, absorbed men, among whom he now stood. He might have been a disgraced medical student of the Bob Sawyer class, or an unsuccessful actor, or a flashy shopman. The impression he would have given you would have been unfavourable, and yet there was much about him that could only be characterised as doubtful. He smirked in acknowledgment of their uncouth greetings, and sat down; then glancing round, he inquired whether it would not be agreeable to the gentlemen present to have pipes and liquor handed round; adding, that he would stand treat. As the man who has had his taste educated to love reading, falls devouringly upon books after a long abstinence, so these poor fellows, whose tastes had been left to educate themselves into a liking for tobacco, beer, and similar gratifications, gleamed up at the proposal of the London delegate. Tobacco and drink deaden the pangs of hunger, and make one forget the miserable home, the desolate future. They were now ready to listen to him with approbation. He felt it; and rising like a great orator, with his right arm outstretched, his left in the breast of his waistcoat, he began to declaim, with a forced theatrical voice. After a burst of eloquence, in which he blended the deeds of the elder and the younger Brutus, and magnified the resistless might of the "millions of Manchester," the Londoner descended to matter-of-fact business, and in his capacity this way he did not belie the good judgment of those who had sent him as delegate. Masses of people, when left to their own free choice, seem to have discretion in distinguishing men of natural talent; it is a pity they so little regard temper and principles. He rapidly dictated resolutions, and suggested measures. He wrote out a stirring placard for the walls. He proposed sending delegates to entreat the assistance of other Trades' Unions in other towns. He headed the list of subscribing Unions, by a liberal donation from that with which he was especially connected in London; and what was more, and more uncommon, he paid down the money in real, clinking, blinking, golden sovereigns! The money, alas, was cravingly required; but before alleviating any private necessities on the morrow, small sums were handed to each of the delegates, who were in a day or two to set out on their expeditions to Glasgow, Newcastle, Nottingham, &c. These men were most of them members of the deputation who had that morning waited upon the masters. After he had drawn up some letters, and spoken a few more stirring words, the gentleman from London withdrew, previously shaking hands all round; and many speedily followed him out of the room, and out of the house. The newly-appointed delegates, and one or two others, remained behind to talk over their respective missions, and to give and exchange opinions in more homely and natural language than they dared to use before the London orator. "He's a rare chap, yon," began one, indicating the departed delegate by a jerk of his thumb towards the door. "He's gotten the gift of the gab, anyhow!" "Ay! ay! he knows what he's about. See how he poured it into us about that there Brutus. He were pretty hard, too, to kill his own son!" "I could kill mine if he took part wi' the masters; to be sure, he's but a step-son, but that makes no odds," said another. But now tongues were hushed, and all eyes were directed towards the member of the deputation who had that morning returned to the hotel to obtain possession of Harry Carson's clever caricature of the operatives. The heads clustered together, to gaze at and detect the likenesses. "That's John Slater! I'd ha' known him anywhere, by his big nose. Lord! how like; that's me, by G----, it's the very way I'm obligated to pin my waistcoat up, to hide that I've gotten no shirt. That _is_ a shame, and I'll not stand it." "Well!" said John Slater, after having acknowledged his nose and his likeness; "I could laugh at a jest as well as e'er the best on 'em, though it did tell again mysel, if I were not clemming" (his eyes filled with tears; he was a poor, pinched, sharp-featured man, with a gentle and melancholy expression of countenance), "and if I could keep from thinking of them at home, as is clemming; but with their cries for food ringing in my ears, and making me afeard of going home, and wonder if I should hear 'em wailing out, if I lay cold and drowned at th' bottom o' th' canal, there,--why, man, I cannot laugh at ought. It seems to make me sad that there is any as can make game on what they've never knowed; as can make such laughable pictures on men, whose very hearts within 'em are so raw and sore as ours were and are, God help us." John Barton began to speak; they turned to him with great attention. "It makes me more than sad, it makes my heart burn within me, to see that folk can make a jest of earnest men; of chaps who comed to ask for a bit o' fire for th' old granny, as shivers in th' cold; for a bit o' bedding, and some warm clothing to the poor wife as lies in labour on th' damp flags; and for victuals for the childer, whose little voices are getting too faint and weak to cry aloud wi' hunger. For, brothers, is not them the things we ask for when we ask for more wage? We donnot want dainties, we want bellyfuls; we donnot want gimcrack coats and waistcoats, we want warm clothes, and so that we get 'em we'd not quarrel wi' what they're made on. We donnot want their grand houses, we want a roof to cover us from the rain, and the snow, and the storm; ay, and not alone to cover us, but the helpless ones that cling to us in the keen wind, and ask us with their eyes why we brought 'em into th' world to suffer?" He lowered his deep voice almost to a whisper. "I've seen a father who had killed his child rather than let it clem before his eyes; and he were a tender-hearted man." He began again in his usual tone. "We come to th' masters wi' full hearts, to ask for them things I named afore. We know that they've gotten money, as we've earned for 'em; we know trade is mending, and that they've large orders, for which they'll be well paid; we ask for our share o' th' payment; for, say we, if th' masters get our share of payment it will only go to keep servants and horses, to more dress and pomp. Well and good, if yo choose to be fools we'll not hinder you, so long as you're just; but our share we must and will have; we'll not be cheated. _We_ want it for daily bread, for life itself; and not for our own lives neither (for there's many a one here, I know by mysel, as would be glad and thankful to lie down and die out o' this weary world), but for the lives of them little ones, who don't yet know what life is, and are afeard of death. Well, we come before th' masters to state what we want, and what we must have, afore we'll set shoulder to their work; and they say, 'No.' One would think that would be enough of hard-heartedness, but it isn't. They go and make jesting pictures of us! I could laugh at mysel, as well as poor John Slater there; but then I must be easy in my mind to laugh. Now I only know that I would give the last drop o' my blood to avenge us on yon chap, who had so little feeling in him as to make game on earnest, suffering men!" A low angry murmur was heard among the men, but it did not yet take form or words. John continued-- "You'll wonder, chaps, how I came to miss the time this morning; I'll just tell you what I was a-doing. Th' chaplain at the New Bailey sent and gived me an order to see Jonas Higginbotham; him as was taken up last week for throwing vitriol in a knob-stick's face. Well, I couldn't help but go; and I didn't reckon it would ha' kept me so late. Jonas were like one crazy when I got to him; he said he could na get rest night or day for th' face of the poor fellow he had damaged; then he thought on his weak, clemmed look, as he tramped, foot-sore, into town; and Jonas thought, may be, he had left them at home as would look for news, and hope and get none, but, haply, tidings of his death. Well, Jonas had thought on these things till he could not rest, but walked up and down continually like a wild beast in his cage. At last he bethought him on a way to help a bit, and he got th' chaplain to send for me; and he telled me this; and that th' man were lying in th' Infirmary, and he bade me go (to-day's the day as folk may be admitted into th' Infirmary) and get his silver watch, as was his mother's, and sell it as well as I could, and take the money, and bid the poor knob-stick send it to his friends beyond Burnley; and I were to take him Jonas's kind regards, and he humbly axed him to forgive him. So I did what Jonas wished. But bless your life, none on us would ever throw vitriol again (at least at a knob-stick) if they could see the sight I saw to-day. The man lay, his face all wrapped in cloths, so I didn't see _that_; but not a limb, nor a bit of a limb, could keep from quivering with pain. He would ha' bitten his hand to keep down his moans, but couldn't, his face hurt him so if he moved it e'er so little. He could scarce mind me when I telled him about Jonas; he did squeeze my hand when I jingled the money, but when I axed his wife's name he shrieked out, 'Mary, Mary, shall I never see you again? Mary, my darling, they've made me blind because I wanted to work for you and our own baby; oh, Mary, Mary!' Then the nurse came, and said he were raving, and that I had made him worse. And I'm afeard it was true; yet I were loth to go without knowing where to send the money. . . . So that kept me beyond my time, chaps." "Did yo hear where the wife lived at last?" asked many anxious voices. "No! he went on talking to her, till his words cut my heart like a knife. I axed th' nurse to find out who she was, and where she lived. But what I'm more especial naming it now for is this,--for one thing I wanted yo all to know why I weren't at my post this morning; for another, I wish to say, that I, for one, ha' seen enough of what comes of attacking knob-sticks, and I'll ha nought to do with it no more." There were some expressions of disapprobation, but John did not mind them. "Nay! I'm no coward," he replied, "and I'm true to th' backbone. What I would like, and what I would do, would be to fight the masters. There's one among yo called me a coward. Well! every man has a right to his opinion; but since I've thought on th' matter to-day, I've thought we han all on us been more like cowards in attacking the poor like ourselves; them as has none to help, but mun choose between vitriol and starvation. I say we're more cowardly in doing that than in leaving them alone. No! what I would do is this. Have at the masters!" Again he shouted, "Have at the masters!" He spoke lower; all listened with hushed breath. "It's the masters as has wrought this woe; it's the masters as should pay for it. Him as called me coward just now, may try if I am one or not. Set me to serve out the masters, and see if there's ought I'll stick at." "It would give th' masters a bit on a fright if one on them were beaten within an inch of his life," said one. "Ay! or beaten till no life were left in him," growled another. And so with words, or looks that told more than words, they built up a deadly plan. Deeper and darker grew the import of their speeches, as they stood hoarsely muttering their meaning out, and glaring, with eyes that told the terror their own thoughts were to them, upon their neighbours. Their clenched fists, their set teeth, their livid looks, all told the suffering their minds were voluntarily undergoing in the contemplation of crime, and in familiarising themselves with its details. Then came one of those fierce terrible oaths which bind members of Trades' Unions to any given purpose. Then, under the flaring gaslight, they met together to consult further. With the distrust of guilt, each was suspicious of his neighbour; each dreaded the treachery of another. A number of pieces of paper (the identical letter on which the caricature had been drawn that very morning) were torn up, and _one was marked_. Then all were folded up again, looking exactly alike. They were shuffled together in a hat. The gas was extinguished; each drew out a paper. The gas was re-lighted. Then each went as far as he could from his fellows, and examined the paper he had drawn without saying a word, and with a countenance as stony and immovable as he could make it. Then, still rigidly silent, they each took up their hats and went every one his own way. He who had drawn the marked paper had drawn the lot of the assassin! and he had sworn to act according to his drawing! But no one save God and his own conscience knew who was the appointed murderer! CHAPTER XVII. BARTON'S NIGHT-ERRAND. "Mournful is't to say Farewell, Though for few brief hours we part; In that absence, who can tell What may come to wring the heart!" ANONYMOUS. The events recorded in the last chapter took place on a Tuesday. On Thursday afternoon Mary was surprised, in the midst of some little bustle in which she was engaged, by the entrance of Will Wilson. He looked strange, at least it was strange to see any different expression on his face to his usual joyous beaming appearance. He had a paper parcel in his hand. He came in, and sat down, more quietly than usual. "Why, Will! what's the matter with you? You seem quite cut up about something!" "And I am, Mary! I'm come to say good-bye; and few folk like to say good-bye to them they love." "Good-bye! Bless me, Will, that's sudden, isn't it?" Mary left off ironing, and came and stood near the fire-place. She had always liked Will; but now it seemed as if a sudden spring of sisterly love had gushed up in her heart, so sorry did she feel to hear of his approaching departure. "It's very sudden, isn't it?" said she, repeating her question. "Yes! it's very sudden," said he, dreamily. "No, it isn't;" rousing himself, to think of what he was saying. "The captain told me in a fortnight he would be ready to sail again; but it comes very sudden on me, I had got so fond of you all." Mary understood the particular fondness that was thus generalised. She spoke again. "But it's not a fortnight since you came. Not a fortnight since you knocked at Jane Wilson's door, and I was there, you remember. Nothing like a fortnight!" "No; I know it's not. But, you see, I got a letter this afternoon from Jack Harris, to tell me our ship sails on Tuesday next; and it's long since I promised my uncle (my mother's brother, him that lives at Kirk-Christ, beyond Ramsay, in the Isle of Man) that I'd go and see him and his, this time of coming ashore. I must go. I'm sorry enough; but I mustn't slight poor mother's friends. I must go. Don't try to keep me," said he, evidently fearing the strength of his own resolution, if hard pressed by entreaty. "I'm not a-going, Will. I dare say you're right; only I can't help feeling sorry you're going away. It seems so flat to be left behind. When do you go?" "To-night. I shan't see you again." "To-night! and you go to Liverpool! May be you and father will go together. He's going to Glasgow, by way of Liverpool." "No! I'm walking; and I don't think your father will be up to walking." "Well! and why on earth are you walking? You can get by railway for three-and-sixpence." "Ay, but Mary! (thou mustn't let out what I'm going to tell thee) I haven't got three shillings, no, nor even a sixpence left, at least not here; before I came here I gave my landlady enough to carry me to the island and back, and may be a trifle for presents, and I brought all the rest here; and it's all gone but this," jingling a few coppers in his hand. "Nay, never fret over my walking a matter of thirty mile," added he, as he saw she looked grave and sorry. "It's a fine clear night, and I shall set off betimes, and get in afore the Manx packet sails. Where's your father going? To Glasgow, did you say? Perhaps he and I may have a bit of a trip together then, for, if the Manx boat has sailed when I get into Liverpool, I shall go by a Scotch packet. What's he going to do in Glasgow?--Seek for work? Trade is as bad there as here, folk say." "No; he knows that," answered Mary, sadly. "I sometimes think he'll never get work again, and that trade will never mend. It's very hard to keep up one's heart. I wish I were a boy, I'd go to sea with you. It would be getting away from bad news at any rate; and now, there's hardly a creature that crosses the door-step, but has something sad and unhappy to tell one. Father is going as a delegate from his Union, to ask help from the Glasgow folk. He's starting this evening." Mary sighed, for the feeling again came over her that it was very flat to be left alone. "You say no one crosses the threshold but has something sad to say; you don't mean that Margaret Jennings has any trouble?" asked the young sailor, anxiously. "No!" replied Mary, smiling a little, "she's the only one I know, I believe, who seems free from care. Her blindness almost appears a blessing sometimes; she was so downhearted when she dreaded it, and now she seems so calm and happy when it's downright come. No! Margaret's happy, I do think." "I could almost wish it had been otherwise," said Will, thoughtfully. "I could have been so glad to comfort her, and cherish her, if she had been in trouble." "And why can't you cherish her, even though she is happy?" asked Mary. "Oh! I don't know. She seems so much better than I am! And her voice! When I hear it, and think of the wishes that are in my heart, it seems as much out of place to ask her to be my wife, as it would be to ask an angel from heaven." Mary could not help laughing outright, in spite of her depression, at the idea of Margaret as an angel; it was so difficult (even to her dress-making imagination) to fancy where, and how, the wings would be fastened to the brown stuff gown, or the blue and yellow print. Will laughed, too, a little, out of sympathy with Mary's pretty merry laugh. Then he said-- "Ay, you may laugh, Mary; it only shows you've never been in love." In an instant Mary was carnation colour, and the tears sprang to her soft gray eyes; she was suffering so much from the doubts arising from love! It was unkind of him. He did not notice her change of look and of complexion. He only noticed that she was silent, so he continued: "I thought--I think, that when I come back from this voyage, I will speak. It's my fourth voyage in the same ship, and with the same captain, and he's promised he'll make me second mate after this trip; then I shall have something to offer Margaret; and her grandfather, and aunt Alice, shall live with her, to keep her from being lonesome while I'm at sea. I'm speaking as if she cared for me, and would marry me; d'ye think she does care at all for me, Mary?" asked he, anxiously. Mary had a very decided opinion of her own on the subject, but she did not feel as if she had any right to give it. So she said-- "You must ask Margaret, not me, Will; she's never named your name to me." His countenance fell. "But I should say that was a good sign from a girl like her. I've no right to say what I think; but, if I was you, I would not leave her now without speaking." "No! I cannot speak! I have tried. I've been in to wish them good-bye, and my voice stuck in my throat. I could say nought of what I'd planned to say; and I never thought of being so bold as to offer her marriage till I'd been my next trip, and been made mate. I could not even offer her this box," said he, undoing his paper parcel and displaying a gaudily ornamented accordion; "I longed to buy her something, and I thought, if it were something in the music line, she would may-be fancy it more. So, will you give it to her, Mary, when I'm gone? and, if you can slip in something tender,--something, you know, of what I feel,--may-be she would listen to you, Mary." Mary promised that she would do all that he asked. "I shall be thinking on her many and many a night, when I'm keeping my watch in mid-sea; I wonder if she will ever think on me when the wind is whistling, and the gale rising. You'll often speak of me to her, Mary? And if I should meet with any mischance, tell her how dear, how very dear, she was to me, and bid her, for the sake of one who loved her well, try and comfort my poor aunt Alice. Dear old aunt! you and Margaret will often go and see her, won't you? She's sadly failed since I was last ashore. And so good as she has been! When I lived with her, a little wee chap, I used to be wakened by the neighbours knocking her up; this one was ill, or that body's child was restless; and, for as tired as ever she might be, she would be up and dressed in a twinkling, never thinking of the hard day's wash afore her next morning. Them were happy times! How pleased I used to be when she would take me into the fields with her to gather herbs! I've tasted tea in China since then, but it wasn't half so good as the herb tea she used to make for me o' Sunday nights. And she knew such a deal about plants and birds, and their ways! She used to tell me long stories about her childhood, and we used to plan how we would go sometime, please God (that was always her word), and live near her old home beyond Lancaster; in the very cottage where she was born if we could get it. Dear! and how different it is! Here is she still in a back street o' Manchester, never likely to see her own home again; and I, a sailor, off for America next week. I wish she had been able to go to Burton once afore she died." "She would may be have found all sadly changed," said Mary, though her heart echoed Will's feeling. "Ay! ay! I dare say it's best. One thing I do wish though, and I have often wished it when out alone on the deep sea, when even the most thoughtless can't choose but think on th' past and th' future; and that is, that I'd never grieved her. Oh Mary! many a hasty word comes sorely back on the heart, when one thinks one shall never see the person whom one has grieved again!" They both stood thinking. Suddenly Mary started. "That's father's step. And his shirt's not ready!" She hurried to her irons, and tried to make up for lost time. John Barton came in. Such a haggard and wildly anxious looking man, Will thought he had never seen. He looked at Will, but spoke no word of greeting or welcome. "I'm come to bid you good bye," said the sailor, and would in his sociable friendly humour have gone on speaking. But John answered abruptly, "Good bye to ye, then." There was that in his manner which left no doubt of his desire to get rid of the visitor, and Will accordingly shook hands with Mary, and looked at John, as if doubting how far to offer to shake hands with him. But he met with no answering glance or gesture, so he went his way, stopping for an instant at the door to say, "You'll think on me on Tuesday, Mary. That's the day we shall hoist our blue Peter, Jack Harris says." Mary was heartily sorry when the door closed; it seemed like shutting out a friendly sunbeam. And her father! what could be the matter with him? He was so restless; not speaking (she wished he would), but starting up and then sitting down, and meddling with her irons; he seemed so fierce, too, to judge from his face. She wondered if he disliked Will being there; or if he were vexed to find that she had not got further on with her work. At last she could bear his nervous way no longer, it made her equally nervous and fidgetty. She would speak. "When are you going, father? I don't know the time o' the trains." "And why shouldst thou know?" replied he, gruffly. "Meddle with thy ironing, but donnot be asking questions about what doesn't concern thee." "I wanted to get you something to eat first," answered she, gently. "Thou dost not know that I'm larning to do without food," said he. Mary looked at him to see if he spoke jestingly. No! he looked savagely grave. She finished her bit of ironing, and began preparing the food she was sure her father needed; for by this time her experience in the degrees of hunger had taught her that his present irritability was increased, if not caused, by want of food. He had had a sovereign given him to pay his expenses as delegate to Glasgow, and out of this he had given Mary a few shillings in the morning; so she had been able to buy a sufficient meal, and now her care was to cook it so as most to tempt him. "If thou'rt doing that for me, Mary, thou may'st spare thy labour. I telled thee I were not for eating." "Just a little bit, father, before starting," coaxed Mary, perseveringly. At that instant, who should come in but Job Legh. It was not often he came, but when he did pay visits, Mary knew from past experience they were any thing but short. Her father's countenance fell back into the deep gloom from which it was but just emerging at the sound of Mary's sweet voice, and pretty pleading. He became again restless and fidgetty, scarcely giving Job Legh the greeting necessary for a host in his own house. Job, however, did not stand upon ceremony. He had come to pay a visit, and was not to be daunted from his purpose. He was interested in John Barton's mission to Glasgow, and wanted to hear all about it; so he sat down, and made himself comfortable, in a manner that Mary saw was meant to be stationary. "So thou'rt off to Glasgow, art thou?" he began his catechism. "Ay." "When art starting?" "To-night." "That I knowed. But by what train?" That was just what Mary wanted to know; but what apparently her father was in no mood to tell. He got up without speaking, and went up-stairs. Mary knew from his step, and his way, how much he was put out, and feared Job would see it, too. But no! Job seemed imperturbable. So much the better, and perhaps she could cover her father's rudeness by her own civility to so kind a friend. So half listening to her father's movements up-stairs, (passionate, violent, restless motions they were) and half attending to Job Legh, she tried to pay him all due regard. "When does thy father start, Mary?" That plaguing question again. "Oh! very soon. I'm just getting him a bit of supper. Is Margaret very well?" "Yes, she's well enough. She's meaning to go and keep Alice Wilson company for an hour or so this evening; as soon as she thinks her nephew will have started for Liverpool; for she fancies the old woman will feel a bit lonesome. Th' Union is paying for your father, I suppose?" "Yes, they've given him a sovereign. You're one of th' Union, Job?" "Ay! I'm one, sure enough; but I'm but a sleeping partner in the concern. I were obliged to become a member for peace, else I don't go along with 'em. Yo see they think themselves wise, and me silly, for differing with them; well! there's no harm in that. But then they won't let me be silly in peace and quietness, but will force me to be as wise as they are; now that's not British liberty, I say. I'm forced to be wise according to their notions, else they parsecute me, and sarve me out." What could her father be doing up-stairs? Tramping and banging about. Why did he not come down? Or why did not Job go? The supper would be spoilt. But Job had no notion of going. "You see my folly is this, Mary. I would take what I could get; I think half a loaf is better than no bread. I would work for low wages rather than sit idle and starve. But, comes the Trades' Union, and says, 'Well, if you take the half-loaf, we'll worry you out of your life. Will you be clemmed, or will you be worried?' Now clemming is a quiet death, and worrying isn't, so I choose clemming, and come into th' Union. But I wish they'd leave me free, if I am a fool." Creak, creak, went the stairs. Her father was coming down at last. Yes, he came down, but more doggedly fierce than before, and made up for his journey, too; with his little bundle on his arm. He went up to Job, and, more civilly than Mary expected, wished him good-bye. He then turned to her, and in a short cold manner, bade her farewell. "Oh! father, don't go yet. Your supper is all ready. Stay one moment!" But he pushed her away, and was gone. She followed him to the door, her eyes blinded by sudden tears; she stood there looking after him. He was so strange, so cold, so hard. Suddenly, at the end of the court, he turned, and saw her standing there; he came back quickly, and took her in his arms. "God bless thee, Mary!--God in heaven bless thee, poor child!" She threw her arms round his neck. "Don't go yet, father; I can't bear you to go yet. Come in, and eat some supper; you look so ghastly; dear father, do!" "No," he said, faintly and mournfully. "It's best as it is. I couldn't eat, and it's best to be off. I cannot be still at home. I must be moving." So saying, he unlaced her soft twining arms, and kissing her once more, set off on his fierce errand. And he was out of sight! She did not know why, but she had never before felt so depressed, so desolate. She turned in to Job, who sat there still. Her father, as soon as he was out of sight, slackened his pace, and fell into that heavy listless step, which told as well as words could do, of hopelessness and weakness. It was getting dark, but he loitered on, returning no greeting to any one. A child's cry caught his ear. His thoughts were running on little Tom; on the dead and buried child of happier years. He followed the sound of the wail, that might have been _his_, and found a poor little mortal, who had lost his way, and whose grief had choked up his thoughts to the single want, "Mammy, mammy." With tender address, John Barton soothed the little laddie, and with beautiful patience he gathered fragments of meaning from the half spoken words which came mingled with sobs from the terrified little heart. So, aided by inquiries here and there from a passer-by, he led and carried the little fellow home, where his mother had been too busy to miss him, but now received him with thankfulness, and with an eloquent Irish blessing. When John heard the words of blessing, he shook his head mournfully, and turned away to retrace his steps. Let us leave him. Mary took her sewing after he had gone, and sat on, and sat on, trying to listen to Job, who was more inclined to talk than usual. She had conquered her feeling of impatience towards him so far as to be able to offer him her father's rejected supper; and she even tried to eat herself. But her heart failed her. A leaden weight seemed to hang over her; a sort of presentiment of evil, or perhaps only an excess of low-spirited feeling in consequence of the two departures which had taken place that afternoon. She wondered how long Job Legh would sit. She did not like putting down her work, and crying before him, and yet she had never in her life longed so much to be alone in order to indulge in a good hearty burst of tears. "Well, Mary," she suddenly caught him saying, "I thought you'd be a bit lonely to-night; and as Margaret were going to cheer th' old woman, I said I'd go and keep th' young un company; and a very pleasant, chatty evening we've had; very. Only I wonder as Margaret is not come back." "But perhaps she is," suggested Mary. "No, no, I took care o' that. Look ye here!" and he pulled out the great house-key. "She'll have to stand waiting i' th' street, and that I'm sure she wouldn't do, when she knew where to find me." "Will she come back by hersel?" asked Mary. "Ay. At first I were afraid o' trusting her, and I used to follow her a bit behind; never letting on, of course. But, bless you! she goes along as steadily as can be; rather slow, to be sure, and her head a bit on one side as if she were listening. And it's real beautiful to see her cross the road. She'll wait above a bit to hear that all is still; not that she's so dark as not to see a coach or a cart like a big black thing, but she can't rightly judge how far off it is by sight, so she listens. Hark! that's her!" Yes; in she came with her usually calm face all tear-stained and sorrow-marked. "What's the matter, my wench?" said Job, hastily. "Oh! grandfather! Alice Wilson's so bad!" She could say no more, for her breathless agitation. The afternoon, and the parting with Will, had weakened her nerves for any after-shock. "What is it? Do tell us, Margaret!" said Mary, placing her in a chair, and loosening her bonnet-strings. "I think it's a stroke o' the palsy. Any rate she has lost the use of one side." "Was it afore Will had set off?" asked Mary. "No; he were gone before I got there," said Margaret; "and she were much about as well as she has been this many a day. She spoke a bit, but not much; but that were only natural, for Mrs. Wilson likes to have the talk to hersel, you know. She got up to go across the room, and then I heard a drag wi' her leg, and presently a fall, and Mrs. Wilson came running, and set up such a cry! I stopped wi' Alice, while she fetched a doctor; but she could not speak, to answer me, though she tried, I think." "Where was Jem? Why didn't he go for the doctor?" "He were out when I got there, and he never came home while I stopped." "Thou'st never left Mrs. Wilson alone wi' poor Alice?" asked Job, hastily. "No, no," said Margaret. "But, oh! grandfather; it's now I feel how hard it is to have lost my sight. I should have so loved to nurse her; and I did try, until I found I did more harm than good. Oh! grandfather; if I could but see!" She sobbed a little; and they let her give that ease to her heart. Then she went on-- "No! I went round by Mrs. Davenport's, and she were hard at work; but, the minute I told my errand, she were ready and willing to go to Jane Wilson, and stop up all night with Alice." "And what does the doctor say?" asked Mary. "Oh! much what all doctors say: he puts a fence on this side, and a fence on that, for fear he should be caught tripping in his judgment. One moment he does not think there's much hope--but while there is life there is hope; th' next he says he should think she might recover partial, but her age is again her. He's ordered her leeches to her head." Margaret, having told her tale, leant back with weariness, both of body and mind. Mary hastened to make her a cup of tea; while Job, lately so talkative, sat quiet and mournfully silent. "I'll go first thing to-morrow morning, and learn how she is; and I'll bring word back before I go to work," said Mary. "It's a bad job Will's gone," said Job. "Jane does not think she knows any one," replied Margaret. "It's perhaps as well he shouldn't see her now, for they say her face is sadly drawn. He'll remember her with her own face better, if he does not see her again." With a few more sorrowful remarks they separated for the night, and Mary was left alone in her house, to meditate on the heavy day that had passed over her head. Everything seemed going wrong. Will gone; her father gone--and so strangely too! And to a place so mysteriously distant as Glasgow seemed to be to her! She had felt his presence as a protection against Harry Carson and his threats; and now she dreaded lest he should learn she was alone. Her heart began to despair, too, about Jem. She feared he had ceased to love her; and she--she only loved him more and more for his seeming neglect. And, as if all this aggregate of sorrowful thoughts was not enough, here was this new woe, of poor Alice's paralytic stroke. CHAPTER XVIII. MURDER. "But in his pulse there was no throb, Nor on his lips one dying sob; Sigh, nor word, nor struggling breath Heralded his way to death." SIEGE OF CORINTH. "My brain runs this way and that way; 'twill not fix On aught but vengeance." DUKE OF GUISE. I must now go back to an hour or two before Mary and her friends parted for the night. It might be about eight o'clock that evening, and the three Miss Carsons were sitting in their father's drawing-room. He was asleep in the dining-room, in his own comfortable chair. Mrs. Carson was (as was usual with her, when no particular excitement was going on) very poorly, and sitting up-stairs in her dressing-room, indulging in the luxury of a head-ache. She was not well, certainly. "Wind in the head," the servants called it. But it was but the natural consequence of the state of mental and bodily idleness in which she was placed. Without education enough to value the resources of wealth and leisure, she was so circumstanced as to command both. It would have done her more good than all the æther and sal-volatile she was daily in the habit of swallowing, if she might have taken the work of one of her own housemaids for a week; made beds, rubbed tables, shaken carpets, and gone out into the fresh morning air, without all the paraphernalia of shawl, cloak, boa, fur boots, bonnet, and veil, in which she was equipped before setting out for an "airing," in the closely shut-up carriage. So the three girls were by themselves in the comfortable, elegant, well-lighted drawing-room; and, like many similarly-situated young ladies, they did not exactly know what to do to while away the time until the tea-hour. The elder two had been at a dancing-party the night before, and were listless and sleepy in consequence. One tried to read "Emerson's Essays," and fell asleep in the attempt; the other was turning over a parcel of new music, in order to select what she liked. Amy, the youngest, was copying some manuscript music. The air was heavy with the fragrance of strongly-scented flowers, which sent out their night odours from an adjoining conservatory. The clock on the chimney-piece chimed eight. Sophy (the sleeping sister) started up at the sound. "What o'clock is that?" she asked. "Eight," said Amy. "Oh dear! how tired I am! Is Harry come in? Tea would rouse one up a little. Are not you worn out, Helen?" "Yes; I am tired enough. One is good for nothing the day after a dance. Yet I don't feel weary at the time; I suppose it is the lateness of the hours." "And yet, how could it be managed otherwise? So many don't dine till five or six, that one cannot begin before eight or nine; and then it takes a long time to get into the spirit of the evening. It is always more pleasant after supper than before." "Well, I'm too tired to-night to reform the world in the matter of dances or balls. What are you copying, Amy?" "Only that little Spanish air you sing--'Quien quiera.'" "What are you copying it for?" asked Helen. "Harry asked me to do it for him this morning at breakfast-time,--for Miss Richardson, he said." "For Jane Richardson!" said Sophy, as if a new idea were receiving strength in her mind. "Do you think Harry means any thing by his attention to her?" asked Helen. "Nay, I do not know any thing more than you do; I can only observe and conjecture. What do you think, Helen?" "Harry always likes to be of consequence to the belle of the room. If one girl is more admired than another, he likes to flutter about her, and seem to be on intimate terms with her. That is his way, and I have not noticed any thing beyond that in his manner to Jane Richardson." "But I don't think she knows it's only his way. Just watch her the next time we meet her when Harry is there, and see how she crimsons, and looks another way when she feels he is coming up to her. I think he sees it, too, and I think he is pleased with it." "I dare say Harry would like well enough to turn the head of such a lovely girl as Jane Richardson. But I'm not convinced that he is in love, whatever she may be." "Well, then!" said Sophy, indignantly, "though it is our own brother, I do think he is behaving very wrongly. The more I think of it the more sure I am that she thinks he means something, and that he intends her to think so. And then, when he leaves off paying her attention--" "Which will be as soon as a prettier girl makes her appearance," interrupted Helen. "As soon as he leaves off paying her attention," resumed Sophy, "she will have many and many a heart-ache, and then she will harden herself into being a flirt, a feminine flirt, as he is a masculine flirt. Poor girl!" "I don't like to hear you speak so of Harry," said Amy, looking up at Sophy. "And I don't like to have to speak so, Amy, for I love him dearly. He is a good, kind brother, but I do think him vain, and I think he hardly knows the misery, the crimes, to which indulged vanity may lead him." Helen yawned. "Oh! do you think we may ring for tea? Sleeping after dinner always makes me so feverish." "Yes, surely. Why should not we?" said the more energetic Sophy, pulling the bell with some determination. "Tea directly, Parker," said she, authoritatively, as the man entered the room. She was too little in the habit of reading expressions on the faces of others to notice Parker's countenance. Yet it was striking. It was blanched to a dead whiteness; the lips compressed as if to keep within some tale of horror; the eyes distended and unnatural. It was a terror-stricken face. The girls began to put away their music and books, in preparation for tea. The door slowly opened again, and this time it was the nurse who entered. I call her nurse, for such had been her office in by-gone days, though now she held rather an anomalous situation in the family. Seamstress, attendant on the young ladies, keeper of the stores; only "Nurse" was still her name. She had lived longer with them than any other servant, and to her their manner was far less haughty than to the other domestics. She occasionally came into the drawing-room to look for things belonging to their father or mother, so it did not excite any surprise when she advanced into the room. They went on arranging their various articles of employment. She wanted them to look up. She wanted them to read something in her face--her face so full of woe, of horror. But they went on without taking any notice. She coughed; not a natural cough; but one of those coughs which ask so plainly for remark. "Dear nurse, what is the matter?" asked Amy. "Are not you well?" "Is mamma ill?" asked Sophy, quickly. "Speak, speak, nurse!" said they all, as they saw her efforts to articulate, choked by the convulsive rising in her throat. They clustered round her with eager faces, catching a glimpse of some terrible truth to be revealed. "My dear young ladies! my dear girls," she gasped out at length, and then she burst into tears. "Oh! do tell us what it is, nurse," said one. "Any thing is better than this. Speak!" "My children! I don't know how to break it to you. My dears, poor Mr. Harry is brought home--" "Brought home--_brought_ home--how?" Instinctively they sank their voices to a whisper; but a fearful whisper it was. In the same low tone, as if afraid lest the walls, the furniture, the inanimate things which told of preparation for life and comfort, should hear, she answered, "Dead!" Amy clutched her nurse's arm, and fixed her eyes on her as if to know if such a tale could be true; and when she read its confirmation in those sad, mournful, unflinching eyes, she sank, without word or sound, down in a faint upon the floor. One sister sat down on an ottoman, and covered her face, to try and realise it. That was Sophy. Helen threw herself on the sofa, and burying her head in the pillows, tried to stifle the screams and moans which shook her frame. The nurse stood silent. She had not told _all_. "Tell me," said Sophy, looking up, and speaking in a hoarse voice, which told of the inward pain, "tell me, nurse! Is he _dead_, did you say? Have you sent for a doctor? Oh! send for one, send for one," continued she, her voice rising to shrillness, and starting to her feet. Helen lifted herself up, and looked, with breathless waiting, towards nurse. "My dears, he is dead! But I have sent for a doctor. I have done all I could." "When did he--when did they bring him home?" asked Sophy. "Perhaps ten minutes ago. Before you rang for Parker." "How did he die? Where did they find him? He looked so well. He always seemed so strong. Oh! are you sure he is dead?" She went towards the door. Nurse laid her hand on her arm. "Miss Sophy, I have not told you all. Can you bear to hear it? Remember, master is in the next room, and he knows nothing yet. Come, you must help me to tell him. Now be quiet, dear! It was no common death he died!" She looked in her face as if trying to convey her meaning by her eyes. Sophy's lips moved, but nurse could hear no sound. "He has been shot as he was coming home along Turner Street, to-night." Sophy went on with the motion of her lips, twitching them almost convulsively. "My dear, you must rouse yourself, and remember your father and mother have yet to be told. Speak! Miss Sophy!" But she could not; her whole face worked involuntarily. The nurse left the room, and almost immediately brought back some sal-volatile and water. Sophy drank it eagerly, and gave one or two deep gasps. Then she spoke in a calm unnatural voice. "What do you want me to do, nurse? Go to Helen and poor Amy. See, they want help." "Poor creatures! we must let them alone for a bit. You must go to master; that's what I want you to do, Miss Sophy. You must break it to him, poor old gentleman. Come, he's asleep in the dining-room, and the men are waiting to speak to him." Sophy went mechanically to the dining-room door. "Oh! I cannot go in. I cannot tell him. What must I say?" "I'll come with you, Miss Sophy. Break it to him by degrees." "I can't, nurse. My head throbs so, I shall be sure to say the wrong thing." However, she opened the door. There sat her father, the shaded light of the candle-lamp falling upon, and softening his marked features, while his snowy hair contrasted well with the deep crimson morocco of the chair. The newspaper he had been reading had dropped on the carpet by his side. He breathed regularly and deeply. At that instant the words of Mrs. Hemans's song came full into Sophy's mind. "Ye know not what ye do, That call the slumberer back From the realms unseen by you, To life's dim, weary track." But this life's track would be to the bereaved father something more than dim and weary, hereafter. "Papa," said she, softly. He did not stir. "Papa!" she exclaimed, somewhat louder. He started up, half awake. "Tea is ready, is it?" and he yawned. "No! papa, but something very dreadful--very sad, has happened!" He was gaping so loud that he did not catch the words she uttered, and did not see the expression of her face. "Master Henry is not come back," said nurse. Her voice, heard in unusual speech to him, arrested his attention, and rubbing his eyes, he looked at the servant. "Harry! oh no! he had to attend a meeting of the masters about these cursed turn-outs. I don't expect him yet. What are you looking at me so strangely for, Sophy?" "Oh, papa, Harry is come back," said she, bursting into tears. "What do you mean?" said he, startled into an impatient consciousness that something was wrong. "One of you says he is not come home, and the other says he is. Now that's nonsense! Tell me at once what's the matter. Did he go on horseback to town? Is he thrown? Speak, child, can't you?" "No! he's not been thrown, papa," said Sophy, sadly. "But he's badly hurt," put in the nurse, desirous to be drawing his anxiety to a point. "Hurt? Where? How? Have you sent for a doctor?" said he, hastily rising, as if to leave the room. "Yes, papa, we've sent for a doctor--but I'm afraid--I believe it's of no use." He looked at her for a moment, and in her face he read the truth. His son, his only son, was dead. He sank back in his chair, and hid his face in his hands, and bowed his head upon the table. The strong mahogany dining-table shook and rattled under his agony. Sophy went and put her arms round his bowed neck. "Go! you are not Harry," said he; but the action roused him. "Where is he? where is the--" said he, with his strong face set into the lines of anguish, by two minutes of such intense woe. "In the servants' hall," said nurse. "Two policemen and another man brought him home. They would be glad to speak to you when you are able, sir." "I am able now," replied he. At first when he stood up, he tottered. But steadying himself, he walked, as firmly as a soldier on drill, to the door. Then he turned back and poured out a glass of wine from the decanter which yet remained on the table. His eye caught the wine-glass which Harry had used but two or three hours before. He sighed a long quivering sigh. And then mastering himself again, he left the room. "You had better go back to your sisters, Miss Sophy," said nurse. Miss Carson went. She could not face death yet. The nurse followed Mr. Carson to the servants' hall. There, on their dinner-table, lay the poor dead body. The men who had brought it were sitting near the fire, while several of the servants stood round the table, gazing at the remains. _The remains!_ One or two were crying; one or two were whispering; awed into a strange stillness of voice and action by the presence of the dead. When Mr. Carson came in they all drew back and looked at him with the reverence due to sorrow. He went forward and gazed long and fondly on the calm, dead face; then he bent down and kissed the lips yet crimson with life. The policemen had advanced and stood ready to be questioned. But at first the old man's mind could only take in the idea of death; slowly, slowly came the conception of violence, of murder. "How did he die?" he groaned forth. The policemen looked at each other. Then one began, and stated that having heard the report of a gun in Turner Street, he had turned down that way (a lonely, unfrequented way Mr. Carson knew, but a short cut to his garden-door, of which Harry had a key); that as he (the policeman) came nearer, he had heard footsteps as of a man running away; but the evening was so dark (the moon not having yet risen) that he could see no one twenty yards off. That he had even been startled when close to the body by seeing it lying across the path at his feet. That he had sprung his rattle; and when another policeman came up, by the light of the lantern they had discovered who it was that had been killed. That they believed him to be dead when they first took him up, as he had never moved, spoken, or breathed. That intelligence of the murder had been sent to the superintendent, who would probably soon be here. That two or three policemen were still about the place where the murder was committed, seeking out for some trace of the murderer. Having said this, they stopped speaking. Mr. Carson had listened attentively, never taking his eyes off the dead body. When they had ended, he said, "Where was he shot?" They lifted up some of the thick chestnut curls, and showed a blue spot (you could hardly call it a hole, the flesh had closed so much over it) in the left temple. A deadly aim! And yet it was so dark a night! "He must have been close upon him," said one policeman. "And have had him between him and the sky," added the other. There was a little commotion at the door of the room, and there stood poor Mrs. Carson, the mother. She had heard unusual noises in the house, and had sent down her maid (much more a companion to her than her highly-educated daughters) to discover what was going on. But the maid either forgot, or dreaded, to return; and with nervous impatience Mrs. Carson came down herself, and had traced the hum and buzz of voices to the servants' hall. Mr. Carson turned round. But he could not leave the dead for any one living. "Take her away, nurse. It is no sight for her. Tell Miss Sophy to go to her mother." His eyes were again fixed on the dead face of his son. Presently Mrs. Carson's hysterical cries were heard all over the house. Her husband shuddered at the outward expression of the agony which was rending his heart. Then the police superintendent came, and after him the doctor. The latter went through all the forms of ascertaining death, without uttering a word, and when at the conclusion of the operation of opening a vein, from which no blood flowed, he shook his head, all present understood the confirmation of their previous belief. The superintendent asked to speak to Mr. Carson in private. "It was just what I was going to request of you," answered he; so he led the way into the dining-room, with the wine-glass still on the table. The door was carefully shut, and both sat down, each apparently waiting for the other to begin. At last Mr. Carson spoke. "You probably have heard that I am a rich man." The superintendent bowed in assent. "Well, sir, half--nay, if necessary, the whole of my fortune I will give to have the murderer brought to the gallows." "Every exertion, you may be sure, sir, shall be used on our part; but probably offering a handsome reward might accelerate the discovery of the murderer. But what I wanted particularly to tell you, sir, is that one of my men has already got some clue, and that another (who accompanied me here) has within this quarter of an hour found a gun in the field which the murderer crossed, and which he probably threw away when pursued, as encumbering his flight. I have not the smallest doubt of discovering the murderer." "What do you call a handsome reward?" said Mr. Carson. "Well, sir, three, or five hundred pounds is a munificent reward: more than will probably be required as a temptation to any accomplice." "Make it a thousand," said Mr. Carson, decisively. "It's the doing of those damned turn-outs." "I imagine not," said the superintendent. "Some days ago the man I was naming to you before, reported to the inspector when he came on his beat, that he had had to separate your son from a young man, who by his dress he believed to be employed in a foundry; that the man had thrown Mr. Carson down, and seemed inclined to proceed to more violence, when the policeman came up and interfered. Indeed, my man wished to give him in charge for an assault, but Mr. Carson would not allow that to be done." "Just like him!--noble fellow!" murmured the father. "But after your son had left, the man made use of some pretty strong threats. And it's rather a curious coincidence that this scuffle took place in the very same spot where the murder was committed; in Turner Street." There was some one knocking at the door of the room. It was Sophy, who beckoned her father out, and then asked him, in an awe-struck whisper, to come up-stairs and speak to her mother. "She will not leave Harry, and talks so strangely. Indeed--indeed--papa, I think she has lost her senses." And the poor girl sobbed bitterly. "Where is she?" asked Mr. Carson. "In his room." They went up stairs rapidly and silently. It was a large, comfortable bedroom; too large to be well lighted by the flaring, flickering kitchen-candle which had been hastily snatched up, and now stood on the dressing-table. On the bed, surrounded by its heavy, pall-like green curtains, lay the dead son. They had carried him up, and laid him down, as tenderly as though they feared to waken him; and, indeed, it looked more like sleep than death, so very calm and full of repose was the face. You saw, too, the chiselled beauty of the features much more perfectly than when the brilliant colouring of life had distracted your attention. There was a peace about him which told that death had come too instantaneously to give any previous pain. In a chair, at the head of the bed, sat the mother,--smiling. She held one of the hands (rapidly stiffening, even in her warm grasp), and gently stroked the back of it, with the endearing caress she had used to all her children when young. "I am glad you are come," said she, looking up at her husband, and still smiling. "Harry is so full of fun, he always has something new to amuse us with; and now he pretends he is asleep, and that we can't waken him. Look! he is smiling now; he hears I have found him out. Look!" And, in truth, the lips, in the rest of death, did look as though they wore a smile, and the waving light of the unsnuffed candle almost made them seem to move. "Look, Amy," said she to her youngest child, who knelt at her feet, trying to soothe her, by kissing her garments. "Oh, he was always a rogue! You remember, don't you, love? how full of play he was as a baby; hiding his face under my arm, when you wanted to play with him. Always a rogue, Harry!" "We must get her away, sir," said nurse; "you know there is much to be done before--" "I understand, nurse," said the father, hastily interrupting her in dread of the distinct words which would tell of the changes of mortality. "Come, love," said he to his wife. "I want you to come with me. I want to speak to you down-stairs." "I'm coming," said she, rising; "perhaps, after all, nurse, he's really tired, and would be glad to sleep. Don't let him get cold, though,--he feels rather chilly," continued she, after she had bent down, and kissed the pale lips. Her husband put his arm round her waist, and they left the room. Then the three sisters burst into unrestrained wailings. They were startled into the reality of life and death. And yet, in the midst of shrieks and moans, of shivering, and chattering of teeth, Sophy's eye caught the calm beauty of the dead; so calm amidst such violence, and she hushed her emotion. "Come," said she to her sisters, "nurse wants us to go; and besides, we ought to be with mamma. Papa told the man he was talking to, when I went for him, to wait, and she must not be left." Meanwhile, the superintendent had taken a candle, and was examining the engravings that hung round the dining-room. It was so common to him to be acquainted with crime, that he was far from feeling all his interest absorbed in the present case of violence, although he could not help having much anxiety to detect the murderer. He was busy looking at the only oil-painting in the room (a youth of eighteen or so, in a fancy dress), and conjecturing its identity with the young man so mysteriously dead, when the door opened, and Mr. Carson returned. Stern as he had looked before leaving the room, he looked far sterner now. His face was hardened into deep-purposed wrath. "I beg your pardon, sir, for leaving you." The superintendent bowed. They sat down, and spoke long together. One by one the policemen were called in, and questioned. All through the night there was bustle and commotion in the house. Nobody thought of going to bed. It seemed strange to Sophy to hear nurse summoned from her mother's side to supper, in the middle of the night, and still stranger that she could go. The necessity of eating and drinking seemed out of place in the house of death. When night was passing into morning, the dining-room door opened, and two persons' steps were heard along the hall. The superintendent was leaving at last. Mr. Carson stood on the front door-step, feeling the refreshment of the cooler morning air, and seeing the starlight fade away into dawn. "You will not forget," said he. "I trust to you." The policeman bowed. "Spare no money. The only purpose for which I now value wealth is to have the murderer arrested, and brought to justice. My hope in life now is to see him sentenced to death. Offer any rewards. Name a thousand pounds in the placards. Come to me at any hour, night or day, if that be required. All I ask of you is, to get the murderer hanged. Next week, if possible--to-day is Friday. Surely, with the clues you already possess, you can muster up evidence sufficient to have him tried next week." "He may easily request an adjournment of his trial, on the ground of the shortness of the notice," said the superintendent. "Oppose it, if possible. I will see that the first lawyers are employed. I shall know no rest while he lives." "Every thing shall be done, sir." "You will arrange with the coroner. Ten o'clock, if convenient." The superintendent took leave. Mr. Carson stood on the step, dreading to shut out the light and air, and return into the haunted, gloomy house. "My son! my son!" he said, at last. "But you shall be avenged, my poor murdered boy." Ay! to avenge his wrongs the murderer had singled out his victim, and with one fell action had taken away the life that God had given. To avenge his child's death, the old man lived on; with the single purpose in his heart of vengeance on the murderer. True, his vengeance was sanctioned by law, but was it the less revenge? Are we worshippers of Christ? or of Alecto? Oh! Orestes! you would have made a very tolerable Christian of the nineteenth century! CHAPTER XIX. JEM WILSON ARRESTED ON SUSPICION. "Deeds to be hid which were not hid, Which, all confused, I could not know, Whether I suffered or I did, For all seemed guilt, remorse, or woe." COLERIDGE. I left Mary, on that same Thursday night which left its burden of woe at Mr. Carson's threshold, haunted with depressing thoughts. All through the night she tossed restlessly about, trying to get quit of the ideas that harassed her, and longing for the light when she could rise, and find some employment. But just as dawn began to appear, she became more quiet, and fell into a sound heavy sleep, which lasted till she was sure it was late in the morning by the full light that shone in. She dressed hastily, and heard the neighbouring church-clock strike eight. It was far too late to do as she had planned (after inquiring how Alice was, to return and tell Margaret), and she accordingly went in to inform the latter of her change of purpose, and the cause of it; but on entering the house she found Job sitting alone, looking sad enough. She told him what she came for. "Margaret, wench! why she's been gone to Wilson's these two hours. Ay! sure, you did say last night you would go; but she could na rest in her bed, so was off betimes this morning." Mary could do nothing but feel guilty of her long morning nap, and hasten to follow Margaret's steps; for late as it was, she felt she could not settle well to her work, unless she learnt how kind good Alice Wilson was going on. So, eating her crust-of-bread breakfast, she passed rapidly along the streets. She remembered afterwards the little groups of people she had seen, eagerly hearing, and imparting news; but at the time her only care was to hasten on her way, in dread of a reprimand from Miss Simmonds. She went into the house at Jane Wilson's, her heart at the instant giving a strange knock, and sending the rosy flush into her face, at the thought that Jem might possibly be inside the door. But I do assure you, she had not thought of it before. Impatient and loving as she was, her solicitude about Alice on that hurried morning had not been mingled with any thought of him. Her heart need not have leaped, her colour need not have rushed so painfully to her cheeks, for he was not there. There was the round table, with a cup and saucer, which had evidently been used, and there was Jane Wilson sitting on the other side, crying quietly, while she ate her breakfast with a sort of unconscious appetite. And there was Mrs. Davenport washing away at a night-cap or so, which, by their simple, old-world make, Mary knew at a glance were Alice's. But nothing--no one else. Alice was much the same, or rather better of the two, they told her; at any rate she could speak, though it was sad rambling talk. Would Mary like to see her? Of course she would. Many are interested by seeing their friends under the new aspect of illness; and among the poor there is no wholesome fear of injury or excitement to restrain this wish. So Mary went up-stairs, accompanied by Mrs. Davenport, wringing the suds off her hands, and speaking in a loud whisper far more audible than her usual voice. "I mun be hastening home, but I'll come again to-night, time enough to iron her cap; 'twould be a sin and a shame if we let her go dirty now she's ill, when she's been so rare and clean all her life-long. But she's sadly forsaken, poor thing! She'll not know you, Mary; she knows none on us." The room up-stairs held two beds, one superior in the grandeur of four posts and checked curtains to the other, which had been occupied by the twins in their brief life-time. The smaller had been Alice's bed since she had lived there; but with the natural reverence to one "stricken of God and afflicted," she had been installed since her paralytic stroke the evening before in the larger and grander bed, while Jane Wilson had taken her short broken rest on the little pallet. Margaret came forwards to meet her friend, whom she half expected, and whose step she knew. Mrs. Davenport returned to her washing. The two girls did not speak; the presence of Alice awed them into silence. There she lay with the rosy colour, absent from her face since the days of childhood, flushed once more into it by her sickness nigh unto death. She lay on the affected side, and with her other arm she was constantly sawing the air, not exactly in a restless manner, but in a monotonous, incessant way, very trying to a watcher. She was talking away, too, almost as constantly, in a low, indistinct tone. But her face, her profiled countenance, looked calm and smiling, even interested by the ideas that were passing through her clouded mind. "Listen!" said Margaret, as she stooped her head down to catch the muttered words more distinctly. "What will mother say? The bees are turning homeward for th' last time, and we've a terrible long bit to go yet. See! here's a linnet's nest in this gorse-bush. Th' hen-bird is on it. Look at her bright eyes, she won't stir! Ay! we mun hurry home. Won't mother be pleased with the bonny lot of heather we've got! Make haste, Sally, may be we shall have cockles for supper. I saw th' cockle-man's donkey turn up our way fra' Arnside." Margaret touched Mary's hand, and the pressure in return told her that they understood each other; that they knew how in this illness to the old, world-weary woman, God had sent her a veiled blessing: she was once more in the scenes of her childhood, unchanged and bright as in those long departed days; once more with the sister of her youth, the playmate of fifty years ago, who had for nearly as many years slept in a grassy grave in the little church-yard beyond Burton. Alice's face changed; she looked sorrowful, almost penitent. "Oh, Sally! I wish we'd told her. She thinks we were in church all morning, and we've gone on deceiving her. If we'd told her at first how it was--how sweet th' hawthorn smelt through the open church-door, and how we were on th' last bench in the aisle, and how it were the first butterfly we'd seen this spring, and how it flew into th' very church itself; oh! mother is so gentle, I wish we'd told her. I'll go to her next time she comes in sight, and say, 'Mother, we were naughty last Sabbath.'" She stopped, and a few tears came stealing down the old withered cheek, at the thought of the temptation and deceit of her childhood. Surely, many sins could not have darkened that innocent child-like spirit since. Mary found a red-spotted pocket-handkerchief, and put it into the hand which sought about for something to wipe away the trickling tears. She took it with a gentle murmur. "Thank you, mother." Mary pulled Margaret away from the bed. "Don't you think she's happy, Margaret?" "Ay! that I do, bless her. She feels no pain, and knows nought of her present state. Oh! that I could see, Mary! I try and be patient with her afore me, but I'd give aught I have to see her, and see what she wants. I am so useless! I mean to stay here as long as Jane Wilson is alone; and I would fain be here all to-night, but--" "I'll come," said Mary, decidedly. "Mrs. Davenport said she'd come again, but she's hard-worked all day--" "I'll come," repeated Mary. "Do!" said Margaret, "and I'll be here till you come. May be, Jem and you could take th' night between you, and Jane Wilson might get a bit of sound sleep in his bed; for she were up and down the better part of last night, and just when she were in a sound sleep this morning, between two and three, Jem came home, and th' sound o' his voice roused her in a minute." "Where had he been till that time o' night?" asked Mary. "Nay! it were none of my business; and, indeed, I never saw him till he came in here to see Alice. He were in again this morning, and seemed sadly downcast. But you'll, may be, manage to comfort him to-night, Mary," said Margaret, smiling, while a ray of hope glimmered in Mary's heart, and she almost felt glad, for an instant, of the occasion which would at last bring them together. Oh! happy night! when would it come? Many hours had yet to pass. Then she saw Alice, and repented, with a bitter self-reproach. But she could not help having gladness in the depths of her heart, blame herself as she would. So she tried not to think, as she hurried along to Miss Simmonds', with a dancing step of lightness. She was late--that she knew she should be. Miss Simmonds was vexed and cross. That also she had anticipated, but she had intended to smooth her raven down by extraordinary diligence and attention. But there was something about the girls she did not understand--had not anticipated. They stopped talking when she came in; or rather, I should say, stopped listening, for Sally Leadbitter was the talker to whom they were hearkening with intense attention. At first they eyed Mary, as if she had acquired some new interest to them, since the day before. Then they began to whisper; and, absorbed as Mary had been in her own thoughts, she could not help becoming aware that it was of her they spoke. At last Sally Leadbitter asked Mary if she had heard the news? "No! What news?" answered she. The girls looked at each other with gloomy mystery. Sally went on. "Have you not heard that young Mr. Carson was murdered last night?" Mary's lips could not utter a negative, but no one who looked at her pale and terror-stricken face could have doubted that she had not heard before of the fearful occurrence. Oh, it is terrible, that sudden information, that one you have known has met with a bloody death! You seem to shrink from the world where such deeds can be committed, and to grow sick with the idea of the violent and wicked men of earth. Much as Mary had learned to dread him lately, now he was dead (and dead in such a manner) her feeling was that of oppressive sorrow for him. The room went round and round, and she felt as though she should faint; but Miss Simmonds came in, bringing a waft of fresher air as she opened the door, to refresh the body, and the certainty of a scolding for inattention to brace the sinking mind. She, too, was full of the morning's news. "Have you heard any more of this horrid affair, Miss Barton?" asked she, as she settled to her work. Mary tried to speak; at first she could not, and when she succeeded in uttering a sentence, it seemed as though it were not her own voice that spoke. "No, ma'am, I never heard of it till this minute." "Dear! that's strange, for every one is up about it. I hope the murderer will be found out, that I do. Such a handsome young man to be killed as he was. I hope the wretch that did it may be hanged as high as Haman." One of the girls reminded them that the assizes came on next week. "Ay," replied Miss Simmonds, "and the milk-man told me they will catch the wretch, and have him tried and hung in less than a week. Serve him right, whoever he is. Such a handsome young man as he was." Then each began to communicate to Miss Simmonds the various reports they had heard. Suddenly she burst out-- "Miss Barton! as I live, dropping tears on that new silk gown of Mrs. Hawkes'! Don't you know they will stain, and make it shabby for ever? Crying like a baby, because a handsome young man meets with an untimely end. For shame of yourself, miss. Mind your character and your work if you please. Or, if you must cry" (seeing her scolding rather increased the flow of Mary's tears, than otherwise), "take this print to cry over. That won't be marked like this beautiful silk," rubbing it, as if she loved it, with a clean pocket-handkerchief, in order to soften the edges of the hard round drops. Mary took the print, and naturally enough, having had leave given her to cry over it, rather checked the inclination to weep. Every body was full of the one subject. The girl sent out to match silk, came back with the account gathered at the shop, of the coroner's inquest then sitting; the ladies who called to speak about gowns first began about the murder, and mingled details of that, with directions for their dresses. Mary felt as though the haunting horror were a nightmare, a fearful dream, from which awakening would relieve her. The picture of the murdered body, far more ghastly than the reality, seemed to swim in the air before her eyes. Sally Leadbitter looked and spoke of her, almost accusingly, and made no secret now of Mary's conduct, more blameable to her fellow-workwomen for its latter changeableness, than for its former giddy flirting. "Poor young gentleman," said one, as Sally recounted Mary's last interview with Mr. Carson. "What a shame!" exclaimed another, looking indignantly at Mary. "That's what I call regular jilting," said a third. "And he lying cold and bloody in his coffin now!" Mary was more thankful than she could express, when Miss Simmonds returned, to put a stop to Sally's communications, and to check the remarks of the girls. She longed for the peace of Alice's sick room. No more thinking with infinite delight of her anticipated meeting with Jem, she felt too much shocked for that now; but longing for peace and kindness, for the images of rest and beauty, and sinless times long ago, which the poor old woman's rambling presented, she wished to be as near death as Alice; and to have struggled through this world, whose sufferings she had early learnt, and whose crimes now seemed pressing close upon her. Old texts from the Bible that her mother used to read (or rather spell out) aloud, in the days of childhood, came up to her memory. "Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." "The tears shall be wiped away from all eyes," &c. And it was to that world Alice was hastening! Oh! that she were Alice! I must return to the Wilsons' house, which was far from being the abode of peace that Mary was picturing it to herself. You remember the reward Mr. Carson offered for the apprehension of the murderer of his son? It was in itself a temptation, and to aid its efficacy came the natural sympathy for the aged parents mourning for their child, for the young man cut off in the flower of his days; and besides this, there is always a pleasure in unravelling a mystery, in catching at the gossamer clue which will guide to certainty. This feeling, I am sure, gives much impetus to the police. Their senses are ever and always on the qui-vive, and they enjoy the collecting and collating evidence, and the life of adventure they experience: a continual unwinding of Jack Sheppard romances, always interesting to the vulgar and uneducated mind, to which the outward signs and tokens of crime are ever exciting. There was no lack of clue or evidence at the coroner's inquest that morning. The shot, the finding of the body, the subsequent discovery of the gun, were rapidly deposed to; and then the policeman who had interrupted the quarrel between Jem Wilson and the murdered young man was brought forward, and gave his evidence, clear, simple, and straightforward. The coroner had no hesitation, the jury had none, but the verdict was cautiously worded. "Wilful murder against some person unknown." This very cautiousness, when he deemed the thing so sure as to require no caution, irritated Mr. Carson. It did not soothe him that the superintendent called the verdict a mere form,--exhibited a warrant empowering him to seize the body of Jem Wilson, committed on suspicion,--declared his intention of employing a well-known officer in the Detective Service to ascertain the ownership of the gun, and to collect other evidence, especially as regarded the young woman, about whom the policeman deposed that the quarrel had taken place: Mr. Carson was still excited and irritable; restless in body and mind. He made every preparation for the accusation of Jem the following morning before the magistrates: he engaged attorneys skilled in criminal practice to watch the case and prepare briefs; he wrote to celebrated barristers coming the Northern Circuit, to bespeak their services. A speedy conviction, a speedy execution, seemed to be the only things that would satisfy his craving thirst for blood. He would have fain been policeman, magistrate, accusing speaker, all; but most of all, the judge, rising with full sentence of death on his lips. That afternoon, as Jane Wilson had begun to feel the effect of a night's disturbed rest, evinced in frequent droppings off to sleep while she sat by her sister-in-law's bed-side, lulled by the incessant crooning of the invalid's feeble voice, she was startled by a man speaking in the house-place below, who, wearied of knocking at the door, without obtaining any answer, had entered and was calling lustily for "Missis! missis!" When Mrs. Wilson caught a glimpse of the intruder through the stair-rails, she at once saw he was a stranger, a working-man, it might be a fellow-labourer with her son, for his dress was grimy enough for the supposition. He held a gun in his hand. "May I make bold to ask if this gun belongs to your son?" She first looked at the man, and then, weary and half asleep, not seeing any reason for refusing to answer the inquiry, she moved forward to examine it, talking while she looked for certain old-fashioned ornaments on the stock. "It looks like his; ay, it's his, sure enough. I could speak to it anywhere by these marks. You see it were his grandfather's, as were gamekeeper to some one up in th' north; and they don't make guns so smart now-a-days. But, how comed you by it? He sets great store on it. Is he bound for th' shooting gallery? He is not, for sure, now his aunt is so ill, and me left all alone;" and the immediate cause for her anxiety being thus recalled to her mind, she entered on a long story of Alice's illness, interspersed with recollections of her husband's and her children's deaths. The disguised policeman listened for a minute or two, to glean any further information he could; and then, saying he was in a hurry, he turned to go away. She followed him to the door, still telling him her troubles, and was never struck, until it was too late to ask the reason, with the unaccountableness of his conduct, in carrying the gun away with him. Then, as she heavily climbed the stairs, she put away the wonder and the thought about his conduct, by determining to believe he was some workman with whom her son had made some arrangement about shooting at the gallery; or mending the old weapon; or something or other. She had enough to fret her, without moidering herself about old guns. Jem had given it him to bring to her; so it was safe enough; or, if it was not, why she should be glad never to set eyes on it again, for she could not abide fire-arms, they were so apt to shoot people. So, comforting herself for her want of thought in not making further inquiry, she fell off into another doze, feverish, dream-haunted, and unrefreshing. Meanwhile, the policeman walked off with his prize, with an odd mixture of feelings; a little contempt, a little disappointment, and a good deal of pity. The contempt and the disappointment were caused by the widow's easy admission of the gun being her son's property, and her manner of identifying it by the ornaments. He liked an attempt to baffle him; he was accustomed to it; it gave some exercise to his wits and his shrewdness. There would be no fun in fox-hunting, if Reynard yielded himself up without any effort to escape. Then, again, his mother's milk was yet in him, policeman, officer of the Detective Service though he was; and he felt sorry for the old woman, whose "softness" had given such material assistance in identifying her son as the murderer. However, he conveyed the gun, and the intelligence he had gained, to the superintendent; and the result was, that, in a short time afterwards, three policemen went to the works at which Jem was foreman, and announced their errand to the astonished overseer, who directed them to the part of the foundry where Jem was then superintending a casting. Dark, black were the walls, the ground, the faces around them, as they crossed the yard. But, in the furnace-house a deep and lurid red glared over all; the furnace roared with mighty flame. The men, like demons, in their fire-and-soot colouring, stood swart around, awaiting the moment when the tons of solid iron should have melted down into fiery liquid, fit to be poured, with still, heavy sound, into the delicate moulding of fine black sand, prepared to receive it. The heat was intense, and the red glare grew every instant more fierce; the policemen stood awed with the novel sight. Then, black figures, holding strange-shaped bucket shovels, came athwart the deep-red furnace light, and clear and brilliant flowed forth the iron into the appropriate mould. The buzz of voices rose again; there was time to speak, and gasp, and wipe the brows; and then, one by one, the men dispersed to some other branch of their employment. No. B. 72 pointed out Jem as the man he had seen engaged in a scuffle with Mr. Carson, and then the other two stepped forward and arrested him, stating of what he was accused, and the grounds of the accusation. He offered no resistance, though he seemed surprised; but calling a fellow-workman to him, he briefly requested him to tell his mother he had got into trouble, and could not return home at present. He did not wish her to hear more at first. So Mrs. Wilson's sleep was next interrupted in almost an exactly similar way to the last, like a recurring nightmare. "Missis! missis!" some one called out from below. Again it was a workman, but this time a blacker-looking one than before. "What don ye want?" said she, peevishly. "Only nothing but--" stammered the man, a kind-hearted matter-of-fact person, with no invention, but a great deal of sympathy. "Well! speak out, can't ye, and ha' done with it?" "Jem's in trouble," said he, repeating Jem's very words, as he could think of no others. "Trouble!" said the mother, in a high-pitched voice of distress. "Trouble! God help me, trouble will never end, I think. What d'ye mean by trouble? Speak out, man, can't ye? Is he ill? My boy! tell me, is he ill?" in a hurried voice of terror. "Na, na, that's not it. He's well enough. All he bade me say was, 'Tell mother I'm in trouble, and can't come home to-night.'" "Not come home to-night! And what am I to do with Alice? I can't go on, wearing my life out wi' watching. He might come and help me." "I tell you he can't," said the man. "Can't; and he is well, you say? Stuff! It's just that he's getten like other young men, and wants to go a-larking. But I'll give it him when he comes back." The man turned to go; he durst not trust himself to speak in Jem's justification. But she would not let him off. She stood between him and the door, as she said, "Yo shall not go, till yo've told me what he's after. I can see plain enough you know, and I'll know too, before I've done." "You'll know soon enough, missis!" "I'll know now, I tell ye. What's up that he can't come home and help me nurse? Me, as never got a wink o' sleep last night wi' watching." "Well, if you will have it out," said the poor badgered man, "the police have got hold on him." "On my Jem!" said the enraged mother. "You're a downright liar, and that's what you are. My Jem, as never did harm to any one in his life. You're a liar, that's what you are." "He's done harm enough now," said the man, angry in his turn, "for there's good evidence he murdered young Carson, as was shot last night." She staggered forward to strike the man for telling the terrible truth; but the weakness of old age, of motherly agony, overcame her, and she sank down on a chair, and covered her face. He could not leave her. When next she spoke, it was in an imploring, feeble, child-like voice. "Oh, master, say you're only joking. I ax your pardon if I have vexed ye, but please say you're only joking. You don't know what Jem is to me." She looked humbly, anxiously up at him. "I wish I were only joking, missis; but it's true as I say. They've taken him up on charge o' murder. It were his gun as were found near th' place; and one o' the police heard him quarrelling with Mr. Carson a few days back, about a girl." "About a girl!" broke in the mother, once more indignant, though too feeble to show it as before. "My Jem was as steady as--" she hesitated for a comparison wherewith to finish, and then repeated, "as steady as Lucifer, and he were an angel, you know. My Jem was not one to quarrel about a girl." "Ay, but it was that, though. They'd got her name quite pat. The man had heard all they said. Mary Barton was her name, whoever she may be." "Mary Barton! the dirty hussey! to bring my Jem into trouble of this kind. I'll give it her well when I see her: that I will. Oh! my poor Jem!" rocking herself to and fro. "And what about the gun? What did ye say about that?" "His gun were found on th' spot where the murder were done." "That's a lie for one, then. A man has got the gun now, safe and sound; I saw it not an hour ago." The man shook his head. "Yes, he has indeed. A friend o' Jem's, as he'd lent it to." "Did you know the chap?" asked the man, who was really anxious for Jem's exculpation, and caught a gleam of hope from her last speech. "No! I can't say as I did. But he were put on as a workman." "It's may be only one of them policemen, disguised." "Nay; they'd never go for to do that, and trick me into telling on my own son. It would be like seething a kid in its mother's milk; and that th' Bible forbids." "I don't know," replied the man. Soon afterwards he went away, feeling unable to comfort, yet distressed at the sight of sorrow; she would fain have detained him, but go he would. And she was alone. She never for an instant believed Jem guilty; she would have doubted if the sun were fire, first: but sorrow, desolation, and, at times, anger took possession of her mind. She told the unconscious Alice, hoping to rouse her to sympathy; and then was disappointed, because, still smiling and calm, she murmured of her mother, and the happy days of infancy. CHAPTER XX. MARY'S DREAM--AND THE AWAKENING. "I saw where stark and cold he lay, Beneath the gallows-tree, And every one did point and say, ''Twas there he died for thee!' * * * * * * "Oh! weeping heart! Oh, bleeding heart! What boots thy pity now? Bid from his eyes that shade depart, That death-damp from his brow!" "THE BIRTLE TRAGEDY." So there was no more peace in the house of sickness, except to Alice, the dying Alice. But Mary knew nothing of the afternoon's occurrences; and gladly did she breathe in the fresh air, as she left Miss Simmonds' house, to hasten to the Wilsons'. The very change, from the in-door to the out-door atmosphere, seemed to alter the current of her thoughts. She thought less of the dreadful subject which had so haunted her all day; she cared less for the upbraiding speeches of her fellow work-women; the old association of comfort and sympathy received from Alice gave her the idea that, even now, her bodily presence would soothe and compose those who were in trouble, changed, unconscious, and absent though her spirit might be. Then, again, she reproached herself a little for the feeling of pleasure she experienced, in thinking that he whom she dreaded could never more beset her path; in the security with which she could pass each street corner--each shop, where he used to lie in ambush. Oh! beating heart! was there no other little thought of joy lurking within, to gladden the very air without? Was she not going to meet, to see, to hear Jem; and could they fail at last to understand each other's loving hearts! She softly lifted the latch, with the privilege of friendship. _He_ was not there, but his mother was standing by the fire, stirring some little mess or other. Never mind! he would come soon: and with an unmixed desire to do her grateful duty to all belonging to him, she stepped lightly forwards, unheard by the old lady, who was partly occupied by the simmering, bubbling sound of her bit of cookery; but more with her own sad thoughts, and wailing, half-uttered murmurings. Mary took off bonnet and shawl with speed, and advancing, made Mrs. Wilson conscious of her presence, by saying, "Let me do that for you. I'm sure you mun be tired." Mrs. Wilson slowly turned round, and her eyes gleamed like those of a pent-up wild beast, as she recognised her visitor. "And is it thee that dares set foot in this house, after what has come to pass? Is it not enough to have robbed me of my boy with thy arts and thy profligacy, but thou must come here to crow over me--me--his mother? Dost thou know where he is, thou bad hussy, with thy great blue eyes and yellow hair, to lead men on to ruin? Out upon thee, with thy angel's face, thou whited sepulchre! Dost thou know where Jem is, all through thee?" "No!" quivered out poor Mary, scarcely conscious that she spoke, so daunted, so terrified was she by the indignant mother's greeting. "He's lying in th' New Bailey," slowly and distinctly spoke the mother, watching the effect of her words, as if believing in their infinite power to pain. "There he lies, waiting to take his trial for murdering young Mr. Carson." There was no answer; but such a blanched face, such wild, distended eyes, such trembling limbs, instinctively seeking support! "Did you know Mr. Carson as now lies dead?" continued the merciless woman. "Folk say you did, and knew him but too well. And that for the sake of such as you, my precious child shot yon chap. But he did not. I know he did not. They may hang him, but his mother will speak to his innocence with her last dying breath." She stopped more from exhaustion than want of words. Mary spoke, but in so changed and choked a voice that the old woman almost started. It seemed as if some third person must be in the room, the voice was so hoarse and strange. "Please, say it again. I don't quite understand you. What has Jem done? Please to tell me." "I never said he had done it. I said, and I'll swear that he never did do it. I don't care who heard 'em quarrel, or if it is his gun as were found near the body. It's not my own Jem as would go for to kill any man, choose how a girl had jilted him. My own good Jem, as was a blessing sent upon the house where he was born." Tears came into the mother's burning eyes as her heart recurred to the days when she had rocked the cradle of her "first-born;" and then, rapidly passing over events, till the full consciousness of his present situation came upon her, and perhaps annoyed at having shown any softness of character in the presence of the Dalilah who had lured him to his danger, she spoke again, and in a sharper tone. "I told him, and told him to leave off thinking on thee; but he wouldn't be led by me. Thee! wench! thou were not good enough to wipe the dust off his feet. A vile, flirting quean as thou art. It's well thy mother does not know (poor body) what a good-for-nothing thou art." "Mother! oh mother!" said Mary, as if appealing to the merciful dead. "But I was not good enough for him! I know I was not," added she, in a voice of touching humility. For through her heart went tolling the ominous, prophetic words he had used when he had last spoken to her-- "Mary! you'll may be hear of me as a drunkard, and may be as a thief, and may be as a murderer. Remember! when all are speaking ill of me, yo will have no right to blame me, for it's your cruelty that will have made me what I feel I shall become." And she did not blame him, though she doubted not his guilt; she felt how madly she might act if once jealous of him, and how much cause had she not given him for jealousy, miserable guilty wretch that she was! Speak on, desolate mother! Abuse her as you will. Her broken spirit feels to have merited all. But her last humble, self-abased words had touched Mrs. Wilson's heart, sore as it was; and she looked at the snow-pale girl with those piteous eyes, so hopeless of comfort, and she relented in spite of herself. "Thou seest what comes of light conduct, Mary! It's thy doing that suspicion has lighted on him, who is as innocent as the babe unborn. Thou'lt have much to answer for if he's hung. Thou'lt have my death too at thy door!" Harsh as these words seem, she spoke them in a milder tone of voice than she had yet used. But the idea of Jem on the gallows, Jem dead, took possession of Mary, and she covered her eyes with her wan hands, as if indeed to shut out the fearful sight. She murmured some words, which, though spoken low, as if choked up from the depths of agony, Jane Wilson caught. "My heart is breaking," said she, feebly. "My heart is breaking." "Nonsense!" said Mrs. Wilson. "Don't talk in that silly way. My heart has a better right to break than yours, and yet I hold up, you see. But, oh dear! oh dear!" with a sudden revulsion of feeling, as the reality of the danger in which her son was placed pressed upon her. "What am I saying? How could I hold up if thou wert gone, Jem? Though I'm as sure as I stand here of thy innocence, if they hang thee, my lad, I will lie down and die!" She sobbed aloud with bitter consciousness of the fearful chance awaiting her child. She cried more passionately still. Mary roused herself up. "Oh, let me stay with you, at any rate, till we know the end. Dearest Mrs. Wilson, mayn't I stay?" The more obstinately and upbraidingly Mrs. Wilson refused, the more Mary pleaded, with ever the same soft, entreating cry, "Let me stay with you." Her stunned soul seemed to bound its wishes, for the hour at least, to remaining with one who loved and sorrowed for the same human being that she did. But no. Mrs. Wilson was inflexible. "I've may be been a bit hard on you, Mary, I'll own that. But I cannot abide you yet with me. I cannot but remember it's your giddiness as has wrought this woe. I'll stay wi' Alice, and perhaps Mrs. Davenport may come help a bit. I cannot put up with you about me. Good-night. To-morrow I may look on you different, may be. Good-night." And Mary turned out of the house, which had been _his_ home, where _he_ was loved, and mourned for, into the busy, desolate, crowded street, where they were crying halfpenny broadsides, giving an account of the bloody murder, the coroner's inquest, and a raw-head-and-bloody-bones picture of the suspected murderer, James Wilson. But Mary heard not, she heeded not. She staggered on like one in a dream. With hung head and tottering steps, she instinctively chose the shortest cut to that home, which was to her, in her present state of mind, only the hiding place of four walls, where she might vent her agony, unseen and unnoticed by the keen, unkind world without, but where no welcome, no love, no sympathising tears awaited her. As she neared that home, within two minutes' walk of it, her impetuous course was arrested by a light touch on her arm, and turning hastily, she saw a little Italian boy with his humble show-box,--a white mouse, or some such thing. The setting sun cast its red glow on his face, otherwise the olive complexion would have been very pale; and the glittering tear-drops hung on the long curled eye-lashes. With his soft voice and pleading looks, he uttered, in his pretty broken English, the words "Hungry! so hungry." And, as if to aid by gesture the effect of the solitary word, he pointed to his mouth, with its white quivering lips. Mary answered him impatiently, "Oh, lad, hunger is nothing--nothing!" And she rapidly passed on. But her heart upbraided her the next minute with her unrelenting speech, and she hastily entered her door and seized the scanty remnant of food which the cupboard contained, and retraced her steps to the place where the little hopeless stranger had sunk down by his mute companion in loneliness and starvation, and was raining down tears as he spoke in some foreign tongue, with low cries for the far distant "Mamma mia!" With the elasticity of heart belonging to childhood he sprang up as he saw the food the girl brought; she whose face, lovely in its woe, had tempted him first to address her; and, with the graceful courtesy of his country, he looked up and smiled while he kissed her hand, and then poured forth his thanks, and shared her bounty with his little pet companion. She stood an instant, diverted from the thought of her own grief by the sight of his infantine gladness; and then bending down and kissing his smooth forehead, she left him, and sought to be alone with her agony once more. She re-entered the house, locked the door, and tore off her bonnet, as if greedy of every moment which took her from the full indulgence of painful, despairing thought. Then she threw herself on the ground, yes, on the hard flags she threw her soft limbs down; and the comb fell out of her hair, and those bright tresses swept the dusty floor, while she pillowed and hid her face on her arms, and burst forth into hard, suffocating sobs. Oh, earth! thou didst seem but a dreary dwelling-place for thy poor child that night. None to comfort, none to pity! And self-reproach gnawing at her heart. Oh, why did she ever listen to the tempter? Why did she ever give ear to her own suggestions, and cravings after wealth and grandeur? Why had she thought it a fine thing to have a rich lover? She--she had deserved it all; but he was the victim,--he, the beloved. She could not conjecture, she could not even pause to think who had revealed, or how he had discovered her acquaintance with Harry Carson. It was but too clear, some way or another, he had learnt all; and what would he think of her? No hope of his love,--oh, that she would give up, and be content; it was his life, his precious life, that was threatened. Then she tried to recall the particulars, which, when Mrs. Wilson had given them, had fallen but upon a deafened ear,--something about a gun, a quarrel, which she could not remember clearly. Oh, how terrible to think of his crime, his blood-guiltiness; he who had hitherto been so good, so noble, and now an assassin! And then she shrank from him in thought; and then, with bitter remorse, clung more closely to his image with passionate self-upbraiding. Was it not she who had led him to the pit into which he had fallen? Was she to blame him? She to judge him? Who could tell how maddened he might have been by jealousy; how one moment's uncontrollable passion might have led him to become a murderer? And she had blamed him in her heart after his last deprecating, imploring, prophetic speech! Then she burst out crying afresh; and when weary of crying, fell to thinking again. The gallows! The gallows! Black it stood against the burning light which dazzled her shut eyes, press on them as she would. Oh! she was going mad; and for awhile she lay outwardly still, but with the pulses careering through her head with wild vehemence. And then came a strange forgetfulness of the present, in thought of the long-past times;--of those days when she hid her face on her mother's pitying, loving bosom, and heard tender words of comfort, be her grief or her error what it might;--of those days when she had felt as if her mother's love was too mighty not to last for ever;--of those days when hunger had been to her (as to the little stranger she had that evening relieved) something to be thought about, and mourned over;--when Jem and she had played together; he, with the condescension of an older child, and she, with unconscious earnestness, believing that he was as much gratified with important trifles as she was;--when her father was a cheery-hearted man, rich in the love of his wife, and the companionship of his friend;--when (for it still worked round to that), when mother was alive, and _he_ was not a murderer. And then Heaven blessed her unaware, and she sank from remembering, to wandering, unconnected thought, and thence to sleep. Yes! it was sleep, though in that strange posture, on that hard cold bed; and she dreamt of the happy times of long ago, and her mother came to her, and kissed her as she lay, and once more the dead were alive again in that happy world of dreams. All was restored to the gladness of childhood, even to the little kitten which had been her playmate and bosom friend then, and which had been long forgotten in her waking hours. All the loved ones were there! She suddenly wakened! Clear and wide awake! Some noise had startled her from sleep. She sat up, and put her hair (still wet with tears) back from her flushed cheeks, and listened. At first she could only hear her beating heart. All was still without, for it was after midnight, such hours of agony had passed away; but the moon shone clearly in at the unshuttered window, making the room almost as light as day, in its cold ghastly radiance. There was a low knock at the door! A strange feeling crept over Mary's heart, as if something spiritual were near; as if the dead, so lately present in her dreams, were yet gliding and hovering round her, with their dim, dread forms. And yet, why dread? Had they not loved her?--and who loved her now? Was she not lonely enough to welcome the spirits of the dead, who had loved her while here? If her mother had conscious being, her love for her child endured. So she quieted her fears, and listened--listened still. "Mary! Mary! open the door!" as a little movement on her part seemed to tell the being outside of her wakeful, watchful state. They were the accents of her mother's voice; the very south-country pronunciation, that Mary so well remembered; and which she had sometimes tried to imitate when alone, with the fond mimicry of affection. So, without fear, without hesitation, she rose and unbarred the door. There, against the moonlight, stood a form, so closely resembling her dead mother, that Mary never doubted the identity, but exclaiming (as if she were a terrified child, secure of safety when near the protecting care of its parent)-- "Oh! mother! mother! You are come at last!" She threw herself, or rather fell, into the trembling arms of her long-lost, unrecognised aunt Esther. CHAPTER XXI. ESTHER'S MOTIVE IN SEEKING MARY. "My rest is gone, My heart is sore, Peace find I never, And never more." MARGARET'S SONG IN "FAUST." I must go back a little to explain the motives which caused Esther to seek an interview with her niece. The murder had been committed early on Thursday night, and between then and the dawn of the following day there was ample time for the news to spread far and wide among all those whose duty, or whose want, or whose errors, caused them to be abroad in the streets of Manchester. Among those who listened to the tale of violence was Esther. A craving desire to know more took possession of her mind. Far away as she was from Turner Street, she immediately set off to the scene of the murder, which was faintly lighted by the gray dawn as she reached the spot. It was so quiet and still that she could hardly believe it to be the place. The only vestige of any scuffle or violence was a trail on the dust, as if somebody had been lying there, and then been raised by extraneous force. The little birds were beginning to hop and twitter in the leafless hedge, making the only sound that was near and distinct. She crossed into the field where she guessed the murderer to have stood; it was easy of access, for the worn, stunted hawthorn-hedge had many gaps in it. The night-smell of bruised grass came up from under her feet, as she went towards the saw-pit and carpenter's shed, which, as I have said before, were in a corner of the field near the road, and where one of her informants had told her it was supposed by the police that the murderer had lurked while waiting for his victim. There was no sign, however, that any one had been about the place. If the grass had been bruised or bent where he had trod, it had had enough of the elasticity of life to raise itself under the dewy influences of night. She hushed her breath with involuntary awe, but nothing else told of the violent deed by which a fellow-creature had passed away. She stood still for a minute, imagining to herself the position of the parties, guided by the only circumstance which afforded any evidence, the trailing mark on the dust in the road. Suddenly (it was before the sun had risen above the horizon) she became aware of something white in the hedge. All other colours wore the same murky hue, though the forms of objects were perfectly distinct. What was it? It could not be a flower;--that, the time of year made clear. A frozen lump of snow, lingering late in one of the gnarled tufts of the hedge? She stepped forward to examine. It proved to be a little piece of stiff writing-paper compressed into a round shape. She understood it instantly; it was the paper that had served as wadding for the murderer's gun. Then she had been standing just where the murderer must have been but a few hours before; probably (as the rumour had spread through the town, reaching her ears) one of the poor maddened turn-outs, who hung about everywhere, with black, fierce looks, as if contemplating some deed of violence. Her sympathy was all with them, for she had known what they suffered; and besides this there was her own individual dislike of Mr. Carson, and dread of him for Mary's sake. Yet, poor Mary! Death was a terrible, though sure, remedy for the evil Esther had dreaded for her; and how would she stand the shock, loving as her aunt believed her to do? Poor Mary! who would comfort her? Esther's thoughts began to picture her sorrow, her despair, when the news of her lover's death should reach her; and she longed to tell her there might have been a keener grief yet had he lived. Bright, beautiful came the slanting rays of the morning sun. It was time for such as she to hide themselves, with the other obscene things of night, from the glorious light of day, which was only for the happy. So she turned her steps towards town, still holding the paper. But in getting over the hedge it encumbered her to hold it in her clasped hand, and she threw it down. She passed on a few steps, her thoughts still of Mary, till the idea crossed her mind, could it (blank as it appeared to be) give any clue to the murderer? As I said before, her sympathies were all on that side, so she turned back and picked it up; and then feeling as if in some measure an accessory, she hid it unexamined in her hand, and hastily passed out of the street at the opposite end to that by which she had entered it. And what do you think she felt, when, having walked some distance from the spot, she dared to open the crushed paper, and saw written on it Mary Barton's name, and not only that, but the street in which she lived! True, a letter or two was torn off, but, nevertheless, there was the name clear to be recognised. And oh! what terrible thought flashed into her mind; or was it only fancy? But it looked very like the writing which she had once known well--the writing of Jem Wilson, who, when she lived at her brother-in-law's, and he was a near neighbour, had often been employed by her to write her letters to people, to whom she was ashamed of sending her own misspelt scrawl. She remembered the wonderful flourishes she had so much admired in those days, while she sat by dictating, and Jem, in all the pride of newly-acquired penmanship, used to dazzle her eyes by extraordinary graces and twirls. If it were his! Oh! perhaps it was merely that her head was running so on Mary, that she was associating every trifle with her. As if only one person wrote in that flourishing, meandering style! It was enough to fill her mind to think from what she might have saved Mary by securing the paper. She would look at it just once more, and see if some very dense and stupid policeman could have mistaken the name, or if Mary would certainly have been dragged into notice in the affair. No! no one could have mistaken the "ry Barton," and it _was_ Jem's handwriting! Oh! if it was so, she understood it all, and she had been the cause! With her violent and unregulated nature, rendered morbid by the course of life she led, and her consciousness of her degradation, she cursed herself for the interference which she believed had led to this; for the information and the warning she had given to Jem, which had roused him to this murderous action. How could she, the abandoned and polluted outcast, ever have dared to hope for a blessing, even on her efforts to do good? The black curse of Heaven rested on all her doings, were they for good or for evil. Poor, diseased mind! and there were none to minister to thee! So she wandered about, too restless to take her usual heavy morning's sleep, up and down the streets, greedily listening to every word of the passers by, and loitering near each group of talkers, anxious to scrape together every morsel of information, or conjecture, or suspicion, though without possessing any definite purpose in all this. And ever and always she clenched the scrap of paper which might betray so much, until her nails had deeply indented the palm of her hand; so fearful was she in her nervous dread, lest unawares she should let it drop. Towards the middle of the day she could no longer evade the body's craving want of rest and refreshment; but the rest was taken in a spirit vault, and the refreshment was a glass of gin. Then she started up from the stupor she had taken for repose; and suddenly driven before the gusty impulses of her mind, she pushed her way to the place where at that very time the police were bringing the information they had gathered with regard to the all-engrossing murder. She listened with painful acuteness of comprehension to dropped words and unconnected sentences, the meaning of which became clearer, and yet more clear to her. Jem was suspected. Jem was ascertained to be the murderer. She saw him (although he, absorbed in deep sad thought, saw her not), she saw him brought hand-cuffed and guarded out of the coach. She saw him enter the station,--she gasped for breath till he came out, still hand-cuffed, and still guarded, to be conveyed to the New Bailey. He was the only one who had spoken to her with hope, that she might yet win her way back to virtue. His words had lingered in her heart with a sort of call to Heaven, like distant Sabbath bells, although in her despair she had turned away from his voice. He was the only one who had spoken to her kindly. The murder, shocking though it was, was an absent, abstract thing, on which her thoughts could not, and would not dwell; all that was present in her mind was Jem's danger, and his kindness. Then Mary came to remembrance. Esther wondered till she was sick of wondering, in what way she was taking the affair. In some manner it would be a terrible blow for the poor, motherless girl; with her dreadful father, too, who was to Esther a sort of accusing angel. She set off towards the court where Mary lived, to pick up what she could there of information. But she was ashamed to enter in where once she had been innocent, and hung about the neighbouring streets, not daring to question, so she learnt but little; nothing in fact but the knowledge of John Barton's absence from home. She went up a dark entry to rest her weary limbs on a door-step and think. Her elbows on her knees, her face hidden in her hands, she tried to gather together and arrange her thoughts. But still every now and then she opened her hand to see if the paper were yet there. She got up at last. She had formed a plan, and had a course of action to look forward to that would satisfy one craving desire at least. The time was long gone by when there was much wisdom or consistency in her projects. It was getting late, and that was so much the better. She went to a pawn-shop, and took off her finery in a back room. She was known by the people, and had a character for honesty, so she had no very great difficulty in inducing them to let her have a suit of outer clothes, befitting the wife of a working-man, a black silk bonnet, a printed gown, a plaid shawl, dirty and rather worn to be sure, but which had a sort of sanctity to the eyes of the street-walker as being the appropriate garb of that happy class to which she could never, never more belong. She looked at herself in the little glass which hung against the wall, and sadly shaking her head, thought how easy were the duties of that Eden of innocence from which she was shut out; how she would work, and toil, and starve, and die, if necessary, for a husband, a home,--for children,--but that thought she could not bear; a little form rose up, stern in its innocence, from the witches' cauldron of her imagination, and she rushed into action again. You know now how she came to stand by the threshold of Mary's door, waiting, trembling, until the latch was lifted, and her niece, with words that spoke of such desolation among the living, fell into her arms. She had felt as if some holy spell would prevent her (even as the unholy Lady Geraldine was prevented, in the abode of Christabel) from crossing the threshold of that home of her early innocence; and she had meant to wait for an invitation. But Mary's helpless action did away with all reluctant feeling, and she bore or dragged her to a seat, and looked on her bewildered eyes, as, puzzled with the likeness, which was not identity, she gazed on her aunt's features. In pursuance of her plan, Esther meant to assume the manners and character, as she had done the dress, of a mechanic's wife; but then, to account for her long absence, and her long silence towards all that ought to have been dear to her, it was necessary that she should put on an indifference far distant from her heart, which was loving and yearning, in spite of all its faults. And, perhaps, she overacted her part, for certainly Mary felt a kind of repugnance to the changed and altered aunt, who so suddenly re-appeared on the scene; and it would have cut Esther to the very core, could she have known how her little darling of former days was feeling towards her. "You don't remember me I see, Mary!" she began. "It's a long while since I left you all, to be sure; and I, many a time, thought of coming to see you, and--and your father. But I live so far off, and am always so busy, I cannot do just what I wish. You recollect aunt Esther, don't you, Mary?" "Are you aunt Hetty?" asked Mary, faintly, still looking at the face which was so different from the old recollections of her aunt's fresh dazzling beauty. "Yes! I am aunt Hetty. Oh! it's so long since I heard that name," sighing forth the thoughts it suggested; then recovering herself, and striving after the hard character she wished to assume, she continued: "And to-day I heard a friend of yours, and of mine too, long ago, was in trouble, and I guessed you would be in sorrow, so I thought I would just step this far and see you." Mary's tears flowed afresh, but she had no desire to open her heart to her strangely-found aunt, who had, by her own confession, kept aloof from and neglected them for so many years. Yet she tried to feel grateful for kindness (however late) from any one, and wished to be civil. Moreover, she had a strong disinclination to speak on the terrible subject uppermost in her mind. So, after a pause she said, "Thank you. I dare say you mean very kind. Have you had a long walk? I'm so sorry," said she, rising, with a sudden thought, which was as suddenly checked by recollection, "but I've nothing to eat in the house, and I'm sure you must be hungry, after your walk." For Mary concluded that certainly her aunt's residence must be far away on the other side of the town, out of sight or hearing. But, after all, she did not think much about her; her heart was so aching-full of other things, that all besides seemed like a dream. She received feelings and impressions from her conversation with her aunt, but did not, could not, put them together, or think or argue about them. And Esther! How scanty had been her food for days and weeks, her thinly-covered bones and pale lips might tell, but her words should never reveal! So, with a little unreal laugh, she replied, "Oh! Mary, my dear! don't talk about eating. We've the best of every thing, and plenty of it, for my husband is in good work. I'd such a supper before I came out. I couldn't touch a morsel if you had it." Her words shot a strange pang through Mary's heart. She had always remembered her aunt's loving and unselfish disposition; how was it changed, if, living in plenty, she had never thought it worth while to ask after her relations, who were all but starving! She shut up her heart instinctively against her aunt. And all the time poor Esther was swallowing her sobs, and over-acting her part, and controlling herself more than she had done for many a long day, in order that her niece might not be shocked and revolted, by the knowledge of what her aunt had become:--a prostitute; an outcast. For she longed to open her wretched, wretched heart, so hopeless, so abandoned by all living things, to one who had loved her once; and yet she refrained, from dread of the averted eye, the altered voice, the internal loathing, which she feared such disclosure might create. She would go straight to the subject of the day. She could not tarry long, for she felt unable to support the character she had assumed for any length of time. They sat by the little round table, facing each other. The candle was placed right between them, and Esther moved it in order to have a clearer view of Mary's face, so that she might read her emotions, and ascertain her interests. Then she began: "It's a bad business, I'm afraid, this of Mr. Carson's murder." Mary winced a little. "I hear Jem Wilson is taken up for it." Mary covered her eyes with her hands, as if to shade them from the light, and Esther herself, less accustomed to self-command, was getting too much agitated for calm observation of another. "I was taking a walk near Turner Street, and I went to see the spot," continued Esther, "and, as luck would have it, I spied this bit of paper in the hedge," producing the precious piece still folded in her hand. "It has been used as wadding for the gun, I reckon; indeed, that's clear enough, from the shape it's crammed into. I was sorry for the murderer, whoever he might be (I didn't then know of Jem's being suspected), and I thought I would never leave a thing about as might help, if ever so little, to convict him; the police are so 'cute about straws. So I carried it a little way, and then I opened it and saw your name, Mary." Mary took her hands away from her eyes, and looked with surprise at her aunt's face, as she uttered these words. She _was_ kind after all, for was she not saving her from being summoned, and from being questioned and examined; a thing to be dreaded above all others: as she felt sure that her unwilling answers, frame them how she might, would add to the suspicions against Jem; her aunt was indeed kind, to think of what would spare her this. Esther went on, without noticing Mary's look. The very action of speaking was so painful to her, and so much interrupted by the hard, raking little cough, which had been her constant annoyance for months, that she was too much engrossed by the physical difficulty of utterance, to be a very close observer. "There could be no mistake if they had found it. Look at your name, together with the very name of this court! And in Jem's hand-writing too, or I'm much mistaken. Look, Mary!" And now she did watch her. Mary took the paper and flattened it; then suddenly stood stiff up, with irrepressible movement, as if petrified by some horror abruptly disclosed; her face, strung and rigid; her lips compressed tight, to keep down some rising exclamation. She dropped on her seat, as suddenly as if the braced muscles had in an instant given way. But she spoke no word. "It is his hand-writing--isn't it?" asked Esther, though Mary's manner was almost confirmation enough. "You will not tell. You never will tell," demanded Mary, in a tone so sternly earnest, as almost to be threatening. "Nay, Mary," said Esther, rather reproachfully, "I am not so bad as that. Oh! Mary, you cannot think I would do that, whatever I may be." The tears sprang to her eyes at the idea that she was suspected of being one who would help to inform against an old friend. Mary caught her sad and upbraiding look. "No! I know you would not tell, aunt. I don't know what I say, I am so shocked. But say you will not tell. Do." "No, indeed I will not tell, come what may." Mary sat still, looking at the writing, and turning the paper round with careful examination, trying to hope, but her very fears belying her hopes. "I thought you cared for the young man that's murdered," observed Esther, half aloud; but feeling that she could not mistake this strange interest in the suspected murderer, implied by Mary's eagerness to screen him from any thing which might strengthen suspicion against him. She had come, desirous to know the extent of Mary's grief for Mr. Carson, and glad of the excuse afforded her by the important scrap of paper. Her remark about its being Jem's hand-writing, she had, with this view of ascertaining Mary's state of feeling, felt to be most imprudent the instant after she uttered it; but Mary's anxiety that she should not tell was too great, and too decided, to leave a doubt as to her interest for Jem. She grew more and more bewildered, and her dizzy head refused to reason. Mary never spoke. She held the bit of paper firmly, determined to retain possession of it, come what might; and anxious, and impatient, for her aunt to go. As she sat, her face bore a likeness to Esther's dead child. "You are so like my little girl, Mary!" said Esther, weary of the one subject on which she could get no satisfaction, and recurring, with full heart, to the thought of the dead. Mary looked up. Her aunt had children, then. That was all the idea she received. No faint imagination of the love and the woe of that poor creature crossed her mind, or she would have taken her, all guilty and erring, to her bosom, and tried to bind up the broken heart. No! it was not to be. Her aunt had children, then; and she was on the point of putting some question about them, but before it could be spoken another thought turned it aside, and she went back to her task of unravelling the mystery of the paper, and the hand-writing. Oh! how she wished her aunt would go. As if, according to the believers in mesmerism, the intenseness of her wish gave her power over another, although the wish was unexpressed, Esther felt herself unwelcome, and that her absence was desired. She felt this some time before she could summon up resolution to go. She was so much disappointed in this longed-for, dreaded interview with Mary; she had wished to impose upon her with her tale of married respectability, and yet she had yearned and craved for sympathy in her real lot. And she had imposed upon her well. She should perhaps be glad of it afterwards; but her desolation of hope seemed for the time redoubled. And she must leave the old dwelling-place, whose very walls, and flags, dingy and sordid as they were, had a charm for her. Must leave the abode of poverty, for the more terrible abodes of vice. She must--she would go. "Well, good-night, Mary. That bit of paper is safe enough with you, I see. But you made me promise I would not tell about it, and you must promise me to destroy it before you sleep." "I promise," said Mary, hoarsely, but firmly. "Then you are going?" "Yes. Not if you wish me to stay. Not if I could be of any comfort to you, Mary;" catching at some glimmering hope. "Oh, no," said Mary, anxious to be alone. "Your husband will be wondering where you are. Some day you must tell me all about yourself. I forget what your name is?" "Fergusson," said Esther, sadly. "Mrs. Fergusson," repeated Mary, half unconsciously. "And where did you say you lived?" "I never did say," muttered Esther; then aloud, "In Angel's Meadow, 145, Nicholas Street." "145, Nicholas Street, Angel Meadow. I shall remember." As Esther drew her shawl around her, and prepared to depart, a thought crossed Mary's mind that she had been cold and hard in her manner towards one, who had certainly meant to act kindly in bringing her the paper (that dread, terrible piece of paper) and thus saving her from--she could not rightly think how much, or how little she was spared. So, desirous of making up for her previous indifferent manner, she advanced to kiss her aunt before her departure. But, to her surprise, her aunt pushed her off with a frantic kind of gesture, and saying the words, "Not me. You must never kiss me. You!" She rushed into the outer darkness of the street, and there wept long and bitterly. CHAPTER XXII. MARY'S EFFORTS TO PROVE AN ALIBI. "There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun; As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear Was, with its stored thunder, labouring up." KEATS' "HYPERION." No sooner was Mary alone than she fastened the door, and put the shutters up against the window, which had all this time remained shaded only by the curtains hastily drawn together on Esther's entrance, and the lighting of the candle. She did all this with the same compressed lips, and the same stony look that her face had assumed on the first examination of the paper. Then she sat down for an instant to think; and rising directly, went, with a step rendered firm by inward resolution of purpose, up the stairs;--passed her own door, two steps, into her father's room. What did she want there? I must tell you; I must put into words the dreadful secret which she believed that bit of paper had revealed to her. Her father was the murderer! That corner of stiff, shining, thick writing-paper, she recognised as part of the sheet on which she had copied Samuel Bamford's beautiful lines so many months ago--copied (as you perhaps remember) on the blank part of a valentine sent to her by Jem Wilson, in those days when she did not treasure and hoard up every thing he had touched, as she would do now. That copy had been given to her father, for whom it was made, and she had occasionally seen him reading it over, not a fortnight ago she was sure. But she resolved to ascertain if the other part still remained in his possession. He might, it was just possible he _might_, have given it away to some friend; and if so, that person was the guilty one, for she could swear to the paper anywhere. First of all she pulled out every article from the little old chest of drawers. Amongst them were some things which had belonged to her mother, but she had no time now to examine and try and remember them. All the reverence she could pay them was to carry them and lay them on the bed carefully, while the other things were tossed impatiently out upon the floor. The copy of Bamford's lines was not there. Oh! perhaps he might have given it away; but then must it not have been to Jem? It was his gun. And she set to with redoubled vigour to examine the deal-box which served as chair, and which had once contained her father's Sunday clothes, in the days when he could afford to have Sunday clothes. He had redeemed his better coat from the pawn-shop before he left, that she had noticed. Here was his old one. What rustled under her hand in the pocket? The paper! "Oh! Father!" Yes, it fitted; jagged end to jagged end, letter to letter; and even the part which Esther had considered blank had its tallying mark with the larger piece, its tails of _y_s and _g_s. And then, as if that were not damning evidence enough, she felt again, and found some bullets or shot (I don't know which you would call them) in that same pocket, along with a small paper parcel of gunpowder. As she was going to replace the jacket, having abstracted the paper, and bullets, &c., she saw a woollen gun-case made of that sort of striped horse-cloth you must have seen a thousand times appropriated to such a purpose. The sight of it made her examine still further, but there was nothing else that could afford any evidence, so she locked the box, and sat down on the floor to contemplate the articles; now with a sickening despair, now with a kind of wondering curiosity, how her father had managed to evade observation. After all it was easy enough. He had evidently got possession of some gun (was it really Jem's; was he an accomplice? No! she did not believe it; he never, never would deliberately plan a murder with another, however he might be wrought up to it by passionate feeling at the time. Least of all would he accuse her to her father, without previously warning her; it was out of his nature). Then having obtained possession of the gun, her father had loaded it at home, and might have carried it away with him some time when the neighbours were not noticing, and she was out, or asleep; and then he might have hidden it somewhere to be in readiness when he should want it. She was sure he had no such thing with him when he went away the last time. She felt it was of no use to conjecture his motives. His actions had become so wild and irregular of late, that she could not reason upon them. Besides, was it not enough to know that he was guilty of this terrible offence? Her love for her father seemed to return with painful force, mixed up as it was with horror at his crime. That dear father, who was once so kind, so warm-hearted, so ready to help either man or beast in distress, to murder! But, in the desert of misery with which these thoughts surrounded her, the arid depths of whose gloom she dared not venture to contemplate, a little spring of comfort was gushing up at her feet, unnoticed at first, but soon to give her strength and hope. And _that_ was the necessity for exertion on her part which this discovery enforced. Oh! I do think that the necessity for exertion, for some kind of action (bodily or mental) in time of distress, is a most infinite blessing, although the first efforts at such seasons are painful. Something to be done implies that there is yet hope of some good thing to be accomplished, or some additional evil that may be avoided; and by degrees the hope absorbs much of the sorrow. It is the woes that cannot in any earthly way be escaped that admit least earthly comforting. Of all trite, worn-out, hollow mockeries of comfort that were ever uttered by people who will not take the trouble of sympathising with others, the one I dislike the most is the exhortation not to grieve over an event, "for it cannot be helped." Do you think if I could help it, I would sit still with folded hands, content to mourn? Do you not believe that as long as hope remained I would be up and doing? I mourn because what has occurred cannot be helped. The reason you give me for not grieving, is the very and sole reason of my grief. Give me nobler and higher reasons for enduring meekly what my Father sees fit to send, and I will try earnestly and faithfully to be patient; but mock me not, or any other mourner, with the speech, "Do not grieve, for it cannot be helped. It is past remedy." But some remedy to Mary's sorrow came with thinking. If her father was guilty, Jem was innocent. If innocent, there was a possibility of saving him. He must be saved. And she must do it; for was not she the sole depository of the terrible secret? Her father was not suspected; and never should be, if by any foresight or any exertions of her own she could prevent it. She did not yet know how Jem was to be saved, while her father was also to be considered innocent. It would require much thought and much prudence. But with the call upon her exertions, and her various qualities of judgment and discretion, came the answering consciousness of innate power to meet the emergency. Every step now, nay, the employment of every minute, was of consequence; for you must remember she had learnt at Miss Simmonds' the probability that the murderer would be brought to trial the next week. And you must remember, too, that never was so young a girl so friendless, or so penniless, as Mary was at this time. But the lion accompanied Una through the wilderness and the danger; and so will a high, resolved purpose of right-doing ever guard and accompany the helpless. It struck two; deep, mirk, night. It was of no use bewildering herself with plans this weary, endless night. Nothing could be done before morning: and, at first in her impatience, she began to long for day; but then she felt in how unfit a state her body was for any plan of exertion, and she resolutely made up her mind to husband her physical strength. First of all she must burn the tell-tale paper. The powder, bullets, and gun-case, she tied into a bundle, and hid in the sacking of the bed for the present, although there was no likelihood of their affording evidence against any one. Then she carried the paper down stairs, and burnt it on the hearth, powdering the very ashes with her fingers, and dispersing the fragments of fluttering black films among the cinders of the grate. Then she breathed again. Her head ached with dizzying violence; she must get quit of the pain or it would incapacitate her for thinking and planning. She looked for food, but there was nothing but a little raw oatmeal in the house: still, although it almost choked her, she ate some of this, knowing from experience, how often headaches were caused by long fasting. Then she sought for some water to bathe her throbbing temples, and quench her feverish thirst. There was none in the house, so she took the jug and went out to the pump at the other end of the court, whose echoes resounded her light footsteps in the quiet stillness of the night. The hard, square outlines of the houses cut sharply against the cold bright sky, from which myriads of stars were shining down in eternal repose. There was little sympathy in the outward scene, with the internal trouble. All was so still, so motionless, so hard! Very different to this lovely night in the country in which I am now writing, where the distant horizon is soft and undulating in the moonlight, and the nearer trees sway gently to and fro in the night-wind with something of almost human motion; and the rustling air makes music among their branches, as if speaking soothingly to the weary ones who lie awake in heaviness of heart. The sights and sounds of such a night lull pain and grief to rest. But Mary re-entered her home after she had filled her pitcher, with a still stronger sense of anxiety, and a still clearer conviction of how much rested upon her unassisted and friendless self, alone with her terrible knowledge, in the hard, cold, populous world. She bathed her forehead, and quenched her thirst, and then, with wise deliberation of purpose, went upstairs, and undressed herself, as if for a long night's slumber, although so few hours intervened before day-dawn. She believed she never could sleep, but she lay down, and shut her eyes; and before many minutes she was in as deep and sound a slumber as if there was no sin nor sorrow in the world. She awakened, as it was natural, much refreshed in body; but with a consciousness of some great impending calamity. She sat up in bed to recollect, and when she did remember, she sank down again with all the helplessness of despair. But it was only the weakness of an instant; for were not the very minutes precious, for deliberation if not for action? Before she had finished the necessary morning business of dressing, and setting her house in some kind of order, she had disentangled her ravelled ideas, and arranged some kind of a plan for action. If Jem was innocent (and now, of his guilt, even his slightest participation in, or knowledge of, the murder, she acquitted him with all her heart and soul), he must have been somewhere else when the crime was committed; probably with some others, who might bear witness to the fact, if she only knew where to find them. Every thing rested on her. She had heard of an alibi, and believed it might mean the deliverance she wished to accomplish; but she was not quite sure, and determined to apply to Job, as one of the few among her acquaintance gifted with the knowledge of hard words, for to her, all terms of law, or natural history, were alike many-syllabled mysteries. No time was to be lost. She went straight to Job Legh's house, and found the old man and his grand-daughter sitting at breakfast; as she opened the door she heard their voices speaking in a grave, hushed, subdued tone, as if something grieved their hearts. They stopped talking on her entrance, and then she knew they had been conversing about the murder; about Jem's probable guilt; and (it flashed upon her for the first time) on the new light they would have obtained regarding herself: for until now they had never heard of her giddy flirting with Mr. Carson; not in all her confidential talk with Margaret had she ever spoken of him. And now Margaret would hear her conduct talked of by all, as that of a bold, bad girl; and even if she did not believe every thing that was said, she could hardly help feeling wounded, and disappointed in Mary. So it was in a timid voice that Mary wished her usual good-morrow, and her heart sank within her a little, when Job, with a form of civility, bade her welcome in that dwelling, where, until now, she had been too well assured to require to be asked to sit down. She took a chair. Margaret continued silent. "I'm come to speak to you about this--about Jem Wilson." "It's a bad business, I'm afeared," replied Job, sadly. "Ay, it's bad enough anyhow. But Jem's innocent. Indeed he is; I'm as sure as sure can be." "How can you know, wench? Facts bear strong again him, poor fellow, though he'd a deal to put him up, and aggravate him, they say. Ay, poor lad, he's done for himself, I'm afeared." "Job!" said Mary, rising from her chair in her eagerness, "you must not say he did it. He didn't; I'm sure and certain he didn't. Oh! why do you shake your head? Who is to believe me,--who is to think him innocent, if you, who know'd him so well, stick to it he's guilty?" "I'm loth enough to do it, lass," replied Job; "but I think he's been ill used, and--jilted (that's plain truth, Mary, hard as it may seem), and his blood has been up--many a man has done the like afore, from like causes." "Oh, God! Then you won't help me, Job, to prove him innocent? Oh! Job, Job; believe me, Jem never did harm to no one." "Not afore;--and mind, wench! I don't over-blame him for this." Job relapsed into silence. Mary thought a moment. "Well, Job, you'll not refuse me this, I know. I won't mind what you think, if you'll help me as if he was innocent. Now suppose I know--I knew he was innocent,--it's only supposing, Job,--what must I do to prove it? Tell me, Job! Isn't it called an _alibi_, the getting folk to swear to where he really was at the time?" "Best way, if you know'd him innocent, would be to find out the real murderer. Some one did it, that's clear enough. If it wasn't Jem, who was it?" "How can I tell?" answered Mary, in an agony of terror, lest Job's question was prompted by any suspicion of the truth. But he was far enough from any such thought. Indeed, he had no doubt in his own mind that Jem had, in some passionate moment, urged on by slighted love and jealousy, been the murderer. And he was strongly inclined to believe, that Mary was aware of this, only that, too late repentant of her light conduct which had led to such fatal consequences, she was now most anxious to save her old play-fellow, her early friend, from the doom awaiting the shedder of blood. "If Jem's not done it, I don't see as any on us can tell who did. We might find out something if we'd time; but they say he's to be tried on Tuesday. It's no use hiding it, Mary; things looks strong against him." "I know they do! I know they do! But, oh! Job! isn't an _alibi_ a proving where he really was at th' time of the murder; and how must I set about an _alibi_?" "An _alibi_ is that, sure enough." He thought a little. "You mun ask his mother his doings, and his whereabouts that night; the knowledge of that will guide you a bit." For he was anxious that on another should fall the task of enlightening Mary on the hopelessness of the case, and he felt that her own sense would be more convinced by inquiry and examination than any mere assertion of his. Margaret had sat silent and grave all this time. To tell the truth, she was surprised and disappointed by the disclosure of Mary's conduct, with regard to Mr. Henry Carson. Gentle, reserved, and prudent herself, never exposed to the trial of being admired for her personal appearance, and unsusceptible enough to be in doubt even yet, whether the fluttering, tender, infinitely-joyous feeling she was for the first time experiencing, at sight, or sound, or thought of Will Wilson, was love or not,--Margaret had no sympathy with the temptations to which loveliness, vanity, ambition, or the desire of being admired, exposes so many; no sympathy with flirting girls, in short. Then, she had no idea of the strength of the conflict between will and principle in some who were differently constituted from herself. With her, to be convinced that an action was wrong, was tantamount to a determination not to do so again; and she had little or no difficulty in carrying out her determination. So she could not understand how it was that Mary had acted wrongly, and had felt too much ashamed, in spite of all internal sophistry, to speak of her actions. Margaret considered herself deceived; felt aggrieved; and, at the time of which I am now telling you, was strongly inclined to give Mary up altogether, as a girl devoid of the modest proprieties of her sex, and capable of gross duplicity, in speaking of one lover as she had done of Jem, while she was encouraging another in attentions, at best of a very doubtful character. But now Margaret was drawn into the conversation. Suddenly it flashed across Mary's mind, that the night of the murder was the very night, or rather the same early morning, that Margaret had been with Alice. She turned sharp round, with-- "Oh! Margaret, you can tell me; you were there when he came back that night; were you not? No! you were not; but you were there not many hours after. Did not you hear where he'd been? He was away the night before, too, when Alice was first taken; when you were there for your tea. Oh! where was he, Margaret?" "I don't know," she answered. "Stay! I do remember something about his keeping Will company, in his walk to Liverpool. I can't justly say what it was, so much happened that night." "I'll go to his mother's," said Mary, resolutely. They neither of them spoke, either to advise or dissuade. Mary felt she had no sympathy from them, and braced up her soul to act without such loving aid of friendship. She knew that their advice would be willingly given at her demand, and that was all she really required for Jem's sake. Still her courage failed a little as she walked to Jane Wilson's, alone in the world with her secret. Jane Wilson's eyes were swelled with crying; and it was sad to see the ravages which intense anxiety and sorrow had made on her appearance in four-and-twenty hours. All night long she and Mrs. Davenport had crooned over their sorrows, always recurring, like the burden of an old song, to the dreadest sorrow of all, which was now impending over Mrs. Wilson. She had grown--I hardly know what word to use--but, something like proud of her martyrdom; she had grown to hug her grief; to feel an excitement in her agony of anxiety about her boy. "So, Mary, you're here! Oh! Mary, lass! He's to be tried on Tuesday." She fell to sobbing, in the convulsive breath-catching manner which tells so of much previous weeping. "Oh! Mrs. Wilson, don't take on so! We'll get him off, you'll see. Don't fret; they can't prove him guilty!" "But I tell thee they will," interrupted Mrs. Wilson, half-irritated at the light way, as she considered it, in which Mary spoke; and a little displeased that another could hope when she had almost brought herself to find pleasure in despair. "It may suit thee well," continued she, "to make light o' the misery thou hast caused; but I shall lay his death at thy door, as long as I live, and die I know he will; and all for what he never did--no, he never did; my own blessed boy!" She was too weak to be angry long; her wrath sank away to feeble sobbing and worn-out moans. Mary was most anxious to soothe her from any violence of either grief or anger; she did so want her to be clear in her recollection; and, besides, her tenderness was great towards Jem's mother. So she spoke in a low gentle tone the loving sentences, which sound so broken and powerless in repetition, and which yet have so much power when accompanied with caressing looks and actions, fresh from the heart; and the old woman insensibly gave herself up to the influence of those sweet, loving blue eyes, those tears of sympathy, those words of love and hope, and was lulled into a less morbid state of mind. "And now, dear Mrs. Wilson, can you remember where he said he was going on Thursday night? He was out when Alice was taken ill; and he did not come home till early in the morning, or, to speak true, in the night: did he?" "Ay! he went out near upon five; he went out with Will; he said he were going to set [45] him a part of the way, for Will were hot upon walking to Liverpool, and wouldn't hearken to Jem's offer of lending him five shilling for his fare. So the two lads set off together. I mind it all now; but, thou seest, Alice's illness, and this business of poor Jem's, drove it out of my head; they went off together, to walk to Liverpool; that's to say, Jem were to go a part o' th' way. But, who knows" (falling back into the old desponding tone) "if he really went? He might be led off on the road. Oh! Mary, wench! they'll hang him for what he's never done." [Footnote 45: "To set," to accompany.] "No, they won't--they shan't! I see my way a bit now. We mun get Will to help; there'll be time. He can swear that Jem were with him. Where is Jem?" "Folk said he were taken to Kirkdale, i' th' prison-van, this morning; without my seeing him, poor chap! Oh! wench! but they've hurried on the business at a cruel rate." "Ay! they've not let grass grow under their feet, in hunting out the man that did it," said Mary, sorrowfully and bitterly. "But keep up your heart. They got on the wrong scent when they took to suspecting Jem. Don't be afeard. You'll see it will end right for Jem." "I should mind it less if I could do aught," said Jane Wilson; "but I'm such a poor weak old body, and my head's so gone, and I'm so dazed-like, what with Alice and all, that I think and think, and can do nought to help my child. I might ha' gone and seen him last night, they tell me now, and then I missed it. Oh! Mary, I missed it; and I may never see the lad again." She looked so piteously in Mary's face with her miserable eyes, that Mary felt her heart giving way, and, dreading the weakening of her powers, which the burst of crying she longed for would occasion, hastily changed the subject to Alice; and Jane, in her heart, feeling that there was no sorrow like a mother's sorrow, replied, "She keeps on much the same, thank you. She's happy, for she knows nought of what's going on; but th' doctor says she grows weaker and weaker. Thou'lt may be like to see her?" Mary went up-stairs: partly because it is the etiquette in humble life to offer to friends a last opportunity of seeing the dying or the dead, while the same etiquette forbids a refusal of the invitation; and partly because she longed to breathe, for an instant, the atmosphere of holy calm, which seemed ever to surround the pious good old woman. Alice lay, as before, without pain, or at least any outward expression of it; but totally unconscious of all present circumstances, and absorbed in recollections of the days of her girlhood, which were vivid enough to take the place of realities to her. Still she talked of green fields, and still she spoke to the long-dead mother and sister, low-lying in their graves this many a year, as if they were with her and about her, in the pleasant places where her youth had passed. But the voice was fainter, the motions were more languid; she was evidently passing away; but _how_ happily! Mary stood for a time in silence, watching and listening. Then she bent down and reverently kissed Alice's cheek; and drawing Jane Wilson away from the bed, as if the spirit of her who lay there were yet cognisant of present realities, she whispered a few words of hope to the poor mother, and kissing her over and over again in a warm, loving manner, she bade her good-bye, went a few steps, and then once more came back to bid her keep up her heart. And when she had fairly left the house, Jane Wilson felt as if a sun-beam had ceased shining into the room. Yet oh! how sorely Mary's heart ached; for more and more the fell certainty came on her that her father was the murderer! She struggled hard not to dwell on this conviction; to think alone on the means of proving Jem's innocence; that was her first duty, and that should be done. CHAPTER XXIII. THE SUB-POENA. "And must it then depend on this poor eye And this unsteady hand, whether the bark, That bears my all of treasured hope and love, Shall find a passage through these frowning rocks To some fair port where peace and safety smile,-- Or whether it shall blindly dash against them, And miserably sink? Heaven be my help; And clear my eye, and nerve my trembling hand!" "THE CONSTANT WOMAN." Her heart beating, her head full of ideas, which required time and solitude to be reduced into order, Mary hurried home. She was like one who finds a jewel of which he cannot all at once ascertain the value, but who hides his treasure until some quiet hour when he may ponder over the capabilities its possession unfolds. She was like one who discovers the silken clue which guides to some bower of bliss, and secure of the power within his grasp, has to wait for a time before he may tread the labyrinth. But no jewel, no bower of bliss was ever so precious to miser or lover as was the belief which now pervaded Mary's mind, that Jem's innocence might be proved, without involving any suspicion of that other--that dear one, so dear, although so criminal--on whose part in this cruel business she dared not dwell even in thought. For if she did, there arose the awful question,--if all went against Jem the innocent, if judge and jury gave the verdict forth which had the looming gallows in the rear, what ought she to do, possessed of her terrible knowledge? Surely not to inculpate her father--and yet--and yet--she almost prayed for the blessed unconsciousness of death or madness, rather than that awful question should have to be answered by her. But now a way seemed opening, opening yet more clear. She was thankful she had thought of the _alibi_, and yet more thankful to have so easily obtained the clue to Jem's whereabouts that miserable night. The bright light that her new hope threw over all seemed also to make her thankful for the early time appointed for the trial. It would be easy to catch Will Wilson on his return from the Isle of Man, which he had planned should be on the Monday; and on the Tuesday all would be made clear--all that she dared to wish to be made clear. She had still to collect her thoughts and freshen her memory enough to arrange how to meet with Will--for to the chances of a letter she would not trust; to find out his lodgings when in Liverpool; to try and remember the name of the ship in which he was to sail: and the more she considered these points the more difficulty she found there would be in ascertaining these minor but important facts. For you are aware that Alice, whose memory was clear and strong on all points in which her heart was interested, was lying in a manner senseless: that Jane Wilson was (to use her own word, so expressive to a Lancashire ear) "dazed," that is to say, bewildered, lost in the confusion of terrifying and distressing thoughts; incapable of concentrating her mind; and at the best of times Will's proceedings were a matter of little importance to her (or so she pretended), she was so jealous of aught which distracted attention from her pearl of price, her only son Jem. So Mary felt hopeless of obtaining any intelligence of the sailor's arrangements from her. Then, should she apply to Jem himself? No! she knew him too well. She felt how thoroughly he must ere now have had it in his power to exculpate himself at another's expense. And his tacit refusal so to do had assured her of what she had never doubted, that the murderer was safe from any impeachment of his. But then neither would he consent, she feared, to any steps which might tend to prove himself innocent. At any rate, she could not consult him. He was removed to Kirkdale, and time pressed. Already it was Saturday at noon. And even if she could have gone to him, I believe she would not. She longed to do all herself; to be his liberator, his deliverer; to win him life, though she might never regain his lost love, by her own exertions. And oh! how could she see him to discuss a subject in which both knew who was the blood-stained man; and yet whose name might not be breathed by either, so dearly with all his faults, his sins, was he loved by both. All at once, when she had ceased to try and remember, the name of Will's ship flashed across her mind. The _John Cropper_. He had named it, she had been sure, all along. He had named it in his conversation with her that last, that fatal Thursday evening. She repeated it over and over again, through a nervous dread of again forgetting it. The _John Cropper_. And then, as if she were rousing herself out of some strange stupor, she bethought her of Margaret. Who so likely as Margaret to treasure every little particular respecting Will, now Alice was dead to all the stirring purposes of life? She had gone thus far in her process of thought, when a neighbour stepped in; she with whom they had usually deposited the house-key, when both Mary and her father were absent from home, and who consequently took upon herself to answer all inquiries, and receive all messages which any friends might make, or leave, on finding the house shut up. "Here's somewhat for you, Mary! A policeman left it." A bit of parchment. Many people have a dread of those mysterious pieces of parchment. I am one. Mary was another. Her heart misgave her as she took it, and looked at the unusual appearance of the writing, which, though legible enough, conveyed no idea to her, or rather her mind shut itself up against receiving any idea, which after all was rather a proof she had some suspicion of the meaning that awaited her. "What is it?" asked she, in a voice from which all the pith and marrow of strength seemed extracted. "Nay! how should I know? Policeman said he'd call again towards evening, and see if you'd getten it. He were loth to leave it, though I telled him who I was, and all about my keeping th' key, and taking messages." "What is it about?" asked Mary again, in the same hoarse, feeble voice, and turning it over in her fingers, as if she dreaded to inform herself of its meaning. "Well! yo can read word of writing and I cannot, so it's queer I should have to tell you. But my master says it's a summons for yo to bear witness again Jem Wilson, at th' trial at Liverpool Assize." "God pity me!" said Mary, faintly, as white as a sheet. "Nay, wench, never take on so. What yo can say will go little way either to help or to hinder, for folk say he's certain to be hung; and sure enough it was t'other one as was your sweetheart." But Mary was beyond any pang this speech would have given at another time. Her thoughts were all busy picturing to herself the terrible occasion of their next meeting--not as lovers meet should they meet! "Well!" said the neighbour, seeing no use in remaining with one who noticed her words or her presence so little; "thou'lt tell policeman thou'st getten his precious bit of paper. He seemed to think I should be keeping it for mysel; he's th' first as has ever misdoubted me about giving messages, or notes. Good day." She left the house, but Mary did not know it. She sat still with the parchment in her hand. All at once she started up. She would take it to Job Legh and ask him to tell her the true meaning, for it could not be _that_. So she went, and choked out her words of inquiry. "It's a sub-poena," he replied, turning the parchment over with the air of a connoisseur; for Job loved hard words, and lawyer-like forms, and even esteemed himself slightly qualified for a lawyer, from the smattering of knowledge he had picked up from an odd volume of Blackstone that he had once purchased at a book-stall. "A sub-poena--what is that?" gasped Mary, still in suspense. Job was struck with her voice, her changed, miserable voice, and peered at her countenance from over his spectacles. "A sub-poena is neither more nor less than this, my dear. It's a summonsing you to attend, and answer such questions as may be asked of you regarding the trial of James Wilson, for the murder of Henry Carson; that's the long and short of it, only more elegantly put, for the benefit of them who knows how to value the gift of language. I've been a witness before-time myself; there's nothing much to be afeared on; if they are impudent, why, just you be impudent, and give 'em tit for tat." "Nothing much to be afeared on!" echoed Mary, but in such a different tone. "Ay, poor wench, I see how it is. It'll go hard with thee a bit, I dare say; but keep up thy heart. Yo cannot have much to tell 'em, that can go either one way or th' other. Nay! may be thou may do him a bit o' good, for when they set eyes on thee, they'll see fast enough how he came to be so led away by jealousy; for thou'rt a pretty creature, Mary, and one look at thy face will let 'em into th' secret of a young man's madness, and make 'em more ready to pass it over." "Oh! Job, and won't you ever believe me when I tell you he's innocent? Indeed, and indeed I can prove it; he was with Will all that night; he was, indeed, Job!" "My wench! whose word hast thou for that?" said Job, pityingly. "Why! his mother told me, and I'll get Will to bear witness to it. But, oh! Job" (bursting into tears), "it is hard if you won't believe me. How shall I clear him to strangers, when those who know him, and ought to love him, are so set against his being innocent?" "God knows, I'm not against his being innocent," said Job, solemnly. "I'd give half my remaining days on earth,--I'd give them all, Mary (and but for the love I bear to my poor blind girl, they'd be no great gift), if I could save him. You've thought me hard, Mary, but I'm not hard at bottom, and I'll help you if I can; that I will, right or wrong," he added; but in a low voice, and coughed the uncertain words away the moment afterwards. "Oh, Job! if you will help me," exclaimed Mary, brightening up (though it was but a wintry gleam after all), "tell me what to say, when they question me; I shall be so gloppened, [46] I shan't know what to answer." [Footnote 46: "Gloppened," terrified.] "Thou canst do nought better than tell the truth. Truth's best at all times, they say; and for sure it is when folk have to do with lawyers; for they're 'cute and cunning enough to get it out sooner or later, and it makes folk look like Tom Noddies, when truth follows falsehood, against their will." "But I don't know the truth; I mean--I can't say rightly what I mean; but I'm sure, if I were pent up, and stared at by hundreds of folk, and asked ever so simple a question, I should be for answering it wrong; if they asked me if I had seen you on a Saturday, or a Tuesday, or any day, I should have clean forgotten all about it, and say the very thing I should not." "Well, well, don't go for to get such notions into your head; they're what they call 'narvous,' and talking on 'em does no good. Here's Margaret! bless the wench! Look, Mary, how well she guides hersel." Job fell to watching his grand-daughter, as with balancing, measured steps, timed almost as if to music, she made her way across the street. Mary shrank as if from a cold blast--shrank from Margaret! The blind girl, with her reserve, her silence, seemed to be a severe judge; she, listening, would be such a check to the trusting earnestness of confidence, which was beginning to unlock the sympathy of Job. Mary knew herself to blame; felt her errors in every fibre of her heart; but yet she would rather have had them spoken about, even in terms of severest censure, than have been treated in the icy manner in which Margaret had received her that morning. "Here's Mary," said Job, almost as if he wished to propitiate his grand-daughter, "come to take a bit of dinner with us, for I'll warrant she's never thought of cooking any for herself to-day; and she looks as wan and pale as a ghost." It was calling out the feeling of hospitality, so strong and warm in most of those who have little to offer, but whose heart goes eagerly and kindly with that little. Margaret came towards Mary with a welcoming gesture, and a kinder manner by far than she had used in the morning. "Nay, Mary, thou know'st thou'st getten nought at home," urged Job. And Mary, faint and weary, and with a heart too aching-full of other matters to be pertinacious in this, withdrew her refusal. They ate their dinner quietly; for to all it was an effort to speak, and after one or two attempts they had subsided into silence. When the meal was ended Job began again on the subject they all had at heart. "Yon poor lad at Kirkdale will want a lawyer to see they don't put on him, but do him justice. Hast thought of that?" Mary had not, and felt sure his mother had not. Margaret confirmed this last supposition. "I've but just been there, and poor Jane is like one dateless; so many griefs come on her at once. One time she seems to make sure he'll be hung; and if I took her in that way, she flew out (poor body!) and said, that in spite of what folk said, there were them as could, and would prove him guiltless. So I never knew where to have her. The only thing she was constant in, was declaring him innocent." "Mother-like!" said Job. "She meant Will, when she spoke of them that could prove him innocent. He was with Will on Thursday night, walking a part of the way with him to Liverpool; now the thing is to lay hold on Will and get him to prove this." So spoke Mary, calm, from the earnestness of her purpose. "Don't build too much on it, my dear," said Job. "I do build on it," replied Mary, "because I know it's the truth, and I mean to try and prove it, come what may. Nothing you can say will daunt me, Job, so don't you go and try. You may help, but you cannot hinder me doing what I'm resolved on." They respected her firmness of determination, and Job almost gave in to her belief, when he saw how steadfastly she was acting upon it. Oh! surest way of conversion to our faith, whatever it may be,--regarding either small things, or great,--when it is beheld as the actuating principle, from which we never swerve! When it is seen that, instead of over-much profession, it is worked into the life, and moves every action! Mary gained courage as she instinctively felt she had made way with one at least of her companions. "Now I'm clear about this much," she continued, "he was with Will when the--shot was fired (she could not bring herself to say, when the murder was committed, when she remembered _who_ it was that, she had every reason to believe, was the taker-away of life). Will can prove this. I must find Will. He wasn't to sail till Tuesday. There's time enough. He was to come back from his uncle's, in the Isle of Man, on Monday. I must meet him in Liverpool, on that day, and tell him what has happened, and how poor Jem is in trouble, and that he must prove an _alibi_, come Tuesday. All this I can and will do, though perhaps I don't clearly know how, just at present. But surely God will help me. When I know I'm doing right, I will have no fear, but put my trust in Him; for I'm acting for the innocent and good, and not for my own self, who have done so wrong. I have no fear when I think of Jem, who is so good." She stopped, oppressed with the fulness of her heart. Margaret began to love her again; to see in her the same sweet, faulty, impulsive, lovable creature she had known in the former Mary Barton, but with more of dignity, self-reliance, and purpose. Mary spoke again. "Now I know the name of Will's vessel--the _John Cropper_; and I know that she is bound to America. That is something to know. But I forget, if I ever heard, where he lodges in Liverpool. He spoke of his landlady, as a good, trustworthy woman; but if he named her name, it has slipped my memory. Can you help me, Margaret?" She appealed to her friend calmly and openly, as if perfectly aware of, and recognising the unspoken tie which bound her and Will together; she asked her in the same manner in which she would have asked a wife where her husband dwelt. And Margaret replied in the like calm tone, two spots of crimson on her cheeks alone bearing witness to any internal agitation. "He lodges at a Mrs. Jones's, Milk-House Yard, out of Nicholas Street. He has lodged there ever since he began to go to sea; she is a very decent kind of woman, I believe." "Well, Mary! I'll give you my prayers," said Job. "It's not often I pray regular, though I often speak a word to God, when I'm either very happy or very sorry; I've catched myself thanking Him at odd hours when I've found a rare insect, or had a fine day for an out; but I cannot help it, no more than I can talking to a friend. But this time I'll pray regular for Jem, and for you. And so will Margaret, I'll be bound. Still, wench! what think yo of a lawyer? I know one, Mr. Cheshire, who's rather given to th' insect line--and a good kind o' chap. He and I have swopped specimens many's the time, when either of us had a duplicate. He'll do me a kind turn, I'm sure. I'll just take my hat, and pay him a visit." No sooner said, than done. Margaret and Mary were left alone. And this seemed to bring back the feeling of awkwardness, not to say estrangement. But Mary, excited to an unusual pitch of courage, was the first to break silence. "Oh, Margaret!" said she, "I see--I feel how wrong you think I have acted; you cannot think me worse than I think myself, now my eyes are opened." Here her sobs came choking up her voice. "Nay," Margaret began, "I have no right to--" "Yes, Margaret, you have a right to judge; you cannot help it; only in your judgment remember mercy, as the Bible says. You, who have been always good, cannot tell how easy it is at first to go a little wrong, and then how hard it is to go back. Oh! I little thought when I was first pleased with Mr. Carson's speeches, how it would all end; perhaps in the death of him I love better than life." She burst into a passion of tears. The feelings pent up through the day would have vent. But checking herself with a strong effort, and looking up at Margaret as piteously as if those calm, stony eyes could see her imploring face, she added, "I must not cry; I must not give way; there will be time enough for that hereafter, if--I only wanted you to speak kindly to me, Margaret, for I am very, very wretched; more wretched than any one can ever know; more wretched, I sometimes fancy, than I have deserved,--but that's wrong, isn't it, Margaret? Oh! I have done wrong, and I am punished; you cannot tell how much." Who could resist her voice, her tones of misery, of humility? Who would refuse the kindness for which she begged so penitently? Not Margaret. The old friendly manner came back. With it, may be, more of tenderness. "Oh! Margaret, do you think he can be saved; do you think they can find him guilty if Will comes forward as a witness? Won't that be a good _alibi_?" Margaret did not answer for a moment. "Oh, speak! Margaret," said Mary, with anxious impatience. "I know nought about law, or _alibis_," replied Margaret, meekly; "but, Mary, as grandfather says, aren't you building too much on what Jane Wilson has told you about his going with Will? Poor soul, she's gone dateless, I think, with care, and watching, and over-much trouble; and who can wonder? Or Jem may have told her he was going, by way of a blind." "You don't know Jem," said Mary, starting from her seat in a hurried manner, "or you would not say so." "I hope I may be wrong; but think, Mary, how much there is against him. The shot was fired with his gun; he it was as threatened Mr. Carson not many days before; he was absent from home at that very time, as we know, and, as I'm much afeared, some one will be called on to prove; and there's no one else to share suspicion with him." Mary heaved a deep sigh. "But, Margaret, he did not do it," Mary again asserted. Margaret looked unconvinced. "I can do no good, I see, by saying so, for none on you believe me, and I won't say so again till I can prove it. Monday morning I'll go to Liverpool. I shall be at hand for the trial. Oh dear! dear! And I will find Will; and then, Margaret, I think you'll be sorry for being so stubborn about Jem." "Don't fly off, dear Mary; I'd give a deal to be wrong. And now I'm going to be plain spoken. You'll want money. Them lawyers is no better than a spunge for sucking up money; let alone your hunting out Will, and your keep in Liverpool, and what not. You must take some of the mint I've got laid by in the old tea-pot. You have no right to refuse, for I offer it to Jem, not to you; it's for his purposes you're to use it." "I know--I see. Thank you, Margaret; you're a kind one, at any rate. I take it for Jem; and I'll do my very best with it for him. Not all, though; don't think I'll take all. They'll pay me for my keep. I'll take this," accepting a sovereign from the hoard which Margaret produced out of its accustomed place in the cupboard. "Your grandfather will pay the lawyer. I'll have nought to do with him," shuddering as she remembered Job's words, about lawyers' skill in always discovering the truth, sooner or later; and knowing what was the secret she had to hide. "Bless you! don't make such ado about it," said Margaret, cutting short Mary's thanks. "I sometimes think there's two sides to the commandment; and that we may say, 'Let others do unto you, as you would do unto them,' for pride often prevents our giving others a great deal of pleasure, in not letting them be kind, when their hearts are longing to help; and when we ourselves should wish to do just the same, if we were in their place. Oh! how often I've been hurt, by being coldly told by persons not to trouble myself about their care, or sorrow, when I saw them in great grief, and wanted to be of comfort. Our Lord Jesus was not above letting folk minister to Him, for He knew how happy it makes one to do aught for another. It's the happiest work on earth." Mary had been too much engrossed by watching what was passing in the street to attend very closely to that which Margaret was saying. From her seat she could see out of the window pretty plainly, and she caught sight of a gentleman walking alongside of Job, evidently in earnest conversation with him, and looking keen and penetrating enough to be a lawyer. Job was laying down something to be attended to she could see, by his up-lifted fore-finger, and his whole gesture; then he pointed and nodded across the street to his own house, as if inducing his companion to come in. Mary dreaded lest he should, and she be subjected to a closer cross-examination than she had hitherto undergone, as to why she was so certain that Jem was innocent. She feared he was coming; he stepped a little towards the spot. No! it was only to make way for a child, tottering along, whom Mary had overlooked. Now Job took him by the button, so earnestly familiar had he grown. The gentleman looked "fidging fain" to be gone, but submitted in a manner that made Mary like him in spite of his profession. Then came a volley of last words, answered by briefest nods, and monosyllables; and then the stranger went off with redoubled quickness of pace, and Job crossed the street with a little satisfied air of importance on his kindly face. "Well! Mary," said he on entering, "I've seen the lawyer, not Mr. Cheshire though; trials for murder, it seems, are not his line o' business. But he gived me a note to another 'torney; a fine fellow enough, only too much of a talker; I could hardly get a word in, he cut me so short. However, I've just been going over the principal points again to him; may be you saw us? I wanted him just to come over and speak to you himsel, Mary, but he was pressed for time; and he said your evidence would not be much either here or there. He's going to the 'sizes first train on Monday morning, and will see Jem, and hear the ins and outs from him, and he's gived me his address, Mary, and you and Will are to call on him (Will 'special) on Monday at two o'clock. Thou'rt taking it in, Mary; thou'rt to call on him in Liverpool at two, Monday afternoon?" Job had reason to doubt if she fully understood him; for all this minuteness of detail, these satisfactory arrangements, as he considered them, only seemed to bring the circumstances in which she was placed more vividly home to Mary. They convinced her that it was real, and not all a dream, as she had sunk into fancying it for a few minutes, while sitting in the old accustomed place, her body enjoying the rest, and her frame sustained by food, and listening to Margaret's calm voice. The gentleman she had just beheld would see and question Jem in a few hours, and what would be the result? Monday: that was the day after to-morrow, and on Tuesday, life and death would be tremendous realities to her lover; or else death would be an awful certainty to her father. No wonder Job went over his main points again:-- "Monday; at two o'clock, mind; and here's his card. 'Mr. Bridgenorth, 41, Renshaw Street, Liverpool.' He'll be lodging there." Job ceased talking, and the silence roused Mary up to thank him. "You're very kind, Job; very. You and Margaret won't desert me, come what will." "Pooh! pooh! wench; don't lose heart, just as I'm beginning to get it. He seems to think a deal on Will's evidence. You're sure, girls, you're under no mistake about Will?" "I'm sure," said Mary, "he went straight from here, purposing to go see his uncle at the Isle of Man, and be back Sunday night, ready for the ship sailing on Tuesday." "So am I," said Margaret. "And the ship's name was the _John Cropper_, and he lodged where I told Mary before. Have you got it down, Mary?" Mary wrote it on the back of Mr. Bridgenorth's card. "He was not over-willing to go," said she, as she wrote, "for he knew little about his uncle, and said he didn't care if he never knowed more. But he said kinsfolk was kinsfolk, and promises was promises, so he'd go for a day or so, and then it would be over." Margaret had to go and practise some singing in town; so, though loth to depart and be alone, Mary bade her friends good-bye. CHAPTER XXIV. WITH THE DYING. "O sad and solemn is the trembling watch Of those who sit and count the heavy hours, Beside the fevered sleep of one they love! O awful is it in the hushed mid night, While gazing on the pallid, moveless form, To start and ask, 'Is it now sleep--or death?'" ANONYMOUS. Mary could not be patient in her loneliness; so much painful thought weighed on her mind; the very house was haunted with memories and foreshadowings. Having performed all duties to Jem, as far as her weak powers, yet loving heart could act; and a black veil being drawn over her father's past, present, and future life, beyond which she could not penetrate to judge of any filial service she ought to render; her mind unconsciously sought after some course of action in which she might engage. Any thing, any thing, rather than leisure for reflection. And then came up the old feeling which first bound Ruth to Naomi; the love they both held towards one object; and Mary felt that her cares would be most lightened by being of use, or of comfort to his mother. So she once more locked up the house, and set off towards Ancoats; rushing along with down-cast head, for fear lest any one should recognise her and arrest her progress. Jane Wilson sat quietly in her chair as Mary entered; so quietly, as to strike one by the contrast it presented to her usual bustling and nervous manner. She looked very pale and wan; but the quietness was the thing that struck Mary most. She did not rise as Mary came in, but sat still and said something in so gentle, so feeble a voice, that Mary did not catch it. Mrs. Davenport, who was there, plucked Mary by the gown, and whispered, "Never heed her; she's worn out, and best let alone. I'll tell you all about it, up-stairs." But Mary, touched by the anxious look with which Mrs. Wilson gazed at her, as if awaiting the answer to some question, went forward to listen to the speech she was again repeating. "What is this? will you tell me?" Then Mary looked and saw another ominous slip of parchment in the mother's hand, which she was rolling up and down in a tremulous manner between her fingers. Mary's heart sickened within her, and she could not speak. "What is it?" she repeated. "Will you tell me?" She still looked at Mary, with the same child-like gaze of wonder and patient entreaty. What could she answer? "I telled ye not to heed her," said Mrs. Davenport, a little angrily. "She knows well enough what it is,--too well, belike. I was not in when they sarved it; but Mrs. Heming (her as lives next door) was, and she spelled out the meaning, and made it all clear to Mrs. Wilson. It's a summons to be a witness on Jem's trial--Mrs. Heming thinks, to swear to the gun; for, yo see, there's nobbut [47] her as can testify to its being his, and she let on so easily to the policeman that it was his, that there's no getting off her word now. Poor body; she takes it very hard, I dare say!" [Footnote 47: "Nobbut," none-but. "No man sigh evere God _no but_ the oon bigetun sone."--_Wiclif's Version._] Mrs. Wilson had waited patiently while this whispered speech was being uttered, imagining, perhaps, that it would end in some explanation addressed to her. But when both were silent, though their eyes, without speech or language, told their hearts' pity, she spoke again in the same unaltered gentle voice (so different from the irritable impatience she had been ever apt to show to every one except her husband,--he who had wedded her, broken-down and injured)--in a voice so different, I say, from the old, hasty manner, she spoke now the same anxious words, "What is this? Will you tell me?" "Yo'd better give it me at once, Mrs. Wilson, and let me put it out of your sight.--Speak to her, Mary, wench, and ask for a sight on it; I've tried, and better-tried to get it from her, and she takes no heed of words, and I'm loth to pull it by force out of her hands." Mary drew the little "cricket" [48] out from under the dresser, and sat down at Mrs. Wilson's knee, and, coaxing one of her tremulous, ever-moving hands into hers, began to rub it soothingly; there was a little resistance--a very little, but that was all; and presently, in the nervous movement of the imprisoned hand, the parchment fell to the ground. [Footnote 48 "Cricket," a stool.] Mary calmly and openly picked it up without any attempt at concealment, and quietly placing it in sight of the anxious eyes that followed it with a kind of spell-bound dread, went on with her soothing caresses. "She has had no sleep for many nights," said the girl to Mrs. Davenport, "and all this woe and sorrow,--it's no wonder." "No, indeed!" Mrs. Davenport answered. "We must get her fairly to bed; we must get her undressed, and all; and trust to God, in His mercy, to send her to sleep, or else,--" For, you see, they spoke before her as if she were not there; her heart was so far away. Accordingly they almost lifted her from the chair in which she sat motionless, and taking her up as gently as a mother carries her sleeping baby, they undressed her poor, worn form, and laid her in the little bed up-stairs. They had once thought of placing her in Jem's bed, to be out of sight or sound of any disturbance of Alice's, but then again they remembered the shock she might receive in awakening in so unusual a place, and also that Mary, who intended to keep vigil that night in the house of mourning, would find it difficult to divide her attention in the possible cases that might ensue. So they laid her, as I said before, on that little pallet-bed; and, as they were slowly withdrawing from the bed-side, hoping and praying that she might sleep, and forget for a time her heavy burden, she looked wistfully after Mary, and whispered, "You haven't told me what it is. What is it?" And gazing in her face for the expected answer, her eye-lids slowly closed, and she fell into a deep, heavy sleep, almost as profound a rest as death. Mrs. Davenport went her way, and Mary was alone,--for I cannot call those who sleep allies against the agony of thought which solitude sometimes brings up. She dreaded the night before her. Alice might die; the doctor had that day declared her case hopeless, and not far from death; and at times the terror, so natural to the young, not of death, but of the remains of the dead, came over Mary; and she bent and listened anxiously for the long-drawn, pausing breath of the sleeping Alice. Or Mrs. Wilson might awake in a state which Mary dreaded to anticipate, and anticipated while she dreaded;--in a state of complete delirium. Already her senses had been severely stunned by the full explanation of what was required of her,--of what she had to prove against her son, her Jem, her only child,--which Mary could not doubt the officious Mrs. Heming had given; and what if in dreams (that land into which no sympathy or love can penetrate with another, either to share its bliss or its agony,--that land whose scenes are unspeakable terrors, are hidden mysteries, are priceless treasures to one alone,--that land where alone I may see, while yet I tarry here, the sweet looks of my dead child),--what if, in the horrors of her dreams, her brain should go still more astray, and she should waken crazy with her visions, and the terrible reality that begot them? How much worse is anticipation sometimes than reality! How Mary dreaded that night, and how calmly it passed by! Even more so than if Mary had not had such claims upon her care! Anxiety about them deadened her own peculiar anxieties. She thought of the sleepers whom she was watching, till overpowered herself by the want of rest, she fell off into short slumbers in which the night wore imperceptibly away. To be sure Alice spoke, and sang, during her waking moments, like the child she deemed herself; but so happily with the dearly-loved ones around her, with the scent of the heather, and the song of the wild bird hovering about her in imagination--with old scraps of ballads, or old snatches of primitive versions of the Psalms (such as are sung in country churches half draperied over with ivy, and where the running brook, or the murmuring wind among the trees makes fit accompaniment to the chorus of human voices uttering praise and thanksgiving to their God)--that the speech and the song gave comfort and good cheer to the listener's heart, and the gray dawn began to dim the light of the rush-candle, before Mary thought it possible that day was already trembling on the horizon. Then she got up from the chair where she had been dozing, and went, half-asleep, to the window to assure herself that morning was at hand. The streets were unusually quiet with a Sabbath stillness. No factory bells that morning; no early workmen going to their labours; no slip-shod girls cleaning the windows of the little shops which broke the monotony of the street; instead, you might see here and there some operative sallying forth for a breath of country air, or some father leading out his wee toddling bairns for the unwonted pleasure of a walk with "Daddy," in the clear frosty morning. Men with more leisure on week-days would perhaps have walked quicker than they did through the fresh sharp air of this Sunday morning; but to them there was a pleasure, an absolute refreshment in the dawdling gait they, one and all of them, had. To be sure, there were one or two passengers on that morning whose objects were less innocent and less praiseworthy than those of the people I have already mentioned, and whose animal state of mind and body clashed jarringly on the peacefulness of the day; but upon them I will not dwell: as you and I, and almost every one, I think, may send up our individual cry of self-reproach that we have not done all that we could for the stray and wandering ones of our brethren. When Mary turned from the window, she went to the bed of each sleeper, to look and listen. Alice looked perfectly quiet and happy in her slumber, and her face seemed to have become much more youthful during her painless approach to death. Mrs. Wilson's countenance was stamped with the anxiety of the last few days, although she, too, appeared sleeping soundly; but as Mary gazed on her, trying to trace a likeness to her son in her face, she awoke and looked up into Mary's eyes, while the expression of consciousness came back into her own. Both were silent for a minute or two. Mary's eyes had fallen beneath that penetrating gaze, in which the agony of memory seemed every moment to find fuller vent. "Is it a dream?" the mother asked at last in a low voice. "No!" replied Mary, in the same tone. Mrs. Wilson hid her face in the pillow. She was fully conscious of every thing this morning; it was evident that the stunning effect of the subpoena, which had affected her so much last night in her weak, worn-out state, had passed away. Mary offered no opposition when she indicated by languid gesture and action that she wished to rise. A sleepless bed is a haunted place. When she was dressed with Mary's help, she stood by Alice for a minute or two, looking at the slumberer. "How happy she is!" said she, quietly and sadly. All the time that Mary was getting breakfast ready, and performing every other little domestic office she could think of, to add to the comfort of Jem's mother, Mrs. Wilson sat still in the arm-chair, watching her silently. Her old irritation of temper and manner seemed to have suddenly disappeared, or perhaps she was too depressed in body and mind to show it. Mary told her all that had been done with regard to Mr. Bridgenorth; all her own plans for seeking out Will; all her hopes; and concealed as well as she could all the doubts and fears that would arise unbidden. To this Mrs. Wilson listened without much remark, but with deep interest and perfect comprehension. When Mary ceased she sighed and said, "Oh wench! I am his mother, and yet I do so little, I can do so little! That's what frets me! I seem like a child as sees its mammy ill, and moans and cries its little heart out, yet does nought to help. I think my sense has left me all at once, and I can't even find strength to cry like the little child." Hereupon she broke into a feeble wail of self-reproach, that her outward show of misery was not greater; as if any cries, or tears, or loud-spoken words could have told of such pangs at the heart as that look, and that thin, piping, altered voice! But think of Mary and what she was enduring! Picture to yourself (for I cannot tell you) the armies of thoughts that met and clashed in her brain; and then imagine the effort it cost her to be calm, and quiet, and even, in a faint way, cheerful and smiling at times. After a while she began to stir about in her own mind for some means of sparing the poor mother the trial of appearing as a witness in the matter of the gun. She had made no allusion to her summons this morning, and Mary almost thought she must have forgotten it; and surely some means might be found to prevent that additional sorrow. She must see Job about it; nay, if necessary, she must see Mr. Bridgenorth, with all his truth-compelling powers; for, indeed, she had so struggled and triumphed (though a sadly-bleeding victor at heart) over herself these two last days, had so concealed agony, and hidden her inward woe and bewilderment, that she began to take confidence, and to have faith in her own powers of meeting any one with a passably fair show, whatever might be rending her life beneath the cloak of her deception. Accordingly, as soon as Mrs. Davenport came in after morning church, to ask after the two lone women, and she had heard the report Mary had to give (so much better as regarded Mrs. Wilson than what they had feared the night before it would have been)--as soon as this kind-hearted, grateful woman came in, Mary, telling her her purpose, went off to fetch the doctor who attended Alice. He was shaking himself after his morning's round, and happy in the anticipation of his Sunday's dinner; but he was a good-tempered man, who found it difficult to keep down his jovial easiness even by the bed of sickness or death. He had mischosen his profession; for it was his delight to see every one around him in full enjoyment of life. However, he subdued his face to the proper expression of sympathy, befitting a doctor listening to a patient, or a patient's friend (and Mary's sad, pale, anxious face might be taken for either the one or the other). "Well, my girl! and what brings you here?" said he, as he entered his surgery. "Not on your own account, I hope." "I wanted you to come and see Alice Wilson,--and then I thought you would may be take a look at Mrs. Wilson." He bustled on his hat and coat, and followed Mary instantly. After shaking his head over Alice (as if it was a mournful thing for one so pure and good, so true, although so humble a Christian, to be nearing her desired haven), and muttering the accustomed words intended to destroy hope, and prepare anticipation, he went in compliance with Mary's look to ask the usual questions of Mrs. Wilson, who sat passively in her arm-chair. She answered his questions, and submitted to his examination. "How do you think her?" asked Mary, eagerly. "Why--a," began he, perceiving that he was desired to take one side in his answer, and unable to find out whether his listener was anxious for a favourable verdict or otherwise; but thinking it most probable that she would desire the former, he continued, "She is weak, certainly; the natural result of such a shock as the arrest of her son would be,--for I understand this James Wilson, who murdered Mr. Carson, was her son. Sad thing to have such a reprobate in the family." "You say '_who murdered_,' sir!" said Mary, indignantly. "He is only taken up on suspicion, and many have no doubt of his innocence--those who know him, sir." "Ah, well, well! doctors have seldom time to read newspapers, and I dare say I'm not very correct in my story. I dare say he's innocent; I'm sure I had no right to say otherwise,--only words slip out.--No! indeed, young woman, I see no cause for apprehension about this poor creature in the next room;--weak--certainly; but a day or two's good nursing will set her up, and I'm sure you're a good nurse, my dear, from your pretty, kind-hearted face,--I'll send a couple of pills and a draught, but don't alarm yourself,--there's no occasion, I assure you." "But you don't think her fit to go to Liverpool?" asked Mary, still in the anxious tone of one who wishes earnestly for some particular decision. "To Liverpool--yes," replied he. "A short journey like that could not fatigue, and might distract her thoughts. Let her go by all means,--it would be the very thing for her." "Oh, sir!" burst out Mary, almost sobbing; "I did so hope you would say she was too ill to go." "Whew--" said he, with a prolonged whistle, trying to understand the case, but being, as he said, no reader of newspapers, utterly unaware of the peculiar reasons there might be for so apparently unfeeling a wish,--"Why did you not tell me so sooner? It might certainly do her harm in her weak state; there is always some risk attending journeys--draughts, and what not. To her, they might prove very injurious,--very. I disapprove of journeys, or excitement, in all cases where the patient is in the low, fluttered state in which Mrs. Wilson is. If you take _my_ advice, you will certainly put a stop to all thoughts of going to Liverpool." He really had completely changed his opinion, though quite unconsciously; so desirous was he to comply with the wishes of others. "Oh, sir, thank you! And will you give me a certificate of her being unable to go, if the lawyer says we must have one? The lawyer, you know," continued she, seeing him look puzzled, "who is to defend Jem,--it was as a witness against him--" "My dear girl!" said he, almost angrily, "why did you not state the case fully at first? one minute would have done it,--and my dinner waiting all this time. To be sure she can't go,--it would be madness to think of it; if her evidence could have done good, it would have been a different thing. Come to me for the certificate any time; that is to say, if the lawyer advises you. I second the lawyer; take counsel with both the learned professions--ha, ha, ha,--" And laughing at his own joke, he departed, leaving Mary accusing herself of stupidity in having imagined that every one was as well acquainted with the facts concerning the trial as she was herself; for indeed she had never doubted that the doctor would have been aware of the purpose of poor Mrs. Wilson's journey to Liverpool. Presently she went to Job (the ever-ready Mrs. Davenport keeping watch over the two old women), and told him her fears, her plans, and her proceedings. To her surprise he shook his head doubtfully. "It may have an awkward look, if we keep her back. Lawyers is up to tricks." "But it's no trick," said Mary. "She is so poorly, she was last night, at least; and to-day she's so faded and weak." "Poor soul! I dare say. I only mean for Jem's sake; as so much is known, it won't do now to hang back. But I'll ask Mr. Bridgenorth. I'll e'en take your doctor's advice. Yo tarry at home, and I'll come to yo in an hour's time. Go thy ways, wench." CHAPTER XXV. MRS. WILSON'S DETERMINATION. "Something there was, what, none presumed to say, Clouds lightly passing on a smiling day,-- Whispers and hints which went from ear to ear, And mixed reports no judge on earth could clear." CRABBE. "Curious conjectures he may always make, And either side of dubious questions take." IB. Mary went home. Oh! how her head did ache, and how dizzy her brain was growing! But there would be time enough she felt for giving way, hereafter. So she sat quiet and still by an effort; sitting near the window, and looking out of it, but seeing nothing, when all at once she caught sight of something which roused her up, and made her draw back. But it was too late. She had been seen. Sally Leadbitter flaunted into the little dingy room, making it gaudy with the Sunday excess of colouring in her dress. She was really curious to see Mary; her connexion with a murderer seemed to have made her into a sort of _lusus naturæ_, and was almost, by some, expected to have made a change in her personal appearance, so earnestly did they stare at her. But Mary had been too much absorbed this last day or two to notice this. Now Sally had a grand view, and looked her over and over (a very different thing from looking her through and through), and almost learnt her off by heart;--"her every-day gown (Hoyle's print you know, that lilac thing with the high body) she was so fond of; a little black silk handkerchief just knotted round her neck, like a boy; her hair all taken back from her face, as if she wanted to keep her head cool--she would always keep that hair of hers so long; and her hands twitching continually about." Such particulars would make Sally into a Gazette Extraordinary the next morning at the work-room, and were worth coming for, even if little else could be extracted from Mary. "Why, Mary!" she began. "Where have you hidden yourself? You never showed your face all yesterday at Miss Simmonds'. You don't fancy we think any the worse of you for what's come and gone. Some on us, indeed, were a bit sorry for the poor young man, as lies stiff and cold for your sake, Mary; but we shall ne'er cast it up against you. Miss Simmonds, too, will be mighty put out if you don't come, for there's a deal of mourning, agait." "I can't," Mary said, in a low voice. "I don't mean ever to come again." "Why, Mary!" said Sally, in unfeigned surprise. "To be sure you'll have to be in Liverpool, Tuesday, and may be Wednesday; but after that you'll surely come, and tell us all about it. Miss Simmonds knows you'll have to be off those two days. But between you and me, she's a bit of a gossip, and will like hearing all how and about the trial, well enough to let you off very easy for your being absent a day or two. Besides, Betsy Morgan was saying yesterday, she shouldn't wonder but you'd prove quite an attraction to customers. Many a one would come and have their gowns made by Miss Simmonds just to catch a glimpse at you, at after the trial's over. Really, Mary, you'll turn out quite a heroine." The little fingers twitched worse than ever; the large soft eyes looked up pleadingly into Sally's face; but she went on in the same strain, not from any unkind or cruel feeling towards Mary, but solely because she was incapable of comprehending her suffering. She had been shocked, of course, at Mr. Carson's death, though at the same time the excitement was rather pleasant than otherwise; and dearly now would she have enjoyed the conspicuous notice which Mary was sure to receive. "How shall you like being cross-examined, Mary?" "Not at all," answered Mary, when she found she must answer. "La! what impudent fellows those lawyers are! And their clerks, too, not a bit better. I shouldn't wonder" (in a comforting tone, and really believing she was giving comfort) "if you picked up a new sweetheart in Liverpool. What gown are you going in, Mary?" "Oh, I don't know and don't care," exclaimed Mary, sick and weary of her visitor. "Well, then! take my advice, and go in that blue merino. It's old to be sure, and a bit worn at elbows, but folk won't notice that, and th' colour suits you. Now mind, Mary. And I'll lend you my black watered scarf," added she, really good-naturedly, according to her sense of things, and withal, a little bit pleased at the idea of her pet article of dress figuring away on the person of a witness at a trial for murder. "I'll bring it to-morrow before you start." "No, don't!" said Mary; "thank you, but I don't want it." "Why, what can you wear? I know all your clothes as well as I do my own, and what is there you can wear? Not your old plaid shawl, I do hope? You would not fancy this I have on, more nor the scarf, would you?" said she, brightening up at the thought, and willing to lend it, or any thing else. "Oh Sally! don't go on talking a-that-ns; how can I think on dress at such a time? When it's a matter of life and death to Jem?" "Bless the girl! It's Jem, is it? Well now, I thought there was some sweetheart in the back-ground, when you flew off so with Mr. Carson. Then what in the name of goodness made him shoot Mr. Harry? After you had given up going with him, I mean? Was he afraid you'd be on again?" "How dare you say he shot Mr. Harry?" asked Mary, firing up from the state of languid indifference into which she had sunk while Sally had been settling about her dress. "But it's no matter what you think as did not know him. What grieves me is, that people should go on thinking him guilty as did know him," she said, sinking back into her former depressed tone and manner. "And don't you think he did it?" asked Sally. Mary paused; she was going on too fast with one so curious and so unscrupulous. Besides she remembered how even she herself had, at first, believed him guilty; and she felt it was not for her to cast stones at those who, on similar evidence, inclined to the same belief. None had given him much benefit of a doubt. None had faith in his innocence. None but his mother; and there the heart loved more than the head reasoned, and her yearning affection had never for an instant entertained the idea that her Jem was a murderer. But Mary disliked the whole conversation; the subject, the manner in which it was treated, were all painful, and she had a repugnance to the person with whom she spoke. She was thankful, therefore, when Job Legh's voice was heard at the door, as he stood with the latch in his hand, talking to a neighbour, and when Sally jumped up in vexation and said, "There's that old fogey coming in here, as I'm alive! Did your father set him to look after you while he was away? or what brings the old chap here? However, I'm off; I never could abide either him or his prim grand-daughter. Goodbye, Mary." So far in a whisper, then louder, "If you think better of my offer about the scarf, Mary, just step in to-morrow before nine, and you're quite welcome to it." She and Job passed each other at the door, with mutual looks of dislike, which neither took any pains to conceal. "Yon's a bold, bad girl," said Job to Mary. "She's very good-natured," replied Mary, too honourable to abuse a visitor who had only that instant crossed her threshold, and gladly dwelling on the good quality most apparent in Sally's character. "Ay, ay! good-natured, generous, jolly, full of fun; there are a number of other names for the good qualities the devil leaves his childer, as baits to catch gudgeons with. D'ye think folk could be led astray by one who was every way bad? Howe'er, that's not what I came to talk about. I've seen Mr. Bridgenorth, and he is in a manner of the same mind as me; he thinks it would have an awkward look, and might tell against the poor lad on his trial; still if she's ill she's ill, and it can't be helped." "I don't know if she's so bad as all that," said Mary, who began to dread her part in doing any thing which might tell against her poor lover. "Will you come and see her, Job? The doctor seemed to say as I liked, not as he thought." "That's because he had no great thought on the subject, either one way or t'other," replied Job, whose contempt for medical men pretty nearly equalled his respect for lawyers. "But I'll go and welcome. I han not seen th' oud ladies since their sorrows, and it's but manners to go and ax after them. Come along." The room at Mrs. Wilson's had that still, changeless look you must have often observed in the house of sickness or mourning. No particular employment going on; people watching and waiting rather than acting, unless in the more sudden and violent attacks; what little movement is going on, so noiseless and hushed; the furniture all arranged and stationary, with a view to the comfort of the afflicted; the window-blinds drawn down to keep out the disturbing variety of a sun-beam; the same saddened, serious look on the faces of the in-dwellers; you fall back into the same train of thought with all these associations, and forget the street, the outer world, in the contemplation of the one stationary, absorbing interest within. Mrs. Wilson sat quietly in her chair, with just the same look Mary had left on her face; Mrs. Davenport went about with creaking shoes, which made all the more noise from her careful and lengthened tread, annoying the ears of those who were well, in this instance, far more than the dulled senses of the sick and the sorrowful. Alice's voice still was going on cheerfully in the upper room with incessant talking and little laughs to herself, or perhaps in sympathy with her unseen companions; "unseen," I say, in preference to "fancied," for who knows whether God does not permit the forms of those who were dearest when living, to hover round the bed of the dying? Job spoke, and Mrs. Wilson answered. So quietly, that it was unnatural under the circumstances. It made a deeper impression on the old man than any token of mere bodily illness could have done. If she had raved in delirium, or moaned in fever, he could have spoken after his wont, and given his opinion, his advice, and his consolation; now he was awed into silence. At length he pulled Mary aside into a corner of the house-place where Mrs. Wilson was sitting, and began to talk to her. "Yo're right, Mary! She's no ways fit to go to Liverpool, poor soul. Now I've seen her, I only wonder the doctor could ha' been unsettled in his mind at th' first. Choose how it goes wi' poor Jem, she cannot go. One way or another it will soon be over, and best to leave her in the state she is till then." "I was sure you would think so," said Mary. But they were reckoning without their host. They esteemed her senses gone, while, in fact, they were only inert, and could not convey impressions rapidly to the over-burdened, troubled brain. They had not noticed that her eyes had followed them (mechanically it seemed at first) as they had moved away to the corner of the room; that her face, hitherto so changeless, had begun to work with one or two of the old symptoms of impatience. But when they were silent she stood up, and startled them almost as if a dead person had spoken, by saying clearly and decidedly--"I go to Liverpool. I hear you and your plans; and I tell you I shall go to Liverpool. If my words are to kill my son, they have already gone forth out of my mouth, and nought can bring them back. But I will have faith. Alice (up above) has often telled me I wanted faith, and now I will have it. They cannot--they will not kill my child, my only child. I will not be afeared. Yet, oh! I am so sick with terror. But if he is to die, think ye not that I will see him again; ay! see him at his trial? When all are hating him, he shall have his poor mother near him, to give him all the comfort, eyes, and looks, and tears, and a heart that is dead to all but him, can give; his poor old mother, who knows how free he is from sin--in the sight of man at least. They'll let me go to him, maybe, the very minute it's over; and I know many Scripture texts (though you would not think it), that may keep up his heart. I missed seeing him ere he went to yon prison, but nought shall keep me away again one minute when I can see his face; for maybe the minutes are numbered, and the count but small. I know I can be a comfort to him, poor lad. You would not think it, now, but he'd alway speak as kind and soft to me as if he were courting me, like. He loved me above a bit; and am I to leave him now to dree all the cruel slander they'll put upon him? I can pray for him at each hard word they say against him, if I can do nought else; and he'll know what his mother is doing for him, poor lad, by the look on my face." Still they made some look, or gesture of opposition to her wishes. She turned sharp round on Mary, the old object of her pettish attacks, and said, "Now, wench! once for all! I tell yo this. _He_ could never guide me; and he'd sense enough not to try. What he could na do, don't you try. I shall go to Liverpool to-morrow, and find my lad, and stay with him through thick and thin; and if he dies, why, perhaps, God of His mercy will take me too. The grave is a sure cure for an aching heart." She sank back in her chair, quite exhausted by the sudden effort she had made; but if they even offered to speak, she cut them short (whatever the subject might be), with the repetition of the same words, "I shall go to Liverpool." No more could be said, the doctor's opinion had been so undecided; Mr. Bridgenorth had given his legal voice in favour of her going, and Mary was obliged to relinquish the idea of persuading her to remain at home, if indeed under all the circumstances it could be thought desirable. "Best way will be," said Job, "for me to hunt out Will, early to-morrow morning, and yo, Mary, come at after with Jane Wilson. I know a decent woman where yo two can have a bed, and where we may meet together when I've found Will, afore going to Mr. Bridgenorth's at two o'clock; for, I can tell him, I'll not trust none of his clerks for hunting up Will, if Jem's life is to depend on it." Now Mary disliked this plan inexpressibly; her dislike was partly grounded on reason, and partly on feeling. She could not bear the idea of deputing to any one the active measures necessary to be taken in order to save Jem. She felt as if they were her duty, her right. She durst not trust to any one the completion of her plan; they might not have energy, or perseverance, or desperation enough to follow out the slightest chance; and her love would endow her with all these qualities, independently of the terrible alternative which awaited her in case all failed and Jem was condemned. No one could have her motives; and consequently no one could have her sharpened brain, her despairing determination. Besides (only that was purely selfish), she could not endure the suspense of remaining quiet, and only knowing the result when all was accomplished. So with vehemence and impatience she rebutted every reason Job adduced for his plan; and of course, thus opposed, by what appeared to him wilfulness, he became more resolute, and angry words were exchanged, and a feeling of estrangement rose up between them, for a time, as they walked homewards. But then came in Margaret with her gentleness, like an angel of peace, so calm and reasonable, that both felt ashamed of their irritation, and tacitly left the decision to her (only, by the way, I think Mary could never have submitted if it had gone against her, penitent and tearful as was her manner now to Job, the good old man who was helping her to work for Jem, although they differed as to the manner). "Mary had better go," said Margaret to her grandfather, in a low tone, "I know what she's feeling, and it will be a comfort to her soon, may be, to think she did all she could herself. She would perhaps fancy it might have been different; do, grandfather, let her." Margaret had still, you see, little or no belief in Jem's innocence; and besides, she thought if Mary saw Will, and heard herself from him that Jem had not been with him that Thursday night, it would in a measure break the force of the blow which was impending. "Let me lock up house, grandfather, for a couple of days, and go and stay with Alice. It's but little one like me can do, I know" (she added softly); "but, by the blessing o' God, I'll do it and welcome; and here comes one kindly use o' money, I can hire them as will do for her what I cannot. Mrs. Davenport is a willing body, and one who knows sorrow and sickness, and I can pay her for her time, and keep her there pretty near altogether. So let that be settled. And you take Mrs. Wilson, dear grandad, and let Mary go find Will, and you can all meet together at after, and I'm sure I wish you luck." Job consented with only a few dissenting grunts; but on the whole, with a very good grace for an old man who had been so positive only a few minutes before. Mary was thankful for Margaret's interference. She did not speak, but threw her arms round Margaret's neck, and put up her rosy-red mouth to be kissed; and even Job was attracted by the pretty, child-like gesture; and when she drew near him, afterwards, like a little creature sidling up to some person whom it feels to have offended, he bent down and blessed her, as if she had been a child of his own. To Mary the old man's blessing came like words of power. CHAPTER XXVI. THE JOURNEY TO LIVERPOOL. "Like a bark upon the sea, Life is floating over death; Above, below, encircling thee, Danger lurks in every breath. Parted art thou from the grave Only by a plank most frail; Tossed upon the restless wave, Sport of every fickle gale. Let the skies be e'er so clear, And so calm and still the sea, Shipwreck yet has he to fear, Who life's voyager will be." R�CKERT. The early trains for Liverpool, on Monday morning, were crowded by attorneys, attorneys' clerks, plaintiffs, defendants, and witnesses, all going to the Assizes. They were a motley assembly, each with some cause for anxiety stirring at his heart; though, after all, that is saying little or nothing, for we are all of us in the same predicament through life; each with a fear and a hope from childhood to death. Among the passengers there was Mary Barton, dressed in the blue gown and obnoxious plaid shawl. Common as railroads are now in all places as a means of transit, and especially in Manchester, Mary had never been on one before; and she felt bewildered by the hurry, the noise of people, and bells, and horns; the whiz and the scream of the arriving trains. The very journey itself seemed to her a matter of wonder. She had a back seat, and looked towards the factory-chimneys, and the cloud of smoke which hovers over Manchester, with a feeling akin to the "Heimweh." She was losing sight of the familiar objects of her childhood for the first time; and unpleasant as those objects are to most, she yearned after them with some of the same sentiment which gives pathos to the thoughts of the emigrant. The cloud-shadows which give beauty to Chat-Moss, the picturesque old houses of Newton, what were they to Mary, whose heart was full of many things? Yet she seemed to look at them earnestly as they glided past; but she neither saw nor heard. She neither saw nor heard till some well-known names fell upon her ear. Two lawyers' clerks were discussing the cases to come on that Assizes; of course, "the murder-case," as it had come to be termed, held a conspicuous place in their conversation. They had no doubt of the result. "Juries are always very unwilling to convict on circumstantial evidence, it is true," said one, "but here there can hardly be any doubt." "If it had not been so clear a case," replied the other, "I should have said they were injudicious in hurrying on the trial so much. Still, more evidence might have been collected." "They tell me," said the first speaker,--"the people in Gardener's office I mean,--that it was really feared the old gentleman would have gone out of his mind, if the trial had been delayed. He was with Mr. Gardener as many as seven times on Saturday, and called him up at night to suggest that some letter should be written, or something done to secure the verdict." "Poor old man," answered his companion, "who can wonder?--an only son,--such a death,--the disagreeable circumstances attending it; I had not time to read the _Guardian_ on Saturday, but I understand it was some dispute about a factory girl." "Yes, some such person. Of course she'll be examined, and Williams will do it in style. I shall slip out from our court to hear him if I can hit the nick of time." "And if you can get a place, you mean, for depend upon it the court will be crowded." "Ay, ay, the ladies (sweet souls) will come in shoals to hear a trial for murder, and see the murderer, and watch the judge put on his black cap." "And then go home and groan over the Spanish ladies who take delight in bull-fights--'such unfeminine creatures!'" Then they went on to other subjects. It was but another drop to Mary's cup; but she was nearly in that state which Crabbe describes, "For when so full the cup of sorrows flows Add but a drop, it instantly o'erflows." And now they were in the tunnel!--and now they were in Liverpool; and she must rouse herself from the torpor of mind and body which was creeping over her; the result of much anxiety and fatigue, and several sleepless nights. She asked a policeman the way to Milk House Yard, and following his directions with the _savoir faire_ of a town-bred girl, she reached a little court leading out of a busy, thronged street, not far from the Docks. When she entered the quiet little yard she stopped to regain her breath, and to gather strength, for her limbs trembled, and her heart beat violently. All the unfavourable contingencies she had, until now, forbidden herself to dwell upon, came forward to her mind. The possibility, the bare possibility, of Jem being an accomplice in the murder; the still greater possibility that he had not fulfilled his intention of going part of the way with Will, but had been led off by some little accidental occurrence from his original intention; and that he had spent the evening with those, whom it was now too late to bring forward as witnesses. But sooner or later she must know the truth; so taking courage she knocked at the door of a house. "Is this Mrs. Jones's?" she inquired. "Next door but one," was the curt answer. And even this extra minute was a reprieve. Mrs. Jones was busy washing, and would have spoken angrily to the person who knocked so gently at the door, if anger had been in her nature; but she was a soft, helpless kind of woman, and only sighed over the many interruptions she had had to her business that unlucky Monday morning. But the feeling which would have been anger in a more impatient temper, took the form of prejudice against the disturber, whoever he or she might be. Mary's fluttered and excited appearance strengthened this prejudice in Mrs. Jones's mind, as she stood, stripping the soap-suds off her arms, while she eyed her visitor, and waited to be told what her business was. But no words would come. Mary's voice seemed choked up in her throat. "Pray what do you want, young woman?" coldly asked Mrs. Jones at last. "I want--Oh! is Will Wilson here?" "No, he is not," replied Mrs. Jones, inclining to shut the door in her face. "Is he not come back from the Isle of Man?" asked Mary, sickening. "He never went; he stayed in Manchester too long; as perhaps you know, already." And again the door seemed closing. But Mary bent forwards with suppliant action (as some young tree bends, when blown by the rough, autumnal wind), and gasped out, "Tell me--tell me--where is he?" Mrs. Jones suspected some love affair, and, perhaps, one of not the most creditable kind; but the distress of the pale young creature before her was so obvious and so pitiable, that were she ever so sinful, Mrs. Jones could no longer uphold her short, reserved manner. "He's gone this very morning, my poor girl. Step in, and I'll tell you about it." "Gone!" cried Mary. "How gone? I must see him,--it's a matter of life and death: he can save the innocent from being hanged,--he cannot be gone,--how gone?" "Sailed, my dear! sailed in the _John Cropper_ this very blessed morning." "Sailed!" CHAPTER XXVII. IN THE LIVERPOOL DOCKS. "Yon is our quay! Hark to the clamour in that miry road, Bounded and narrowed by yon vessel's load; The lumbering wealth she empties round the place, Package and parcel, hogshead, chest and case: While the loud seaman and the angry hind, Mingling in business, bellow to the wind." CRABBE. Mary staggered into the house. Mrs. Jones placed her tenderly in a chair, and there stood bewildered by her side. "Oh, father! father!" muttered she, "what have you done?--What must I do? must the innocent die?--or he--whom I fear--I fear--oh! what am I saying?" said she, looking round affrighted, and seemingly reassured by Mrs. Jones's countenance, "I am so helpless, so weak,--but a poor girl after all. How can I tell what is right? Father! you have always been so kind to me,--and you to be--never mind--never mind, all will come right in the grave." "Save us, and bless us!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones, "if I don't think she's gone out of her wits!" "No, I'm not!" said Mary, catching at the words, and with a strong effort controlling the mind she felt to be wandering, while the red blood flushed to scarlet the heretofore white cheek, "I'm not out of my senses; there is so much to be done--so much--and no one but me to do it, you know,--though I can't rightly tell what it is," looking up with bewilderment into Mrs. Jones's face. "I must not go mad whatever comes--at least not yet. No!" (bracing herself up) "something may yet be done, and I must do it. Sailed! did you say? The _John Cropper_? Sailed?" "Ay! she went out of dock last night, to be ready for the morning's tide." "I thought she was not to sail till to-morrow," murmured Mary. "So did Will (he's lodged here long, so we all call him 'Will')," replied Mrs. Jones. "The mate had told him so, I believe, and he never knew different till he got to Liverpool on Friday morning; but as soon as he heard, he gave up going to the Isle o' Man, and just ran over to Rhyl with the mate, one John Harris, as has friends a bit beyond Abergele; you may have heard him speak on him, for they are great chums, though I've my own opinion of Harris." "And he's sailed?" repeated Mary, trying by repetition to realise the fact to herself. "Ay, he went on board last night to be ready for the morning's tide, as I said afore, and my boy went to see the ship go down the river, and came back all agog with the sight. Here, Charley, Charley!" She called out loudly for her son: but Charley was one of those boys who are never "far to seek," as the Lancashire people say, when any thing is going on; a mysterious conversation, an unusual event, a fire, or a riot, any thing, in short; such boys are the little omnipresent people of this world. Charley had, in fact, been spectator and auditor all this time; though for a little while he had been engaged in "dollying" and a few other mischievous feats in the washing line, which had prevented his attention from being fully given to his mother's conversation with the strange girl who had entered. "Oh, Charley! there you are! Did you not see the _John Cropper_ sail down the river this morning? Tell the young woman about it, for I think she hardly credits me." "I saw her tugged down the river by a steam-boat, which comes to same thing," replied he. "Oh! if I had but come last night!" moaned Mary. "But I never thought of it. I never thought but what he knew right when he said he would be back from the Isle of Man on Monday morning, and not afore--and now some one must die for my negligence!" "Die!" exclaimed the lad. "How?" "Oh! Will would have proved an _alibi_,--but he's gone,--and what am I to do?" "Don't give it up yet," cried the energetic boy, interested at once in the case; "let's have a try for him. We are but where we were if we fail." Mary roused herself. The sympathetic "we" gave her heart and hope. "But what can be done? You say he's sailed; what can be done?" But she spoke louder, and in a more life-like tone. "No! I did not say he'd sailed; mother said that, and women know nought about such matters. You see" (proud of his office of instructor, and insensibly influenced, as all about her were, by Mary's sweet, earnest, lovely countenance) "there's sand-banks at the mouth of the river, and ships can't get over them but at high-water; especially ships of heavy burden, like the _John Cropper_. Now, she was tugged down the river at low water, or pretty near, and will have to lie some time before the water will be high enough to float her over the banks. So hold up your head,--you've a chance yet, though may be but a poor one." "But what must I do?" asked Mary, to whom all this explanation had been a vague mystery. "Do!" said the boy, impatiently, "why, have not I told you? Only women (begging your pardon) are so stupid at understanding about any thing belonging to the sea;--you must get a boat, and make all haste, and sail after him,--after the _John Cropper_. You may overtake her, or you may not. It's just a chance; but she's heavy laden, and that's in your favour. She'll draw many feet of water." Mary had humbly and eagerly (oh, how eagerly!) listened to this young Sir Oracle's speech; but try as she would, she could only understand that she must make haste, and sail--somewhere-- "I beg your pardon," (and her little acknowledgment of inferiority in this speech pleased the lad, and made him her still more zealous friend). "I beg your pardon," said she, "but I don't know where to get a boat. Are there boat-stands?" The lad laughed outright. "You're not long in Liverpool, I guess. Boat-stands! No; go down to the pier,--any pier will do, and hire a boat,--you'll be at no loss when once you are there. Only make haste." "Oh, you need not tell me that, if I but knew how," said Mary, trembling with eagerness. "But you say right,--I never was here before, and I don't know my way to the place you speak on; only tell me, and I'll not lose a minute." "Mother!" said the wilful lad, "I'm going to show her the way to the pier; I'll be back in an hour,--or so,--" he added in a lower tone. And before the gentle Mrs. Jones could collect her scattered wits sufficiently to understand half of the hastily formed plan, her son was scudding down the street, closely followed by Mary's half-running steps. Presently he slackened his pace sufficiently to enable him to enter into conversation with Mary, for once escaped from the reach of his mother's recalling voice, he thought he might venture to indulge his curiosity. "Ahem!--What's your name? It's so awkward to be calling you young woman." "My name is Mary,--Mary Barton," answered she, anxious to propitiate one who seemed so willing to exert himself in her behalf, or else she grudged every word which caused the slightest relaxation in her speed, although her chest seemed tightened, and her head throbbing, from the rate at which they were walking. "And you want Will Wilson to prove an _alibi_--is that it?" "Yes--oh, yes--can we not cross now?" "No, wait a minute; it's the teagle hoisting above your head I'm afraid of;--and who is it that's to be tried?" "Jem; oh, lad! can't we get past?" They rushed under the great bales quivering in the air above their heads and pressed onwards for a few minutes, till Master Charley again saw fit to walk a little slower, and ask a few more questions. "Mary, is Jem your brother, or your sweetheart, that you're so set upon saving him?" "No--no," replied she, but with something of hesitation, that made the shrewd boy yet more anxious to clear up the mystery. "Perhaps he's your cousin, then? Many a girl has a cousin who has not a sweetheart." "No, he's neither kith nor kin to me. What's the matter? What are you stopping for?" said she, with nervous terror, as Charley turned back a few steps, and peered up a side street. "Oh, nothing to flurry you so, Mary. I heard you say to mother you had never been in Liverpool before, and if you'll only look up this street you may see the back windows of our Exchange. Such a building as yon is! with 'natomy hiding under a blanket, and Lord Admiral Nelson, and a few more people in the middle of the court! No! come here," as Mary, in her eagerness, was looking at any window that caught her eye first, to satisfy the boy. "Here, then, now you can see it. You can say, now, you've seen Liverpool Exchange." "Yes, to be sure--it's a beautiful window, I'm sure. But are we near the boats? I'll stop as I come back, you know; only I think we'd better get on now." "Oh! if the wind's in your favour, you'll be down the river in no time, and catch Will, I'll be bound; and if it's not, why, you know, the minute it took you to look at the Exchange will be neither here nor there." Another rush onwards, till one of the long crossings near the docks caused a stoppage, and gave Mary time for breathing, and Charley leisure to ask another question. "You've never said where you come from?" "Manchester," replied she. "Eh, then! you've a power of things to see. Liverpool beats Manchester hollow, they say. A nasty, smoky hole, bean't it? Are you bound to live there?" "Oh, yes! it's my home." "Well, I don't think I could abide a home in the middle of smoke. Look there! now you see the river! That's something now you'd give a deal for in Manchester. Look!" And Mary did look, and saw down an opening made in the forest of masts belonging to the vessels in dock, the glorious river, along which white-sailed ships were gliding with the ensigns of all nations, not "braving the battle," but telling of the distant lands, spicy or frozen, that sent to that mighty mart for their comforts or their luxuries; she saw small boats passing to and fro on that glittering highway, but she also saw such puffs and clouds of smoke from the countless steamers, that she wondered at Charley's intolerance of the smoke of Manchester. Across the swing-bridge, along the pier,--and they stood breathless by a magnificent dock, where hundreds of ships lay motionless during the process of loading and unloading. The cries of the sailors, the variety of languages used by the passers-by, and the entire novelty of the sight compared with any thing which Mary had ever seen, made her feel most helpless and forlorn; and she clung to her young guide as to one who alone by his superior knowledge could interpret between her and the new race of men by whom she was surrounded,--for a new race sailors might reasonably be considered, to a girl who had hitherto seen none but inland dwellers, and those for the greater part factory people. In that new world of sight and sound, she still bore one prevailing thought, and though her eye glanced over the ships and the wide-spreading river, her mind was full of the thought of reaching Will. "Why are we here?" asked she of Charley. "There are no little boats about, and I thought I was to go in a little boat; those ships are never meant for short distances, are they?" "To be sure not," replied he, rather contemptuously. "But the _John Cropper_ lay in this dock, and I know many of the sailors; and if I could see one I knew, I'd ask him to run up the mast, and see if he could catch a sight of her in the offing. If she's weighed her anchor no use for your going, you know." Mary assented quietly to this speech, as if she were as careless as Charley seemed now to be about her overtaking Will; but in truth her heart was sinking within her, and she no longer felt the energy which had hitherto upheld her. Her bodily strength was giving way, and she stood cold and shivering, although the noon-day sun beat down with considerable power on the shadeless spot where she was standing. "Here's Tom Bourne!" said Charley; and altering his manner from the patronising key in which he had spoken to Mary, he addressed a weather-beaten old sailor who came rolling along the pathway where they stood, his hands in his pockets, and his quid in his mouth, with very much the air of one who had nothing to do but look about him, and spit right and left; addressing this old tar, Charley made known to him his wish in slang, which to Mary was almost inaudible, and quite unintelligible, and which I am too much of a land-lubber to repeat correctly. Mary watched looks and actions with a renovated keenness of perception. She saw the old man listen attentively to Charley; she saw him eye her over from head to foot, and wind up his inspection with a little nod of approbation (for her very shabbiness and poverty of dress were creditable signs to the experienced old sailor); and then she watched him leisurely swing himself on to a ship in the basin, and, borrowing a glass, run up the mast with the speed of a monkey. "He'll fall!" said she, in affright, clutching at Charley's arm, and judging the sailor, from his storm-marked face and unsteady walk on land, to be much older than he really was. "Not he!" said Charley. "He's at the mast-head now. See! he's looking through his glass, and using his arms as steady as if he were on dry land. Why, I've been up the mast, many and many a time; only don't tell mother. She thinks I'm to be a shoemaker, but I've made up my mind to be a sailor; only there's no good arguing with a woman. You'll not tell her, Mary?" "Oh, see!" exclaimed she (his secret was very safe with her, for, in fact, she had not heard it). "See! he's coming down; he's down. Speak to him, Charley." But unable to wait another instant she called out herself, "Can you see the _John Cropper_? Is she there yet?" "Ay, ay," he answered, and coming quickly up to them, he hurried them away to seek for a boat, saying the bar was already covered, and in an hour the ship would hoist her sails and be off. "You've the wind right against you, and must use oars. No time to lose." They ran to some steps leading down to the water. They beckoned to some watermen, who, suspecting the real state of the case, appeared in no hurry for a fare, but leisurely brought their boat alongside the stairs, as if it were a matter of indifference to them whether they were engaged or not, while they conversed together in few words, and in an under-tone, respecting the charge they should make. "Oh, pray make haste," called Mary. "I want you to take me to the _John Cropper_. Where is she, Charley? Tell them--I don't rightly know the words,--only make haste!" "In the offing she is, sure enough, miss," answered one of the men, shoving Charley on one side, regarding him as too young to be a principal in the bargain. "I don't think we can go, Dick," said he, with a wink to his companion; "there's the gentleman over at New Brighton as wants us." "But, mayhap, the young woman will pay us handsome for giving her a last look at her sweetheart," interposed the other. "Oh, how much do you want? Only make haste--I've enough to pay you, but every moment is precious," said Mary. "Ay, that it is. Less than an hour won't take us to the mouth of the river, and she'll be off by two o'clock!" Poor Mary's ideas of "plenty of money," however, were different to those entertained by the boatmen. Only fourteen or fifteen shillings remained out of the sovereign Margaret had lent her, and the boatmen, imagining "plenty" to mean no less than several pounds, insisted upon receiving a sovereign (an exorbitant fare, by the bye, although reduced from their first demand of thirty shillings). While Charley, with a boy's impatience of delay, and disregard of money, kept urging, "Give it 'em, Mary; they'll none of them take you for less. It's your only chance. There's St. Nicholas ringing one!" "I've only got fourteen and ninepence," cried she, in despair, after counting over her money; "but I'll give you my shawl, and you can sell it for four or five shillings,--oh! won't that much do?" asked she, in such a tone of voice, that they must indeed have had hard hearts who could refuse such agonised entreaty. They took her on board. And in less than five minutes she was rocking and tossing in a boat for the first time in her life, alone with two rough, hard-looking men. CHAPTER XXVIII. "JOHN CROPPER, AHOY!" "A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast! And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee." ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Mary had not understood that Charley was not coming with her. In fact, she had not thought about it, till she perceived his absence, as they pushed off from the landing-place, and remembered that she had never thanked him for all his kind interest in her behalf; and now his absence made her feel most lonely--even his, the little mushroom friend of an hour's growth. The boat threaded her way through the maze of larger vessels which surrounded the shore, bumping against one, kept off by the oars from going right against another, overshadowed by a third, until at length they were fairly out on the broad river, away from either shore; the sights and sounds of land being lost in the distance. And then came a sort of pause. Both wind and tide were against the two men, and labour as they would they made but little way. Once Mary in her impatience had risen up to obtain a better view of the progress they had made, but the men had roughly told her to sit down immediately, and she had dropped on her seat like a chidden child, although the impatience was still at her heart. But now she grew sure they were turning off from the straight course which they had hitherto kept on the Cheshire side of the river, whither they had gone to avoid the force of the current, and after a short time she could not help naming her conviction, as a kind of nightmare dread and belief came over her, that every thing animate and inanimate was in league against her one sole aim and object of overtaking Will. They answered gruffly. They saw a boatman whom they knew, and were desirous of obtaining his services as steersman, so that both might row with greater effect. They knew what they were about. So she sat silent with clenched hands while the parley went on, the explanation was given, the favour asked and granted. But she was sickening all the time with nervous fear. They had been rowing a long, long time--half a day it seemed, at least--yet Liverpool appeared still close at hand, and Mary began almost to wonder that the men were not as much disheartened as she was, when the wind, which had been hitherto against them, dropped, and thin clouds began to gather over the sky, shutting out the sun, and casting a chilly gloom over every thing. There was not a breath of air, and yet it was colder than when the soft violence of the westerly wind had been felt. The men renewed their efforts. The boat gave a bound forwards at every pull of the oars. The water was glassy and motionless, reflecting tint by tint of the Indian-ink sky above. Mary shivered, and her heart sank within her. Still now they evidently were making progress. Then the steersman pointed to a rippling line in the river only a little way off, and the men disturbed Mary, who was watching the ships that lay in what appeared to her the open sea, to get at their sails. She gave a little start, and rose. Her patience, her grief, and perhaps her silence, had begun to win upon the men. "Yon second to the norrard is the _John Cropper_. Wind's right now, and sails will soon carry us alongside of her." He had forgotten (or perhaps he did not like to remind Mary) that the same wind which now bore their little craft along with easy, rapid motion, would also be favourable to the _John Cropper_. But as they looked with straining eyes, as if to measure the decreasing distance that separated them from her, they saw her sails unfurled and flap in the breeze, till, catching the right point, they bellied forth into white roundness, and the ship began to plunge and heave, as if she were a living creature, impatient to be off. "They're heaving anchor!" said one of the boatmen to the others, as the faint musical cry of the sailors came floating over the waters that still separated them. Full of the spirit of the chase, though as yet ignorant of Mary's motives, the men sprang to hoist another sail. It was fully as much as the boat could bear, in the keen, gusty east wind which was now blowing, and she bent, and laboured, and ploughed, and creaked upbraidingly as if tasked beyond her strength; but she sped along with a gallant swiftness. They drew nearer, and they heard the distant "ahoy" more clearly. It ceased. The anchor was up, and the ship was away. Mary stood up, steadying herself by the mast, and stretched out her arms, imploring the flying vessel to stay its course by that mute action, while the tears streamed down her cheeks. The men caught up their oars and hoisted them in the air, and shouted to arrest attention. They were seen by the men aboard the larger craft; but they were too busy with all the confusion prevalent in an outward-bound vessel to pay much attention. There were coils of ropes and seamen's chests to be stumbled over at every turn; there were animals, not properly secured, roaming bewildered about the deck, adding their pitiful lowings and bleatings to the aggregate of noises. There were carcases not cut up, looking like corpses of sheep and pigs rather than like mutton and pork; there were sailors running here and there and everywhere, having had no time to fall into method, and with their minds divided between thoughts of the land and the people they had left, and the present duties on board ship; while the captain strove hard to procure some kind of order by hasty commands given in a loud, impatient voice, to right and left, starboard and larboard, cabin and steerage. As he paced the deck with a chafed step, vexed at one or two little mistakes on the part of the mate, and suffering himself from the pain of separation from wife and children, but showing his suffering only by his outward irritation, he heard a hail from the shabby little river-boat that was striving to overtake his winged ship. For the men fearing that, as the ship was now fairly over the bar, they should only increase the distance between them, and being now within shouting range, had asked of Mary her more particular desire. Her throat was dry; all musical sound had gone out of her voice; but in a loud harsh whisper she told the men her errand of life and death, and they hailed the ship. "We're come for one William Wilson, who is wanted to prove an _alibi_ in Liverpool Assize Courts to-morrow. James Wilson is to be tried for a murder, done on Thursday night, when he was with William Wilson. Any thing more, missis?" asked the boat-man of Mary, in a lower voice, and taking his hands down from his mouth. "Say I'm Mary Barton. Oh, the ship is going on! Oh, for the love of Heaven, ask them to stop." The boatman was angry at the little regard paid to his summons, and called out again; repeating the message with the name of the young woman who sent it, and interlarding it with sailors' oaths. The ship flew along--away,--the boat struggled after. They could see the captain take his speaking-trumpet. And oh! and alas! they heard his words. He swore a dreadful oath; he called Mary a disgraceful name; and he said he would not stop his ship for any one, nor could he part with a single hand, whoever swung for it. The words came in unpitying clearness with their trumpet-sound. Mary sat down, looking like one who prays in the death-agony. For her eyes were turned up to that Heaven, where mercy dwelleth, while her blue lips quivered, though no sound came. Then she bowed her head and hid it in her hands. "Hark! yon sailor hails us." She looked up. And her heart stopped its beating to listen. William Wilson stood as near the stern of the vessel as he could get; and unable to obtain the trumpet from the angry captain, made a tube of his own hands. "So help me God, Mary Barton, I'll come back in the pilot-boat, time enough to save the life of the innocent." "What does he say?" asked Mary wildly, as the voice died away in the increasing distance, while the boatmen cheered, in their kindled sympathy with their passenger. "What does he say?" repeated she. "Tell me. I could not hear." She had heard with her ears, but her brain refused to recognise the sense. They repeated his speech, all three speaking at once, with many comments; while Mary looked at them and then at the vessel now far away. "I don't rightly know about it," said she, sorrowfully. "What is the pilot-boat?" They told her, and she gathered the meaning out of the sailors' slang which enveloped it. There was a hope still, although so slight and faint. "How far does the pilot go with the ship?" To different distances they said. Some pilots would go as far as Holyhead for the chance of the homeward-bound vessels; others only took the ships over the Banks. Some captains were more cautious than others, and the pilots had different ways. The wind was against the homeward bound vessels, so perhaps the pilot aboard the _John Cropper_ would not care to go far out. "How soon would he come back?" There were three boatmen, and three opinions, varying from twelve hours to two days. Nay, the man who gave his vote for the longest time, on having his judgment disputed, grew stubborn, and doubled the time, and thought it might be the end of the week before the pilot-boat came home. They began disputing, and urging reasons; and Mary tried to understand them; but independently of their nautical language, a veil seemed drawn over her mind, and she had no clear perception of any thing that passed. Her very words seemed not her own, and beyond her power of control, for she found herself speaking quite differently to what she meant. One by one her hopes had fallen away, and left her desolate; and though a chance yet remained, she could no longer hope. She felt certain it, too, would fade and vanish. She sank into a kind of stupor. All outward objects harmonised with her despair. The gloomy leaden sky,--the deep, dark waters below, of a still heavier shade of colour,--the cold, flat yellow shore in the distance, which no ray lightened up,--the nipping, cutting wind. She shivered with her depression of mind and body. The sails were taken down, of course, on the return to Liverpool, and the progress they made, rowing and tacking, was very slow. The men talked together, disputing about the pilots at first, and then about matters of local importance, in which Mary would have taken no interest at any time, and she gradually became drowsy; irrepressibly so, indeed, for in spite of her jerking efforts to keep awake she sank away to the bottom of the boat, and there lay couched on a rough heap of sails, rope, and tackle of various kinds. The measured beat of the waters against the sides of the boat, and the musical boom of the more distant waves, were more lulling than silence, and she slept sound. Once she opened her eyes heavily, and dimly saw the old gray, rough boatman (who had stood out the most obstinately for the full fare) covering her with his thick pea-jacket. He had taken it off on purpose, and was doing it tenderly in his way, but before she could rouse herself up to thank him she had dropped off to sleep again. At last, in the dusk of evening, they arrived at the landing-place from which they had started some hours before. The men spoke to Mary, but though she mechanically replied, she did not stir; so, at length, they were obliged to shake her. She stood up, shivering and puzzled as to her whereabouts. "Now tell me where you are bound to, missis," said the gray old man, "and maybe I can put you in the way." She slowly comprehended what he said, and went through the process of recollection; but very dimly, and with much labour. She put her hand into her pocket and pulled out her purse, and shook its contents into the man's hand; and then began meekly to unpin her shawl, although they had turned away without asking for it. "No, no!" said the older man, who lingered on the step before springing into the boat, and to whom she mutely offered the shawl. "Keep it! we donnot want it. It were only for to try you,--some folks say they've no more blunt, when all the while they've getten a mint." "Thank you," said she, in a dull, low tone. "Where are you bound to? I axed that question afore," said the gruff old fellow. "I don't know. I'm a stranger," replied she, quietly, with a strange absence of anxiety under the circumstances. "But you mun find out then," said he, sharply, "pier-head's no place for a young woman to be standing on, gape-saying." "I've a card somewhere as will tell me," she answered, and the man, partly relieved, jumped into the boat, which was now pushing off to make way for the arrivals from some steamer. Mary felt in her pocket for the card, on which was written the name of the street where she was to have met Mr. Bridgenorth at two o'clock; where Job and Mrs. Wilson were to have been, and where she was to have learnt from the former the particulars of some respectable lodging. It was not to be found. She tried to brighten her perceptions, and felt again, and took out the little articles her pocket contained, her empty purse, her pocket-handkerchief, and such little things, but it was not there. In fact she had dropped it when, so eager to embark, she had pulled out her purse to reckon up her money. She did not know this, of course. She only knew it was gone. It added but little to the despair that was creeping over her. But she tried a little more to help herself, though every minute her mind became more cloudy. She strove to remember where Will had lodged, but she could not; name, street, every thing had passed away, and it did not signify; better she were lost than found. She sat down quietly on the top step of the landing, and gazed down into the dark, dank water below. Once or twice a spectral thought loomed among the shadows of her brain; a wonder whether beneath that cold dismal surface there would not be rest from the troubles of earth. But she could not hold an idea before her for two consecutive moments; and she forgot what she thought about before she could act upon it. So she continued sitting motionless, without looking up, or regarding in any way the insults to which she was subjected. Through the darkening light the old boatman had watched her: interested in her in spite of himself, and his scoldings of himself. When the landing-place was once more comparatively clear, he made his way towards it, across boats, and along planks, swearing at himself while he did so, for an old fool. He shook Mary's shoulder violently. "D---- you, I ask you again where you're bound to? Don't sit there, stupid. Where are you going to?" "I don't know," sighed Mary. "Come, come; avast with that story. You said a bit ago you'd a card, which was to tell you where to go." "I had, but I've lost it. Never mind." She looked again down upon the black mirror below. He stood by her, striving to put down his better self; but he could not. He shook her again. She looked up, as if she had forgotten him. "What do you want?" asked she, wearily. "Come with me, and be d----d to you!" replied he, clutching her arm to pull her up. She arose and followed him, with the unquestioning docility of a little child. CHAPTER XXIX. A TRUE BILL AGAINST JEM. "There are who, living by the legal pen, Are held in honour--honourable men." CRABBE. At five minutes before two, Job Legh stood upon the door-step of the house where Mr. Bridgenorth lodged at Assize time. He had left Mrs. Wilson at the dwelling of a friend of his, who had offered him a room for the old woman and Mary: a room which had frequently been his, on his occasional visits to Liverpool, but which he was thankful now to have obtained for them, as his own sleeping-place was a matter of indifference to him, and the town appeared crowded and disorderly on the eve of the Assizes. He was shown in to Mr. Bridgenorth, who was writing. Mary and Will Wilson had not yet arrived, being, as you know, far away on the broad sea; but of this Job of course knew nothing, and he did not as yet feel much anxiety about their non-appearance; he was more curious to know the result of Mr. Bridgenorth's interview that morning with Jem. "Why, yes," said Mr. Bridgenorth, putting down his pen, "I have seen him, but to little purpose, I'm afraid. He's very impracticable--very. I told him, of course, that he must be perfectly open with me, or else I could not be prepared for the weak points. I named your name with the view of unlocking his confidence, but--" "What did he say?" asked Job, breathlessly. "Why, very little. He barely answered me. Indeed, he refused to answer some questions--positively refused. I don't know what I can do for him." "Then you think him guilty, sir?" said Job, despondingly. "No, I don't," replied Mr. Bridgenorth, quickly and decisively. "Much less than I did before I saw him. The impression (mind, 'tis only impression; I rely upon your caution, not to take it for fact)--the impression," with an emphasis on the word, "he gave me is, that he knows something about the affair, but what, he will not say; and so the chances are, if he persists in his obstinacy, he'll be hung. That's all." He began to write again, for he had no time to lose. "But he must not be hung," said Job, with vehemence. Mr. Bridgenorth looked up, smiled a little, but shook his head. "What did he say, sir, if I may be so bold as to ask?" continued Job. "His words were few enough, and he was so reserved and short, that as I said before, I can only give you the impression they conveyed to me. I told him of course who I was, and for what I was sent. He looked pleased, I thought,--at least his face (sad enough when I went in, I assure ye) brightened a little; but he said he had nothing to say, no defence to make. I asked him if he was guilty, then; and by way of opening his heart I said I understood he had had provocation enough, inasmuch as I heard that the girl was very lovely, and had jilted him to fall desperately in love with that handsome young Carson (poor fellow!). But James Wilson did not speak one way or another. I then went to particulars. I asked him if the gun was his, as his mother had declared. He had not heard of her admission it was evident, from his quick way of looking up, and the glance of his eye; but when he saw I was observing him, he hung down his head again, and merely said she was right; it was his gun." "Well!" said Job, impatiently, as Mr. Bridgenorth paused. "Nay! I have little more to tell you," continued that gentleman. "I asked him to inform me in all confidence, how it came to be found there. He was silent for a time, and then refused. Not only refused to answer that question, but candidly told me he would not say another word on the subject, and, thanking me for my trouble and interest in his behalf, he all but dismissed me. Ungracious enough on the whole, was it not, Mr. Legh? And yet, I assure ye, I am twenty times more inclined to think him innocent than before I had the interview." "I wish Mary Barton would come," said Job, anxiously. "She and Will are a long time about it." "Ay, that's our only chance, I believe," answered Mr. Bridgenorth, who was writing again. "I sent Johnson off before twelve to serve him with his sub-poena, and to say I wanted to speak with him; he'll be here soon, I've no doubt." There was a pause. Mr. Bridgenorth looked up again, and spoke. "Mr. Duncombe promised to be here to speak to his character. I sent him a subpoena on Saturday night. Though after all, juries go very little by such general and vague testimony as that to character. It is very right that they should not often; but in this instance unfortunate for us, as we must rest our case on the _alibi_." The pen went again, scratch, scratch over the paper. Job grew very fidgetty. He sat on the edge of his chair, the more readily to start up when Will and Mary should appear. He listened intently to every noise and every step on the stair. Once he heard a man's footstep, and his old heart gave a leap of delight. But it was only Mr. Bridgenorth's clerk, bringing him a list of those cases in which the grand jury had found true bills. He glanced it over and pushed it to Job, merely saying, "Of course we expected this," and went on with his writing. There was a true bill against James Wilson. Of course. And yet Job felt now doubly anxious and sad. It seemed the beginning of the end. He had got, by imperceptible degrees, to think Jem innocent. Little by little this persuasion had come upon him. Mary (tossing about in the little boat on the broad river) did not come, nor did Will. Job grew very restless. He longed to go and watch for them out of the window, but feared to interrupt Mr. Bridgenorth. At length his desire to look out was irresistible, and he got up and walked carefully and gently across the room, his boots creaking at every cautious step. The gloom which had overspread the sky, and the influence of which had been felt by Mary on the open water, was yet more perceptible in the dark, dull street. Job grew more and more fidgetty. He was obliged to walk about the room, for he could not keep still; and he did so, regardless of Mr. Bridgenorth's impatient little motions and noises, as the slow, stealthy, creaking movements were heard, backwards and forwards, behind his chair. He really liked Job, and was interested for Jem, else his nervousness would have overcome his sympathy long before it did. But he could hold out no longer against the monotonous, grating sound; so at last he threw down his pen, locked his portfolio, and taking up his hat and gloves, he told Job he must go to the courts. "But Will Wilson is not come," said Job, in dismay. "Just wait while I run to his lodgings. I would have done it before, but I thought they'd be here every minute, and I were afraid of missing them. I'll be back in no time." "No, my good fellow, I really must go. Besides, I begin to think Johnson must have made a mistake, and have fixed with this William Wilson to meet me at the courts. If you like to wait for him here, pray make use of my room; but I've a notion I shall find him there: in which case, I'll send him to your lodgings; shall I? You know where to find me. I shall be here again by eight o'clock, and with the evidence of this witness that's to prove the _alibi_, I'll have the brief drawn out, and in the hands of counsel to-night." So saying he shook hands with Job, and went his way. The old man considered for a minute as he lingered at the door, and then bent his steps towards Mrs. Jones's, where he knew (from reference to queer, odd, heterogeneous memoranda, in an ancient black-leather pocket-book) that Will lodged, and where he doubted not he should hear both of him and of Mary. He went there, and gathered what intelligence he could out of Mrs. Jones's slow replies. He asked if a young woman had been there that morning, and if she had seen Will Wilson. "No!" "Why not?" "Why, bless you, 'cause he had sailed some hours before she came asking for him." There was a dead silence, broken only by the even, heavy sound of Mrs. Jones's ironing. "Where is the young woman now?" asked Job. "Somewhere down at the docks," she thought. "Charley would know, if he was in, but he wasn't. He was in mischief, somewhere or other, she had no doubt. Boys always were. He would break his neck some day, she knew;" so saying, she quietly spat upon her fresh iron, to test its heat, and then went on with her business. Job could have boxed her, he was in such a state of irritation. But he did not, and he had his reward. Charley came in, whistling with an air of indifference, assumed to carry off his knowledge of the lateness of the hour to which he had lingered about the docks. "Here's an old man come to know where the young woman is who went out with thee this morning," said his mother, after she had bestowed on him a little motherly scolding. "Where she is now, I don't know. I saw her last sailing down the river after the _John Cropper_. I'm afeared she won't reach her; wind changed and she would be under weigh, and over the bar in no time. She should have been back by now." It took Job some little time to understand this, from the confused use of the feminine pronoun. Then he inquired how he could best find Mary. "I'll run down again to the pier," said the boy; "I'll warrant I'll find her." "Thou shalt do no such a thing," said his mother, setting her back against the door. The lad made a comical face at Job, which met with no responsive look from the old man, whose sympathies were naturally in favour of the parent; although he would thankfully have availed himself of Charley's offer, for he was weary, and anxious to return to poor Mrs. Wilson, who would be wondering what had become of him. "How can I best find her? Who did she go with, lad?" But Charley was sullen at his mother's exercise of authority before a stranger, and at that stranger's grave looks when he meant to have made him laugh. "They were river boatmen;--that's all I know," said he. "But what was the name of their boat?" persevered Job. "I never took no notice;--the Anne, or William,--or some of them common names, I'll be bound." "What pier did she start from?" asked Job, despairingly. "Oh, as for that matter, it were the stairs on the Prince's Pier she started from; but she'll not come back to the same, for the American steamer came up with the tide, and anchored close to it, blocking up the way for all the smaller craft. It's a rough evening too, to be out on," he maliciously added. "Well, God's will be done! I did hope we could have saved the lad," said Job, sorrowfully; "but I'm getten very doubtful again. I'm uneasy about Mary, too,--very. She's a stranger in Liverpool." "So she told me," said Charley. "There's traps about for young women at every corner. It's a pity she's no one to meet her when she lands." "As for that," replied Job, "I don't see how any one could meet her when we can't tell where she would come to. I must trust to her coming right. She's getten spirit and sense. She'll most likely be for coming here again. Indeed, I don't know what else she can do, for she knows no other place in Liverpool. Missus, if she comes, will you give your son leave to bring her to No. 8, Back Garden Court, where there's friends waiting for her? I'll give him sixpence for his trouble." Mrs. Jones, pleased with the reference to her, gladly promised. And even Charley, indignant as he was at first at the idea of his motions being under the control of his mother, was mollified at the prospect of the sixpence, and at the probability of getting nearer to the heart of the mystery. But Mary never came. CHAPTER XXX. JOB LEGH'S DECEPTION. "Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans; The clock gives warning for eleven; 'Tis on the stroke--'He must be near,' Quoth Betty, 'and will soon be here, As sure as there's a moon in heaven.' The clock is on the stroke of twelve, And Johnny is not yet in sight, --The moon's in heaven, as Betty sees, But Betty is not quite at ease; And Susan has a dreadful night." WORDSWORTH. Job found Mrs. Wilson pacing about in a restless way; not speaking to the woman at whose house she was staying, but occasionally heaving such deep oppressive sighs as quite startled those around her. "Well!" said she, turning sharp round in her tottering walk up and down, as Job came in. "Well, speak!" repeated she, before he could make up his mind what to say; for, to tell the truth, he was studying for some kind-hearted lie which might soothe her for a time. But now the real state of the case came blurting forth in answer to her impatient questioning. "Will's not to the fore. But he'll may be turn up yet, time enough." She looked at him steadily for a minute, as if almost doubting if such despair could be in store for her as his words seemed to imply. Then she slowly shook her head, and said, more quietly than might have been expected from her previous excited manner, "Don't go for to say that! Thou dost not think it. Thou'rt well-nigh hopeless, like me. I seed all along my lad would be hung for what he never did. And better he were, and were shut [49] of this weary world, where there's neither justice nor mercy left." [Footnote 49: "Shut," quit.] She looked up with tranced eyes as if praying to that throne where mercy ever abideth, and then sat down. "Nay, now thou'rt off at a gallop," said Job. "Will has sailed this morning for sure, but that brave wench, Mary Barton, is after him, and will bring him back, I'll be bound, if she can but get speech on him. She's not back yet. Come, come, hold up thy head. It will all end right." "It will all end right," echoed she; "but not as thou tak'st it. Jem will be hung, and will go to his father and the little lads, where the Lord God wipes away all tears, and where the Lord Jesus speaks kindly to the little ones, who look about for the mothers they left upon earth. Eh, Job, yon's a blessed land, and I long to go to it, and yet I fret because Jem is hastening there. I would not fret if he and I could lie down to-night to sleep our last sleep; not a bit would I fret if folk would but know him to be innocent--as I do." "They'll know it sooner or later, and repent sore if they've hanged him for what he never did," replied Job. "Ay, that they will. Poor souls! May God have mercy on them when they find out their mistake." Presently Job grew tired of sitting waiting, and got up, and hung about the door and window, like some animal wanting to go out. It was pitch dark, for the moon had not yet risen. "You just go to bed," said he to the widow. "You'll want your strength for to-morrow. Jem will be sadly off, if he sees you so cut up as you look to-night. I'll step down again and find Mary. She'll be back by this time. I'll come and tell you every thing, never fear. But, now, you go to bed." "Thou'rt a kind friend, Job Legh, and I'll go, as thou wishest me. But, oh! mind thou com'st straight off to me, and bring Mary as soon as thou'st lit on her." She spoke low, but very calmly. "Ay, ay!" replied Job, slipping out of the house. He went first to Mr. Bridgenorth's, where it had struck him that Will and Mary might be all this time waiting for him. They were not there, however. Mr. Bridgenorth had just come in, and Job went breathlessly up-stairs to consult with him as to the state of the case. "It's a bad job," said the lawyer, looking very grave, while he arranged his papers. "Johnson told me how it was; the woman that Wilson lodged with told him. I doubt it's but a wild-goose chase of the girl Barton. Our case must rest on the uncertainty of circumstantial evidence, and the goodness of the prisoner's previous character. A very vague and weak defence. However, I've engaged Mr. Clinton as counsel, and he'll make the best of it. And now, my good fellow, I must wish you good-night, and turn you out of doors. As it is, I shall have to sit up into the small hours. Did you see my clerk as you came up-stairs? You did! Then may I trouble you to ask him to step up immediately?" After this Job could not stay, and, making his humble bow, he left the room. Then he went to Mrs. Jones's. She was in, but Charley had slipped off again. There was no holding that boy. Nothing kept him but lock and key, and they did not always; for once she had him locked up in the garret, and he had got off through the skylight. Perhaps now he was gone to see after the young woman down at the docks. He never wanted an excuse to be there. Unasked, Job took a chair, resolved to await Charley's re-appearance. Mrs. Jones ironed and folded her clothes, talking all the time of Charley and her husband, who was a sailor in some ship bound for India, and who, in leaving her their boy, had evidently left her rather more than she could manage. She moaned and croaked over sailors, and sea-port towns, and stormy weather, and sleepless nights, and trousers all over tar and pitch, long after Job had left off attending to her, and was only trying to hearken to every step and every voice in the street. At last Charley came in, but he came alone. "Yon Mary Barton has getten into some scrape or another," said he, addressing himself to Job. "She's not to be heard of at any of the piers; and Bourne says it were a boat from the Cheshire side as she went aboard of. So there's no hearing of her till to-morrow morning." "To-morrow morning she'll have to be in court at nine o'clock, to bear witness on a trial," said Job, sorrowfully. "So she said; at least somewhat of the kind," said Charley, looking desirous to hear more. But Job was silent. He could not think of any thing further that could be done; so he rose up, and, thanking Mrs. Jones for the shelter she had given him, he went out into the street; and there he stood still, to ponder over probabilities and chances. After some little time he slowly turned towards the lodging where he had left Mrs. Wilson. There was nothing else to be done; but he loitered on the way, fervently hoping that her weariness and her woes might have sent her to sleep before his return, that he might be spared her questionings. He went very gently into the house-place where the sleepy landlady awaited his coming and his bringing the girl, who, she had been told, was to share the old woman's bed. But in her sleepy blindness she knocked things so about in lighting the candle (she could see to have a nap by fire-light, she said), that the voice of Mrs. Wilson was heard from the little back-room, where she was to pass the night. "Who's there?" Job gave no answer, and kept down his breath, that she might think herself mistaken. The landlady, having no such care, dropped the snuffers with a sharp metallic sound, and then, by her endless apologies, convinced the listening woman that Job had returned. "Job! Job Legh!" she cried out, nervously. "Eh, dear!" said Job to himself, going reluctantly to her bed-room door. "I wonder if one little lie would be a sin as things stand? It would happen give her sleep, and she won't have sleep for many and many a night (not to call sleep), if things goes wrong to-morrow. I'll chance it, any way." "Job! art thou there?" asked she again with a trembling impatience that told in every tone of her voice. "Ay! sure! I thought thou'd ha' been asleep by this time." "Asleep! How could I sleep till I knowed if Will were found?" "Now for it," muttered Job to himself. Then in a louder voice, "Never fear! he's found, and safe, ready for to-morrow." "And he'll prove that thing for my poor lad, will he? He'll bear witness that Jem were with him? Oh, Job, speak! tell me all!" "In for a penny, in for a pound," thought Job. "Happen one prayer will do for the sum total. Any rate, I must go on now.--Ay, ay," shouted he, through the door. "He can prove all; and Jem will come off as clear as a new-born babe." He could hear Mrs. Wilson's rustling movements, and in an instant guessed she was on her knees, for he heard her trembling voice uplifted in thanksgiving and praise to God, stopped at times by sobs of gladness and relief. And when he heard this, his heart misgave him; for he thought of the awful enlightening, the terrible revulsion of feeling that awaited her in the morning. He saw the short-sightedness of falsehood; but what could he do now? While he listened, she ended her grateful prayers. "And Mary? Thou'st found her at Mrs. Jones's, Job?" said she, continuing her inquiries. He gave a great sigh. "Yes, she was there, safe enough, second time of going.--God forgive me!" muttered he, "who'd ha' thought of my turning out such an arrant liar in my old days?" "Bless the wench! Is she here? Why does she not come to bed? I'm sure she's need." Job coughed away his remains of conscience, and made answer, "She was a bit weary, and o'er done with her sail; and Mrs. Jones axed her to stay there all night. It was nigh at hand to the courts, where she will have to be in the morning." "It comes easy enough after a while," groaned out Job. "The father of lies helps one, I suppose, for now my speech comes as natural as truth. She's done questioning now, that's one good thing. I'll be off before Satan and she are at me again." He went to the house-place, where the landlady stood wearily waiting. Her husband was in bed, and asleep long ago. But Job had not yet made up his mind what to do. He could not go to sleep, with all his anxieties, if he were put into the best bed in Liverpool. "Thou'lt let me sit up in this arm-chair," said he at length to the woman, who stood, expecting his departure. He was an old friend, so she let him do as he wished. But, indeed, she was too sleepy to have opposed him. She was too glad to be released and go to bed. CHAPTER XXXI. HOW MARY PASSED THE NIGHT. "To think That all this long interminable night, Which I have passed in thinking on two words-- 'Guilty'--'Not Guilty!'--like one happy moment O'er many a head hath flown unheeded by; O'er happy sleepers dreaming in their bliss Of bright to-morrows--or far happier still, With deep breath buried in forgetfulness. O all the dismallest images of death Did swim before my eyes!" WILSON. And now, where was Mary? How Job's heart would have been relieved of one of its cares if he could have seen her: for he was in a miserable state of anxiety about her; and many and many a time through that long night he scolded her and himself; her for her obstinacy, and himself for his weakness in yielding to her obstinacy, when she insisted on being the one to follow and find out Will. She did not pass that night in bed any more than Job; but she was under a respectable roof, and among kind, though rough people. She had offered no resistance to the old boatman, when he had clutched her arm, in order to insure her following him, as he threaded the crowded dock-ways, and dived up strange bye-streets. She came on meekly after him, scarcely thinking in her stupor where she was going, and glad (in a dead, heavy way) that some one was deciding things for her. He led her to an old-fashioned house, almost as small as house could be, which had been built long ago, before all the other part of the street, and had a country-town look about it in the middle of that bustling back street. He pulled her into the house-place; and relieved to a certain degree of his fear of losing her on the way, he exclaimed, "There!" giving a great slap of one hand on her back. The room was light and bright, and roused Mary (perhaps the slap on her back might help a little, too), and she felt the awkwardness of accounting for her presence to a little bustling old woman who had been moving about the fire-place on her entrance. The boatman took it very quietly, never deigning to give any explanation, but sitting down in his own particular chair, and chewing tobacco, while he looked at Mary with the most satisfied air imaginable, half triumphantly, as if she were the captive of his bow and spear, and half defyingly, as if daring her to escape. The old woman, his wife, stood still, poker in hand, waiting to be told who it was that her husband had brought home so unceremoniously; but, as she looked in amazement the girl's cheek flushed, and then blanched to a dead whiteness; a film came over her eyes, and catching at the dresser for support in that hot whirling room, she fell in a heap on the floor. Both man and wife came quickly to her assistance. They raised her up, still insensible, and he supported her on one knee, while his wife pattered away for some cold fresh water. She threw it straight over Mary; but though it caused a great sob, the eyes still remained closed, and the face as pale as ashes. "Who is she, Ben?" asked the woman, as she rubbed her unresisting, powerless hands. "How should I know?" answered her husband gruffly. "Well-a-well!" (in a soothing tone, such as you use to irritated children), and as if half to herself, "I only thought you might, you know, as you brought her home. Poor thing! we must not ask aught about her, but that she needs help. I wish I'd my salts at home, but I lent 'em to Mrs. Burton, last Sunday in church, for she could not keep awake through the sermon. Dear-a-me, how white she is!" "Here! you hold her up a bit," said her husband. She did as he desired, still crooning to herself, not caring for his short, sharp interruptions as she went on; and, indeed, to her old, loving heart, his crossest words fell like pearls and diamonds, for he had been the husband of her youth; and even he, rough and crabbed as he was, was secretly soothed by the sound of her voice, although not for worlds, if he could have helped it, would he have shown any of the love that was hidden beneath his rough outside. "What's the old fellow after?" said she, bending over Mary, so as to accommodate the drooping head. "Taking my pen, as I've had better nor five year. Bless us, and save us! he's burning it! Ay, I see now, he's his wits about him; burnt feathers is always good for a faint. But they don't bring her round, poor wench! Now what's he after next? Well! he is a bright one, my old man! That I never thought of that, to be sure!" exclaimed she, as he produced a square bottle of smuggled spirits, labelled "Golden Wasser," from a corner cupboard in their little room. "That'll do!" said she, as the dose he poured into Mary's open mouth made her start and cough. "Bless the man! It's just like him to be so tender and thoughtful!" "Not a bit!" snarled he, as he was relieved by Mary's returning colour, and opened eyes, and wondering, sensible gaze; "not a bit! I never was such a fool afore." His wife helped Mary to rise, and placed her in a chair. "All's right now, young woman?" asked the boatman, anxiously. "Yes, sir, and thank you. I'm sure, sir, I don't know rightly how to thank you," faltered Mary, softly forth. "Be hanged to you and your thanks." And he shook himself, took his pipe, and went out without deigning another word; leaving his wife sorely puzzled as to the character and history of the stranger within her doors. Mary watched the boatman leave the house, and then, turning her sorrowful eyes to the face of her hostess, she attempted feebly to rise, with the intention of going away,--where she knew not. "Nay! nay! who e'er thou be'st, thou'rt not fit to go out into the street. Perhaps" (sinking her voice a little) "thou'rt a bad one; I almost misdoubt thee, thou'rt so pretty. Well-a-well! it's the bad ones as have the broken hearts, sure enough; good folk never get utterly cast down, they've always getten hope in the Lord: it's the sinful as bear the bitter, bitter grief in their crushed hearts, poor souls; it's them we ought, most of all, to pity and to help. She shanna leave the house to-night, choose who she is,--worst woman in Liverpool, she shanna. I wished I knew where th' old man picked her up, that I do." Mary had listened feebly to this soliloquy, and now tried to satisfy her hostess in weak, broken sentences. "I'm not a bad one, missis, indeed. Your master took me out to sea after a ship as had sailed. There was a man in it as might save a life at the trial to-morrow. The captain would not let him come, but he says he'll come back in the pilot-boat." She fell to sobbing at the thought of her waning hopes, and the old woman tried to comfort her, beginning with her accustomed, "Well-a-well! and he'll come back, I'm sure. I know he will; so keep up your heart. Don't fret about it. He's sure to be back." "Oh! I'm afraid! I'm sore afraid he won't," cried Mary, consoled, nevertheless, by the woman's assertions, all groundless as she knew them to be. Still talking half to herself and half to Mary, the old woman prepared tea, and urged her visitor to eat and refresh herself. But Mary shook her head at the proffered food, and only drank a cup of tea with thirsty eagerness. For the spirits had thrown her into a burning heat, and rendered each impression received through her senses of the most painful distinctness and intensity, while her head ached in a terrible manner. She disliked speaking, her power over her words seemed so utterly gone. She used quite different expressions to those she intended. So she kept silent, while Mrs. Sturgis (for that was the name of her hostess) talked away, and put her tea-things by, and moved about incessantly, in a manner that increased the dizziness in Mary's head. She felt as if she ought to take leave for the night and go. But where? Presently the old man came back, crosser and gruffer than when he went away. He kicked aside the dry shoes his wife had prepared for him, and snarled at all she said. Mary attributed this to his finding her still there, and gathered up her strength for an effort to leave the house. But she was mistaken. By-and-bye, he said (looking right into the fire, as if addressing it), "Wind's right against them!" "Ay, ay, and is it so?" said his wife, who, knowing him well, knew that his surliness proceeded from some repressed sympathy. "Well-a-well, wind changes often at night. Time enough before morning. I'd bet a penny it has changed sin' thou looked." She looked out of their little window at a weather-cock, near, glittering in the moonlight; and as she was a sailor's wife, she instantly recognised the unfavourable point at which the indicator seemed stationary, and giving a heavy sigh, turned into the room, and began to beat about in her own mind for some other mode of comfort. "There's no one else who can prove what you want at the trial to-morrow, is there?" asked she. "No one!" answered Mary. "And you've no clue to the one as is really guilty, if t'other is not?" Mary did not answer, but trembled all over. Sturgis saw it. "Don't bother her with thy questions," said he to his wife. "She mun go to bed, for she's all in a shiver with the sea air. I'll see after the wind, hang it, and the weather-cock, too. Tide will help 'em when it turns." Mary went up-stairs murmuring thanks and blessings on those who took the stranger in. Mrs. Sturgis led her into a little room redolent of the sea and foreign lands. There was a small bed for one son, bound for China; and a hammock slung above for another, who was now tossing in the Baltic. The sheets looked made out of sail-cloth, but were fresh and clean in spite of their brownness. Against the wall were wafered two rough drawings of vessels with their names written underneath, on which the mother's eyes caught, and gazed until they filled with tears. But she brushed the drops away with the back of her hand, and in a cheerful tone went on to assure Mary the bed was well aired. "I cannot sleep, thank you. I will sit here, if you please," said Mary, sinking down on the window-seat. "Come, now," said Mrs. Sturgis, "my master told me to see you to bed, and I mun. What's the use of watching? A watched pot never boils, and I see you are after watching that weather-cock. Why now, I try never to look at it, else I could do nought else. My heart many a time goes sick when the wind rises, but I turn away and work away, and try never to think on the wind, but on what I ha' getten to do." "Let me stay up a little," pleaded Mary, as her hostess seemed so resolute about seeing her to bed. Her looks won her suit. "Well, I suppose I mun. I shall catch it down stairs, I know. He'll be in a fidget till you're getten to bed, I know; so you mun be quiet if you are so bent upon staying up." And quietly, noiselessly, Mary watched the unchanging weather-cock through the night. She sat on the little window-seat, her hand holding back the curtain which shaded the room from the bright moonlight without; her head resting its weariness against the corner of the window-frame; her eyes burning and stiff with the intensity of her gaze. The ruddy morning stole up the horizon, casting a crimson glow into the watcher's room. It was the morning of the day of trial! CHAPTER XXXII. THE TRIAL AND VERDICT--"NOT GUILTY." "Thou stand'st here arraign'd, That, with presumption impious and accursed, Thou hast usurp'd God's high prerogative, Making thy fellow mortal's life and death Wait on thy moody and diseased passions; That with a violent and untimely steel Hast set abroach the blood that should have ebbed In calm and natural current: to sum all In one wild name--a name the pale air freezes at, And every cheek of man sinks in with horror-- Thou art a cold and midnight murderer." MILMAN'S "FAZIO." Of all the restless people who found that night's hours agonising from excess of anxiety, the poor father of the murdered man was perhaps the most restless. He had slept but little since the blow had fallen; his waking hours had been too full of agitated thought, which seemed to haunt and pursue him through his unquiet slumbers. And this night of all others was the most sleepless. He turned over and over again in his mind the wonder if every thing had been done that could be done, to insure the conviction of Jem Wilson. He almost regretted the haste with which he had urged forward the proceedings, and yet until he had obtained vengeance, he felt as if there was no peace on earth for him (I don't know that he exactly used the term vengeance in his thoughts; he spoke of justice, and probably thought of his desired end as such); no peace either bodily or mental, for he moved up and down his bedroom with the restless incessant tramp of a wild beast in a cage, and if he compelled his aching limbs to cease for an instant, the twitchings which ensued almost amounted to convulsions, and he re-commenced his walk as the lesser evil, and the more bearable fatigue. With daylight increased power of action came; and he drove off to arouse his attorney, and worry him with further directions and inquiries; and when that was ended, he sat, watch in hand, until the courts should be opened, and the trial begin. What were all the living,--wife or daughters,--what were they in comparison with the dead,--the murdered son who lay unburied still, in compliance with his father's earnest wish, and almost vowed purpose of having the slayer of his child sentenced to death, before he committed the body to the rest of the grave? At nine o'clock they all met at their awful place of _rendezvous_. The judge, the jury, the avenger of blood, the prisoner, the witnesses--all were gathered together within one building. And besides these were many others, personally interested in some part of the proceedings, in which, however, they took no part; Job Legh, Ben Sturgis, and several others were there, amongst whom was Charley Jones. Job Legh had carefully avoided any questioning from Mrs. Wilson that morning. Indeed he had not been much in her company, for he had risen up early to go out once more to make inquiry for Mary; and when he could hear nothing of her, he had desperately resolved not to undeceive Mrs. Wilson, as sorrow never came too late; and if the blow were inevitable, it would be better to leave her in ignorance of the impending evil as long as possible. She took her place in the witness-room, worn and dispirited, but not anxious. As Job struggled through the crowd into the body of the court, Mr. Bridgenorth's clerk beckoned to him. "Here's a letter for you from our client!" Job sickened as he took it. He did not know why, but he dreaded a confession of guilt, which would be an overthrow of all hope. The letter ran as follows. DEAR FRIEND,--I thank you heartily for your goodness in finding me a lawyer, but lawyers can do no good to me, whatever they may do to other people. But I am not the less obliged to you, dear friend. I foresee things will go against me--and no wonder. If I was a jury-man, I should say the man was guilty as had as much evidence brought against him as may be brought against me to-morrow. So it's no blame to them if they do. But, Job Legh, I think I need not tell you I am as guiltless in this matter as the babe unborn, although it is not in my power to prove it. If I did not believe that you thought me innocent, I could not write as I do now to tell you my wishes. You'll not forget they are the wishes of a man shortly to die. Dear friend, you must take care of my mother. Not in the money way, for she will have enough for her and Aunt Alice; but you must let her talk to you of me; and show her that (whatever others may do) you think I died innocent. I don't reckon she will stay long behind when we are all gone. Be tender with her, Job, for my sake; and if she is a bit fractious at times, remember what she has gone through. I know mother will never doubt me, God bless her. There is one other whom I fear I have loved too dearly; and yet, the loving her has made the happiness of my life. She will think I have murdered her lover; she will think I have caused the grief she must be feeling. And she must go on thinking so. It is hard upon me to say this; but she _must_. It will be best for her, and that's all I ought to think on. But, dear Job, you are a hearty fellow for your time of life, and may live a many years to come; and perhaps you could tell her, when you felt sure you were drawing near your end, that I solemnly told you (as I do now) that I was innocent of this thing. You must not tell her for many years to come; but I cannot well bear to think on her living through a long life, and hating the thought of me as the murderer of him she loved, and dying with that hatred to me in her heart. It would hurt me sore in the other world to see the look of it in her face, as it would be, till she was told. I must not let myself think on how she must be viewing me now. So God bless you, Job Legh; and no more from Yours to command, JAMES WILSON. Job turned the letter over and over when he had read it; sighed deeply; and then wrapping it carefully up in a bit of newspaper he had about him, he put it in his waistcoat pocket, and went off to the door of the witness-room to ask if Mary Barton were there. As the door opened he saw her sitting within, against a table on which her folded arms were resting, and her head was hidden within them. It was an attitude of hopelessness, and would have served to strike Job dumb in sickness of heart, even without the sound of Mrs. Wilson's voice in passionate sobbing, and sore lamentations, which told him as well as words could do (for she was not within view of the door, and he did not care to go in), that she was at any rate partially undeceived as to the hopes he had given her last night. Sorrowfully did Job return into the body of the court; neither Mrs. Wilson nor Mary having seen him as he had stood at the witness-room door. As soon as he could bring his distracted thoughts to bear upon the present scene, he perceived that the trial of James Wilson for the murder of Henry Carson was just commencing. The clerk was gabbling over the indictment, and in a minute or two there was the accustomed question, "How say you, Guilty, or Not Guilty?" Although but one answer was expected,--was customary in all cases,--there was a pause of dead silence, an interval of solemnity even in this hackneyed part of the proceeding; while the prisoner at the bar stood with compressed lips, looking at the judge with his outward eyes, but with far other and different scenes presented to his mental vision;--a sort of rapid recapitulation of his life,--remembrances of his childhood,--his father (so proud of him, his first-born child),--his sweet little playfellow, Mary,--his hopes, his love,--his despair, yet still, yet ever and ever, his love,--the blank, wide world it had been without her love,--his mother,--his childless mother,--but not long to be so,--not long to be away from all she loved,--nor during that time to be oppressed with doubt as to his innocence, sure and secure of her darling's heart;--he started from his instant's pause, and said in a low firm voice, "Not guilty, my lord." The circumstances of the murder, the discovery of the body, the causes of suspicion against Jem, were as well known to most of the audience as they are to you, so there was some little buzz of conversation going on among the people while the leading counsel for the prosecution made his very effective speech. "That's Mr. Carson, the father, sitting behind Serjeant Wilkinson!" "What a noble-looking old man he is! so stern and inflexible, with such classical features! Does he not remind you of some of the busts of Jupiter?" "I am more interested by watching the prisoner. Criminals always interest me. I try to trace in the features common to humanity some expression of the crimes by which they have distinguished themselves from their kind. I have seen a good number of murderers in my day, but I have seldom seen one with such marks of Cain on his countenance as the man at the bar." "Well, I am no physiognomist, but I don't think his face strikes me as bad. It certainly is gloomy and depressed, and not unnaturally so, considering his situation." "Only look at his low, resolute brow, his downcast eye, his white compressed lips. He never looks up,--just watch him." "His forehead is not so low if he had that mass of black hair removed, and is very square, which some people say is a good sign. If others are to be influenced by such trifles as you are, it would have been much better if the prison barber had cut his hair a little previous to the trial; and as for down-cast eye, and compressed lip, it is all part and parcel of his inward agitation just now; nothing to do with character, my good fellow." Poor Jem! His raven hair (his mother's pride, and so often fondly caressed by her fingers), was that too to have its influence against him? The witnesses were called. At first they consisted principally of policemen; who, being much accustomed to giving evidence, knew what were the material points they were called on to prove, and did not lose the time of the court in listening to any thing unnecessary. "Clear as day against the prisoner," whispered one attorney's clerk to another. "Black as night, you mean," replied his friend; and they both smiled. "Jane Wilson! who's she? some relation, I suppose, from the name." "The mother,--she that is to prove the gun part of the case." "Oh, ay--I remember! Rather hard on her, too, I think." Then both were silent, as one of the officers of the court ushered Mrs. Wilson into the witness-box. I have often called her "the old woman," and "an old woman," because, in truth, her appearance was so much beyond her years, which might not be many above fifty. But partly owing to her accident in early life, which left a stamp of pain upon her face, partly owing to her anxious temper, partly to her sorrows, and partly to her limping gait, she always gave me the idea of age. But now she might have seemed more than seventy; her lines were so set and deep, her features so sharpened, and her walk so feeble. She was trying to check her sobs into composure, and (unconsciously) was striving to behave as she thought would best please her poor boy, whom she knew she had often grieved by her uncontrolled impatience. He had buried his face in his arms, which rested on the front of the dock (an attitude he retained during the greater part of his trial, and which prejudiced many against him). The counsel began the examination. "Your name is Jane Wilson, I believe." "Yes, sir." "The mother of the prisoner at the bar?" "Yes, sir;" with quivering voice, ready to break out into weeping, but earning respect by the strong effort at self-control, prompted, as I have said before, by her earnest wish to please her son by her behaviour. The barrister now proceeded to the important part of the examination, tending to prove that the gun found on the scene of the murder was the prisoner's. She had committed herself so fully to the policeman, that she could not well retract; so without much delay in bringing the question round to the desired point, the gun was produced in court, and the inquiry made-- "That gun belongs to your son, does it not?" She clenched the sides of the witness-box in her efforts to make her parched tongue utter words. At last she moaned forth, "Oh! Jem, Jem! what mun I say?" Every one bent forward to hear the prisoner's answer; although, in fact, it was of little importance to the issue of the trial. He lifted up his head; and with a face brimming full of pity for his mother, yet resolved into endurance, said, "Tell the truth, mother!" And so she did, with the fidelity of a little child. Every one felt that she did; and the little colloquy between mother and son did them some slight service in the opinion of the audience. But the awful judge sat unmoved; and the jurymen changed not a muscle of their countenances; while the counsel for the prosecution went triumphantly through this part of the case, including the fact of Jem's absence from home on the night of the murder, and bringing every admission to bear right against the prisoner. It was over. She was told to go down. But she could no longer compel her mother's heart to keep silence, and suddenly turning towards the judge (with whom she imagined the verdict to rest), she thus addressed him with her choking voice. "And now, sir, I've telled you the truth, and the whole truth, as _he_ bid me; but don't ye let what I have said go for to hang him; oh, my lord judge, take my word for it, he's as innocent as the child as has yet to be born. For sure, I, who am his mother, and have nursed him on my knee, and been gladdened by the sight of him every day since, ought to know him better than yon pack of fellows" (indicating the jury, while she strove against her heart to render her words distinct and clear for her dear son's sake) "who, I'll go bail, never saw him before this morning in all their born days. My lord judge, he's so good I often wondered what harm there was in him; many is the time when I've been fretted (for I'm frabbit enough at times), when I've scold't myself, and said, 'You ungrateful thing, the Lord God has given you Jem, and isn't that blessing enough for you?' But He has seen fit to punish me. If Jem is--if Jem is--taken from me, I shall be a childless woman; and very poor, having nought left to love on earth, and I cannot say 'His will be done.' I cannot, my lord judge, oh, I cannot." While sobbing out these words she was led away by the officers of the court, but tenderly, and reverently, with the respect which great sorrow commands. The stream of evidence went on and on, gathering fresh force from every witness who was examined, and threatening to overwhelm poor Jem. Already they had proved that the gun was his, that he had been heard not many days before the commission of the deed to threaten the deceased; indeed, that the police had, at that time, been obliged to interfere to prevent some probable act of violence. It only remained to bring forward a sufficient motive for the threat and the murder. The clue to this had been furnished by the policeman, who had overheard Jem's angry language to Mr. Carson; and his report in the first instance had occasioned the subpoena to Mary. And now she was to be called on to bear witness. The court was by this time almost as full as it could hold; but fresh attempts were being made to squeeze in at all the entrances, for many were anxious to see and hear this part of the trial. Old Mr. Carson felt an additional beat at his heart at the thought of seeing the fatal Helen, the cause of all--a kind of interest and yet repugnance, for was not she beloved by the dead; nay, perhaps in her way, loving and mourning for the same being that he himself was so bitterly grieving over? And yet he felt as if he abhorred her and her rumoured loveliness, as if she were the curse against him; and he grew jealous of the love with which she had inspired his son, and would fain have deprived her of even her natural right of sorrowing over her lover's untimely end: for you see it was a fixed idea in the minds of all, that the handsome, bright, gay, rich young gentleman must have been beloved in preference to the serious, almost stern-looking smith, who had to toil for his daily bread. Hitherto the effect of the trial had equalled Mr. Carson's most sanguine hopes, and a severe look of satisfaction came over the face of the avenger,--over that countenance whence the smile had departed, never more to return. All eyes were directed to the door through which the witnesses entered. Even Jem looked up to catch one glimpse before he hid his face from her look of aversion. The officer had gone to fetch her. She was in exactly the same attitude as when Job Legh had seen her two hours before through the half-open door. Not a finger had moved. The officer summoned her, but she did not stir. She was so still he thought she had fallen asleep, and he stepped forward and touched her. She started up in an instant, and followed him with a kind of rushing rapid motion into the court, into the witness-box. And amid all that sea of faces, misty and swimming before her eyes, she saw but two clear bright spots, distinct and fixed: the judge, who might have to condemn; and the prisoner, who might have to die. The mellow sunlight streamed down that high window on her head, and fell on the rich treasure of her golden hair, stuffed away in masses under her little bonnet-cap; and in those warm beams the motes kept dancing up and down. The wind had changed--had changed almost as soon as she had given up her watching; the wind had changed, and she heeded it not. Many who were looking for mere flesh and blood beauty, mere colouring, were disappointed; for her face was deadly white, and almost set in its expression, while a mournful bewildered soul looked out of the depths of those soft, deep, gray eyes. But others recognised a higher and stranger kind of beauty; one that would keep its hold on the memory for many after years. I was not there myself; but one who was, told me that her look, and indeed her whole face, was more like the well-known engraving from Guido's picture of "Beatrice Cenci" than any thing else he could give me an idea of. He added, that her countenance haunted him, like the remembrance of some wild sad melody, heard in childhood; that it would perpetually recur with its mute imploring agony. With all the court reeling before her (always save and except those awful two), she heard a voice speak, and answered the simple inquiry (something about her name) mechanically, as if in a dream. So she went on for two or three more questions, with a strange wonder in her brain, as to the reality of the terrible circumstances in which she was placed. Suddenly she was roused, she knew not how or by what. She was conscious that all was real, that hundreds were looking at her, that true-sounding words were being extracted from her; that that figure, so bowed down, with the face concealed by both hands, was really Jem. Her face flushed scarlet, and then paler than before. But in her dread of herself, with the tremendous secret imprisoned within her, she exerted every power she had to keep in the full understanding of what was going on, of what she was asked, and of what she answered. With all her faculties preternaturally alive and sensitive, she heard the next question from the pert young barrister, who was delighted to have the examination of this witness. "And pray, may I ask, which was the favoured lover? You say you knew both these young men. Which was the favoured lover? Which did you prefer?" And who was he, the questioner, that he should dare so lightly to ask of her heart's secrets? That he should dare to ask her to tell, before that multitude assembled there, what woman usually whispers with blushes and tears, and many hesitations, to one ear alone? So, for an instant, a look of indignation contracted Mary's brow, as she steadily met the eyes of the impertinent counsellor. But, in that instant, she saw the hands removed from a face beyond, behind; and a countenance revealed of such intense love and woe,--such a deprecating dread of her answer; and suddenly her resolution was taken. The present was everything; the future, that vast shroud, it was maddening to think upon; but _now_ she might own her fault, but _now_ she might even own her love. Now, when the beloved stood thus, abhorred of men, there would be no feminine shame to stand between her and her avowal. So she also turned towards the judge, partly to mark that her answer was not given to the monkeyfied man who questioned her, and likewise that her face might be averted from, and her eyes not gaze upon, the form that contracted with the dread of the words he anticipated. "He asks me which of them two I liked the best. Perhaps I liked Mr. Harry Carson once--I don't know--I've forgotten; but I loved James Wilson, that's now on trial, above what tongue can tell--above all else on earth put together; and I love him now better than ever, though he has never known a word of it till this minute. For you see, sir, mother died before I was thirteen, before I could know right from wrong about some things; and I was giddy and vain, and ready to listen to any praise of my good looks; and this poor young Mr. Carson fell in with me, and told me he loved me; and I was foolish enough to think he meant me marriage: a mother is a pitiful loss to a girl, sir; and so I used to fancy I could like to be a lady, and rich, and never know want any more. I never found out how dearly I loved another till one day, when James Wilson asked me to marry him, and I was very hard and sharp in my answer (for indeed, sir, I'd a deal to bear just then), and he took me at my word and left me; and from that day to this I've never spoken a word to him, or set eyes on him; though I'd fain have done so, to try and show him we had both been too hasty; for he'd not been gone out of my sight above a minute before I knew I loved--far above my life," said she, dropping her voice as she came to this second confession of the strength of her attachment. "But, if the gentleman asks me which I loved the best, I make answer, I was flattered by Mr. Carson, and pleased with his flattery; but James Wilson I--" She covered her face with her hands, to hide the burning scarlet blushes, which even dyed her fingers. There was a little pause; still, though her speech might inspire pity for the prisoner, it only strengthened the supposition of his guilt. Presently the counsellor went on with his examination. "But you have seen young Mr. Carson since your rejection of the prisoner?" "Yes, often." "You have spoken to him, I conclude, at these times." "Only once to call speaking." "And what was the substance of your conversation? Did you tell him you found you preferred his rival?" "No, sir. I don't think as I've done wrong in saying, now as things stand, what my feelings are; but I never would be so bold as to tell one young man I cared for another. I never named Jem's name to Mr. Carson. Never." "Then what did you say when you had this final conversation with Mr. Carson? You can give me the substance of it, if you don't remember the words." "I'll try, sir; but I'm not very clear. I told him I could not love him, and wished to have nothing more to do with him. He did his best to over-persuade me, but I kept steady, and at last I ran off." "And you never spoke to him again?" "Never!" "Now, young woman, remember you are upon your oath. Did you ever tell the prisoner at the bar of Mr. Henry Carson's attentions to you? of your acquaintance, in short? Did you ever try to excite his jealousy by boasting of a lover so far above you in station?" "Never. I never did," said she, in so firm and distinct a manner as to leave no doubt. "Were you aware that he knew of Mr. Henry Carson's regard for you? Remember you are on your oath!" "Never, sir. I was not aware until I heard of the quarrel between them, and what Jem had said to the policeman, and that was after the murder. To this day I can't make out who told Jem. Oh, sir, may not I go down?" For she felt the sense, the composure, the very bodily strength which she had compelled to her aid for a time, suddenly giving way, and was conscious that she was losing all command over herself. There was no occasion to detain her longer; she had done her part. She might go down. The evidence was still stronger against the prisoner; but now he stood erect and firm, with self-respect in his attitude, and a look of determination on his face, which almost made it appear noble. Yet he seemed lost in thought. Job Legh had all this time been trying to soothe and comfort Mrs. Wilson, who would first be in the court, in order to see her darling, and then, when her sobs became irrepressible, had to be led out into the open air, and sat there weeping, on the steps of the court-house. Who would have taken charge of Mary on her release from the witness-box I do not know, if Mrs. Sturgis, the boatman's wife, had not been there, brought by her interest in Mary, towards whom she now pressed, in order to urge her to leave the scene of the trial. "No! no!" said Mary, to this proposition. "I must be here, I must watch that they don't hang him, you know I must." "Oh! they'll not hang him! never fear! Besides the wind has changed, and that's in his favour. Come away. You're so hot, and first white and then red; I'm sure you're ill. Just come away." "Oh! I don't know about any thing but that I must stay," replied Mary, in a strange hurried manner, catching hold of some rails as if she feared some bodily force would be employed to remove her. So Mrs. Sturgis just waited patiently by her, every now and then peeping among the congregation of heads in the body of the court, to see if her husband were still there. And there he always was to be seen, looking and listening with all his might. His wife felt easy that he would not be wanting her at home until the trial was ended. Mary never let go her clutched hold on the rails. She wanted them to steady her, in that heaving, whirling court. She thought the feeling of something hard compressed within her hand would help her to listen, for it was such pain, such weary pain in her head, to strive to attend to what was being said. They were all at sea, sailing away on billowy waves, and every one speaking at once, and no one heeding her father, who was calling on them to be silent, and listen to him. Then again, for a brief second, the court stood still, and she could see the judge, sitting up there like an idol, with his trappings, so rigid and stiff; and Jem, opposite, looking at her, as if to say, Am I to die for what you know your ----. Then she checked herself, and by a great struggle brought herself round to an instant's sanity. But the round of thought never stood still; and off she went again; and every time her power of struggling against the growing delirium grew fainter and fainter. She muttered low to herself, but no one heard her except her neighbour, Mrs. Sturgis; all were too closely attending to the case for the prosecution, which was now being wound up. The counsel for the prisoner had avoided much cross-examination, reserving to himself the right of calling the witnesses forward again; for he had received so little, and such vague instructions, and understood that so much depended on the evidence of one who was not forthcoming, that in fact he had little hope of establishing any thing like a show of a defence, and contented himself with watching the case, and lying in wait for any legal objections that might offer themselves. He lay back on the seat, occasionally taking a pinch of snuff in a manner intended to be contemptuous; now and then elevating his eyebrows, and sometimes exchanging a little note with Mr. Bridgenorth behind him. The attorney had far more interest in the case than the barrister, to which he was perhaps excited by his poor old friend Job Legh; who had edged and wedged himself through the crowd close to Mr. Bridgenorth's elbow, sent thither by Ben Sturgis, to whom he had been "introduced" by Charley Jones, and who had accounted for Mary's disappearance on the preceding day, and spoken of their chase, their fears, their hopes. All this was told in a few words to Mr. Bridgenorth--so few, that they gave him but a confused idea, that time was of value; and this he named to his counsel, who now rose to speak for the defence. Job Legh looked about for Mary, now he had gained, and given, some idea of the position of things. At last he saw her, standing by a decent-looking woman, looking flushed and anxious, and moving her lips incessantly, as if eagerly talking; her eyes never resting on any object, but wandering about as if in search of something. Job thought it was for him she was seeking, and he struggled to get round to her. When he had succeeded, she took no notice of him, although he spoke to her, but still kept looking round and round in the same wild, restless manner. He tried to hear the low quick mutterings of her voice, as he caught the repetition of the same words over and over again. "I must not go mad. I must not, indeed. They say people tell the truth when they're mad; but I don't. I was always a liar. I was, indeed; but I'm not mad. I must not go mad. I must not, indeed." Suddenly she seemed to become aware how earnestly Job was listening (with mournful attention) to her words, and turning sharp round upon him, with upbraiding for his eaves-dropping on her lips, she caught sight of something,--or some one,--who, even in that state, had power to arrest her attention, and throwing up her arms with wild energy, she shrieked aloud, "Oh, Jem! Jem! you're saved; and I _am_ mad--" and was instantly seized with convulsions. With much commiseration she was taken out of court, while the attention of many was diverted from her, by the fierce energy with which a sailor forced his way over rails and seats, against turnkeys and policemen. The officers of the court opposed this forcible manner of entrance, but they could hardly induce the offender to adopt any quieter way of attaining his object, and telling his tale in the witness-box, the legitimate place. For Will had dwelt so impatiently on the danger in which his absence would place his cousin, that even yet he seemed to fear that he might see the prisoner carried off, and hung, before he could pour out the narrative which would exculpate him. As for Job Legh, his feelings were all but uncontrollable; as you may judge by the indifference with which he saw Mary borne, stiff and convulsed, out of the court, in the charge of the kind Mrs. Sturgis, who, you will remember, was an utter stranger to him. "She'll keep! I'll not trouble myself about her," said he to himself, as he wrote with trembling hands a little note of information to Mr. Bridgenorth, who had conjectured, when Will had first disturbed the awful tranquillity of the life-and-death court, that the witness had arrived (better late than never) on whose evidence rested all the slight chance yet remaining to Jem Wilson of escaping death. During the commotion in the court, among all the cries and commands, the dismay and the directions, consequent upon Will's entrance, and poor Mary's fearful attack of illness, Mr. Bridgenorth had kept his lawyer-like presence of mind; and long before Job Legh's almost illegible note was poked at him, he had recapitulated the facts on which Will had to give evidence, and the manner in which he had been pursued, after his ship had taken her leave of the land. The barrister who defended Jem took new heart when he was put in possession of these striking points to be adduced, not so much out of earnestness to save the prisoner, of whose innocence he was still doubtful, as because he saw the opportunities for the display of forensic eloquence which were presented by the facts; "a gallant tar brought back from the pathless ocean by a girl's noble daring," "the dangers of too hastily judging from circumstantial evidence," &c., &c.; while the counsellor for the prosecution prepared himself by folding his arms, elevating his eyebrows, and putting his lips in the form in which they might best whistle down the wind such evidence as might be produced by a suborned witness, who dared to perjure himself. For, of course, it is etiquette to suppose that such evidence as may be given against the opinion which lawyers are paid to uphold, is any thing but based on truth; and "perjury," "conspiracy," and "peril of your immortal soul," are light expressions to throw at the heads of those who may prove (not the speaker, there would then be some excuse for the hasty words of personal anger, but) the hirer of the speaker to be wrong, or mistaken. But when once Will had attained his end, and felt that his tale, or part of a tale, would be heard by judge and jury; when once he saw Jem standing safe and well before him (even though he saw him pale and care-worn at the felon's bar); his courage took the shape of presence of mind, and he awaited the examination with a calm, unflinching intelligence, which dictated the clearest and most pertinent answers. He told the story you know so well: how his leave of absence being nearly expired, he had resolved to fulfil his promise, and go to see an uncle residing in the Isle of Man; how his money (sailor-like) was all expended in Manchester, and how, consequently, it had been necessary for him to walk to Liverpool, which he had accordingly done on the very night of the murder, accompanied as far as Hollins Greeb by his friend and cousin, the prisoner at the bar. He was clear and distinct in every corroborative circumstance, and gave a short account of the singular way in which he had been recalled from his outward-bound voyage, and the terrible anxiety he had felt, as the pilot-boat had struggled home against the wind. The jury felt that their opinion (so nearly decided half an hour ago) was shaken and disturbed in a very uncomfortable and perplexing way, and were almost grateful to the counsel for the prosecution, when he got up, with a brow of thunder, to demolish the evidence, which was so bewildering when taken in connexion with every thing previously adduced. But if such, without looking to the consequences, was the first impulsive feeling of some among the jury, how shall I describe the vehemence of passion which possessed the mind of poor Mr. Carson, as he saw the effect of the young sailor's statement? It never shook his belief in Jem's guilt in the least, that attempt at an alibi; his hatred, his longing for vengeance, having once defined an object to itself, could no more bear to be frustrated and disappointed than the beast of prey can submit to have his victim taken from his hungry jaws. No more likeness to the calm stern power of Jupiter was there in that white eager face, almost distorted by its fell anxiety of expression. The counsel to whom etiquette assigned the cross-examination of Will, caught the look on Mr. Carson's face, and in his desire to further the intense wish there manifested, he over-shot his mark even in his first insulting question: "And now, my man, you've told the court a very good and very convincing story; no reasonable man ought to doubt the unstained innocence of your relation at the bar. Still there is one circumstance you have forgotten to name; and I feel that without it your evidence is rather incomplete. Will you have the kindness to inform the gentlemen of the jury what has been your charge for repeating this very plausible story? How much good coin of Her Majesty's realm have you received, or are you to receive, for walking up from the docks, or some less creditable place, and uttering the tale you have just now repeated,--very much to the credit of your instructor, I must say? Remember, sir, you are upon oath." It took Will a minute to extract the meaning from the garb of unaccustomed words in which it was invested, and during this time he looked a little confused. But the instant the truth flashed upon him, he fixed his bright clear eyes, flaming with indignation, upon the counsellor, whose look fell at last before that stern unflinching gaze. Then, and not till then, Will made answer. "Will you tell the judge and jury how much money you've been paid for your impudence towards one who has told God's blessed truth, and who would scorn to tell a lie, or blackguard any one, for the biggest fee as ever lawyer got for doing dirty work? Will you tell, sir?-- But I'm ready, my lord judge, to take my oath as many times as your lordship or the jury would like, to testify to things having happened just as I said. There's O'Brien, the pilot, in court now. Would somebody with a wig on please to ask him how much he can say for me?" It was a good idea, and caught at by the counsel for the defence. O'Brien gave just such testimony as was required to clear Will from all suspicion. He had witnessed the pursuit, he had heard the conversation which took place between the boat and the ship; he had given Will a homeward passage in his boat. And the character of an accredited pilot, appointed by Trinity House, was known to be above suspicion. Mr. Carson sank back on his seat in sickening despair. He knew enough of courts to be aware of the extreme unwillingness of juries to convict, even where the evidence is most clear, when the penalty of such conviction is death. At the period of the trial most condemnatory to the prisoner, he had repeated this fact to himself in order to damp his too certain expectation of a conviction. Now it needed not repetition, for it forced itself upon his consciousness, and he seemed to _know_, even before the jury retired to consult, that by some trick, some negligence, some miserable hocus-pocus, the murderer of his child, his darling, his Absalom, who had never rebelled,--the slayer of his unburied boy would slip through the fangs of justice, and walk free and unscathed over that earth where his son would never more be seen. It was even so. The prisoner hid his face once more to shield the expression of an emotion he could not control, from the notice of the over-curious; Job Legh ceased his eager talking to Mr. Bridgenorth; Charley looked grave and earnest; for the jury filed one by one back into their box, and the question was asked to which such an awful answer might be given. The verdict they had come to was unsatisfactory to themselves at last; neither being convinced of his innocence, nor yet quite willing to believe him guilty in the teeth of the alibi. But the punishment that awaited him, if guilty, was so terrible, and so unnatural a sentence for man to pronounce on man, that the knowledge of it had weighed down the scale on the side of innocence, and "Not Guilty" was the verdict that thrilled through the breathless court. One moment of silence, and then the murmurs rose, as the verdict was discussed by all with lowered voice. Jem stood motionless, his head bowed; poor fellow, he was stunned with the rapid career of events during the last few hours. He had assumed his place at the bar with little or no expectation of an acquittal; and with scarcely any desire for life, in the complication of occurrences tending to strengthen the idea of Mary's more than indifference to him; she had loved another, and in her mind Jem believed that he himself must be regarded as the murderer of him she loved. And suddenly, athwart this gloom which made life seem such a blank expanse of desolation, there flashed the exquisite delight of hearing Mary's avowal of love, making the future all glorious, if a future in this world he might hope to have. He could not dwell on any thing but her words, telling of her passionate love; all else was indistinct, nor could he strive to make it otherwise. She loved him. And Life, now full of tender images, suddenly bright with all exquisite promises, hung on a breath, the slenderest gossamer chance. He tried to think that the knowledge of her love would soothe him even in his dying hours; but the phantoms of what life with her might be, would obtrude, and made him almost gasp and reel under the uncertainty he was enduring. Will's appearance had only added to the intensity of this suspense. The full meaning of the verdict could not at once penetrate his brain. He stood dizzy and motionless. Some one pulled his coat. He turned, and saw Job Legh, the tears stealing down his brown furrowed cheeks, while he tried in vain to command voice enough to speak. He kept shaking Jem by the hand as the best and necessary expression of his feeling. "Here! make yourself scarce! I should think you'd be glad to get out of that!" exclaimed the gaoler, as he brought up another livid prisoner, from out whose eyes came the anxiety which he would not allow any other feature to display. Job Legh pressed out of court, and Jem followed unreasoningly. The crowd made way, and kept their garments tight about them, as Jem passed, for about him there still hung the taint of the murderer. He was in the open air, and free once more! Although many looked on him with suspicion, faithful friends closed round him; his arm was unresistingly pumped up and down by his cousin and Job; when one was tired, the other took up the wholesome exercise, while Ben Sturgis was working off his interest in the scene by scolding Charley for walking on his head round and round Mary's sweetheart, for a sweetheart he was now satisfactorily ascertained to be, in spite of her assertion to the contrary. And all this time Jem himself felt bewildered and dazzled; he would have given any thing for an hour's uninterrupted thought on the occurrences of the past week, and the new visions raised up during the morning; aye, even though that tranquil hour were to be passed in the hermitage of his quiet prison cell. The first question sobbed out by his choking voice, oppressed with emotion, was, "Where is she?" They led him to the room where his mother sat. They had told her of her son's acquittal, and now she was laughing, and crying, and talking, and giving way to all those feelings which she had restrained with such effort during the last few days. They brought her son to her, and she threw herself upon his neck, weeping there. He returned her embrace, but looked around, beyond. Excepting his mother there was no one in the room but the friends who had entered with him. "Eh, lad!" said she, when she found voice to speak. "See what it is to have behaved thysel! I could put in a good word for thee, and the jury could na go and hang thee in the face of th' character I gave thee. Was na it a good thing they did na keep me from Liverpool? But I would come; I knew I could do thee good, bless thee, my lad. But thou'rt very white, and all of a tremble." He kissed her again and again, but looking round as if searching for some one he could not find, the first words he uttered were still, "Where is she?" CHAPTER XXXIII. REQUIESCAT IN PACE. "Fear no more the heat o' th' sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone and ta'en thy wages." CYMBELINE. "While day and night can bring delight, Or nature aught of pleasure give; While joys above my mind can move For thee, and thee alone I live: "When that grim foe of joy below Comes in between to make us part, The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss--it breaks my heart." BURNS. She was where no words of peace, no soothing hopeful tidings could reach her; in the ghastly spectral world of delirium. Hour after hour, day after day, she started up with passionate cries on her father to save Jem; or rose wildly, imploring the winds and waves, the pitiless winds and waves, to have mercy; and over and over again she exhausted her feverish fitful strength in these agonised entreaties, and fell back powerless, uttering only the wailing moans of despair. They told her Jem was safe, they brought him before her eyes; but sight and hearing were no longer channels of information to that poor distracted brain, nor could human voice penetrate to her understanding. Jem alone gathered the full meaning of some of her strange sentences, and perceived that by some means or other she, like himself, had divined the truth of her father being the murderer. Long ago (reckoning time by events and thoughts, and not by clock or dial-plate), Jem had felt certain that Mary's father was Harry Carson's murderer; and although the motive was in some measure a mystery, yet a whole train of circumstances (the principal of which was that John Barton had borrowed the fatal gun only two days before) had left no doubt in Jem's mind. Sometimes he thought that John had discovered, and thus bloodily resented, the attentions which Mr. Carson had paid to his daughter; at others, he believed the motive to exist in the bitter feuds between the masters and their work-people, in which Barton was known to take so keen an interest. But if he had felt himself pledged to preserve this secret, even when his own life was the probable penalty, and he believed he should fall, execrated by Mary as the guilty destroyer of her lover, how much more was he bound now to labour to prevent any word of hers from inculpating her father, now that she was his own; now that she had braved so much to rescue him; and now that her poor brain had lost all guiding and controlling power over her words. All that night long Jem wandered up and down the narrow precincts of Ben Sturgis's house. In the little bed-room where Mrs. Sturgis alternately tended Mary, and wept over the violence of her illness, he listened to her ravings; each sentence of which had its own peculiar meaning and reference, intelligible to his mind, till her words rose to the wild pitch of agony, that no one could alleviate, and he could bear it no longer, and stole, sick and miserable down stairs, where Ben Sturgis thought it his duty to snore away in an arm-chair instead of his bed, under the idea that he should thus be more ready for active service, such as fetching the doctor to revisit his patient. Before it was fairly light, Jem (wide-awake, and listening with an earnest attention he could not deaden, however painful its results proved) heard a gentle subdued knock at the house door; it was no business of his, to be sure, to open it, but as Ben slept on, he thought he would see who the early visitor might be, and ascertain if there was any occasion for disturbing either host or hostess. It was Job Legh who stood there, distinct against the outer light of the street. "How is she? Eh! poor soul! is that her! no need to ask! How strange her voice sounds! Screech! screech! and she so low, sweet-spoken, when she's well! Thou must keep up heart, old boy, and not look so dismal, thysel." "I can't help it, Job; it's past a man's bearing to hear such a one as she is, going on as she is doing; even if I did not care for her, it would cut me sore to see one so young, and--I can't speak of it, Job, as a man should do," said Jem, his sobs choking him. "Let me in, will you?" said Job, pushing past him, for all this time Jem had stood holding the door, unwilling to admit Job where he might hear so much that would be suggestive to one acquainted with the parties that Mary named. "I'd more than one reason for coming betimes. I wanted to hear how yon poor wench was;--that stood first. Late last night I got a letter from Margaret, very anxious-like. The doctor says the old lady yonder can't last many days longer, and it seems so lonesome for her to die with no one but Margaret and Mrs. Davenport about her. So I thought I'd just come and stay with Mary Barton, and see as she's well done to, and you and your mother and Will go and take leave of old Alice." Jem's countenance, sad at best just now, fell lower and lower. But Job went on with his speech. "She still wanders, Margaret says, and thinks she's with her mother at home; but for all that, she should have some kith and kin near her to close her eyes, to my thinking." "Could not you and Will take mother home? I'd follow when--" Jem faltered out thus far, when Job interrupted, "Lad! if thou knew what thy mother has suffered for thee, thou'd not speak of leaving her just when she's got thee from the grave as it were. Why, this very night she roused me up, and 'Job,' says she, 'I ask your pardon for wakening you, but tell me, am I awake or dreaming? Is Jem proved innocent? Oh, Job Legh! God send I've not been only dreaming it!' For thou see'st she can't rightly understand why thou'rt with Mary, and not with her. Ay, ay! I know why; but a mother only gives up her son's heart inch by inch to his wife, and then she gives it up with a grudge. No, Jem! thou must go with thy mother just now, if ever thou hopest for God's blessing. She's a widow, and has none but thee. Never fear for Mary! She's young and will struggle through. They are decent people, these folk she is with, and I'll watch o'er her as though she was my own poor girl, that lies cold enough in London-town. I grant ye, it's hard enough for her to be left among strangers. To my mind John Barton would be more in the way of his duty, looking after his daughter, than delegating it up and down the country, looking after every one's business but his own." A new idea and a new fear came into Jem's mind. What if Mary should implicate her father? "She raves terribly," said he. "All night long she's been speaking of her father, and mixing up thoughts of him with the trial she saw yesterday. I should not wonder if she'll speak of him as being in court next thing." "I should na wonder, either," answered Job. "Folk in her way say many and many a strange thing; and th' best way is never to mind them. Now you take your mother home, Jem, and stay by her till old Alice is gone, and trust me for seeing after Mary." Jem felt how right Job was, and could not resist what he knew to be his duty, but I cannot tell you how heavy and sick at heart he was as he stood at the door to take a last fond, lingering look at Mary. He saw her sitting up in bed, her golden hair, dimmed with her one day's illness, floating behind her, her head bound round with wetted cloths, her features all agitated, even to distortion, with the pangs of her anxiety. Her lover's eyes filled with tears. He could not hope. The elasticity of his heart had been crushed out of him by early sorrows; and now, especially, the dark side of every thing seemed to be presented to him. What if she died, just when he knew the treasure, the untold treasure he possessed in her love! What if (worse than death) she remained a poor gibbering maniac all her life long (and mad people do live to be old sometimes, even under all the pressure of their burden), terror-distracted as she was now, and no one able to comfort her! "Jem!" said Job, partly guessing the other's feelings by his own. "Jem!" repeated he, arresting his attention before he spoke. Jem turned round, the little motion causing the tears to overflow and trickle down his cheeks. "Thou must trust in God, and leave her in His hands." He spoke hushed, and low; but the words sank all the more into Jem's heart, and gave him strength to tear himself away. He found his mother (notwithstanding that she had but just regained her child through Mary's instrumentality) half inclined to resent his having passed the night in anxious devotion to the poor invalid. She dwelt on the duties of children to their parents (above all others), till Jem could hardly believe the relative positions they had held only yesterday, when she was struggling with and controlling every instinct of her nature, only because _he_ wished it. However, the recollection of that yesterday, with its hair's breadth between him and a felon's death, and the love that had lightened the dark shadow, made him bear with the meekness and patience of a true-hearted man all the worrying little acerbities of to-day; and he had no small merit in so doing; for in him, as in his mother, the re-action after intense excitement had produced its usual effect in increased irritability of the nervous system. They found Alice alive, and without pain. And that was all. A child of a few weeks old would have had more bodily strength; a child of a very few months old, more consciousness of what was passing before her. But even in this state she diffused an atmosphere of peace around her. True, Will, at first, wept passionate tears at the sight of her, who had been as a mother to him, so standing on the confines of life. But even now, as always, loud passionate feeling could not long endure in the calm of her presence. The firm faith which her mind had no longer power to grasp, had left its trail of glory; for by no other word can I call the bright happy look which illumined the old earth-worn face. Her talk, it is true, bore no more that constant earnest reference to God and His holy Word which it had done in health, and there were no death-bed words of exhortation from the lips of one so habitually pious. For still she imagined herself once again in the happy, happy realms of childhood; and again dwelling in the lovely northern haunts where she had so often longed to be. Though earthly sight was gone away, she beheld again the scenes she had loved from long years ago! she saw them without a change to dim the old radiant hues. The long dead were with her, fresh and blooming as in those bygone days. And death came to her as a welcome blessing, like as evening comes to the weary child. Her work here was finished, and faithfully done. What better sentence can an emperor wish to have said over his bier? In second childhood (that blessing clouded by a name), she said her "Nunc Dimittis,"--the sweetest canticle to the holy. "Mother, good night! Dear mother! bless me once more! I'm very tired, and would fain go to sleep." She never spoke again on this side Heaven. She died the day after their return from Liverpool. From that time, Jem became aware that his mother was jealously watching for some word or sign which should betoken his wish to return to Mary. And yet go to Liverpool he must and would, as soon as the funeral was over, if but for a single glimpse of his darling. For Job had never written; indeed, any necessity for his so doing had never entered his head. If Mary died, he would announce it personally; if she recovered, he meant to bring her home with him. Writing was to him little more than an auxiliary to natural history; a way of ticketing specimens, not of expressing thoughts. The consequence of this want of intelligence as to Mary's state was, that Jem was constantly anticipating that every person and every scrap of paper was to convey to him the news of her death. He could not endure this state long; but he resolved not to disturb the house by announcing to his mother his purposed intention of returning to Liverpool, until the dead had been carried forth. On Sunday afternoon they laid her low with many tears. Will wept as one who would not be comforted. The old childish feeling came over him, the feeling of loneliness at being left among strangers. By and bye, Margaret timidly stole near him, as if waiting to console; and soon his passion sank down to grief, and grief gave way to melancholy, and though he felt as if he never could be joyful again, he was all the while unconsciously approaching nearer to the full happiness of calling Margaret his own, and a golden thread was interwoven even now with the darkness of his sorrow. Yet it was on his arm that Jane Wilson leant on her return homewards. Jem took charge of Margaret. "Margaret, I'm bound for Liverpool by the first train to-morrow; I must set your grandfather at liberty." "I'm sure he likes nothing better than watching over poor Mary; he loves her nearly as well as me. But let me go! I have been so full of poor Alice, I've never thought of it before; I can't do so much as many a one, but Mary will like to have a woman about her that she knows. I'm sorry I waited to be reminded, Jem." replied Margaret, with some little self-reproach. But Margaret's proposition did not at all agree with her companion's wishes. He found he had better speak out, and put his intention at once to the right motive; the subterfuge about setting Job Legh at liberty had done him harm instead of good. "To tell truth, Margaret, it's I that must go, and that for my own sake, not your grandfather's. I can rest neither by night nor day for thinking on Mary. Whether she lives or dies I look on her as my wife before God, as surely and solemnly as if we were married. So being, I have the greatest right to look after her, and I cannot yield it even to--" "Her father," said Margaret, finishing his interrupted sentence. "It seems strange that a girl like her should be thrown on the bare world to struggle through so bad an illness. No one seems to know where John Barton is, else I thought of getting Morris to write him a letter telling him about Mary. I wish he was home, that I do!" Jem could not echo this wish. "Mary's not bad off for friends where she is," said he. "I call them friends, though a week ago we none of us knew there were such folks in the world. But being anxious and sorrowful about the same thing makes people friends quicker than any thing, I think. She's like a mother to Mary in her ways; and he bears a good character, as far as I could learn just in that hurry. We're drawing near home, and I've not said my say, Margaret. I want you to look after mother a bit. She'll not like my going, and I've got to break it to her yet. If she takes it very badly, I'll come back to-morrow night; but if she's not against it very much, I mean to stay till it's settled about Mary, one way or the other. Will, you know, will be there, Margaret, to help a bit in doing for mother." Will's being there made the only objection Margaret saw to this plan. She disliked the idea of seeming to throw herself in his way; and yet she did not like to say any thing of this feeling to Jem, who had all along seemed perfectly unconscious of any love-affair, besides his own, in progress. So Margaret gave a reluctant consent. "If you can just step up to our house to-night, Jem, I'll put up a few things as may be useful to Mary, and then you can say when you'll likely be back. If you come home to-morrow night, and Will's there, perhaps I need not step up?" "Yes, Margaret, do! I shan't leave easy unless you go some time in the day to see mother. I'll come to-night, though; and now good-bye. Stay! do you think you could just coax poor Will to walk a bit home with you, that I might speak to mother by myself?" No! that Margaret could not do. That was expecting too great a sacrifice of bashful feeling. But the object was accomplished by Will's going up-stairs immediately on their return to the house, to indulge his mournful thoughts alone. As soon as Jem and his mother were left by themselves, he began on the subject uppermost in his mind. "Mother!" She put her handkerchief from her eyes, and turned quickly round so as to face him where he stood, thinking what best to say. The little action annoyed him, and he rushed at once into the subject. "Mother! I am going back to Liverpool to-morrow morning to see how Mary Barton is." "And what's Mary Barton to thee, that thou shouldst be running after her in that-a-way?" "If she lives, she shall be my wedded wife. If she dies--mother, I can't speak of what I shall feel if she dies." His voice was choked in his throat. For an instant his mother was interested by his words; and then came back the old jealousy of being supplanted in the affections of that son, who had been, as it were, newly born to her, by the escape he had so lately experienced from danger. So she hardened her heart against entertaining any feeling of sympathy; and turned away from the face, which recalled the earnest look of his childhood, when he had come to her in some trouble, sure of help and comfort. And coldly she spoke, in those tones which Jem knew and dreaded, even before the meaning they expressed was fully shaped. "Thou'rt old enough to please thysel. Old mothers are cast aside, and what they've borne forgotten, as soon as a pretty face comes across. I might have thought of that last Tuesday, when I felt as if thou wert all my own, and the judge were some wild animal trying to rend thee from me. I spoke up for thee then; but it's all forgotten now, I suppose." "Mother! you know all this while, _you know_ I can never forget any kindness you've ever done for me; and they've been many. Why should you think I've only room for one love in my heart? I can love you as dearly as ever, and Mary too, as much as man ever loved woman." He awaited a reply. None was vouchsafed. "Mother, answer me!" said he, at last. "What mun I answer? You asked me no question." "Well! I ask you this now. To-morrow morning I go to Liverpool to see her, who is as my wife. Dear mother! will you bless me on my errand? If it please God she recovers, will you take her to you as you would a daughter?" She could neither refuse nor assent. "Why need you go?" said she querulously, at length. "You'll be getting in some mischief or another again. Can't you stop at home quiet with me?" Jem got up, and walked about the room in despairing impatience. She would not understand his feelings. At last he stopped right before the place where she was sitting, with an air of injured meekness on her face. "Mother! I often think what a good man father was! I've often heard you tell of your courting days; and of the accident that befell you, and how ill you were. How long is it ago?" "Near upon five-and-twenty years," said she, with a sigh. "You little thought when you were so ill you should live to have such a fine strapping son as I am, did you now?" She smiled a little, and looked up at him, which was just what he wanted. "Thou'rt not so fine a man as thy father was, by a deal!" said she, looking at him with much fondness, notwithstanding her depreciatory words. He took another turn or two up and down the room. He wanted to bend the subject round to his own case. "Those were happy days when father was alive!" "You may say so, lad! Such days as will never come again to me, at any rate." She sighed sorrowfully. "Mother!" said he at last, stopping short, and taking her hand in his with tender affection, "you'd like me to be as happy a man as my father was before me, would not you? You'd like me to have some one to make me as happy as you made father? Now, would you not, dear mother?" "I did not make him as happy as I might ha' done," murmured she, in a low, sad voice of self-reproach. "Th' accident gave a jar to my temper it's never got the better of; and now he's gone where he can never know how I grieve for having frabbed him as I did." "Nay, mother, we don't know that!" said Jem, with gentle soothing. "Any how, you and father got along with as few rubs as most people. But for _his_ sake, dear mother, don't say me nay, now that I come to you to ask your blessing before setting out to see her, who is to be my wife, if ever woman is; for _his_ sake, if not for mine, love her who I shall bring home to be to me all you were to him: and mother! I do not ask for a truer or a tenderer heart than yours is, in the long run." The hard look left her face; though her eyes were still averted from Jem's gaze, it was more because they were brimming over with tears, called forth by his words, than because any angry feeling yet remained. And when his manly voice died away in low pleadings, she lifted up her hands, and bent down her son's head below the level of her own; and then she solemnly uttered a blessing. "God bless thee, Jem, my own dear lad. And may He bless Mary Barton for thy sake." Jem's heart leaped up, and from this time hope took the place of fear in his anticipations with regard to Mary. "Mother! you show your own true self to Mary, and she'll love you as dearly as I do." So with some few smiles, and some few tears, and much earnest talking, the evening wore away. "I must be off to see Margaret. Why, it's near ten o'clock! Could you have thought it? Now don't you stop up for me, mother. You and Will go to bed, for you've both need of it. I shall be home in an hour." Margaret had felt the evening long and lonely; and was all but giving up the thoughts of Jem's coming that night, when she heard his step at the door. He told her of his progress with his mother; he told her his hopes, and was silent on the subject of his fears. "To think how sorrow and joy are mixed up together. You'll date your start in life as Mary's acknowledged lover from poor Alice Wilson's burial day. Well! the dead are soon forgotten!" "Dear Margaret!--But you're worn out with your long evening waiting for me. I don't wonder. But never you, nor any one else, think because God sees fit to call up new interests, perhaps right out of the grave, that therefore the dead are forgotten. Margaret, you yourself can remember our looks, and fancy what we're like." "Yes! but what has that to do with remembering Alice?" "Why, just this. You're not always trying to think on our faces, and making a labour of remembering; but often, I'll be bound, when you're sinking off to sleep, or when you're very quiet and still, the faces you knew so well when you could see, come smiling before you with loving looks. Or you remember them, without striving after it, and without thinking it's your duty to keep recalling them. And so it is with them that are hidden from our sight. If they've been worthy to be heartily loved while alive, they'll not be forgotten when dead; it's against nature. And we need no more be upbraiding ourselves for letting in God's rays of light upon our sorrow, and no more be fearful of forgetting them, because their memory is not always haunting and taking up our minds, than you need to trouble yourself about remembering your grandfather's face, or what the stars were like,--you can't forget if you would, what it's such a pleasure to think about. Don't fear my forgetting Aunt Alice." "I'm not, Jem; not now, at least; only you seemed so full about Mary." "I've kept it down so long, remember. How glad Aunt Alice would have been to know that I might hope to have her for my wife! that's to say, if God spares her!" "She would not have known it, even if you could have told her this last fortnight,--ever since you went away she's been thinking always that she was a little child at her mother's apron-string. She must have been a happy little thing; it was such a pleasure to her to think about those early days, when she lay old and gray on her death-bed." "I never knew any one seem more happy all her life long." "Ay! and how gentle and easy her death was! She thought her mother was near her." They fell into calm thought about those last peaceful happy hours. It struck eleven. Jem started up. "I should have been gone long ago. Give me the bundle. You'll not forget my mother. Good night, Margaret." She let him out and bolted the door behind him. He stood on the steps to adjust some fastening about the bundle. The court, the street, was deeply still. Long ago had all retired to rest on that quiet Sabbath evening. The stars shone down on the silent deserted streets, and the soft clear moonlight fell in bright masses, leaving the steps on which Jem stood in shadow. A foot-fall was heard along the pavement; slow and heavy was the sound. Before Jem had ended his little piece of business, a form had glided into sight; a wan, feeble figure, bearing, with evident and painful labour, a jug of water from the neighbouring pump. It went before Jem, turned up the court at the corner of which he was standing, passed into the broad, calm light; and there, with bowed head, sinking and shrunk body, Jem recognised John Barton. No haunting ghost could have had less of the energy of life in its involuntary motions than he, who, nevertheless, went on with the same measured clock-work tread until the door of his own house was reached. And then he disappeared, and the latch fell feebly to, and made a faint and wavering sound, breaking the solemn silence of the night. Then all again was still. For a minute or two Jem stood motionless, stunned by the thoughts which the sight of Mary's father had called up. Margaret did not know he was at home: had he stolen like a thief by dead of night into his own dwelling? Depressed as Jem had often and long seen him, this night there was something different about him still; beaten down by some inward storm, he seemed to grovel along, all self-respect lost and gone. Must he be told of Mary's state? Jem felt he must not; and this for many reasons. He could not be informed of her illness without many other particulars being communicated at the same time, of which it were better he should be kept in ignorance; indeed, of which Mary herself could alone give the full explanation. No suspicion that he was the criminal seemed hitherto to have been excited in the mind of any one. Added to these reasons was Jem's extreme unwillingness to face him, with the belief in his breast that he, and none other, had done the fearful deed. It was true that he was Mary's father, and as such had every right to be told of all concerning her; but supposing he were, and that he followed the impulse so natural to a father, and wished to go to her, what might be the consequences? Among the mingled feelings she had revealed in her delirium, ay, mingled even with the most tender expressions of love for her father, was a sort of horror of him; a dread of him as a blood-shedder, which seemed to separate him into two persons,--one, the father who had dandled her on his knee, and loved her all her life long; the other, the assassin, the cause of all her trouble and woe. If he presented himself before her while this idea of his character was uppermost, who might tell the consequence? Jem could not, and would not, expose her to any such fearful chance: and to tell the truth, I believe he looked upon her as more his own, to guard from all shadow of injury with most loving care, than as belonging to any one else in this world, though girt with the reverend name of Father, and guiltless of aught that might have lessened such reverence. If you think this account of mine confused, of the half-feelings, half-reasons, which passed through Jem's mind, as he stood gazing at the empty space, where that crushed form had so lately been seen,--if you are perplexed to disentangle the real motives, I do assure you it was from just such an involved set of thoughts that Jem drew the resolution to act as if he had not seen that phantom likeness of John Barton; himself, yet not himself. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE RETURN HOME. "_Dixwell._ Forgiveness! Oh, forgiveness, and a grave! _Mary._ God knows thy heart, my father! and I shudder To think what thou perchance hast acted. _Dixwell._ Oh! _Mary._ No common load of woe is thine, my father." ELLIOTT'S "KERHONAH." Mary still hovered between life and death when Jem arrived at the house where she lay; and the doctors were as yet unwilling to compromise their wisdom by allowing too much hope to be entertained. But the state of things, if not less anxious, was less distressing than when Jem had quitted her. She lay now in a stupor, which was partly disease, and partly exhaustion after the previous excitement. And now Jem found the difficulty which every one who has watched by a sick bed knows full well; and which is perhaps more insurmountable to men than it is to women,--the difficulty of being patient, and trying not to expect any visible change for long, long hours of sad monotony. But after awhile the reward came. The laboured breathing became lower and softer, the heavy look of oppressive pain melted away from the face, and a languor that was almost peace took the place of suffering. She slept a natural sleep; and they stole about on tip-toe, and spoke low, and softly, and hardly dared to breathe, however much they longed to sigh out their thankful relief. She opened her eyes. Her mind was in the tender state of a lately-born infant's. She was pleased with the gay but not dazzling colours of the paper; soothed by the subdued light; and quite sufficiently amused by looking at all the objects in the room,--the drawing of the ships, the festoons of the curtain, the bright flowers on the painted backs of the chairs,--to care for any stronger excitement. She wondered at the ball of glass, containing various coloured sands from the Isle of Wight, or some such place, which hung suspended from the middle of the little valance over the window. But she did not care to exert herself to ask any questions, although she saw Mrs. Sturgis standing at the bed-side with some tea, ready to drop it into her mouth by spoonfuls. She did not see the face of honest joy, of earnest thankfulness,--the clasped hands,--the beaming eyes,--the trembling eagerness of gesture, of one who had long awaited her awakening, and who now stood behind the curtains watching through some little chink her every faint motion; or if she had caught a glimpse of that loving, peeping face, she was in too exhausted a state to have taken much notice, or have long retained the impression that he she loved so well was hanging about her, and blessing God for every conscious look which stole over her countenance. She fell softly into slumber, without a word having been spoken by any one during that half hour of inexpressible joy. And again the stillness was enforced by sign and whispered word, but with eyes that beamed out their bright thoughts of hope. Jem sat by the side of the bed, holding back the little curtain, and gazing as if he could never gaze his fill at the pale, wasted face, so marbled and so chiselled in its wan outline. She wakened once more; her soft eyes opened, and met his over-bending look. She smiled gently, as a baby does when it sees its mother tending its little cot; and continued her innocent, infantine gaze into his face, as if the sight gave her much unconscious pleasure. But by-and-by a different expression came into her sweet eyes; a look of memory and intelligence; her white face flushed the brightest rosy red, and with feeble motion she tried to hide her head in the pillow. It required all Jem's self-control to do what he knew and felt to be necessary, to call Mrs. Sturgis, who was quietly dozing by the fireside; and that done, he felt almost obliged to leave the room to keep down the happy agitation which would gush out in every feature, every gesture, and every tone. From that time forward Mary's progress towards health was rapid. There was every reason, but one, in favour of her speedy removal home. All Jem's duties lay in Manchester. It was his mother's dwelling-place, and there his plans for life had been to be worked out; plans, which the suspicion and imprisonment he had fallen into, had thrown for a time into a chaos, which his presence was required to arrange into form. For he might find, in spite of a jury's verdict, that too strong a taint was on his character for him ever to labour in Manchester again. He remembered the manner in which some one suspected of having been a convict was shunned by masters and men, when he had accidentally met with work in their foundry; the recollection smote him now, how he himself had thought that it did not become an honest upright man to associate with one who had been a prisoner. He could not choose but think on that poor humble being, with his downcast conscious look; hunted out of the work-shop, where he had sought to earn an honest livelihood, by the looks, and half-spoken words, and the black silence of repugnance (worse than words to bear), that met him on all sides. Jem felt that his own character had been attainted; and that to many it might still appear suspicious. He knew that he could convince the world, by a future as blameless as his past had been, that he was innocent. But at the same time he saw that he must have patience, and nerve himself for some trials; and the sooner these were undergone, the sooner he was aware of the place he held in men's estimation, the better. He longed to have presented himself once more at the foundry; and then the reality would drive away the pictures that would (unbidden) come of a shunned man, eyed askance by all, and driven forth to shape out some new career. I said every reason "but one" inclined Jem to hasten Mary's return as soon as she was sufficiently convalescent. That one was the meeting which awaited her at home. Turn it over as Jem would, he could not decide what was the best course to pursue. He could compel himself to any line of conduct that his reason and his sense of right told him to be desirable; but they did not tell him it was desirable to speak to Mary, in her tender state of mind and body, of her father. How much would be implied by the mere mention of his name! Speak it as calmly, and as indifferently as he might, he could not avoid expressing some consciousness of the terrible knowledge she possessed. She, for her part, was softer and gentler than she had ever been in her gentlest mood; since her illness, her motions, her glances, her voice were all tender in their languor. It seemed almost a trouble to her to break the silence with the low sounds of her own sweet voice, and her words fell sparingly on Jem's greedy, listening ear. Her face was, however, so full of love and confidence, that Jem felt no uneasiness at the state of silent abstraction into which she often fell. If she did but love him, all would yet go right; and it was better not to press for confidence on that one subject which must be painful to both. There came a fine, bright, balmy day. And Mary tottered once more out into the open air, leaning on Jem's arm, and close to his beating heart. And Mrs. Sturgis watched them from her door, with a blessing on her lips, as they went slowly up the street. They came in sight of the river. Mary shuddered. "Oh, Jem! take me home. Yon river seems all made of glittering, heaving, dazzling metal, just as it did when I began to be ill." Jem led her homewards. She dropped her head as searching for something on the ground. "Jem!" He was all attention. She paused for an instant. "When may I go home? To Manchester, I mean. I am so weary of this place; and I would fain be at home." She spoke in a feeble voice; not at all impatiently, as the words themselves would seem to intimate, but in a mournful way, as if anticipating sorrow even in the very fulfilment of her wishes. "Darling! we will go whenever you wish; whenever you feel strong enough. I asked Job to tell Margaret to get all in readiness for you to go there at first. She'll tend you and nurse you. You must not go home. Job proffered for you to go there." "Ah! but I must go home, Jem. I'll try and not fail now in what's right. There are things we must not speak on" (lowering her voice), "but you'll be really kind if you'll not speak against my going home. Let us say no more about it, dear Jem. I must go home, and I must go alone." "Not alone, Mary!" "Yes, alone! I cannot tell you why I ask it. And if you guess, I know you well enough to be sure you'll understand why I ask you never to speak on that again to me, till I begin. Promise, dear Jem, promise!" He promised; to gratify that beseeching face he promised. And then he repented, and felt as if he had done ill. Then again he felt as if she were the best judge, and knowing all (perhaps more than even he did) might be forming plans which his interference would mar. One thing was certain! it was a miserable thing to have this awful forbidden ground of discourse; to guess at each other's thoughts, when eyes were averted, and cheeks blanched, and words stood still, arrested in their flow by some casual allusion. At last a day, fine enough for Mary to travel on, arrived. She had wished to go, but now her courage failed her. How could she have said she was weary of that quiet house, where even Ben Sturgis' grumblings only made a kind of harmonious bass in the concord between him and his wife, so thoroughly did they know each other with the knowledge of many years! How could she have longed to quit that little peaceful room where she had experienced such loving tendence! Even the very check bed-curtains became dear to her under the idea of seeing them no more. If it was so with inanimate objects, if they had such power of exciting regret, what were her feelings with regard to the kind old couple, who had taken the stranger in, and cared for her, and nursed her, as though she had been a daughter? Each wilful sentence spoken in the half unconscious irritation of feebleness came now with avenging self-reproach to her memory, as she hung about Mrs. Sturgis, with many tears, which served instead of words to express her gratitude and love. Ben bustled about with the square bottle of Goldenwasser in one of his hands, and a small tumbler in the other; he went to Mary, Jem, and his wife in succession, pouring out a glass for each and bidding them drink it to keep their spirits up: but as each severally refused, he drank it himself; and passed on to offer the same hospitality to another with the like refusal, and the like result. When he had swallowed the last of the three draughts, he condescended to give his reasons for having done so. "I cannot abide waste. What's poured out mun be drunk. That's my maxim." So saying, he replaced the bottle in the cupboard. It was he who in a firm commanding voice at last told Jem and Mary to be off, or they would be too late. Mrs. Sturgis had kept up till then; but as they left her house, she could no longer restrain her tears, and cried aloud in spite of her husband's upbraiding. "Perhaps they'll be too late for th' train!" exclaimed she, with a degree of hope, as the clock struck two. "What! and come back again! No! no! that would never do. We've done our part, and cried our cry; it's no use going o'er the same ground again. I should ha' to give 'em more out of yon bottle when next parting time came, and them three glasses they had made a hole in the stuff, I can tell you. Time Jack was back from Hamburg with some more." When they reached Manchester, Mary looked very white, and the expression on her face was almost stern. She was in fact summoning up her resolution to meet her father if he were at home. Jem had never named his midnight glimpse of John Barton to human being; but Mary had a sort of presentiment that wander where he would, he would seek his home at last. But in what mood she dreaded to think. For the knowledge of her father's capability of guilt seemed to have opened a dark gulf in his character, into the depths of which she trembled to look. At one moment she would fain have claimed protection against the life she must lead, for some time at least, alone with a murderer! She thought of his gloom, before his mind was haunted by the memory of so terrible a crime; his moody, irritable ways. She imagined the evenings as of old: she, toiling at some work, long after houses were shut, and folks abed; he, more savage than he had ever been before with the inward gnawing of his remorse. At such times she could have cried aloud with terror, at the scenes her fancy conjured up. But her filial duty, nay, her love and gratitude for many deeds of kindness done to her as a little child, conquered all fear. She would endure all imaginable terrors, although of daily occurrence. And she would patiently bear all wayward violence of temper; more than patiently would she bear it--pitifully, as one who knew of some awful curse awaiting the blood-shedder. She would watch over him tenderly, as the Innocent should watch over the Guilty; awaiting the gracious seasons, wherein to pour oil and balm into the bitter wounds. With the untroubled peace which the resolve to endure to the end gives, she approached the house that from habit she still called home, but which possessed the holiness of home no longer. "Jem!" said she, as they stood at the entrance to the court, close by Job Legh's door, "you must go in there and wait half-an-hour. Not less. If in that time I don't come back, you go your ways to your mother. Give her my dear love. I will send by Margaret when I want to see you." She sighed heavily. "Mary! Mary! I cannot leave you. You speak as coldly as if we were to be nought to each other. And my heart's bound up in you. I know why you bid me keep away, but--" She put her hand on his arm, as he spoke in a loud agitated tone; she looked into his face with upbraiding love in her eyes, and then she said, while her lips quivered, and he felt her whole frame trembling: "Dear Jem! I often could have told you more of love, if I had not once spoken out so free. Remember that time, Jem, if ever you think me cold. Then, the love that's in my heart would out in words; but now, though I'm silent on the pain I'm feeling in quitting you, the love is in my heart all the same. But this is not the time to speak on such things. If I do not do what I feel to be right now, I may blame myself all my life long! Jem, you promised--" And so saying she left him. She went quicker than she would otherwise have passed over those few yards of ground, for fear he should still try to accompany her. Her hand was on the latch, and in a breath the door was opened. There sat her father, still and motionless--not even turning his head to see who had entered; but perhaps he recognised the foot-step,--the trick of action. He sat by the fire; the grate I should say, for fire there was none. Some dull, gray ashes, negligently left, long days ago, coldly choked up the bars. He had taken the accustomed seat from mere force of habit, which ruled his automaton-body. For all energy, both physical and mental, seemed to have retreated inwards to some of the great citadels of life, there to do battle against the Destroyer, Conscience. His hands were crossed, his fingers interlaced; usually a position implying some degree of resolution, or strength; but in him it was so faintly maintained, that it appeared more the result of chance; an attitude requiring some application of outward force to alter,--and a blow with a straw seemed as though it would be sufficient. And as for his face, it was sunk and worn,--like a skull, with yet a suffering expression that skulls have not! Your heart would have ached to have seen the man, however hardly you might have judged his crime. But crime and all was forgotten by his daughter, as she saw his abashed look, his smitten helplessness. All along she had felt it difficult (as I may have said before) to reconcile the two ideas, of her father and a blood-shedder. But now it was impossible. He was her father! her own dear father! and in his sufferings, whatever their cause, more dearly loved than ever before. His crime was a thing apart, never more to be considered by her. And tenderly did she treat him, and fondly did she serve him in every way that heart could devise, or hand execute. She had some money about her, the price of her strange services as a witness; and when the lingering dusk drew on, she stole out to effect some purchases necessary for her father's comfort. For how body and soul had been kept together, even as much as they were, during the days he had dwelt alone, no one can say. The house was bare as when Mary had left it, of coal, or of candle, of food, or of blessing in any shape. She came quickly home; but as she passed Job Legh's door, she stopped. Doubtless Jem had long since gone; and doubtless, too, he had given Margaret some good reason for not intruding upon her friend for this night at least, otherwise Mary would have seen her before now. But to-morrow,--would she not come in to-morrow? And who so quick as blind Margaret in noticing tones, and sighs, and even silence? She did not give herself time for further thought, her desire to be once more with her father was too pressing; but she opened the door, before she well knew what to say. "It's Mary Barton! I know her by her breathing! Grandfather, it's Mary Barton!" Margaret's joy at meeting her, the open demonstration of her love, affected Mary much; she could not keep from crying, and sat down weak and agitated on the first chair she could find. "Ay, ay, Mary! thou'rt looking a bit different to when I saw thee last. Thou'lt give Jem and me good characters for sick nurses, I trust. If all trades fail, I'll turn to that. Jem's place is for life, I reckon. Nay, never redden so, lass. You and he know each other's minds by this time!" Margaret held her hand, and gently smiled into her face. Job Legh took the candle up, and began a leisurely inspection. "Thou hast getten a bit of pink in thy cheeks,--not much; but when last I saw thee, thy lips were as white as a sheet. Thy nose is sharpish at th' end; thou'rt more like thy father than ever thou wert before. Lord! child, what's the matter? Art thou going to faint?" For Mary had sickened at the mention of that name; yet she felt that now or never was the time to speak. "Father's come home!" she said, "but he's very poorly; I never saw him as he is now, before. I asked Jem not to come near him for fear it might fidget him." She spoke hastily, and (to her own idea) in an unnatural manner. But they did not seem to notice it, nor to take the hint she had thrown out of company being unacceptable; for Job Legh directly put down some insect, which he was impaling on a corking-pin, and exclaimed, "Thy father come home! Why, Jem never said a word of it! And ailing too! I'll go in, and cheer him with a bit of talk. I ne'er knew any good come of delegating it." "Oh, Job! father cannot stand--father is too ill. Don't come; not but that you're very kind and good; but to-night--indeed," said she at last, in despair, seeing Job still persevere in putting away his things; "you must not come till I send or come for you. Father's in that strange way, I can't answer for it if he sees strangers. Please don't come. I'll come and tell you every day how he goes on. I must be off now to see after him. Dear Job! kind Job! don't be angry with me. If you knew all you'd pity me." For Job was muttering away in high dudgeon, and even Margaret's tone was altered as she wished Mary good night. Just then she could ill brook coldness from any one, and least of all bear the idea of being considered ungrateful by so kind and zealous a friend as Job had been; so she turned round suddenly, even when her hand was on the latch of the door, and ran back, and threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him first, and then Margaret. And then, the tears fast-falling down her cheeks, but no word spoken, she hastily left the house, and went back to her home. There was no change in her father's position, or in his spectral look. He had answered her questions (but few in number, for so many subjects were unapproachable) by monosyllables, and in a weak, high, childish voice; but he had not lifted his eyes; he could not meet his daughter's look. And she, when she spoke, or as she moved about, avoided letting her eyes rest upon him. She wished to be her usual self; but while every thing was done with a consciousness of purpose, she felt it was impossible. In this manner things went on for some days. At night he feebly clambered up stairs to bed; and during those long dark hours Mary heard those groans of agony which never escaped his lips by day, when they were compressed in silence over his inward woe. Many a time she sat up listening, and wondering if it would ease his miserable heart if she went to him, and told him she knew all, and loved and pitied him more than words could tell. By day the monotonous hours wore on in the same heavy, hushed manner as on that first dreary afternoon. He ate,--but without relish; and food seemed no longer to nourish him, for each morning his face had caught more of the ghastly fore-shadowing of Death. The neighbours kept strangely aloof. Of late years John Barton had had a repellent power about him, felt by all, except to the few who had either known him in his better and happier days, or those to whom he had given his sympathy and his confidence. People did not care to enter the doors of one whose very depth of thoughtfulness rendered him moody and stern. And now they contented themselves with a kind inquiry when they saw Mary in her goings-out or in her comings-in. With her oppressing knowledge, she imagined their reserved conduct stranger than it was in reality. She missed Job and Margaret too; who, in all former times of sorrow or anxiety since their acquaintance first began, had been ready with their sympathy. But most of all she missed the delicious luxury she had lately enjoyed in having Jem's tender love at hand every hour of the day, to ward off every wind of heaven, and every disturbing thought. She knew he was often hovering about the house; though the knowledge seemed to come more by intuition, than by any positive sight or sound for the first day or two. On the third day she met him at Job Legh's. They received her with every effort of cordiality; but still there was a cobweb-veil of separation between them, to which Mary was morbidly acute; while in Jem's voice, and eyes, and manner, there was every evidence of most passionate, most admiring, and most trusting love. The trust was shown by his respectful silence on that one point of reserve on which she had interdicted conversation. He left Job Legh's house when she did. They lingered on the step, he holding her hand between both of his, as loth to let her go; he questioned her as to when he should see her again. "Mother does so want to see you," whispered he. "Can you come to see her to-morrow? or when?" "I cannot tell," replied she, softly. "Not yet. Wait awhile; perhaps only a little while. Dear Jem, I must go to him,--dearest Jem." The next day, the fourth from Mary's return home, as she was sitting near the window, sadly dreaming over some work, she caught a glimpse of the last person she wished to see--of Sally Leadbitter! She was evidently coming to their house; another moment, and she tapped at the door. John Barton gave an anxious, uneasy side-glance. Mary knew that if she delayed answering the knock, Sally would not scruple to enter; so as hastily as if the visit had been desired, she opened the door, and stood there with the latch in her hand, barring up all entrance, and as much as possible obstructing all curious glances into the interior. "Well, Mary Barton! You're home at last! I heard you'd getten home; so I thought I'd just step over and hear the news." She was bent on coming in, and saw Mary's preventive design. So she stood on tip-toe, looking over Mary's shoulders into the room where she suspected a lover to be lurking; but instead, she saw only the figure of the stern, gloomy father she had always been in the habit of avoiding; and she dropped down again, content to carry on the conversation where Mary chose, and as Mary chose, in whispers. "So the old governor is back again, eh? And what does he say to all your fine doings at Liverpool, and before?--you and I know where. You can't hide it now, Mary, for it's all in print." Mary gave a low moan,--and then implored Sally to change the subject; for unpleasant as it always was, it was doubly unpleasant in the manner in which she was treating it. If they had been alone, Mary would have borne it patiently,--or so she thought,--but now she felt almost certain her father was listening; there was a subdued breathing, a slight bracing-up of the listless attitude. But there was no arresting Sally's curiosity to hear all she could respecting the adventures Mary had experienced. She, in common with the rest of Miss Simmonds' young ladies, was almost jealous of the fame that Mary had obtained; to herself, such miserable notoriety. "Nay! there's no use shunning talking it over. Why! it was in the _Guardian_,--and the _Courier_,--and some one told Jane Hodson it was even copied into a London paper. You've set up heroine on your own account, Mary Barton. How did you like standing witness? Ar'n't them lawyers impudent things? staring at one so. I'll be bound you wished you'd taken my offer, and borrowed my black watered scarf! Now didn't you, Mary? Speak truth!" "To tell truth, I never thought about it then, Sally. How could I?" asked she, reproachfully. "Oh--I forgot. You were all for that stupid James Wilson. Well! if I've ever the luck to go witness on a trial, see if I don't pick up a better beau than the prisoner. I'll aim at a lawyer's clerk, but I'll not take less than a turnkey." Cast down as Mary was, she could hardly keep from smiling at the idea, so wildly incongruous with the scene she had really undergone, of looking out for admirers during a trial for murder. "I'd no thought to be looking out for beaux, I can assure you, Sally.--But don't let us talk any more about it; I can't bear to think on it. How is Miss Simmonds? and everybody?" "Oh, very well; and by the way she gave me a bit of a message for you. You may come back to work if you'll behave yourself, she says. I told you she'd be glad to have you back, after all this piece of business, by way of tempting people to come to her shop. They'd come from Salford to have a peep at you, for six months at least." "Don't talk so; I cannot come, I can never face Miss Simmonds again. And even if I could--" she stopped, and blushed. "Ay! I know what you're thinking on. But that will not be this some time, as he's turned off from the foundry,--you'd better think twice afore refusing Miss Simmonds' offer." "Turned off from the foundry! Jem?" cried Mary. "To be sure! didn't you know it? Decent men were not going to work with a--no! I suppose I mustn't say it, seeing you went to such trouble to get up an _alibi_; not that I should think much the worse of a spirited young fellow for falling foul of a rival,--they always do at the theatre." But Mary's thoughts were with Jem. How good he had been never to name his dismissal to her. How much he had had to endure for her sake! "Tell me all about it," she gasped out. "Why, you see, they've always swords quite handy at them plays," began Sally; but Mary, with an impatient shake of her head, interrupted, "About Jem,--about Jem, I want to know." "Oh! I don't pretend to know more than is in every one's mouth: he's turned away from the foundry, because folks don't think you've cleared him outright of the murder; though perhaps the jury were loth to hang him. Old Mr. Carson is savage against judge and jury, and lawyers and all, as I heard." "I must go to him, I must go to him," repeated Mary, in a hurried manner. "He'll tell you all I've said is true, and not a word of lie," replied Sally. "So I'll not give your answer to Miss Simmonds, but leave you to think twice about it. Good afternoon!" Mary shut the door, and turned into the house. Her father sat in the same attitude; the old unchanging attitude. Only his head was more bowed towards the ground. She put on her bonnet to go to Ancoats; for see, and question, and comfort, and worship Jem, she must. As she hung about her father for an instant before leaving him, he spoke--voluntarily spoke for the first time since her return; but his head was drooping so low she could not hear what he said, so she stooped down; and after a moment's pause, he repeated the words, "Tell Jem Wilson to come here at eight o'clock to-night." Could he have overheard her conversation with Sally Leadbitter? They had whispered low, she thought. Pondering on this, and many other things, she reached Ancoats. CHAPTER XXXV. "FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES." "Oh, had he lived, Replied Rusilla, never penitence Had equalled his! full well I know his heart, Vehement in all things. He would on himself Have wreaked such penance as had reached the height Of fleshly suffering,--yea, which being told, With its portentous rigour should have made The memory of his fault, o'erpowered and lost In shuddering pity and astonishment, Fade like a feeble horror." SOUTHEY'S "RODERICK." As Mary was turning into the street where the Wilsons lived, Jem overtook her. He came upon her suddenly, and she started. "You're going to see mother?" he asked tenderly, placing her arm within his, and slackening his pace. "Yes, and you too. Oh, Jem, is it true? tell me." She felt rightly that he would guess the meaning of her only half expressed inquiry. He hesitated a moment before he answered her. "Darling, it is; it's no use hiding it--if you mean that I'm no longer to work at Duncombe's foundry. It's no time (to my mind) to have secrets from each other, though I did not name it yesterday, thinking you might fret. I shall soon get work again, never fear." "But why did they turn you off, when the jury had said you were innocent?" "It was not just to say turned off, though I don't think I could have well stayed on. A good number of the men managed to let out they should not like to work under me again; there were some few who knew me well enough to feel I could not have done it, but more were doubtful; and one spoke to young Mr. Duncombe, hinting at what they thought." "Oh Jem! what a shame!" said Mary, with mournful indignation. "Nay, darling! I'm not for blaming them. Poor fellows like them have nought to stand upon and be proud of but their character, and it's fitting they should take care of that, and keep that free from soil and taint." "But you,--what could they get but good from you? They might have known you by this time." "So some do; the overlooker, I'm sure, would know I'm innocent. Indeed, he said as much to-day; and he said he had had some talk with old Mr. Duncombe, and they thought it might be better if I left Manchester for a bit; they'd recommend me to some other place." But Mary could only shake her head in a mournful way, and repeat her words, "They might have known thee better, Jem." Jem pressed the little hand he held between his own work-hardened ones. After a minute or two, he asked, "Mary, art thou much bound to Manchester? Would it grieve thee sore to quit the old smoke-jack?" "With thee?" she asked, in a quiet, glancing way. "Ay, lass! Trust me, I'll ne'er ask thee to leave Manchester while I'm in it. Because I've heard fine things of Canada; and our overlooker has a cousin in the foundry line there.--Thou knowest where Canada is, Mary?" "Not rightly--not now, at any rate;--but with thee, Jem," her voice sunk to a soft, low whisper, "anywhere--" What was the use of a geographical description? "But father!" said Mary, suddenly breaking that delicious silence with the one sharp discord in her present life. She looked up at her lover's grave face; and then the message her father had sent flashed across her memory. "Oh, Jem, did I tell you?--Father sent word he wished to speak with you. I was to bid you come to him at eight to-night. What can he want, Jem?" "I cannot tell," replied he. "At any rate I'll go. It's no use troubling ourselves to guess," he continued, after a pause of a few minutes, during which they slowly and silently paced up and down the by-street, into which he had led her when their conversation began. "Come and see mother, and then I'll take thee home, Mary. Thou wert all in a tremble when first I came up with thee; thou'rt not fit to be trusted home by thyself," said he, with fond exaggeration of her helplessness. Yet a little more lovers' loitering; a few more words, in themselves nothing--to you nothing, but to those two what tender passionate language can I use to express the feelings which thrilled through that young man and maiden, as they listened to the syllables made dear and lovely through life by that hour's low-whispered talk. It struck the half hour past seven. "Come and speak to mother; she knows you're to be her daughter, Mary, darling." So they went in. Jane Wilson was rather chafed at her son's delay in returning home, for as yet he had managed to keep her in ignorance of his dismissal from the foundry; and it was her way to prepare some little pleasure, some little comfort for those she loved; and if they, unwittingly, did not appear at the proper time to enjoy her preparation, she worked herself up into a state of fretfulness which found vent in upbraidings as soon as ever the objects of her care appeared, thereby marring the peace which should ever be the atmosphere of a home, however humble; and causing a feeling almost amounting to loathing to arise at the sight of the "stalled ox," which, though an effect and proof of careful love, has been the cause of so much disturbance. Mrs. Wilson had first sighed, and then grumbled to herself, over the increasing toughness of the potato-cakes she had made for her son's tea. The door opened, and he came in; his face brightening into proud smiles, Mary Barton hanging on his arm, blushing and dimpling, with eye-lids veiling the happy light of her eyes,--there was around the young couple a radiant atmosphere--a glory of happiness. Could his mother mar it? Could she break into it with her Martha-like cares? Only for one moment did she remember her sense of injury,--her wasted trouble,--and then, her whole woman's heart heaving with motherly love and sympathy, she opened her arms, and received Mary into them, as, shedding tears of agitated joy, she murmured in her ear, "Bless thee, Mary, bless thee! Only make him happy, and God bless thee for ever!" It took some of Jem's self-command to separate those whom he so much loved, and who were beginning, for his sake, to love one another so dearly. But the time for his meeting John Barton drew on: and it was a long way to his house. As they walked briskly thither they hardly spoke; though many thoughts were in their minds. The sun had not long set, but the first faint shade of twilight was over all; and when they opened the door, Jem could hardly perceive the objects within by the waning light of day, and the flickering fire-blaze. But Mary saw all at a glance! Her eye, accustomed to what was usual in the aspect of the room, saw instantly what was unusual,--saw, and understood it all. Her father was standing behind his habitual chair, holding by the back of it as if for support. And opposite to him there stood Mr. Carson; the dark out-line of his stern figure looming large against the light of the fire in that little room. Behind her father sat Job Legh, his head in his hands, and resting his elbows on the little family table,--listening evidently; but as evidently deeply affected by what he heard. There seemed to be some pause in the conversation. Mary and Jem stood at the half-open door, not daring to stir; hardly to breathe. "And have I heard you aright?" began Mr. Carson, with his deep quivering voice. "Man! have I heard you aright? Was it you, then, that killed my boy? my only son?"--(he said these last few words almost as if appealing for pity, and then he changed his tone to one more vehement and fierce). "Don't dare to think that I shall be merciful, and spare you, because you have come forward to accuse yourself. I tell you I will not spare you the least pang the law can inflict,--you, who did not show pity on my boy, shall have none from me." "I did not ask for any," said John Barton, in a low voice. "Ask, or not ask, what care I? You shall be hanged--hanged--man!" said he, advancing his face, and repeating the word with slow, grinding emphasis, as if to infuse some of the bitterness of his soul into it. John Barton gasped, but not with fear. It was only that he felt it terrible to have inspired such hatred, as was concentrated into every word, every gesture of Mr. Carson's. "As for being hanged, sir, I know it's all right and proper. I dare say it's bad enough; but I tell you what, sir," speaking with an out-burst, "if you'd hanged me the day after I'd done the deed, I would have gone down on my knees and blessed you. Death! Lord, what is it to Life? To such a life as I've been leading this fortnight past. Life at best is no great thing; but such a life as I have dragged through since that night," he shuddered at the thought. "Why, sir, I've been on the point of killing myself this many a time to get away from my own thoughts. I didn't! and I'll tell you why. I didn't know but that I should be more haunted than ever with the recollection of my sin. Oh! God above only can tell the agony with which I've repented me of it, and part perhaps because I feared He would think I were impatient of the misery He sent as punishment--far, far worse misery than any hanging, sir." He ceased from excess of emotion. Then he began again. "Sin' that day (it may be very wicked, sir, but it's the truth) I've kept thinking and thinking if I were but in that world where they say God is, He would, may be, teach me right from wrong, even if it were with many stripes. I've been sore puzzled here. I would go through Hell-fire if I could but get free from sin at last, it's such an awful thing. As for hanging, that's just nought at all." His exhaustion compelled him to sit down. Mary rushed to him. It seemed as if till then he had been unaware of her presence. "Ay, ay, wench!" said he feebly, "is it thee? Where's Jem Wilson?" Jem came forward. John Barton spoke again, with many a break and gasping pause, "Lad! thou hast borne a deal for me. It's the meanest thing I ever did to leave thee to bear the brunt. Thou, who wert as innocent of any knowledge of it as the babe unborn. I'll not bless thee for it. Blessing from such as me would not bring thee any good. Thou'lt love Mary, though she is my child." He ceased, and there was a pause of a few seconds. Then Mr. Carson turned to go. When his hand was on the latch of the door, he hesitated for an instant. "You can have no doubt for what purpose I go. Straight to the police-office, to send men to take care of you, wretched man, and your accomplice. To-morrow morning your tale shall be repeated to those who can commit you to gaol, and before long you shall have the opportunity of trying how desirable hanging is." "Oh, sir!" said Mary, springing forward, and catching hold of Mr. Carson's arm, "my father is dying. Look at him, sir. If you want Death for Death, you have it. Don't take him away from me these last hours. He must go alone through Death, but let me be with him as long as I can. Oh, sir! if you have any mercy in you, leave him here to die." John himself stood up, stiff and rigid, and replied, "Mary, wench! I owe him summut. I will go die, where, and as he wishes me. Thou hast said true, I am standing side by side with Death; and it matters little where I spend the bit of time left of Life. That time I must pass in wrestling with my soul for a character to take into the other world. I'll go where you see fit, sir. He's innocent," faintly indicating Jem, as he fell back in his chair. "Never fear! They cannot touch him," said Job Legh, in a low voice. But as Mr. Carson was on the point of leaving the house with no sign of relenting about him, he was again stopped by John Barton, who had risen once more from his chair, and stood supporting himself on Jem, while he spoke. "Sir, one word! My hairs are gray with suffering, and yours with years--" "And have I had no suffering?" asked Mr. Carson, as if appealing for sympathy, even to the murderer of his child. And the murderer of his child answered to the appeal, and groaned in spirit over the anguish he had caused. "Have I had no inward suffering to blanch these hairs? Have not I toiled and struggled even to these years with hopes in my heart that all centered in my boy? I did not speak of them, but were they not there? I seemed hard and cold; and so I might be to others, but not to him!--who shall ever imagine the love I bore to him? Even he never dreamed how my heart leapt up at the sound of his footstep, and how precious he was to his poor old father.--And he is gone--killed--out of the hearing of all loving words--out of my sight for ever. He was my sunshine, and now it is night! Oh, my God! comfort me, comfort me!" cried the old man aloud. The eyes of John Barton grew dim with tears. Rich and poor, masters and men, were then brothers in the deep suffering of the heart; for was not this the very anguish he had felt for little Tom, in years so long gone by that they seemed like another life! The mourner before him was no longer the employer; a being of another race, eternally placed in antagonistic attitude; going through the world glittering like gold, with a stony heart within, which knew no sorrow but through the accidents of Trade; no longer the enemy, the oppressor, but a very poor and desolate old man. The sympathy for suffering, formerly so prevalent a feeling with him, again filled John Barton's heart, and almost impelled him to speak (as best he could) some earnest, tender words to the stern man, shaking in his agony. But who was he, that he should utter sympathy or consolation? The cause of all this woe. Oh blasting thought! Oh miserable remembrance! He had forfeited all right to bind up his brother's wounds. Stunned by the thought, he sank upon the seat, almost crushed with the knowledge of the consequences of his own action; for he had no more imagined to himself the blighted home, and the miserable parents, than does the soldier, who discharges his musket, picture to himself the desolation of the wife, and the pitiful cries of the helpless little ones, who are in an instant to be made widowed and fatherless. To intimidate a class of men, known only to those below them as desirous to obtain the greatest quantity of work for the lowest wages,--at most to remove an overbearing partner from an obnoxious firm, who stood in the way of those who struggled as well as they were able to obtain their rights,--this was the light in which John Barton had viewed his deed; and even so viewing it, after the excitement had passed away, the Avenger, the sure Avenger, had found him out. But now he knew that he had killed a man, and a brother,--now he knew that no good thing could come out of this evil, even to the sufferers whose cause he had so blindly espoused. He lay across the table, broken-hearted. Every fresh quivering sob of Mr. Carson's stabbed him to his soul. He felt execrated by all; and as if he could never lay bare the perverted reasonings which had made the performance of undoubted sin appear a duty. The longing to plead some faint excuse grew stronger and stronger. He feebly raised his head, and looking at Job Legh, he whispered out, "I did not know what I was doing, Job Legh; God knows I didn't! Oh, sir!" said he wildly, almost throwing himself at Mr. Carson's feet, "say you forgive me the anguish I now see I have caused you. I care not for pain, or death, you know I don't; but oh, man! forgive me the trespass I have done!" "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us," said Job, solemnly and low, as if in prayer; as if the words were suggested by those John Barton had used. Mr. Carson took his hands away from his face. I would rather see death than the ghastly gloom which darkened that countenance. "Let my trespasses be unforgiven, so that I may have vengeance for my son's murder." There are blasphemous actions as well as blasphemous words: all unloving, cruel deeds are acted blasphemy. Mr. Carson left the house. And John Barton lay on the ground as one dead. They lifted him up, and almost hoping that that deep trance might be to him the end of all earthly things, they bore him to his bed. For a time they listened with divided attention to his faint breathings; for in each hasty hurried step that echoed in the street outside, they thought they heard the approach of the officers of justice. When Mr. Carson left the house he was dizzy with agitation; the hot blood went careering through his frame. He could not see the deep blue of the night-heavens for the fierce pulses which throbbed in his head. And partly to steady and calm himself, he leaned against a railing, and looked up into those calm majestic depths with all their thousand stars. And by-and-by his own voice returned upon him, as if the last words he had spoken were being uttered through all that infinite space; but in their echoes there was a tone of unutterable sorrow. "Let my trespasses be unforgiven, so that I may have vengeance for my son's murder." He tried to shake off the spiritual impression made by this imagination. He was feverish and ill,--and no wonder. So he turned to go homewards; not, as he had threatened, to the police-office. After all (he told himself), that would do in the morning. No fear of the man's escaping, unless he escaped to the grave. So he tried to banish the phantom voices and shapes which came unbidden to his brain, and to recall his balance of mind by walking calmly and slowly, and noticing every thing which struck his senses. It was a warm soft evening in spring, and there were many persons in the streets. Among others, a nurse with a little girl in her charge, conveying her home from some children's gaiety; a dance most likely, for the lovely little creature was daintily decked out in soft, snowy muslin; and her fairy feet tripped along by her nurse's side as if to the measure of some tune she had lately kept time to. Suddenly up behind her there came a rough, rude errand-boy, nine or ten years of age; a giant he looked by the fairy-child, as she fluttered along. I don't know how it was, but in some awkward way he knocked the poor little girl down upon the hard pavement as he brushed rudely past, not much caring whom he hurt, so that he got along. The child arose sobbing with pain; and not without cause, for blood was dropping down from the face, but a minute before so fair and bright--dropping down on the pretty frock, making those scarlet marks so terrible to little children. The nurse, a powerful woman, had seized the boy, just as Mr. Carson (who had seen the whole transaction) came up. "You naughty little rascal! I'll give you to a policeman, that I will! Do you see how you've hurt the little girl? Do you?" accompanying every sentence with a violent jerk of passionate anger. The lad looked hard and defying; but withal terrified at the threat of the policeman, those ogres of our streets to all unlucky urchins. The nurse saw it, and began to drag him along, with a view of making what she called "a wholesome impression." His terror increased, and with it his irritation; when the little sweet face, choking away its sobs, pulled down nurse's head and said, "Please, dear nurse, I'm not much hurt; it was very silly to cry, you know. He did not mean to do it. _He did not know what he was doing_, did you, little boy? Nurse won't call a policeman, so don't be frightened." And she put up her little mouth to be kissed by her injurer, just as she had been taught to do at home to "make peace." "That lad will mind, and be more gentle for the time to come, I'll be bound, thanks to that little lady," said a passer-by, half to himself, and half to Mr. Carson, whom he had observed to notice the scene. The latter took no apparent heed of the remark, but passed on. But the child's pleading reminded him of the low, broken voice he had so lately heard, penitently and humbly urging the same extenuation of his great guilt. "I did not know what I was doing." He had some association with those words; he had heard, or read of that plea somewhere before. Where was it? Could it be--? He would look when he got home. So when he entered his house he went straight and silently up-stairs to his library, and took down the great large handsome Bible, all grand and golden, with its leaves adhering together from the bookbinder's press, so little had it been used. On the first page (which fell open to Mr. Carson's view) were written the names of his children, and his own. "Henry John, son of the above John and Elizabeth Carson. Born, Sept. 29th, 1815." To make the entry complete, his death should now be added. But the page became hidden by the gathering mist of tears. Thought upon thought, and recollection upon recollection came crowding in, from the remembrance of the proud day when he had purchased the costly book, in order to write down the birth of the little babe of a day old. He laid his head down on the open page, and let the tears fall slowly on the spotless leaves. His son's murderer was discovered; had confessed his guilt; and yet (strange to say) he could not hate him with the vehemence of hatred he had felt, when he had imagined him a young man, full of lusty life, defying all laws, human and divine. In spite of his desire to retain the revengeful feeling he considered as a duty to his dead son, something of pity would steal in for the poor, wasted skeleton of a man, the smitten creature, who had told him of his sin, and implored his pardon that night. In the days of his childhood and youth, Mr. Carson had been accustomed to poverty; but it was honest, decent poverty; not the grinding squalid misery he had remarked in every part of John Barton's house, and which contrasted strangely with the pompous sumptuousness of the room in which he now sat. Unaccustomed wonder filled his mind at the reflection of the different lots of the brethren of mankind. Then he roused himself from his reverie, and turned to the object of his search--the Gospel, where he half expected to find the tender pleading: "They know not what they do." It was murk midnight by this time, and the house was still and quiet. There was nothing to interrupt the old man in his unwonted study. Years ago, the Gospel had been his task-book in learning to read. So many years ago, that he had become familiar with the events before he could comprehend the Spirit that made the Life. He fell to the narrative now afresh, with all the interest of a little child. He began at the beginning, and read on almost greedily, understanding for the first time the full meaning of the story. He came to the end; the awful End. And there were the haunting words of pleading. He shut the book, and thought deeply. All night long, the Archangel combated with the Demon. All night long, others watched by the bed of Death. John Barton had revived to fitful intelligence. He spoke at times with even something of his former energy; and in the racy Lancashire dialect he had always used when speaking freely. "You see I've so often been hankering after the right way; and it's a hard one for a poor man to find. At least it's been so to me. No one learned me, and no one telled me. When I was a little chap they taught me to read, and then they ne'er gave me no books; only I heard say the Bible was a good book. So when I grew thoughtful, and puzzled, I took to it. But you'd never believe black was black, or night was night, when you saw all about you acting as if black was white, and night was day. It's not much I can say for myself in t'other world, God forgive me; but I can say this, I would fain have gone after the Bible rules if I'd seen folk credit it; they all spoke up for it, and went and did clean contrary. In those days I would ha' gone about wi' my Bible, like a little child, my finger in th' place, and asking the meaning of this or that text, and no one told me. Then I took out two or three texts as clear as glass, and I tried to do what they bid me do. But I don't know how it was; masters and men, all alike cared no more for minding those texts, than I did for th' Lord Mayor of London; so I grew to think it must be a sham put upon poor ignorant folk, women, and such-like. "It was not long I tried to live Gospel-wise, but it was liker heaven than any other bit of earth has been. I'd old Alice to strengthen me; but every one else said, 'Stand up for thy rights, or thou'lt never get 'em;' and wife and children never spoke, but their helplessness cried aloud, and I was driven to do as others did,--and then Tom died. You know all about that--I'm getting scant o' breath, and blind-like." Then again he spoke, after some minutes of hushed silence. "All along it came natural to love folk, though now I am what I am. I think one time I could e'en have loved the masters if they'd ha' letten me; that was in my Gospel-days, afore my child died o' hunger. I was tore in two often-times, between my sorrow for poor suffering folk, and my trying to love them as caused their sufferings (to my mind). "At last I gave it up in despair, trying to make folks' actions square wi' th' Bible; and I thought I'd no longer labour at following th' Bible mysel. I've said all this afore, may be. But from that time I've dropped down, down,--down." After that he only spoke in broken sentences. "I did not think he'd been such an old man,--Oh! that he had but forgiven me,"--and then came earnest, passionate, broken words of prayer. Job Legh had gone home like one struck down with the unexpected shock. Mary and Jem together waited the approach of death; but as the final struggle drew on, and morning dawned, Jem suggested some alleviation to the gasping breath, to purchase which he left the house in search of a druggist's shop, which should be open at that early hour. During his absence, Barton grew worse; he had fallen across the bed, and his breathing seemed almost stopped; in vain did Mary strive to raise him, her sorrow and exhaustion had rendered her too weak. So, on hearing some one enter the house-place below, she cried out for Jem to come to her assistance. A step, which was not Jem's, came up the stairs. Mr. Carson stood in the door-way. In one instant he comprehended the case. He raised up the powerless frame; and the departing soul looked out of the eyes with gratitude. He held the dying man propped in his arms. John Barton folded his hands as if in prayer. "Pray for us," said Mary, sinking on her knees, and forgetting in that solemn hour all that had divided her father and Mr. Carson. No other words could suggest themselves than some of those he had read only a few hours before. "God be merciful to us sinners.--Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us." And when the words were said, John Barton lay a corpse in Mr. Carson's arms. So ended the tragedy of a poor man's life. Mary knew nothing more for many minutes. When she recovered consciousness, she found herself supported by Jem on the "settle" in the house-place. Job and Mr. Carson were there, talking together lowly and solemnly. Then Mr. Carson bade farewell and left the house; and Job said aloud, but as if speaking to himself, "God has heard that man's prayer. He has comforted him." CHAPTER XXXVI. JEM'S INTERVIEW WITH MR. DUNCOMBE. "The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress." BYRON. Although Mary had hardly been conscious of her thoughts, and it had been more like a secret instinct informing her soul, than the result of any process of reasoning, she had felt for some time (ever since her return from Liverpool, in fact), that for her father there was but one thing to be desired and anticipated, and that was death! She had seen that Conscience had given the mortal wound to his earthly frame; she did not dare to question of the infinite mercy of God, what the Future Life would be to him. Though at first desolate and stunned by the blow which had fallen on herself, she was resigned and submissive as soon as she recovered strength enough to ponder and consider a little; and you may be sure that no tenderness or love was wanting on Jem's part, and no consideration and sympathy on that of Job and Margaret, to soothe and comfort the girl who now stood alone in the world as far as blood-relations were concerned. She did not ask or care to know what arrangements they were making in whispered tones with regard to the funeral. She put herself into their hands with the trust of a little child; glad to be undisturbed in the reveries and remembrances which filled her eyes with tears, and caused them to fall quietly down her pale cheeks. It was the longest day she had ever known in her life; every charge and every occupation was taken away from her: but perhaps the length of quiet time thus afforded was really good, although its duration weighed upon her; for by this means she contemplated her situation in every light, and fully understood that the morning's event had left her an orphan; and thus she was spared the pangs caused to us by the occurrence of death in the evening, just before we should naturally, in the usual course of events, lie down to slumber. For in such case, worn out by anxiety, and it may be by much watching, our very excess of grief rocks itself to sleep, before we have had time to realise its cause; and we waken, with a start of agony like a fresh stab, to the consciousness of the one awful vacancy, which shall never, while the world endures, be filled again. The day brought its burden of duty to Mrs. Wilson. She felt bound by regard, as well as by etiquette, to go and see her future daughter-in-law. And by an old association of ideas (perhaps of death with church-yards, and churches with Sunday) she thought it necessary to put on her best, and latterly unused clothes, the airing of which on a little clothes-horse before the fire seemed to give her a not unpleasing occupation. When Jem returned home late in the evening succeeding John Barton's death, weary and oppressed with the occurrences and excitements of the day, he found his mother busy about her mourning, and much inclined to talk. Although he longed for quiet, he could not avoid sitting down and answering her questions. "Well, Jem, he's gone at last, is he?" "Yes. How did you hear, mother?" "Oh, Job came over here and telled me, on his way to the undertaker's. Did he make a fine end?" It struck Jem that she had not heard of the confession which had been made by John Barton on his death-bed; he remembered Job Legh's discretion, and he determined that if it could be avoided his mother should never hear of it. Many of the difficulties to be anticipated in preserving the secret would be obviated, if he could induce his mother to fall into the plan he had named to Mary of emigrating to Canada. The reasons which rendered this secrecy desirable related to the domestic happiness he hoped for. With his mother's irritable temper he could hardly expect that all allusion to the crime of John Barton would be for ever restrained from passing her lips, and he knew the deep trial such references would be to Mary. Accordingly he resolved as soon as possible in the morning to go to Job and beseech his silence; he trusted that secrecy in that quarter, even if the knowledge had been extended to Margaret, might be easily secured. But what would be Mr. Carson's course? Were there any means by which he might be persuaded to spare John Barton's memory? He was roused up from this train of thought by his mother's more irritated tone of voice. "Jem!" she was saying, "thou might'st just as well never be at a death-bed again, if thou cannot bring off more news about it; here have I been by mysel all day (except when oud Job came in), but thinks I, when Jem comes he'll be sure to be good company, seeing he was in the house at the very time of the death; and here thou art, without a word to throw at a dog, much less thy mother: it's no use thy going to a death-bed if thou cannot carry away any of the sayings!" "He did not make any, mother," replied Jem. "Well, to be sure! So fond as he used to be of holding forth, to miss such a fine opportunity that will never come again! Did he die easy?" "He was very restless all night long," said Jem, reluctantly returning to the thoughts of that time. "And in course thou plucked the pillow away? Thou didst not! Well! with thy bringing up, and thy learning, thou might'st have known that were the only help in such a case. There were pigeons' feathers in the pillow, depend on't. To think of two grown-up folk like you and Mary, not knowing death could never come easy to a person lying on a pillow with pigeons' feathers in!" Jem was glad to escape from all this talking to the solitude and quiet of his own room, where he could lie and think uninterruptedly of what had happened and remained to be done. The first thing was to seek an interview with Mr. Duncombe, his former master. Accordingly, early the next morning Jem set off on his walk to the works, where for so many years his days had been spent; where for so long a time his thoughts had been thought, his hopes and fears experienced. It was not a cheering feeling to remember that henceforward he was to be severed from all these familiar places; nor were his spirits enlivened by the evident feelings of the majority of those who had been his fellow-workmen. As he stood in the entrance to the foundry, awaiting Mr. Duncombe's leisure, many of those employed in the works passed him on their return from breakfast; and with one or two exceptions, without any acknowledgment of former acquaintance beyond a distant nod at the utmost. "It is hard," said Jem to himself, with a bitter and indignant feeling rising in his throat, "that let a man's life be what it may, folk are so ready to credit the first word against him. I could live it down if I stayed in England; but then what would not Mary have to bear? Sooner or later the truth would out; and then she would be a show to folk for many a day as John Barton's daughter. Well! God does not judge as hardly as man, that's one comfort for all of us!" Mr. Duncombe did not believe in Jem's guilt, in spite of the silence in which he again this day heard the imputation of it; but he agreed that under the circumstances it was better he should leave the country. "We have been written to by government, as I think I told you before, to recommend an intelligent man, well acquainted with mechanics, as instrument-maker to the Agricultural College they are establishing at Toronto, in Canada. It is a comfortable appointment,--house,--land,--and a good per-centage on the instruments made. I will show you the particulars if I can lay my hand on the letter, which I believe I must have left at home." "Thank you, sir. No need for seeing the letter to say I'll accept it. I must leave Manchester; and I'd as lief quit England at once when I'm about it." "Of course government will give you your passage; indeed, I believe an allowance would be made for a family if you had one; but you are not a married man, I believe?" "No, sir, but--" Jem hung back from a confession with the awkwardness of a girl. "But--" said Mr. Duncombe, smiling, "you would like to be a married man before you go, I suppose; eh, Wilson?" "If you please, sir. And there's my mother, too. I hope she'll go with us. But I can pay her passage; no need to trouble government." "Nay, nay! I'll write to-day and recommend you; and say that you have a family of two. They'll never ask if the family goes upwards or downwards. I shall see you again before you sail, I hope, Wilson; though I believe they'll not allow you long to wait. Come to my house next time; you'll find it pleasanter, I daresay. These men are so wrong-headed. Keep up your heart!" Jem felt that it was a relief to have this point settled; and that he need no longer weigh reasons for and against his emigration. And with his path growing clearer and clearer before him the longer he contemplated it, he went to see Mary, and if he judged it fit, to tell her what he had decided upon. Margaret was sitting with her. "Grandfather wants to see you!" said she to Jem on his entrance. "And I want to see him," replied Jem, suddenly remembering his last night's determination to enjoin secrecy on Job Legh. So he hardly stayed to kiss poor Mary's sweet woe-begone face, but tore himself away from his darling to go to the old man, who awaited him impatiently. "I've getten a note from Mr. Carson," exclaimed Job the moment he saw Jem; "and man-alive, he wants to see thee and me! For sure, there's no more mischief up, is there?" said he, looking at Jem with an expression of wonder. But if any suspicion mingled for an instant with the thoughts that crossed Job's mind, it was immediately dispelled by Jem's honest, fearless, open countenance. "I can't guess what he's wanting, poor old chap," answered he. "May be there's some point he's not yet satisfied on; may be--but it's no use guessing; let's be off." "It wouldn't be better for thee to be scarce a bit, would it, and leave me to go and find out what's up? He has, perhaps, getten some crotchet into his head thou'rt an accomplice, and is laying a trap for thee." "I'm not afeared!" said Jem; "I've done nought wrong, and know nought wrong, about yon poor dead lad; though I'll own I had evil thoughts once on a time. Folk can't mistake long if once they'll search into the truth. I'll go and give the old gentleman all the satisfaction in my power, now it can injure no one. I'd my own reasons for wanting to see him besides, and it all falls in right enough for me." Job was a little reassured by Jem's boldness; but still, if the truth must be told, he wished the young man would follow his advice, and leave him to sound Mr. Carson's intentions. Meanwhile Jane Wilson had donned her Sunday suit of black, and set off on her errand of condolence. She felt nervous and uneasy at the idea of the moral sayings and texts which she fancied were expected from visitors on occasions like the present; and prepared many a good set speech as she walked towards the house of mourning. As she gently opened the door, Mary, sitting idly by the fire, caught a glimpse of her,--of Jem's mother,--of the early friend of her dead parents,--of the kind minister to many a little want in days of childhood,--and rose and came and fell about her neck, with many a sob and moan, saying, "Oh, he's gone--he's dead--all gone--all dead, and I am left alone!" "Poor wench! poor, poor wench!" said Jane Wilson, tenderly kissing her. "Thou'rt not alone, so donnot take on so. I'll say nought of Him who's above, for thou know'st He is ever the orphan's friend; but think on Jem! nay, Mary, dear, think on me! I'm but a frabbit woman at times, but I've a heart within me through all my temper, and thou shalt be as a daughter henceforward,--as mine own ewe-lamb. Jem shall not love thee better in his way, than I will in mine; and thou'lt bear with my turns, Mary, knowing that in my soul God sees the love that shall ever be thine, if thou'lt take me for thy mother, and speak no more of being alone." Mrs. Wilson was weeping herself long before she had ended this speech, which was so different to all she had planned to say, and from all the formal piety she had laid in store for the visit; for this was heart's piety, and needed no garnish of texts to make it true religion, pure and undefiled. They sat together on the same chair, their arms encircling each other; they wept for the same dead; they had the same hope, and trust, and overflowing love in the living. From that time forward, hardly a passing cloud dimmed the happy confidence of their intercourse; even by Jem would his mother's temper sooner be irritated than by Mary; before the latter she repressed her occasional nervous ill-humour till the habit of indulging it was perceptibly decreased. Years afterwards in conversation with Jem, he was startled by a chance expression which dropped from his mother's lips; it implied a knowledge of John Barton's crime. It was many a long day since they had seen any Manchester people who could have revealed the secret (if indeed it was known in Manchester, against which Jem had guarded in every possible way). And he was led to inquire first as to the extent, and then as to the source of her knowledge. It was Mary herself who had told all. For on the morning to which this chapter principally relates, as Mary sat weeping, and as Mrs. Wilson comforted her by every tenderest word and caress, she revealed to the dismayed and astonished Jane, the sting of her deep sorrow; the crime which stained her dead father's memory. She was quite unconscious that Jem had kept it secret from his mother; she had imagined it bruited abroad as the suspicion against her lover had been; so word after word (dropped from her lips in the supposition that Mrs. Wilson knew all) had told the tale and revealed the cause of her deep anguish; deeper than is ever caused by Death alone. On large occasions like the present, Mrs. Wilson's innate generosity came out. Her weak and ailing frame imparted its irritation to her conduct in small things, and daily trifles; but she had deep and noble sympathy with great sorrows, and even at the time that Mary spoke she allowed no expression of surprise or horror to escape her lips. She gave way to no curiosity as to the untold details; she was as secret and trustworthy as her son himself; and if in years to come her anger was occasionally excited against Mary, and she, on rare occasions, yielded to ill-temper against her daughter-in-law, she would upbraid her for extravagance, or stinginess, or over-dressing, or under-dressing, or too much mirth or too much gloom, but never, never in her most uncontrolled moments did she allude to any one of the circumstances relating to Mary's flirtation with Harry Carson, or his murderer; and always when she spoke of John Barton, named him with the respect due to his conduct before the last, miserable, guilty month of his life. Therefore it came like a blow to Jem when, after years had passed away, he gathered his mother's knowledge of the whole affair. From the day when he learnt (not without remorse) what hidden depths of self-restraint she had in her soul, his manner to her, always tender and respectful, became reverential; and it was more than ever a loving strife between him and Mary which should most contribute towards the happiness of the declining years of their mother. But I am speaking of the events which have occurred only lately, while I have yet many things to tell you that happened six or seven years ago. CHAPTER XXXVII. DETAILS CONNECTED WITH THE MURDER. "The rich man dines, while the poor man pines, And eats his heart away; 'They teach us lies,' he sternly cries, 'Would _brothers_ do as they?'" "THE DREAM." Mr. Carson stood at one of the breathing-moments of life. The object of the toils, the fears, and the wishes of his past years, was suddenly hidden from his sight,--vanished into the deep mystery which circumscribes existence. Nay, even the vengeance which he had proposed to himself as an aim for exertion, had been taken away from before his eyes, as by the hand of God. Events like these would have startled the most thoughtless into reflection, much more such a man as Mr. Carson, whose mind, if not enlarged, was energetic; indeed, whose very energy, having been hitherto the cause of the employment of his powers in only one direction, had prevented him from becoming largely and philosophically comprehensive in his views. But now the foundations of his past life were razed to the ground, and the place they had once occupied was sown with salt, to be for ever rebuilt no more. It was like the change from this Life to that other hidden one, when so many of the motives which have actuated all our earthly existence, will have become more fleeting than the shadows of a dream. With a wrench of his soul from the past, so much of which was as nothing, and worse than nothing to him now, Mr. Carson took some hours, after he had witnessed the death of his son's murderer, to consider his situation. But suddenly, while he was deliberating, and searching for motives which should be effective to compel him to exertion and action once more; while he contemplated the desire after riches, social distinction, a name among the merchant-princes amidst whom he moved, and saw these false substances fade away into the shadows they truly are, and one by one disappear into the grave of his son,--suddenly, I say, the thought arose within him that more yet remained to be learned about the circumstances and feelings which had prompted John Barton's crime; and when once this mournful curiosity was excited, it seemed to gather strength in every moment that its gratification was delayed. Accordingly he sent a message to summon Job Legh and Jem Wilson, from whom he promised himself some elucidation of what was as yet unexplained; while he himself set forth to call on Mr. Bridgenorth, whom he knew to have been Jem's attorney, with a glimmering suspicion intruding on his mind, which he strove to repel, that Jem might have had some share in his son's death. He had returned before his summoned visitors arrived; and had time enough to recur to the evening on which John Barton had made his confession. He remembered with mortification how he had forgotten his proud reserve, and his habitual concealment of his feelings, and had laid bare his agony of grief in the presence of these two men who were coming to see him by his desire; and he entrenched himself behind stiff barriers of self-control, through which he hoped no appearance of emotion would force its way in the conversation he anticipated. Nevertheless, when the servant announced that two men were there by appointment to speak to him, and he had desired that they might be shown into the library where he sat, any watcher might have perceived by the trembling hands, and shaking head, not only how much he was aged by the occurrences of the last few weeks, but also how much he was agitated at the thought of the impending interview. But he so far succeeded in commanding himself at first, as to appear to Jem Wilson and Job Legh one of the hardest and most haughty men they had ever spoken to, and to forfeit all the interest which he had previously excited in their minds by his unreserved display of deep and genuine feeling. When he had desired them to be seated, he shaded his face with his hand for an instant before speaking. "I have been calling on Mr. Bridgenorth this morning," said he, at last; "as I expected, he can give me but little satisfaction on some points respecting the occurrence on the 18th of last month which I desire to have cleared up. Perhaps you two can tell me what I want to know. As intimate friends of Barton's you probably know, or can conjecture a good deal. Have no scruple as to speaking the truth. What you say in this room shall never be named again by me. Besides, you are aware that the law allows no one to be tried twice for the same offence." He stopped for a minute, for the mere act of speaking was fatiguing to him after the excitement of the last few weeks. Job Legh took the opportunity of speaking. "I'm not going to be affronted either for myself or Jem at what you've just now been saying about the truth. You don't know us, and there's an end on't; only it's as well for folk to think others good and true until they're proved contrary. Ask what you like, sir, I'll answer for it we'll either tell truth or hold our tongues." "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Carson, slightly bowing his head. "What I wished to know was," referring to a slip of paper he held in his hand, and shaking so much he could hardly adjust his glasses to his eyes, "whether you, Wilson, can explain how Barton came possessed of your gun. I believe you refused this explanation to Mr. Bridgenorth." "I did, sir! If I had said what I knew then, I saw it would criminate Barton, and so I refused telling aught. To you, sir, now I will tell every thing and any thing; only it is but little. The gun was my father's before it was mine, and long ago he and John Barton had a fancy for shooting at the gallery; and they used always to take this gun, and brag that though it was old-fashioned it was sure." Jem saw with self-upbraiding pain how Mr. Carson winced at these last words, but at each irrepressible and involuntary evidence of feeling, the hearts of the two men warmed towards him. Jem went on speaking. "One day in the week--I think it was on the Wednesday,--yes, it was,--it was on St. Patrick's day, I met John just coming out of our house, as I were going to my dinner. Mother was out, and he'd found no one in. He said he'd come to borrow the old gun, and that he'd have made bold, and taken it, but it was not to be seen. Mother was afraid of it, so after father's death (for while he were alive, she seemed to think he could manage it) I had carried it to my own room. I went up and fetched it for John, who stood outside the door all the time." "What did he say he wanted it for?" asked Mr. Carson, hastily. "I don't think he spoke when I gave it him. At first he muttered something about the shooting-gallery, and I never doubted but that it were for practice there, as I knew he had done years before." Mr. Carson had strung up his frame to an attitude of upright attention while Jem was speaking; now the tension relaxed, and he sank back in his chair, weak and powerless. He rose up again, however, as Jem went on, anxious to give every particular which could satisfy the bereaved father. "I never knew for what he wanted the gun till I was taken up,--I do not know yet why he wanted it. No one would have had me get out of the scrape by implicating an old friend,--my father's old friend, and the father of the girl I loved. So I refused to tell Mr. Bridgenorth aught about it, and would not have named it now to any one but you." Jem's face became very red at the allusion he made to Mary, but his honest, fearless eyes had met Mr. Carson's penetrating gaze unflinchingly, and had carried conviction of his innocence and truthfulness. Mr. Carson felt certain that he had heard all that Jem could tell. Accordingly he turned to Job Legh. "You were in the room the whole time while Barton was speaking to me, I think?" "Yes, sir," answered Job. "You'll excuse my asking plain and direct questions; the information I am gaining is really a relief to my mind, I don't know how, but it is,--will you tell me if you had any idea of Barton's guilt in this matter before?" "None whatever, so help me God!" said Job, solemnly. "To tell truth (and axing your forgiveness, Jem), I had never got quite shut of the notion that Jem here had done it. At times I was as clear of his innocence as I was of my own; and whenever I took to reasoning about it, I saw he could not have been the man that did it. Still I never thought of Barton." "And yet by his confession he must have been absent at the time," said Mr. Carson, referring to his slip of paper. "Ay, and for many a day after,--I can't rightly say how long. But still, you see, one's often blind to many a thing that lies right under one's nose, till it's pointed out. And till I heard what John Barton had to say yon night, I could not have seen what reason he had for doing it; while in the case of Jem, any one who looked at Mary Barton might have seen a cause for jealousy, clear enough." "Then you believe that Barton had no knowledge of my son's unfortunate,--" he looked at Jem, "of his attentions to Mary Barton. This young man, Wilson, had heard of them, you see." "The person who told me said clearly she neither had, nor would tell Mary's father," interposed Jem. "I don't believe he'd ever heard of it; he weren't a man to keep still in such a matter, if he had." "Besides," said Job, "the reason he gave on his death-bed, so to speak, was enough; 'specially to those who knew him." "You mean his feelings regarding the treatment of the workmen by the masters; you think he acted from motives of revenge, in consequence of the part my son had taken in putting down the strike?" "Well, sir," replied Job, "it's hard to say: John Barton was not a man to take counsel with people; nor did he make many words about his doings. So I can only judge from his way of thinking and talking in general, never having heard him breathe a syllable concerning this matter in particular. You see he were sadly put about to make great riches and great poverty square with Christ's Gospel"--Job paused, in order to try and express what was clear enough in his own mind, as to the effect produced on John Barton by the great and mocking contrasts presented by the varieties of human condition. Before he could find suitable words to explain his meaning, Mr. Carson spoke. "You mean he was an Owenite; all for equality and community of goods, and that kind of absurdity." "No, no! John Barton was no fool. No need to tell him that were all men equal to-night, some would get the start by rising an hour earlier to-morrow. Nor yet did he care for goods, nor wealth--no man less, so that he could get daily bread for him and his; but what hurt him sore, and rankled in him as long as I knew him (and, sir, it rankles in many a poor man's heart far more than the want of any creature-comforts, and puts a sting into starvation itself), was that those who wore finer clothes, and eat better food, and had more money in their pockets, kept him at arm's length, and cared not whether his heart was sorry or glad; whether he lived or died,--whether he was bound for heaven or hell. It seemed hard to him that a heap of gold should part him and his brother so far asunder. For he was a loving man before he grew mad with seeing such as he was slighted, as if Christ Himself had not been poor. At one time, I've heard him say, he felt kindly towards every man, rich or poor, because he thought they were all men alike. But latterly he grew aggravated with the sorrows and suffering that he saw, and which he thought the masters might help if they would." "That's the notion you've all of you got," said Mr. Carson. "Now, how in the world can we help it? We cannot regulate the demand for labour. No man or set of men can do it. It depends on events which God alone can control. When there is no market for our goods, we suffer just as much as you can do." "Not as much, I'm sure, sir; though I'm not given to Political Economy, I know that much. I'm wanting in learning, I'm aware; but I can use my eyes. I never see the masters getting thin and haggard for want of food; I hardly ever see them making much change in their way of living, though I don't doubt they've got to do it in bad times. But it's in things for show they cut short; while for such as me, it's in things for life we've to stint. For sure, sir, you'll own it's come to a hard pass when a man would give aught in the world for work to keep his children from starving, and can't get a bit, if he's ever so willing to labour. I'm not up to talking as John Barton would have done, but that's clear to me at any rate." "My good man, just listen to me. Two men live in solitude; one produces loaves of bread, the other coats,--or what you will. Now, would it not be hard if the bread-producer were forced to give bread for the coats, whether he wanted them or not, in order to furnish employment to the other? That is the simple form of the case; you've only to multiply the numbers. There will come times of great changes in the occupation of thousands, when improvements in manufactures and machinery are made.--It's all nonsense talking,--it must be so!" Job Legh pondered a few moments. "It's true it was a sore time for the hand-loom weavers when power-looms came in: them new-fangled things make a man's life like a lottery; and yet I'll never misdoubt that power-looms, and railways, and all such-like inventions, are the gifts of God. I have lived long enough, too, to see that it is part of His plan to send suffering to bring out a higher good; but surely it's also part of His plan that as much of the burden of the suffering as can be, should be lightened by those whom it is His pleasure to make happy, and content in their own circumstances. Of course it would take a deal more thought and wisdom than me, or any other man has, to settle out of hand how this should be done. But I'm clear about this, when God gives a blessing to be enjoyed, He gives it with a duty to be done; and the duty of the happy is to help the suffering to bear their woe." "Still, facts have proved and are daily proving how much better it is for every man to be independent of help, and self-reliant," said Mr. Carson, thoughtfully. "You can never work facts as you would fixed quantities, and say, given two facts, and the product is so and so. God has given men feelings and passions which cannot be worked into the problem, because they are for ever changing and uncertain. God has also made some weak; not in any one way, but in all. One is weak in body, another in mind, another in steadiness of purpose, a fourth can't tell right from wrong, and so on; or if he can tell the right, he wants strength to hold by it. Now to my thinking, them that is strong in any of God's gifts is meant to help the weak,--be hanged to the facts! I ask your pardon, sir; I can't rightly explain the meaning that is in me. I'm like a tap as won't run, but keeps letting it out drop by drop, so that you've no notion of the force of what's within." Job looked and felt very sorrowful at the want of power in his words, while the feeling within him was so strong and clear. "What you say is very true, no doubt," replied Mr. Carson; "but how would you bring it to bear upon the masters' conduct,--on my particular case?" added he, gravely. "I'm not learned enough to argue. Thoughts come into my head that I'm sure are as true as Gospel, though may be they don't follow each other like the Q. E. D. of a Proposition. The masters has it on their own conscience,--you have it on yours, sir, to answer for to God whether you've done, and are doing all in your power to lighten the evils that seem always to hang on the trades by which you make your fortunes. It's no business of mine, thank God. John Barton took the question in hand, and his answer to it was NO! Then he grew bitter, and angry, and mad; and in his madness he did a great sin, and wrought a great woe; and repented him with tears as of blood; and will go through his penance humbly and meekly in t'other place, I'll be bound. I never seed such bitter repentance as his that last night." There was a silence of many minutes. Mr. Carson had covered his face, and seemed utterly forgetful of their presence; and yet they did not like to disturb him by rising to leave the room. At last he said, without meeting their sympathetic eyes, "Thank you both for coming,--and for speaking candidly to me. I fear, Legh, neither you nor I have convinced each other, as to the power, or want of power, in the masters to remedy the evils the men complain of." "I'm loth to vex you, sir, just now; but it was not the want of power I was talking on; what we all feel sharpest is the want of inclination to try and help the evils which come like blights at times over the manufacturing places, while we see the masters can stop work and not suffer. If we saw the masters try for our sakes to find a remedy,--even if they were long about it,--even if they could find no help, and at the end of all could only say, 'Poor fellows, our hearts are sore for ye; we've done all we could, and can't find a cure,'--we'd bear up like men through bad times. No one knows till they've tried, what power of bearing lies in them, if once they believe that men are caring for their sorrows and will help if they can. If fellow-creatures can give nought but tears and brave words, we take our trials straight from God, and we know enough of His love to put ourselves blind into His hands. You say our talk has done no good. I say it has. I see the view you take of things from the place where you stand. I can remember that, when the time comes for judging you; I sha'n't think any longer, does he act right on my views of a thing, but does he act right on his own. It has done me good in that way. I'm an old man, and may never see you again; but I'll pray for you, and think on you and your trials, both of your great wealth, and of your son's cruel death, many and many a day to come; and I'll ask God to bless both to you now and for evermore. Amen. Farewell!" Jem had maintained a manly and dignified reserve ever since he had made his open statement of all he knew. Now both the men rose and bowed low, looking at Mr. Carson with the deep human interest they could not fail to take in one who had endured and forgiven a deep injury; and who struggled hard, as it was evident he did, to bear up like a man under his affliction. He bowed low in return to them. Then he suddenly came forward and shook them by the hand; and thus, without a word more, they parted. There are stages in the contemplation and endurance of great sorrow, which endow men with the same earnestness and clearness of thought that in some of old took the form of Prophecy. To those who have large capability of loving and suffering, united with great power of firm endurance, there comes a time in their woe, when they are lifted out of the contemplation of their individual case into a searching inquiry into the nature of their calamity, and the remedy (if remedy there be) which may prevent its recurrence to others as well as to themselves. Hence the beautiful, noble efforts which are from time to time brought to light, as being continuously made by those who have once hung on the cross of agony, in order that others may not suffer as they have done; one of the grandest ends which sorrow can accomplish; the sufferer wrestling with God's messenger until a blessing is left behind, not for one alone but for generations. It took time before the stern nature of Mr. Carson was compelled to the recognition of this secret of comfort, and that same sternness prevented his reaping any benefit in public estimation from the actions he performed; for the character is more easily changed than the habits and manners originally formed by that character, and to his dying day Mr. Carson was considered hard and cold by those who only casually saw him, or superficially knew him. But those who were admitted into his confidence were aware, that the wish which lay nearest to his heart was that none might suffer from the cause from which he had suffered; that a perfect understanding, and complete confidence and love, might exist between masters and men; that the truth might be recognised that the interests of one were the interests of all, and as such, required the consideration and deliberation of all; that hence it was most desirable to have educated workers, capable of judging, not mere machines of ignorant men; and to have them bound to their employers by the ties of respect and affection, not by mere money bargains alone; in short, to acknowledge the Spirit of Christ as the regulating law between both parties. Many of the improvements now in practice in the system of employment in Manchester, owe their origin to short, earnest sentences spoken by Mr. Carson. Many and many yet to be carried into execution, take their birth from that stern, thoughtful mind, which submitted to be taught by suffering. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION. "Touch us gently, gentle Time! We've not proud nor soaring wings, Our ambition, our content, Lies in simple things; Humble voyagers are we O'er life's dim unsounded sea; Touch us gently, gentle Time!" BARRY CORNWALL. Not many days after John Barton's funeral was over, all was arranged respecting Jem's appointment at Toronto; and the time was fixed for his sailing. It was to take place almost immediately: yet much remained to be done; many domestic preparations were to be made; and one great obstacle, anticipated by both Jem and Mary, to be removed. This was the opposition they expected from Mrs. Wilson, to whom the plan had never yet been named. They were most anxious that their home should continue ever to be hers, yet they feared that her dislike to a new country might be an insuperable objection to this. At last Jem took advantage of an evening of unusual placidity, as he sat alone with his mother just before going to bed, to broach the subject; and to his surprise she acceded willingly to his proposition of her accompanying himself and his wife. "To be sure 'Merica is a long way to flit to; beyond London a good bit I reckon; and quite in foreign parts; but I've never had no opinion of England, ever since they could be such fools as take up a quiet chap like thee, and clap thee in prison. Where you go, I'll go. Perhaps in them Indian countries they'll know a well-behaved lad when they see him; ne'er speak a word more, lad, I'll go." Their path became daily more smooth and easy; the present was clear and practicable, the future was hopeful; they had leisure of mind enough to turn to the past. "Jem!" said Mary to him, one evening as they sat in the twilight, talking together in low happy voices till Margaret should come to keep Mary company through the night, "Jem! you've never yet told me how you came to know about my naughty ways with poor young Mr. Carson." She blushed for shame at the remembrance of her folly, and hid her head on his shoulder while he made answer. "Darling, I'm almost loth to tell you; your aunt Esther told me." "Ah, I remember! but how did she know? I was so put about that night I did not think of asking her. Where did you see her? I've forgotten where she lives." Mary said all this in so open and innocent a manner, that Jem felt sure she knew not the truth respecting Esther, and he half hesitated to tell her. At length he replied, "Where did you see Esther lately? When? Tell me, love, for you've never named it before, and I can't make it out." "Oh! it was that horrible night which is like a dream." And she told him of Esther's midnight visit, concluding with, "We must go and see her before we leave, though I don't rightly know where to find her." "Dearest Mary,--" "What, Jem?" exclaimed she, alarmed by his hesitation. "Your poor aunt Esther has no home:--she's one of them miserable creatures that walk the streets." And he in his turn told of his encounter with Esther, with so many details that Mary was forced to be convinced, although her heart rebelled against the belief. "Jem, lad!" said she, vehemently, "we must find her out,--we must hunt her up!" She rose as if she was going on the search there and then. "What could we do, darling?" asked he, fondly restraining her. "Do! Why! what could we _not_ do, if we could but find her? She's none so happy in her ways, think ye, but what she'd turn from them, if any one would lend her a helping hand. Don't hold me, Jem; this is just the time for such as her to be out, and who knows but what I might find her close at hand." "Stay, Mary, for a minute; I'll go out now and search for her if you wish, though it's but a wild chase. You must not go. It would be better to ask the police to-morrow. But if I should find her, how can I make her come with me? Once before she refused, and said she could not break off her drinking ways, come what might?" "You never will persuade her if you fear and doubt," said Mary, in tears. "Hope yourself, and trust to the good that must be in her. Speak to that,--she has it in her yet,--oh, bring her home, and we will love her so, we'll make her good." "Yes!" said Jem, catching Mary's sanguine spirit; "she shall go to America with us; and we'll help her to get rid of her sins. I'll go now, my precious darling, and if I can't find her, it's but trying the police to-morrow. Take care of your own sweet self, Mary," said he, fondly kissing her before he went out. It was not to be. Jem wandered far and wide that night, but never met Esther. The next day he applied to the police; and at last they recognised under his description of her, a woman known to them under the name of the "Butterfly," from the gaiety of her dress a year or two ago. By their help he traced out one of her haunts, a low lodging-house behind Peter Street. He and his companion, a kind-hearted policeman, were admitted, suspiciously enough, by the landlady, who ushered them into a large garret where twenty or thirty people of all ages and both sexes lay and dozed away the day, choosing the evening and night for their trades of beggary, thieving, or prostitution. "I know the Butterfly was here," said she, looking round. "She came in, the night before last, and said she had not a penny to get a place for shelter; and that if she was far away in the country she could steal aside and die in a copse, or a clough, like the wild animals; but here the police would let no one alone in the streets, and she wanted a spot to die in, in peace. It's a queer sort of peace we have here, but that night the room was uncommon empty, and I'm not a hard-hearted woman (I wish I were, I could ha' made a good thing out of it afore this if I were harder), so I sent her up,--but she's not here now, I think." "Was she very bad?" asked Jem. "Ay! nought but skin and bone, with a cough to tear her in two." They made some inquiries, and found that in the restlessness of approaching death, she had longed to be once more in the open air, and had gone forth,--where, no one seemed to be able to tell. Leaving many messages for her, and directions that he was to be sent for if either the policeman or the landlady obtained any clue to her where-abouts, Jem bent his steps towards Mary's house; for he had not seen her all that long day of search. He told her of his proceedings and want of success; and both were saddened at the recital, and sat silent for some time. After a while they began talking over their plans. In a day or two, Mary was to give up house, and go and live for a week or so with Job Legh, until the time of her marriage, which would take place immediately before sailing; they talked themselves back into silence and delicious reverie. Mary sat by Jem, his arm round her waist, her head on his shoulder; and thought over the scenes which had passed in that home she was so soon to leave for ever. Suddenly she felt Jem start, and started too without knowing why; she tried to see his countenance, but the shades of evening had deepened so much she could read no expression there. It was turned to the window; she looked and saw a white face pressed against the panes on the outside, gazing intently into the dusky chamber. While they watched, as if fascinated by the appearance, and unable to think or stir, a film came over the bright, feverish, glittering eyes outside, and the form sank down to the ground without a struggle of instinctive resistance. "It is Esther!" exclaimed they, both at once. They rushed outside; and, fallen into what appeared simply a heap of white or light-coloured clothes, fainting or dead, lay the poor crushed Butterfly--the once innocent Esther. She had come (as a wounded deer drags its heavy limbs once more to the green coolness of the lair in which it was born, there to die) to see the place familiar to her innocence, yet once again before her death. Whether she was indeed alive or dead, they knew not now. Job came in with Margaret, for it was bed-time. He said Esther's pulse beat a little yet. They carried her upstairs and laid her on Mary's bed, not daring to undress her, lest any motion should frighten the trembling life away; but it was all in vain. Towards midnight, she opened wide her eyes and looked around on the once familiar room; Job Legh knelt by the bed praying aloud and fervently for her, but he stopped as he saw her roused look. She sat up in bed with a sudden convulsive motion. "Has it been a dream then?" asked she wildly. Then with a habit, which came like instinct even in that awful dying hour, her hand sought for a locket which hung concealed in her bosom, and, finding that, she knew all was true which had befallen her since last she lay an innocent girl on that bed. She fell back, and spoke word never more. She held the locket containing her child's hair still in her hand, and once or twice she kissed it with a long soft kiss. She cried feebly and sadly as long as she had any strength to cry, and then she died. They laid her in one grave with John Barton. And there they lie without name, or initial, or date. Only this verse is inscribed upon the stone which covers the remains of these two wanderers. Psalm ciii. v. 9.--"For He will not always chide, neither will He keep His anger for ever." I see a long, low, wooden house, with room enough and to spare. The old primeval trees are felled and gone for many a mile around; one alone remains to overshadow the gable-end of the cottage. There is a garden around the dwelling, and far beyond that stretches an orchard. The glory of an Indian summer is over all, making the heart leap at the sight of its gorgeous beauty. At the door of the house, looking towards the town, stands Mary, watching for the return of her husband from his daily work; and while she watches, she listens, smiling; "Clap hands, daddy comes, With his pocket full of plums, And a cake for Johnnie." Then comes a crow of delight from Johnnie. Then his grandmother carries him to the door, and glories in seeing him resist his mother's blandishments to cling to her. "English letters! 'Twas that made me so late!" "Oh, Jem, Jem! don't hold them so tight! What do they say?" "Why, some good news. Come, give a guess what it is." "Oh, tell me! I cannot guess," said Mary. "Then you give it up, do you? What do you say, mother?" Jane Wilson thought a moment. "Will and Margaret are married?" asked she. "Not exactly,--but very near. The old woman has twice the spirit of the young one. Come, Mary, give a guess!" He covered his little boy's eyes with his hands for an instant, significantly, till the baby pushed them down, saying in his imperfect way, "Tan't see." "There now! Johnnie can see. Do you guess, Mary?" "They've done something to Margaret to give her back her sight!" exclaimed she. "They have. She has been couched, and can see as well as ever. She and Will are to be married on the twenty-fifth of this month, and he's bringing her out here next voyage; and Job Legh talks of coming too,--not to see you, Mary,--nor you, mother,--nor you, my little hero" (kissing him), "but to try and pick up a few specimens of Canadian insects, Will says. All the compliment is to the earwigs, you see, mother!" "Dear Job Legh!" said Mary, softly and seriously. 
48925	----	produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) [Illustration: _Frontispiece_: THE MINERS' HALL, DURHAM] A HISTORY OF THE DURHAM MINERS' ASSOCIATION 1870-1904 BY ALDERMAN JOHN WILSON, J.P. _Corresponding Secretary to the Association, Chairman of Durham County Council, and Member of Parliament for Mid-Durham Division_ "A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct; The language plain, and incidents well link'd; Tell not as new what everybody knows, And, new or old, still hasten to a close." COWPER. Durham PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. H. VEITCH & SONS, 24 AND 25 NORTH ROAD 1907 _PRICE THREE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE_ To MY COLLEAGUES THE MINERS OF DURHAM this outline of their associated history is respectfully dedicated by one who knows the hardships and dangers of their lives, who understands their character and esteems it, who has been with them in their struggles for freedom, equality, and a better life, whose greatest pride is that from early youth he has been (and still is) one of them, whose highest honour is that he is trusted by them to take part in the varied and important duties of their association, and whose hope is, that avenues of greater good may by their united and individual efforts be opened out to them. CONTENTS PAGE PREFATORY EXPLANATION xi THE PREPARATION 1 LAYING THE FOUNDATION 11 REARING THE BUILDING 16 THE LEADERS 37 OPPOSITION TO THE BUILDING 41 HISTORY 46 AFTER WORDS 336 CHANGES 337 IN MEMORIAM 346 AU REVOIR 350 APPENDIX I 355 " II 356 " III 358 INDEX 361 INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS MINERS' HALL, DURHAM _Frontispiece_ N. WILKINSON _facing page_ 25 T. RAMSEY " 40 J. H. VEITCH " 43 THE FIRST DEPUTATION " 47 W. CRAWFORD, M.P. " 99 W. GOLIGHTLY " 105 J. FORMAN " 123 W. H. PATTERSON " 160 ALDERMAN J. WILSON, M.P. " 182 J. JOHNSON, M.P. " 217 T. H. CANN " 276 ALDERMAN W. HOUSE " 293 ALDERMAN S. GALBRAITH " 305 H. F. HEATH " 337 PREFATORY EXPLANATION It is necessary that I should set forth the reason why this attempt has been made to place on record, in a compact form, the rise and progress of our Association, with the changes which have taken place in our position. The inception lies in a letter received from one of our lodges, and addressed to the Executive Committee: "Seeing that matters of a definite nature relating to the history of the Trade Union movement in the county of Durham, in its social, political, and industrial aspects, are difficult to obtain, we would suggest to our Executive that it would be opportune at this juncture to ask Mr Wilson, on behalf of the Association, to write a short, concise history of the movement in the county, giving the social and industrial changes that have followed its progress, and that the Executive issue the same free or at cost price to lodges for distribution amongst the members." This was considered by the Committee. It met with their approval so far as the history was concerned, but they, with very generous feelings, remembered the many things I have on hand. They felt confident that such a work would be appreciated by our members, but they were loath to impose more work upon me. Their desire that I should prepare such a work was expressed in such a kind and considerate manner--not as a Committee dictating business to its Secretary--that I could not have refrained from taking the task, even if it had been irksome; but the request was in harmony with my own desire, and therefore, if the labour had been more arduous, it would still have been one of pure love and pleasure. Yet, although it is pleasant, it is well to recognise a difficulty which meets us at the start. It arises from the fact that at the commencement of our Association no records were kept, or, if kept, have been lost. The first Minutes that can be found commence with 1874, and even the Minutes for the years 1874-1875 are not all in existence, and some which are, have been mutilated by portions of them, and circulars, being cut out. In the period referred to we were in the same position as other similar bodies or nations. At the rise of these there is always the vague and uncertain period where tradition plays the part of accurate historical record. In the struggle for a position there is no time for systematic book-keeping, or, if books are kept, there is no care in preserving them. This is borne out fully in our inception and our early existence, and therefore for facts in relation to our commencement and the first few years of our existence as a Trades Union body we must depend upon outside sources wherever such are available. In this some little assistance will come from "Fynes' History," which, of course, cannot supply much, as it deals with matters largely anterior to our commencement. If we turn to the files of newspapers we by diligent and close search can gather from published reports of meetings and proceedings of that time useful information. There is another source of information--viz. the books of the employers. In respect to this matter I cannot too strongly express my thanks to the proprietors and editor of _The Durham Chronicle_ for the kind and ready manner in which they placed at my disposal the whole of the files of their paper, commencing with 1869, and allowed me to have them for use in our office. They have very largely helped me to fill in the hiatus up to 1876. My thanks and yours are due to the employers and Mr Guthrie for the free access they gave me to their books at any time and in the fullest manner. They have not only allowed me facilities for examination, but Mr Guthrie has assisted me in my search, and has copied out portions which I deemed necessary for our purpose. The difficulty has therefore been lessened, and the work lightened by the help mentioned, but if this had not been so the work would still have been commenced, as the object lies near my heart, for two reasons--first, because to me there is no dearer or more attractive institution in the whole country than our Association. I will not say it is superior to all others, but I will assert it has none, or not many equals. From very small beginnings, from very unlikely conditions, and in the face of bitter and opposing circumstances and forces, there has been reared not merely a strong Trades Union as strong as any extant, but one as beneficial as it is strong. The second reason is the usefulness of the record. If, as Pope says, the "proper study of mankind is man," then, if on a slightly lower plane, it must be an important matter for a man to know the history of the class to which he belongs and of any institution of which he is a member. It is useful, too, in showing our young men the condition we have come from, the toil and anxiety those who were the initiators had to face, and the large amount of unremunerative labour they had to perform. Our present position has been bought with a price, the amount of which is unknown to this generation, many of whom are like the prodigal, who inheriting a fortune and knowing nothing of the hardships involved in the accumulation, squanders with indifference that which has cost bitter years and much hardship. Let me conclude this preface by saying I offer no plea for inability. That is too well known, by myself at least. If he is a wise man who knows his own limits and failings, then I am a very wise man. But one other thing I know as well: I have a full knowledge of your toleration, and that you are ready to give full credit for good intentions. The history shall be the best that I can do, keeping in view all the circumstances. I remember that we do not want a mere comment upon our history; that I could make from my experience, but it might not be accepted as reliable, and therefore what we must aim at (even if it be tedious) is a matter-of-fact statement, because that is all we desire. I fear the history will not be very concise; but that, like all other words, is relative. If it is not as short as some would desire, it shall not be verbose. We will waste no words nor use any useless verbal padding; we will "nothing extenuate nor write down aught in malice." Each general event shall have its place and mention. This note may be added, that at the commencement of the Association it was embracive of all sections of labour in and about the mines. Before we had been long in existence there was a desire for the formation of separate organisations, as it was felt that there were certain peculiarities connected with the other occupations which the miners could not technically deal with. The first to leave were the enginemen, then followed the mechanics, and then the cokemen at the end of 1874. With this notice it will be understood that I deal with the miners alone, only mentioning the others as they come into play with us, and especially after the Federation was formed. I propose to deal with the work with regard to the chronological order of the events rather more than in symmetrical chapters, and therefore after we get the Association formed we will take a year or more, just as the business is great or small, as a definite period. HISTORY OF DURHAM MINERS' ASSOCIATION THE PREPARATION The Association was not a sudden and startling phenomenon, but was a pure evolution. It was no growth of a day like Jonah's gourd, but it was the outcome and the harvest of a long, painful sowing-time. In our Hall we have two busts. These are no doubt looked upon (if noticed at all) with casual indifference. Few of us regard them as expressions of important periods in our struggle for Right and Equality, and as part of the preparatory process, the consummation of which is our grand Institution, of which we are justly proud, for our history fully illustrates the sentiment: "Truth struck to earth will rise again." It is not my intention to take a long and detailed retrospect, but just to enumerate a few of the events happening after 1860, all of which were assisting in clearing the ground, and inciting our formation and preparing men's minds gradually for, such an institution. These I will place in chronological order. First, there was the Mines Act which came into force in July 1861, which amongst other important provisions provided that no boy should go down the mine under twelve unless he could produce a certificate that he could read and write; that boys under twelve should go to school five hours per day; that minerals should be weighed, and that the workmen should be at liberty to appoint a checkweighman. Another of the series was the Hartley calamity on the 16th of January 1862--a calamity which is unique in the history of mining disasters, which moved the heart of the nation, and turned the minds of men everywhere to two very important matters--first, the sinking of two shafts to every mine; and second, to the provision for the relatives of those who lose their lives, or for the workmen who are injured. And thus it has ever been: our industry has offered up its human sacrifices before necessary reforms have been introduced. Death has in many instances opened the gateway to life and blessing. It is sad, but yet true. Then we had two very notable strikes--one at the Brancepeth Collieries, which is known as the "Rocking Strike." The name arose from the custom which obtained of setting out the tubs if they were not level full when they came to bank. In order that this might be attained the hewer used to walk around the tub and strike it with his "mell," or rock and shake it so that the jolting on the road out-by might not lower the coals below the rim of the tub, and thus result in the forfeiture of the entire contents. This system was enforced even after the Act of 1861, and in such a glaring manner, that the master's weighman was paid a commission upon every light tub he found. The demands of the workmen were payment by weight and an advance in wages. Those whose memory goes back to that period will remember the meetings that were held, and especially one not far from Mr Love's (the owner of the collieries) house, just outside Durham city, then called Mount Beulah, now by the more earthly name of Springwell Hall. At that meeting on the platform was a working model of a miner rocking a tub, and a song composed by a local poet (Mr Cooke of Trimdon Grange) was sung. Part of the refrain was, as near as I can remember, as follows:-- "The rocking so shocking long, long we have bore, Farewell to the rocking, we will rock them no more." The second strike took place at Wearmouth, and was the real, although not formal, starting-point of our Union. This strike commenced about the middle of April 1869, and arose out of the conditions contained in the "Bond" of that year, which was brought out as usual in the month of March, when the hewers were told that, owing to the depressed condition of trade, there would have to be a considerable reduction in prices. In one instance the score price was reduced from 7s. to 5s. 10d., and the yard price from 1s. to 8d. There was no opposition offered at the time, as the men were willing to give the lower rate a fair trial. Afterwards they found they were not able to make a fair day's wage. They worked on until the 18th of May, when after going into the pit they all came out, and held a meeting on the green, and appointed a deputation of six to wait upon the manager and Mr Stobart. No concession being made the report was given, when the men declared it was impossible to maintain their families, and resolved that they would not resume work until the previous prices were paid. It is not part of my purpose to enter into all the phases of the strike, but one thing I will set forth, as it shows the method adopted to break the ranks of the workmen. The manager of the colliery was a man well-known in the North of England Coal Trade, Mr R. Heckles. He, believing there was great power in the beer jug, when the strike had continued for a fortnight sent six notes for fifty men each to get a quart of ale per man. These were placed before a meeting of 250 men. "On the offer of the beer being announced the men replied that the notes were to be sent back, as the day had gone by when the men were to be bought with beer, but that beef and bread would be better, and a resolution was carried not to resume work except at last year's prices." The breaking of the bond brought the workmen into collision with the law, and four of them were summoned to appear at the Sunderland Court, on the 21st of June 1869. They were charged under the Masters and Servants Act. One of the cases, that of Thomas Fenwick, was taken. The magistrates were told they could impose a fine of £20, or commit to prison for three months. The defence was conducted by Mr Roberts, the "Pitmen's Attorney-General." The Bench decided that the defendant should give sureties of £20 to return to work, or be committed to prison for one month. Mr Roberts took objection, and pointed out that there was no attesting witness to the signing of the contract, and asked for a case to the Queen's Bench on the point. On that being raised the case was adjourned for a fortnight. On the 6th of July the case again came up for hearing. The objection raised by Mr Roberts was then gone into. It was to the effect that the defendant was a marksman (that is, made his mark and did not sign his name), and that the bond was never read over to him. The matter was contested for a considerable time. Eventually Mr Roberts said he had "been told by the most influential men among the workmen that they wanted to be free from the villainous and iniquitous bond, and they would undertake to leave the houses within nine days." On that promise being made and accepted by the solicitor for the owners the bond by mutual consent was cancelled. The men immediately arranged for vacating the houses and handing in their lamps. In one instance this was done in a unique and striking manner. The men formed in procession, over 300 in number, each man carrying his lamp and a copy of the colliery rules. Marching to the colliery they handed in their lamps, and returned the rules to the overman. The effect of the trial was speedily seen in the solidifying of the whole of the workmen at Wearmouth, as the deputies and others (while passively remaining from work, had never taken active part in the strike) now threw themselves into the struggle, and made common cause with the hewers, and the further effect was the impetus given to the cause of unionism throughout the county until it consummated in the Durham Miners' Union. Another element assisting our formation was the desire for association which was burning in the breast of a few men whose ardour could not be damped by repeated failures or retarded by opposition or hardship. The last of the series of these attempts was in 1863, the meeting being held in the Victoria Hotel, Newcastle. There were 30 delegates present--27 from Northumberland, and only 3 from Durham, Whitworth, Washington, and Usworth, the membership being slightly over 4000. We are told by Fynes in his history that it was resolved to hold meetings in Durham "with the view of moving the men of this county to join them." At the next meeting Mr Crawford was appointed agent and secretary, with Mr Joseph Sheldon as a colleague. In that capacity the writer first saw Mr Crawford. He was the principal speaker at a meeting held on Sherburn Hill. He was on his way from the Leeds National Conference, and we find by reference to the report of that meeting that he was Chairman of the Committee on Law. This union of the two counties continued until the Northumberland men felt that to them it was like being connected with a body of death, and they realised that the connection would in the end be fatal, and in 1865 resolved to separate. This resolution was carried into effect, and county organisations were formed. The two agents were allotted as follows:--Mr Crawford being kept in Northumberland, and Mr Sheldon became the agent in Durham. His term of office was very short, as the Union here very soon died out. At the united meeting, embracing the two counties, held on November 21st, E. Rhymer was the only delegate, and he delivered a very characteristic speech, of which the following is a portion:-- "With respect to the county of Durham he was sorry that they appeared as a black spot in England respecting the Miners' Association. They numbered about 1000, but there were only 74 represented at that meeting. The hours of the men were eight hours working. The average wage being from 4s. to 4s. 6d. The hours of the boys upon an average were fourteen per day. The system with respect to the boys was the most wretched in the civilised world. They never saw the light of the blessed sun from Sabbath to Sabbath. He had authority to tell them that the district which he represented begged of them through him to send help to save them from starvation and misery." These are very strong words and true, for the state throughout was deplorable. Here and there small societies existed having no federal connection, but they were of no earthly use. They only showed in darker colours the disorganisation which had set in. To use Milton's illustration, they made the darkness more visible. Still, there were some brave spirits who not only deplored the condition, but, as Fynes says, "set themselves the almost Herculean task of revising the Union and substituting harmony for the discord which then prevailed." For that purpose meetings were held in various parts of the county. The speakers who attended them ofttimes found themselves sleeping in a room whose walls were the horizon and the roof studded with the stars of heaven. Prominent we find the names of W. Crake and J. Richardson (two men who were sacrificed as the result of the Wearmouth strike), W. Patterson, T. Ramsey, and N. Wilkinson. Not only were there local men at these meetings, but strangers were sent from other districts, seeking to infuse new life into the apathetical and indifferent men of Durham. The most notable of these meetings was held at Thornley on Saturday, the 25th of September 1869. Amongst the speeches delivered I find two given at great length in _The Durham Chronicle_ of the 1st of October by Mr T. Burt and Mr W. Brown, who was then residing in Yorkshire, but who afterwards became the agent for the North Staffordshire miners. The chair was occupied by Mr W. Patterson (our Patterson), and there were about 1000 men in attendance. If it were convenient I would place on record in this history those speeches in full, as they were worthy of the men and the occasion. One or two sentences may be quoted from Mr Burt's speech. He urged that "there were many reasons why men should be united: wages, better conditions, and safety at work." Their wages were not so high as they ought to be, neither was their social condition what it might have been, and he would candidly confess that the miners themselves were most to blame that such was the state of affairs. Had they worked together and exercised confidence where they displayed little else but petty jealousy, had they not spent their money for naught, their position might have been different that day. If proof were needed let them look at other classes and districts. "If the miners of the county of Durham compared their condition with any of the great combined bodies of English workmen they would at once see how different their position might have been had they been united. If they compared non-Union districts with Union districts they would contrast the rate of wages paid in Lancashire, Wales, Yorkshire, and Northumberland; and they would see a striking example of the effects of Union and non-Union." These remarks suggest a curious contrast between our relative position compared with other districts now and then, and the comparison proves the force and wisdom of Mr Burt's exhortation. In this connection I find a letter from Mr Crawford bearing on the same subject, and published in _The Durham Chronicle_ of the 15th of October 1869, which I insert in full. Sir,--Seeing that the Durham miners are again trying to form amongst themselves an organisation for mutual protection, you will perhaps allow me to say a few words, having had some experience in connection with their last one some six years ago. Many of your readers will remember the strenuous efforts then made to organise the whole county, and at least the partial success which attended that undertaking. A great portion of the county did become united, and at one time promised satisfactory success. But those who expected such an accomplishment were doomed to be disappointed. After a short time the whole fabric collapsed, and miners were again subjected to all those difficulties and impositions which necessarily follow in the train of disorganisation. Since that time my mind has often been occupied in trying to ascertain the cause or causes of that disastrous downfall, and I have long since concluded that the following were the main if not the only causes which led to such a direful result:-- 1st. Yearly hirings. For years before the Union began, these had existed in the county, and their baneful effects had been to reduce the wages of the miners from fifteen to thirty per cent. The coal was no better to get, and its market value ranged about the same. What, then, was the cause of men being reduced in some instances from 13s. 6d. to 9s. per score? It may be truly attributed to disorganisation and yearly hirings. When the Union began these still continued, and hence the impossibility of men gradually recovering that which they had lost. These yearly hirings had brought the county to the lowest possible social condition, and when brought, kept it there, rendering organisation difficult, and when attained making its continuance more difficult still. They have been the curse, the withering blighting curse, of thousands of miners in that county. Again, the county is too wide and extensive for one association. To make the work not only practical, but effective, it ought to be divided into three, or perhaps four separate districts. These districts ought to be thoroughly independent of each other; not only doing their own business, but being self-supporting. Of course, in many instances, one district would find its interests best furthered by rendering assistance to a neighbouring one. In such cases let relief be unsparingly given. The more mutual support and sympathy there existed between the districts, the greater the chance of permanent success. Yet, in their working, collecting, and distribution of their finances, let an entire separation exist. We have not space to go fully into this matter here; but if the past will prove anything, it will prove what I have just said. And, if an instance is wanted, it will be found in the two _distinct_, but _successful_ associations, which for years have existed in Yorkshire. Other causes operated to make short the existence of the last organisation; but these were unquestionably the main ones, and ought, therefore, to be avoided this time, especially the latter, that power being now with themselves, to put into immediate effect, while the former must be a work of time, at least for a few months. The present condition of the Durham miners calls aloud for a change, and the power to effect that change is with themselves. Let them bestir, set to work in right earnest, and if that work be characterised by prudence and determination, I doubt not but that ultimate and entire success will crown their efforts. WILLIAM CRAWFORD. Bedlington, Northumberland, _October 11th, 1869._ LAYING THE FOUNDATION Currently with these meetings arising out of the Wearmouth strike, and the other matters mentioned, the young Union was gathering strength. Delegate meetings were being held, the machinery of the Association was taking shape, and the constitution outlined. The first of these was held on Saturday the 3rd of July 1869, the chairman being Mr J. Richardson of Wearmouth. In his opening remarks he said: "They had met not as delegates of an organised body of miners, but as representatives of collieries not yet united, to devise means whereby an organisation could be established throughout the county of Durham." No attempt was made to transact any business, but a number of addresses were delivered. The speakers were Mr Lynney of Wearmouth, Mr B. Irving and Mr Scranghann of Houghton, Mr Noull, Windy Nook, and Mr G. Parker of Spennymoor. All spoke of the deplorable condition of the county, and expressed their firm belief that nothing but union would bring about an amelioration. The next meeting was held in the Market Hotel, Durham. I again quote from _The Durham Chronicle_ report: At the hour named there was only a limited attendance of delegates and, no others coming up as time passed on, no business was done, and the delegates present merely contented themselves with discussing the project of a county Union, to which the delegates from Thornley and Houghton stated the men in their respective districts gave perfect accordance, uniting with the Union in both cases the scheme of a benefit society. Mr Richardson of Wearmouth thought they ought to form their Union first, and leave the question of benefit and emigration societies in connection with it to a future time. A resolution that Wearmouth, Thornley, and Houghton form the nucleus of an organisation or union among the miners of the county, and that a paid agent be appointed to explain to the men the aim, object, and principles of the proposed association, was then passed. The following is the district set out for the lecturer to visit:--Ryhope, Seaton (and Seaham), Hetton, South Hetton, Haswell, Shotton, Castle Eden, Wingate, Trimdon, Fire Houses (Trimdon Grange), and Thornley. The agitation of the proposed organisation to be directed against the yearly bond. The next account available is that of a meeting held at the half-way house near Thornley on the 23rd of September. It was held in connection with the demonstration referred to above, at which Mr Burt and Mr Brown spoke. The following are the names of the delegates who answered the roll, with the collieries represented:-- W. Crake, Wearmouth. H. Robson, Ryhope. W. H. Patterson, Heworth. T. Ramsey, Trimdon. J. Wylde, Quarrington Hill. E. Furneval, Felling. R. Bousfield, Houghton. J. Colledge, Murton. A. Cairns, Thornley. N. Wilkinson, Trimdon Grange. C. Flynn, Shiny Row. C. Nicholson, Seaham. This meeting was the most ambitious of any held, as a properly arranged business programme was before the delegates. The items discussed were the wages and expenses of the agent. The point discussed was not merely the amount per week, but whether he should be charged for stamps and all cost of correspondence. The meeting was equally divided, when the question was remitted to the lodges. Next came the "Formation of a Central Fund." In this matter there was great fear as to the permanency of the movement. The predominant feeling was that it was better to wait until the roll of members reached a few thousands. Mr Patterson was among those who hesitated, and expressed himself in the following terms:-- "They had several times tried to form a Union, but had failed, the men appearing somehow to have little confidence in them." The Wearmouth delegate was more optimistic. He did not think it was necessary that they should have 5000 members before the fund was formed. Mr Patterson had hinted the Union might fail, but there was not the least fear in his mind that such would be the case. Following these came the persons to attend the delegate meetings (whether strangers should be admitted), the pay for attending (this was fixed at 6s. 6d. and third-class fare), the appointment of a committee to draw up rules, the adoption of a "Pass Card" as a guarantee of membership, the collieries for the agent to visit, and the appointment of an Agent, Secretary, and Treasurer. These offices were filled as follows:--Mr J. Richardson, Agent for three weeks; Mr Isaac Parks, Secretary; and Mr N. Wilkinson, Treasurer for three months. The next meeting was held on Saturday, 20th November. It is important that we should note this meeting, as it was the real beginning of the Association. The following is the full report from _The Durham Chronicle_:-- DURHAM MINERS' MUTUAL ASSOCIATION "A meeting of the delegates of this Association was held in the Market Hotel in this city on Saturday, when the delegates present represented 4328 members. The following resolutions were passed:--(1) Resolved that Stanley be exempted from paying any contributions this day. (2) That all members receive rules free. (3) That each delegate speak in rotation as on the list, and not to speak more than five minutes each time. (4) The following were appointed trustees:--Alan Murray, W. Crake, Isaac Parks, W. Patterson, R. Carr, W. Wilson, John Armstrong, and T. Noble. (5) That each delegate have one vote. (6) That Mr John Richardson be Agent and Secretary, and be paid 32s. per week, and allowed third-class railway fare when on the business of the Association when such business calls him more than four miles from his residence, the delegates to decide his place of residence. (7) That the delegates should manage the business at present, and that in future a president should be chosen at each meeting of delegates who shall have a casting vote. (8) That each delegate be prepared with security for the person proposed by his district for the office of treasurer. (9) That all suggestions be sent in at least seven days before the meeting. (10) That the miners of the county of Durham have their attention called to the objects contemplated by the Association by hand-bills, and that 500 be printed. (11) That the agent go into the Crook and Spennymoor districts and explain the advantages of the society." Here we have the Union for the whole county fairly established on a weak foundation. Sufficient to dishearten, looking from our present proud position, but it must be remembered that there were giants in those days--brave, hopeful men, who were not to be turned from their purpose by any hindrance. They felt that united effort was the breath of our life, and they kept their eyes on that goal. A united Durham was their battle-cry and inspiration. If there had been any possibility of diverting them, the next meeting, which was held on 18th December 1869, was sufficient. That meeting was held again in the Market Hotel. There were delegates from only 19 collieries, representing 1964½ members. The outlay for the previous fortnight was £8, 11s. 5d., and there was a saving of £50, 11s. 1½d. Mr N. Wilkinson was appointed treasurer. Rules were submitted from various collieries. The agent was instructed to visit the Derwent District, and a very wise provision was made that no suggestion should be put on the programme that infringed the general rules. It was a little anticipatory, seeing the rules were not formed, but those men knew well that without order and law it was impossible to have any useful progress. Later experience proves the wisdom of their provision. REARING THE BUILDING The end of 1869 saw the foundation of the structure laid. The beginning of 1870 found the builders hard at work raising it. The first move made was to hold fortnightly delegate meetings. These appear to have been of the nature of Committee and Council Meetings combined, and were usually held in the Market Hotel, Durham. The first in the year was held on Saturday, 1st January. The first business, even in this early stage, was to deal with that permanent disease of Trades Unionism, the unfinancial member; for from the origin of things there have been men who were ready to take all and give nothing. Various schemes were suggested for dealing with such people, many of which were crude, but in the end the means most favoured by the delegates was analogous to, but somewhat more drastic than, the rule at present in operation for compelling members to keep themselves straight on the books. The other questions dealt with were the proposed formation of a sick fund, with sundry minor or local matters. Passing over the meeting held on January 15th, except to note that the number of men represented was 2500, and the fortnightly contributions amounted to £48, 18s. 1½d., we come to an important one held on the 29th. The numbers in union were the same as a fortnight before. The meeting was important, because it is the first time we find the yearly bond as part of the business of the council. There was a very lengthy discussion upon, or rather expression of condemnation of, the bond. The most noteworthy portion of the proceedings was a letter from Mr A. Macdonald, as President of the Miners' National Association. The letter is worthy of note, because it is the first recorded instance of his official connection with Durham, and because of its opposition to the system of yearly bindings. He was desirous to ascertain what were the views of the miners in the county upon it. The Government were pledged to bring in a Mines Regulation Bill during the next session of Parliament, and it was necessary that their views should be expressed with a view to insert a clause in the new Bill to provide for fortnightly or monthly agreements. In Mr Macdonald's opinion, as in that of other leading gentlemen connected with the organised coal districts in Great Britain, it was useless to attempt to better the condition of the miners in Durham so long as that system existed. The unanimous agreement of the meeting upon the subject was "that Mr Macdonald should be informed that the miners of the county of Durham considered the bond to be a great evil, and would hail with the greatest gratification any legislative enactment providing for its abolition." At the meeting held on 12th February a much more satisfactory report was presented. The membership had increased to 3537½, and the contributions to £80, 4s. 8d. There had been a deposit of £70, making the banking account £288. In addition to this large increase in funds and numbers encouraging reports were given by the delegates as to the requests which were made from unorganised collieries for someone to attend to assist in inducing the men to join. In connection with this desire there came a question from Mr Macdonald and Mr Burt asking whether the young Association would take an active part in arranging for meetings, passing of resolutions, and getting up petitions in furtherance of the Mines Bill about to be introduced into Parliament. These gentlemen were extremely desirous that a series of meetings should be held, and they were willing to attend them if arranged. The result of the request was an agreement to hold three meetings at Sunderland, Bishop Auckland, and Durham, and the appointment of a committee to make the necessary arrangements. At this meeting we have the first mention of an entrance fee, which was to be 6d. for a month, the payment of delegates out of the local funds, the attendance of trustees at every delegate meeting, and the most important appointment of President and Executive Committee. The custom had been to appoint a president from each delegate meeting _pro tem_., but now it was deemed advisable to elect for a longer period. The appointments were as follows:-- _President_ W. Crake, Monkwearmouth. _Committee_ Christopher Nicholson, Seaham. Isaac Parks, Trimdon. Martin Thompson, Murton. John Jackson, Thornley. Mr Allonby, South Hetton. W. H. Patterson, Heworth. W. Anderson, Murton. These with the treasurer formed the committee. It was further arranged that the delegate meetings should be held once a month, and that the contributions be forwarded fortnightly to the general treasurer. As a result of the arrangements for holding mass meetings in the county, two were held: on the 25th of February at Bishop Auckland, and on the 26th at Sunderland. These were addressed by Messrs Burt and Macdonald. Both meetings were very well attended; the object was to discuss the proposed new Mines Bill. Strong speeches were made against it. "It was too narrow in its application. It would permit a boy to be employed for 14 hours in the mine, and he would have to work a length of time equal to 62 days in the year, more than the child in the factory. There was a deficiency with regard to weighing. That they demanded should be remedied, because the system of measuring and gauging simply meant robbery and double robbery. In some districts the arithmetical tables had been altered to make a ton equal to 25 and even 28 cwt. Then there was a great need for more inspectors and for properly trained managers, for the absence of competent men had been a fruitful source of colliery accidents. Deputies and overlookers were not chosen, as they all knew, because of their excellence and skill, or their high moral qualities, but more because they were sycophants and tyrants in the hands of those who owned the mines." There came a powerful appeal from Mr Burt on behalf of the Union. "Every great movement in the world was carried on by combined efforts. Single individuals had never been able to accomplish much. In all parts of the world one heard the declaration made that workmen were doing too much work, and receiving too little remuneration, and it needed but the organisation of this great army to gain for themselves justice. If they joined that army they would have education, temperance, prudence, and virtue rising up in the place of moral degradation; happiness in the place of misery; and comfort in every home where wretchedness now only prevailed." At the monthly meeting held on the 12th of March 1870 there were delegates from 28 collieries, with a membership of 3650, being an increase for the month of over 100. The monthly income was £138, 17s. 3d. Of that sum £57 was paid for collecting the signatures for the petition to Parliament _re_ the Mines Bill, and a balance of £70 was added to the banking account. Two petitions were in evidence, one being 35 and the other 36 yards long--the cost in the former case being over £12, and in the latter over £4. A deputation attended this meeting from Yorkshire soliciting subscriptions for a colliery on strike in that county. In response to the appeal £10 was sent, so that very early in its history the young society was learning the luxury that comes from doing good to your neighbour--a lesson it has not forgotten in its older and stronger days. The next monthly meeting was held on the 9th of April. There was a sad falling off in the membership represented. The chairman was able to "congratulate the meeting on the fact that the bindings had passed off so satisfactorily, and that a slight increase in price had been secured." There were only 25 collieries represented, with a membership of 2898. The variation in the number of delegates may be accounted for by the system of paying the delegates, it being borne by the lodges, and not as at present. A complaint was made by the delegates in regard to the dismissal of men at the late bindings. It was said that there were 30 at Trimdon Grange who had been treated in that manner. The owners had shifted 16 of them, but a claim was made for removal allowance from the Union at the rate of 5s. for the first mile and 1s. per mile afterwards. The meeting held on the 23rd of April had a very full programme of business. The county was called upon to deal with another serious strike at Wearmouth, and the support of the men severely taxed the energies of the Union. A great deal depended upon the result of that contest. The business part of the meeting, apart from Wearmouth, was the appointment of a secretary and extra agents. The points under consideration were the number to be appointed, whether they should be in districts or be centralised, and what should be the salary. The decision was there should be two agents, and the salary 27s. 6d. per week, with house and firing. With respect to the secretary, it was resolved to appoint one--the choice in this, as in the agents, being left to a subsequent meeting. On the 7th of May a full detailed list of the collieries and members was given, which it may be interesting to set forth. Number of Name of Colliery Members Income for Month Trimdon 165½ £8 5 6 Trimdon Grange 64½ 3 4 6 Shiney Row 62 3 2 0 Philadelphia 40 2 0 0 Murton 342½ 17 4 6 Ludworth 32 0 16 0 South Hetton 90 3 18 0 Whitworth 107 5 7 0 Addison 120 5 12 0 Norwood 33 1 11 0 Evenwood 63 2 1 0 Shildon Lodge 41 2 1 0 Page Bank 28 0 14 0 Black Boy 77 5 3 0 Tudhoe 120 6 0 0 Adelaide 90 4 15 0 Thornley 230 11 10 0 Heworth 70 3 10 0 Seaham 150 4 3 0 Felling 20 1 0 0 Quarrington Hill and Coxhoe 52 2 11 6 Derwent 174 4 7 0 The appointment of agents and secretary was then taken, the following being the result:-- As agents, Mr Munson, Philadelphia; Mr Crawford Bedlington, and Mr J. Richardson; the secretary being A. Cairns, Thornley. Mr Richardson was assigned to North East, Mr Crawford, Central, and Mr Munson, South-West. Each district to have a sub-delegate meeting, Birtley, Thornley and Bishop Auckland being the places of meeting. Mr Crawford was not long in the county before he began to make himself felt, and let the people know he was around, as the Yankee would say. In _The Durham Chronicle_ for the 3rd of June 1870 there is a very striking letter in his best style. Those of us who knew him are well aware what his best meant in 1870. He was writing in defence of Trades Unions--some writers had been speaking about the "terrible tyranny" of these unions. He turned on them, and showed that, "if there were tyranny anywhere, it lay on the side of the employers, and that the workmen were at all times inclined to act in a right and courteous manner. Still, while they so act, they have to be utterly and fiercely condemned, and the employing class applauded and eulogised for acting in a manner diametrically opposite, and about as near an approximation to truth and right, as are the North and South Poles. This seems a most anomalous condition of things, that with one class right should be called wrong, while with an opposite class that which is really wrong should be called right. But I have no hesitation in saying that, if the doings of working men's associations be closely and impartially sought into, it will be found that, instead of any of their members receiving full licence to do as they like, every action is closely watched, and not over-considerately examined, and that, if there be a fault, it often is in the executive power pressing rather too hardly any portion of their fellows who may wish to seek for an amelioration of their wrongs. Let the general public examine both the origin and mode of conducting our trade disputes, and, as a rule, it will be found that, instead of the toiling population deserving their unsparing contumely, the employing class are alone the undivided cause of these struggles, and the course they generally afterwards pursue ought to call forth the bitterest indignation, and often does beget in the heart of the working men a feeling of dislike and disregard not unmixed with contempt." At the meeting held on the 4th of June a fourth district was formed. It was called the South-Western, and Mr Patterson was appointed agent to it. As a further consequence of this additional district the Executive Committee was increased from seven to nine, the wages of the agents being fixed at 25s. 6d. and expenses. At this meeting we have the first safeguarding rule against collieries striking illegally: "That any colliery coming out on strike in an unconstitutional way be not allowed any support from the Central Fund, or have their case considered at the Central Board." The next delegate meeting was held on the 30th of July. There was an attendance of thirty-two delegates. The only matters needing a place in our history were the appointment of another agent or assistant, and an increase in the wages of the agents. [Illustration: N. WILKINSON] It was decided to appoint "Tommy Ramsey," and his wage to be 28s. per week. The wage of the other agents was fixed at 25s. per week, with 10s. travelling expenses and 5s. per week house rent. These sums to include all expenses within their respective districts. The first Annual Meeting was held on December 3rd, 1870, in the Market Hotel, Durham, and the proceedings and programme occupy three columns of _The Durham Chronicle_. The reason arises out of the dual nature of the meeting, it being council and committee. The secretary's report showed that there were 1891 financial members on the books, and the total worth of the Society was 7s. 1½d. per member. Our purpose will be met if we select the main points, leaving those of a local and temporary character. First, in that general category we have a request for Durham to join the Amalgamated Association of Miners. This was not acceded to, but copies of the rules were written for. Second, the appointment of treasurer and his payment. Mr N. Wilkinson was appointed, and his salary was to be 25s. per quarter (much less than many of our local treasurers receive now). Yet Mr Wilkinson felt proud of the office, and promised to merit their confidence during the year. Third, the question of sending a delegate to the Miners' National Conference, and the business, which was to discuss the Mines Bill. It is very obvious that the county was feeling its way very carefully, and with great regard to economy, for one delegate said it would take one-twelfth of the income to send a representative, independently of the entrance fee. It was finally agreed to send Mr Crawford. Fourth, the question of cumulative voting was brought forward by Murton as follows:--"That each delegate have an additional vote for every 100 members he represented." The proposal, however, was lost by fourteen to eight. Fifth, the appointment of the officers for the year. These were elected as follows:-- Secretary, A. Cairns; Treasurer, N. Wilkinson; President, W. Crawford; Vice-President, W. H. Patterson; the Committee being Mr Munson, T. Mitcheson, M. Thompson, M'Mann, J. Jackson, W. Coulthard, and I. Perks. A very fitting finish to the year 1870 will be a reference to another letter by Mr Crawford. The object of his attack was the Rev. Mr Blagdon, Newbottle. This gentleman had said he hated and detested unions, and this roused the temper of Crawford, and plainly he talked to him. He reminded the parson of the condition of the miner, and he pointed to the contrast between his conduct and that of Christ. "But I suppose," said Crawford, "things are changed. Of course, we live in an age of progression, and we ought to leave behind us those old and antiquated practices of practical philanthropy. Christ always spoke the truth too. When He made a promise it was always kept." Then he asks: "What wrong are the workmen doing? Our only aim is the establishment of common justice amongst mankind. We have myriads of men, women, and children who but seldom receive an approximate sufficiency of the commonest necessaries of life. And it is a self-evident fact that nothing will render human existence so miserable and short as social destitution, bringing, as a matter of consequence, mental pressure or anxiety of mind. Even comparative want is prejudicial to physical health. This brings care and anxiety. They act and react on each other, often doing their deadly work ere men have passed half their allotted threescore years and ten. That these things exist are incontrovertible facts. And does their removal by moral and philosophical means not _in part_ pertain to the work which this gentleman has chosen for himself in life? History and observation alike teach that, where a people are socially depressed, moral culture is a most difficult matter, and, where moral cultivation is no easy task, to spiritualise is next to an utter impossibility. So that in reality, when rightly viewed, there is a very near kinship, and ought to be, in working a very close connection between the Union to which the Philadelphia Society belongs and the work in which this reverend gentleman is engaged. Whether or not Mr Blagdon will endorse these sentiments I cannot say; however, be that as it may, when in future he makes a promise let him keep it, and likewise cease to give utterance to such vehement expressions as hating and detesting that about which he seems to understand but little indeed. By pursuing such a course he will in future save himself the merited contempt of his parishioners." This quotation will serve a twofold purpose: it will give an example of Mr Crawford's vigorous style of writing when roused and at his best, and it will indicate the kind of opposition the young Association was met with at this very delicate and important period of its existence. Those who should have welcomed all effort towards better things should have assisted instead of thwarting and maligning. The year 1871 found the builders of the Association untiring in their efforts, but still meeting great discouragements. These came mainly from the apathy of the people whom they were trying to help. Like Nehemiah they had their Sanballats, who did their best to prevent the work; but, inspired by the belief in the power of a united people to better their own condition, they fought and built, making headway but slowly. In the early part of January a Miners' Conference was held in Manchester to consider the Mines Regulation Bill, the Trades Union Bill, the Truck Bill, and kindred subjects. The delegate from Durham was Mr W. Crawford, and the number he represented was 18,000. Before proceeding further with the account of the building we will place on record the first collective action taken by the young Association. This was in relation to the inundation which happened at Wheatley Hill on Thursday, the 19th of January 1871. The colliery had been in operation about six months; there were thirteen hewers, five putters, and three helpers up, with the necessary deputies and others, at the time it occurred. There were five lives lost, and others had a very narrow escape. There is no need to describe in detail the whole circumstances. It will be sufficient to say that a man named Roberts was in a place which was being driven in the main coal at Thornley for the purpose of tapping some water which was lying on the Thornley side in order that it might be run to the other colliery which lies to the "dip." In addition to those who lost their lives, other two were rescued after being in the mine fifty-four hours. The Miners' Association was not slow in taking part in the subsequent proceedings, and at the inquest which opened on the 25th at the Colliery Office, Wheatley Hill, by Mr Crofton Maynard (whose able services are still given to inquiries into the sad accidents in the Easington Ward), the Association was represented by Mr W. Crawford. On his application that witnesses should be summoned on behalf of the workmen the Coroner readily consented to an adjournment until Wednesday, the 8th of February. The adjourned inquest was held at Wingate Grange, when Mr A. Cairns, Secretary, and Mr W. Crawford, Agent, were present on behalf of the Association, with Mr Kewney, Solicitor, of North Shields, to watch the proceedings. After a very long and exhaustive inquiry the verdict was "that the deceased were killed on the 19th of January by a burst of water in the Wheatley Hill pit, through the gross negligence of W. Spencer, head viewer, W. Hay, resident viewer, and Thomas Watson, overman; and that the said W. Spencer, W. Hay, and T. Watson did kill and slay the five deceased previously mentioned by neglecting to put in proper bore holes for the safe working of the mine." On that verdict the Coroner committed the accused for trial at the Assizes on a charge of manslaughter. The trial took place at the March Assizes before Baron Martin. The counsel for the Association were Mr Herschell (afterwards Lord Chancellor) and Mr J. Edge. The writer of this history was in court, and heard the trial, and the able speech made by Mr Herschell, whose object was to show that there had been a violation of the Mines Act of 1860, the fifteenth rule of which was to the effect "that bore holes should be kept in advance, and if necessary on both sides, on approaching places likely to contain a large quantity of water." The Grand Jury had thrown out the Bill, but the case was still proceeded with. It was clear the judge was against the proceedings after the throwing out of the Bill; and eventually the workmen's counsel withdrew the case, because the judge was of the opinion that Roberts (the hewer in whose place the water broke away) should have known as well as the manager how near the water was to them, and because, on the technical point, it was quite clear how the judge would direct the jury. The accused were therefore acquitted. One little piece of funny puzzling of the judge is very vividly remembered. Roberts was not a native of the county, but was doing his best to train himself in the peculiarities of a dialect which, when spoken by a Durham man, is to a stranger difficult to understand, but more so when it comes from a Welsh tongue. At one part of the proceedings the judge asked Roberts what he was doing when the water broke in. The reply was: "Aw hed getten me jud korved, and the hole marked off, and was gannen back for the drills." With surprise the judge repeated the question, and received the same answer. Perplexed, but not enlightened, a second query was put: "What did you do then?" "Aw run doon the board and up the stenton." Innocently the judge put a supplementary question: "Was it a wide plank you ran along?" thinking the word board meant a piece of timber laid for Roberts to walk on. Upon an explanation being given he confessed that, in the whole of his experience, he had never been so much puzzled before. In our review of the building of the Association it will not be necessary to mention the work in the county except so far as it relates to the object we are dealing with: the raising and strengthening of the organisation and the changes in policy and procedure. The first Council in 1871 was held on March 25th. The attendance of delegates was moderate, and Mr Crawford, the President of the Association, was called to the chair. At this meeting we have the first mention of the Yearly Demonstration. It was moved "that the Council take into consideration the desirability of holding a general meeting of miners in the central district, the expenses of such to be paid from the Central Fund." The time named was shortly after Easter. It was likewise arranged for the agents to live in Durham. Mr Crawford at that time was residing in Sunderland, and Mr Patterson in Bishop Auckland. This, it was felt, interfered very much with the necessary consultation and arranging of work. A series of resolutions was brought forward by Mr Crawford. First, that "minerals be weighed only, seeing that measuring and gauging are sources of endless losses to the hewers." Second, "that miners ought to be allowed to place on the pit bank as checkweighman a man of their own choice, whether such person be one of the workmen or not." Third, the appointment of an additional number of inspectors or sub-inspectors is required--the number of pits in 1869 in the whole country being 3206, and only 12 inspectors, which gave an average of 267 pits each. The following resolution was carried:-- "We believe that to make inspection thoroughly effective, mines ought to be inspected at intervals not exceeding three months." The fourth resolution was "that no boy should be allowed to work more than ten hours a day." The Murton delegate seconded the resolution, and said: "Miners were often referred to as an ignorant set of men, but if they received more attention than they did in the seed-time of life perhaps better fruit would be received. At present their boys went to work at half-past four in the morning, and did not leave the mine till half-past five in the evening. By the time they got home, washed themselves, and had a little refreshment it was seven o'clock. Certainly night schools were provided for the boys, but he could not see the utility of them, as the minds of the lads after being so many hours in the pit were incapable of receiving instruction. Providing schools under these circumstances for pit lads was like preparing food for persons who had no appetite." That speech is worth quoting and remembering, because it gives us so clearly the condition in that year and shows so graphically the change since then. The young men at least will do well to ponder the lesson. To them it means much, and tells them the benefit they have (in this alone) received from the labours of those men who so unselfishly toiled in the early days. At this time a question arose which evoked great feeling in the Thornley district in particular, and throughout the county in general. This was the refusal by Mr Cooper, the manager at Thornley, to bind Mr A. Cairns, the Secretary of the Association, who was checkweighman, and Mr J. Jackson, one of the Executive Committee. At that time, it should be remembered, a man to be a checkweighman must be, and remain, a workman on the colliery, and therefore be "bound" as all other men were. The situation is interesting for two points--first, because it was productive of some very strong letter writing by Mr Crawford in defence of the two men; and second, because it is the first recorded instance of an offer from the men to apply arbitration as a means of settling disputes between employers and workmen under this Association. The offer was contained in a resolution passed at a special Council held in the Market Hotel, Durham, on 8th April. The following is a portion of the resolution:-- "This meeting strongly urges on the Thornley workmen the propriety of offering to submit the whole case to arbitration, the members of the Board chosen to be composed of an equal number from both sides; the arbitrators to elect an umpire whose decision shall be final." I quote two sentences from one of Mr Crawford's letters: "The entire transactions both on the part of the masters, and these perfidious hirelings [certain blacklegs] is contemptible in the extreme, clearly showing to working men that where they have not, by combination, the power to protect themselves they will only be endured so long as they are passive slaves in the hands of grasping greediness. Men need to arise, and by an active concentration of organised power frustrate that intolerance so rampant among them, an intolerance diametrically opposed to the spirit of the age, and one that will not hesitate to build its own advancement on the spoliation and desolation, and if necessary the damnation, of myriads of immortal beings." OUR FIRST GALA The first in the long series of meetings was held in Wharton's Park, Durham, on Saturday, the 12th of August 1871. For some time prior district meetings had been held in different parts of the county, and great efforts made to secure a good gathering. In addition, a "sum amounting to £20 was offered in three prizes for a Band Contest, and liberal money prizes for various athletic sports." There was a charge for admission, and it was estimated that between 4000 and 5000 paid for admission. The speakers outside the Association were A. Macdonald, W. Brown, Staffordshire, and John Normansell, Yorkshire. The local speakers were Mr W. H. Patterson, Mr Hendry, Addison Colliery; Mr T. Ramsey, Mr N. Wilkinson, Mr Allens, Mr Young, Addison Colliery; and Mr Ferguson, Edmondsley. The platform was decorated with the Thornley banner, and in the arena was a banner bearing the inscription: "A fair day's wage for a fair day's work." The chairman was Mr W. Crawford. His first words were: "This is the first great Gala Day of the Durham Miner's Mutual Confident Association, and I only pray that it will not be the last." He reminded them that he and his colleagues had only been trying to organise the county. They had met with great difficulties, but they were still alive, and more likely to continue alive than ever. "I can assure you," he said, "that on this, the 12th day of August 1871, the Durham Miners' Association was never in a more healthy position; never more healthy with regard to its feeling and determination to carry on its great work of organising the county; never more healthy with respect to its funds; and never more healthy in reference to the general progressive tendency of its operations, since the first day the Association was established." To quote the speeches would be foreign to the purpose of this history. The speakers were men who did great work in the Trades Union movement in the period with which we are now dealing. William Brown had peculiar methods, partaking more of a religious revivalist. He ofttimes at home opened his meetings with prayer, and had a small collection of songs (entitled melodies and poems), from which he would sing before he commenced to speak (and he was a singer). For some months it was the privilege of the writer to be engaged as a lecturer in the Midlands by the Miners' National Union in 1878, three weeks of which were spent with Brown in North Stafford, and therefore there was a good opportunity of judging. At this first Gala Brown sang two of these songs, and recited the following poem:-- WORKING MEN "Think what power lies within you, For what triumphs you are formed; Think, but not alone of living Like the horse from day to day; Think, but not alone of giving Health for pelf, and soul for pay. Think, oh! be machines no longer, Engines made of flesh and blood; Thought will make you fresher, stronger, Link you to the great and good; Thought is a wand of power, Power to make oppression shrink, Grasp ye then the precious dower, Poise it, wield it, work and think." These men, heroes of the highest order, who inaugurated one of the finest series of labour meetings ever held in this or any other county, who saw the possibilities which lay within us, and who spoke such words of hope, have all passed to the reward which awaits the good and the true who battle for the right in whatever clime or sphere of life. Their spirits still live and move and have being in many to-day, bearing testimony that "the good men do lives after them." A delegate meeting was held on the 9th of September 1871, Mr Crawford presiding, at which three general matters were transacted. It was decided to retain a solicitor to transact the legal business of the Association and act as adviser. Arrangements were to be made to open a proper banking account, and it was resolved to join the Miners' National Association. The next delegate meeting of importance was held in the Shakespeare Hall, North Road, Durham. Mr J. Forman was now chairman (although still continuing to live at Roddymoor)--Mr Crawford being appointed secretary, Mr Wilkinson treasurer, and Mr Patterson agent. The matter under discussion was the wage settlement, some dissatisfaction being manifested at the difference between the men underground and those at bank, and a report was made of the first case settled by arbitration. This was at the Lizzie Colliery, the arbitrators being T. Taylor-Smith and Mr W. Crawford. THE LEADERS With the Council meeting held on Tuesday, March 26th, 1872, by the election of Mr Forman as president and Mr Crawford as secretary, and the regular meetings with the employers being recognised, we have the Association fully and solidly established. Before we proceed further it will be in natural order if we take a short glance at the men who were at the head of it. There is no need to enlarge upon them; a bare outline will be sufficient. The first in prominence and force was Mr W. Crawford. When appointed he was outside the county, but owing to his having been secretary of the combined counties he was known to the Durham men as an able and forcible Trades Unionist. When the separation between the two counties took place he was engaged as secretary of the Northumberland Association. This post, says Fynes in his history, he filled "with great ability until June 1865, and made himself a great favourite in Northumberland, but he then left the Association in order to take the secretaryship of the Cowpen Co-operative Store at Blyth." Mr Burt was elected to succeed him. In 1870, when Mr Crawford applied for the position of agent in Durham, he was selected from a number of candidates. It was at this time that the writer had the pleasure of making his acquaintance, and had large opportunities of forming an estimate of his ability. Never had any man more force of character or more executive power. His individuality was very large. He had no love for platform work, and the love for that sphere lessened as he grew older; but he had no superior and few equals in his grasp of, and power to find a solution of, the peculiar difficulties and complications which arise in an occupation like the miners. He was a solver of difficulty and a manager of men, and in every way fitted for the post of secretary of a trades organisation. From his appointment to his death he filled it with a skill few men can command. _N. Wilkinson_, the first treasurer of the Association, had worked at Trimdon Grange as a fireman. At the date of his appointment he was earning a living by tea selling, having lost his employment on account of his Trades Union principles. His first appointment was temporary, and when elected permanently he was living at Coxhoe. As soon as the Union was fairly started he was made treasurer permanently, and so acted till 1882. As a speaker he was of a blunt, straightforward order. As Othello says: "His was a round unvarnished tale and he told it right on." At the commencement, when announced on the bills it was as "Nicky Wilkinson," and no man could be in the least doubt but that when he spoke to them on the Union and its usefulness it was from the heart. As a man in those stern and trying times he was, as those who were his colleagues would testify, a man upon whom they could depend in any testing circumstances. _Mr J. Forman._--He was the first regular chairman. At the time of his appointment he was checkweighman at Roddymoor, and when spoken of it was as "Forman of Roddymoor." He came from Northumberland to Annfield Plain when a young man. He acted as president of the Association for a time, and followed his occupation as checkweighman; then in 1874 he was appointed a permanent official, and removed to Durham. He continued in that position until his death on the 2nd of September 1900, at the age of seventy-seven. He was an ideal president. It is not saying too much--his superior could not be found. The fact of his appointment to that position indicated the prominent part he took in the formation of the Union. He was more of an adviser than a platform speaker. He preferred a quiet, retiring life in which he could be useful rather than ornamental. Although shunning public notoriety he was no shirker when danger demanded the presence of men, for in all the explosions which happened during the term of his office he was one of the foremost; and almost single-handed he stood out for the dust theory when men of noted scientific knowledge were against him. _W. H. Patterson._--His life's work, from start to finish, was the most conclusive testimony as to the sincerity of his purpose. There were men then, as now, whose motive is the loaves and fishes, willing to gather where they strew not and reap where they have not sown; but Patterson was not one of these. From the time when, but a mere boy living at Windy Nook, he threw himself into the work, with earnestness and energy, until his death, when a comparatively young man, he devoted himself and the best he could give to the establishment of and care for the Union. When it prospered no man was more cheerful, and when dark times came upon it his sorrow was genuine and large. He was not a Crawford (few were), yet for persistent plodding he was equal to any. With youthful buoyancy, and a heart full of desire and determination, he was the very man for the position in which he was placed. It would have been a useful addition to our own literature if he had placed on record the hardships he, with "Tommy Ramsey" endured in 1870-72. They lodged many a time in a room the walls of which were the horizon and the lamps the stars above them. Money was not plentiful, and it was not every person who dared to take an agitator in to lodge. It was in many quarters considered a crime almost deserving of capital punishment. "_Tommy Ramsey._"--What can be said of "Tommy"? He was a most perfect type of an old school miner, and a sound Trades Unionist, one of the heroes of '44. There are numbers of men in the county who will remember the rugged old warrior in the noble cause, just as the picture hanging in the Hall describes him--a rough but true diamond of the first water. With bills under his arm and crake in hand he went from row to row announcing the meetings and urging the men to attend. His words were few, but forcible; not polished, but very pointed--and they went home. Like Longfellow's arrow shot in the air, they found a resting-place. He had one speech, the peroration of which was something like the following:--"Lads, unite and better your condition. When eggs are scarce, eggs are dear; when men are scarce, men are dear." It was impossible to miss the meaning in those words. Their simplicity was their greatest eloquence. His work was far from pleasant or safe. The writer of this was witness of a brutal attack on the old man by a bully who would disgrace any place in which he lived. This antipodes of a man, to curry favour with the manager, and to please those who bought him body and what soul he had, ill used Ramsey, and burnt his crake. At the subsequent meeting Crawford was wild in his denunciations. The words still ring in my ears. Brave old "Tommy" cared not; he got a new crake, and turned it with more emphasis. Grand old Ramsey, you are right now; if not, many of us have a poor chance. You in your way, in accordance with your ability, tried to open the prison doors to those who were bound, and to stir up a love of freedom in the breast of those who were in willing slavery. [Illustration: T. RAMSEY] THE OPPOSITION TO THE BUILDING This was fourfold, and it may be interesting to look at these _seriatim_. The first was not in the least unexpected. At that time Capital and Labour were looked upon as being natural enemies, and all their relations were on that principle. We see now how foolish is that idea. Then conflict and doubt formed the atmosphere which surrounded the two great parties in the industrial world. If men having common interest joined themselves, in order that they might act for the common welfare, the leaders were to be dealt with harshly, and if necessary banished. It was no infrequent occurrence, when the spirit of Union was abroad, for men to be driven away from localities they loved and from associations endeared by years of enjoyment. This was done with the view that terror might be struck into the hearts of others. The principle was: Drive away the shepherd and the sheep will flee. So much was that spirit abroad that in many places the establishment of the Permanent Relief Fund was treated coldly, obstacles thrown in its way, if not bitterly opposed, because it was regarded as the thin edge of the Union wedge. What more natural than for fierce opposition to rear itself, with threats for the braver spirits, and bribes and allurements for those whose nature was susceptible to such influences? Ale-houses were used as a means for preventing Unionism taking root and spreading. The sorrow of it is there have always been spirits who are ready to act meanly when required. This opposition was, therefore, to meet and bear down and convince that a trades organisation was not an institution prone to evil, and set up for no other purpose. The men who are alive to-day, and who took part in that opposition, would, we may assert with confidence, confess their mistake if they were interviewed on the subject. Then the law was against the Trades Unionists. We complain now, but they had more reason in those days. We must lift ourselves into the condition of things prior to the 1875 Act, which did a great deal towards equalising the positions of the employer and employed. The Master and Servants Act, with all its one-sided applications, was in force. For a long time an agitation was carried on for its repeal, but after twenty years the only result was the appointment of a select committee to inquire into the operation of the law. The law was very unequal. It had been framed on the principle that the workman alone was inclined to do wrong, and therefore wanted hedging in and punishing. In the year 1865 there were 1100 arrests under the Act in the country. Eight hundred of the accused were sent to prison. An Amending Act was passed in 1867, but between that time and 1875, 774 were convicted. "The state of the law was simply infamous. Its provisions made it a criminal act if a workman broke a contract, even under the most justifiable circumstances. He was arrested by warrant, and if the breach of contract was proved the magistrate was bound to inflict the punishment of imprisonment with hard labour. If, on the other hand, the employer broke the contract, ever so flagrantly, he could only be summoned by a civil process, and his punishment was simply a fine." [Illustration: J. H. VEITCH] Then they were hindered by a system of boycotting before the word became proverbial. It was not merely difficult, but impossible in some places to get a meeting-place. The writer knows of one colliery where a place could not be got. Even the co-operative hall was closed against the Union, and the Union money had to be taken in the corner of a field. Beyond this, in Durham the printers refused to do the Union printing--all except Mr J. H. Veitch, who dared almost social ostracism and took the work, and the connection then formed has continued up till now. The refusal arose from two reasons--first, there was a fear that the Union would not be able to pay for the printing; and second, Trades Unions were in bad odour in the county generally, and none the less in Durham. There was none of the respectability about the institutions there is now, and little hope of them. Broadheadism at Sheffield, with its destructive policy, had filled men's minds with fear. The form of reasoning was: "Trades Unions are guilty of these evil things; this is a Trades Union, therefore it will be guilty of doing evil." Just as logical as if a man had said: "Murder is committed in England; these people are English, therefore they will commit murder." Mr J. H. Veitch (all honour to him) had none of those fears, nor that false logic. He took the work when social ostracism was in the air. We cannot forget the act nor the man. Another great obstacle against which they had to contend was a host of anonymous writers, who wrote behind a variety of _nom de plumes_--such as "Geordie Close," which covered W. P. Shield, and "Jacky Close," but none under their own names. These writers used the most scurrilous and slanderous language about, and attributed the vilest motives to the men who were at the head of the movement. The situation was a complete analogue to that when Nehemiah commenced to build the walls of Jerusalem. Sanballat and Tobiah and Geshem laughed him to scorn, and despised him, and said: "What is this thing that ye do; will ye rebel against the king?" But as those sneerers in the far-off Jewish times had no effect on the builders of that day, so in those days the founders of our Association, the builders of our broken walls, heeded not those snarlers of thirty-six years ago, and the result is an all-round benefit. The greatest of all the species of opposition they had to meet arose from the apathy and indifference of the people. Although the condition was bad in the extreme, yet often the earnest spirits and others scattered about the county had to ask each other, in the query of the prophet: "Who hath believed our report?" The state of apathy was quite natural. It was not because there was no real love of Union; it was the outcome of repeated failures. "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick." There had been spasmodic attempts at associated effort. The result was a feeling of hopelessness. Like men of whom we read in waterlogged ships or analogous situations on land, having tried oft to save themselves, they give up in despair, and say "Kismet," like an Eastern fatalist. The hold this feeling had on the mind is seen in the small results for a considerable time after the Association commenced. A thousand or two was their whole membership, their council was their committee as well, and the numbers so small that a room in an ordinary hotel could with ease contain them. At their meetings, sparse in attendance, they were often insulted and sometimes maltreated by the men they had come to help. In this alone there was sufficient to deter them, and to lead men of talent and energy (such as they were) to turn themselves to other objects in life; but they loved their class, and, while they had aspirations for better conditions, they desired to raise their fellows with themselves. Any one of them could have made a position in other directions if their aims had been selfish; but they were men of different mould, and they were inspired by the love of the cause, and confident in its ultimate success if once they could clear away the dark pessimism which had fixed itself in the minds of the workmen. For this they endured the hardship and faced the opposition, until finally men saw the solidity and permanency of their work, with the result that the institution they founded occupies a rightly deserved foremost place among Trades Unions. 1872 The Coal Owners' Association--The Abolition of the Bond--First general Advance--Formation of the Joint Committee--First Gala--Mines Regulation Act--Second Advance _The Coal Owners' Association._--One of the results of the formation of the organisation was the commencement of the Durham Coal Owners' Association. There had been an association under the name of "The North of England United Coal Trade Association," but its functions were vastly different from those of the present organisation. Then the sphere of operations was parliamentary and legal, but the new body was formed for trade purposes. The first meeting to consider such a step was held on February 1st, 1872. There was an adjournment for a fortnight, when a set of rules was submitted setting forth the conditions of membership, contributions, the assistance to be rendered, and the appointment of officers. The chairman and vice-chairman were respectively Hugh Taylor and W. Stobart, and the secretary was T. W. Bunning. No sooner was the Association formed than communications were opened with the Miners' Association, as the following letter will show:-- Neville Hall, Coal Trade Office, Newcastle-on-Tyne, _Feb. 5th, 1872._ Mr Crawford, my dear Sir,--I am directed to inform you that, at a large meeting of the representatives of the household coal collieries, held here last Saturday, it was resolved-- That it is considered desirable that a meeting should be held between the coal owners and a deputation of the representatives of the workmen, at one o'clock on Saturday, the 17th instant, at the Coal Trade Office, to discuss the various questions now in agitation by the workmen, with a view to their adjustment, and that a copy of this resolution be forwarded to Mr Crawford. Will you be as kind as to acknowledge the receipt of this letter, and let me have the names of the deputation who will attend. I beg to remain, dear Sir, very respectfully yours, THEO. WOOD BUNNING. [Illustration: (Back Row).--N. WILKINSON. (_Treasurer._) W. H. PATTERSON. (_Vice-President._) M. THOMPSON. T. RAMSEY. G. JACKSON. J. FORMAN. (Front Row).--W. ASKEW. W. CRAWFORD. (_President and Secretary._) J. HANDY. T. MITCHESON. The First Deputation from the Durham Miners' Association to the Coal Trade Office, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, February 17, 1872] There were about a score of representatives of the employers present during the meeting, while ten delegates, representing 20,000 workmen, took part in the conference on the latter's behalf. Mr Hugh Taylor occupied the chair, and the delegates were introduced by Mr Crawford. The first question for discussion by the conference was then brought forward--viz. the yearly bindings. At the outset the employers intimated that they were perfectly willing to abolish the bond, and establish in its place either monthly or fortnightly agreements, giving preference to the former. The workmen's delegates at once intimated their readiness to abolish the yearly bond, and thanked the masters most kindly for the manner in which they had met them on that question. The men proposed in the place of the yearly bond to establish a fortnightly agreement, and it was ultimately decided to discuss the terms of the agreement at a second meeting to be held shortly. The next matter was the question of the hours of boy labour, but after a short conversation it was also agreed to allow this question to stand over until the second meeting. The next question was with reference to an advance of wages. On this point the owners admitted that the men ought to share the present prosperous condition of the trade, the only difference of opinion that arose being what that share ought to be. The employers were of opinion that they and the men ought to meet as two associations--the combined masters on the one side and the combined workmen on the other--and discuss the question as to what would be fair to both parties. It was suggested at the same time that any advance asked or conceded should be based on prices in force at bound and unbound collieries of the county of Durham in April 1871. On the part of the employers it was pointed out that a great many collieries had at the present time presented petitions for an advance of wages, and in some cases they had intimated their decision of laying the pits idle in case their demands were not conceded, and it was now suggested that the delegates from the workmen present should do their utmost to get the petitions placed in abeyance until the next conference was held. This was readily agreed to, and the meeting then terminated. It is satisfactory to note that during the continuance of the conference a most pleasant and amicable feeling prevailed on both sides. The Association being formed and officered preparation was made for the removal of grievances. The first to which attention was turned was the abolition of the "Yearly Bond." For a long time there had been a protest against the system of partial slavery implied in a contract covering a year. The system was as follows:--On a Saturday near the 20th of March the whole of the workmen were called to the colliery office, and there the manager would read over (nearly always in tones inaudible to all except those who were close to him) the conditions of labour for the next twelve months. There was usually a balancing of the prices. As an inducement to the men there was, say, a sovereign given to the first man bound, ten shillings to the second, five shillings to the third, and then two shillings and sixpence to every man after. The crush to secure the first place was generally so great that the manager was fortunate if he were not carried off his feet. As a preparation for this rush certain men would be bribed to incite, and thus induce men to act in an unthinking manner. This bare outline will suffice to show the evil of the "Bond," and that it was a wise step on the part of the newly-formed organisation to attempt to substitute a shorter term of contract. The first meeting for that purpose between the employers and workmen was held on February 17th, 1872. As this was the first united meeting in a series which has been for the benefit of all concerned it will be interesting to place on record the letter from the employers inviting the representatives of the Miners' Association to meet them. Of course, the employers were made aware of the desire amongst the people for this and other reforms, and that knowledge induced them to arrange matters amicably if possible. Another thing was in favour of the workmen: not only was their Union gathering strength, but the state of trade was in their favour. One result of the war between France and Prussia was to increase the demand for British coal, the result being a coal famine and excessive prices. The old pit heaps even were sent away, and a common saying at the time was: "Anything black was sold for coal." A conflict, therefore, would have been a dangerous and destructive thing. (_First General Advance_) IMPORTANT CONFERENCE OF COLLIERY OWNERS AND MINERS' AGENTS IN NEWCASTLE (_Durham Chronicle Account_) Agreeably to an arrangement made at the conference between the colliery owners and the miners' delegates held on the 17th inst. an adjourned meeting between the two bodies took place on Saturday at the Wood Memorial Hall, Newcastle. There was a large attendance of the masters, Mr Hugh Taylor, Chipchase, being in the chair. Mr W. Crawford, President of the Durham Miners' Mutual Confident Association, acted as principal spokesman for the miners' delegates, who were eight in number. It will be remembered that at the last meeting the masters agreed to the abolition of the yearly bond, and the first question, therefore, taken into consideration at the present conference, was the nature of the future agreement between the masters and the men. On the one hand, the employers suggested monthly notices on both sides; but the men on the other hand were unanimous in the request for a fortnightly notice, with the option of either giving or receiving the same on any day except Sunday. After some discussion, the masters acceded to the wishes of the men on this point. The next question taken into consideration was the advance in pay demanded by the men. A proposition for an increase of 35 per cent. on all prices paid in April last was submitted by the delegates, who, in answer to questions by the owners, admitted that the advance requested appeared to be a large one, but they urged that it was made in consequence of the low rate of remuneration received by the miners of the county at the time referred to. To this advance the owners objected on the ground that it was excessive. They also urged that for several years past coal had been low in the market, and the working of pits had been unremunerative, and submitted that it was unfair on the part of the workmen, when a slightly better price had been obtained, to make an exorbitant demand. They also pointed out that the advance asked for was greatly in excess of that obtained by the miners in other parts of the country. To this argument the delegates replied that they were of opinion that the advance asked for was not greater than the excessive profits of the masters would allow to pay; in fact they only wanted a reasonable ratio of the profits made by their labour, and they were also of opinion that the 35 per cent. advance would not place the miners of the county of Durham on an equality with the workmen of other counties. After some further discussion, the delegates intimated that they would be satisfied, if the owners did not feel disposed to give the increase asked for, with the average score price paid in Northumberland and South Yorkshire. They were willing, if the masters would divide the two last mentioned counties into four quarters each, and would select, according to arrangement, two collieries from each of the eight quarters, to accept the averages of the prices paid at the sixteen collieries as the standard scale in the county of Durham. The owners, after hearing this proposition, asked the deputation if the average would be accepted by the men at those collieries in the county who were at present working for only 5 per cent. less than the proposed standard. The delegates replied that every such colliery would accept the average if the masters would give it to the men of those collieries who were at present working for 50 per cent. less than the average named. After some further discussion the delegates retired. On being called back into the room they were informed by the chairman that the owners did not think it was desirable to go to either Northumberland or South Yorkshire for an average, as they were of opinion that they were quite competent to manage their own affairs; and that they had agreed, in a spirit of conciliation, to offer an advance of 20 per cent. on all prices over and above all consideration money paid on April last. The deputation stated that they had no authority to accept the offer of the owners, but they would in due course communicate it to the general body of the men. The conference shortly afterwards broke up. The day fixed for a meeting on this question was the 2nd of March. In the meantime a special Council meeting was held in the Town Hall, Durham, Mr W. Crawford, as President, occupying the chair. There were present 160 delegates, and the members represented were about 20,000. The business was the discussion of the matters to come before the employers and the appointment of a deputation to attend the meeting. The adjourned conference was held on Thursday, March 21st, and for the purpose of giving a proper knowledge I herewith record the press report from _The Durham Chronicle_. CONFERENCE BETWEEN DURHAM COAL OWNERS AND WORKMEN Another conference between the Durham coal owners and a deputation of the workmen of the county took place on Thursday sennight in the Wood Memorial Hall, Newcastle. The chair was occupied by Mr J. B. Simpson, Low Hedgefield, and there was a good attendance of the representatives of the owners, the deputation being, as at previous meetings, headed by Mr W. Crawford. Before proceeding to the disposal of the questions for which the conference had been convened, it was intimated to the deputation that Haswell Colliery was idle. It was explained that the workmen at that colliery had received an advance of 6d. per score on last April's prices in November last, and they now wanted an advance of 20 per cent. on that concession. A telegram was also produced which intimated that a strike on the same ground had occurred that morning at Castle Eden Colliery. The course adopted by these two collieries was utterly opposed to the arrangement which had been made between the two Associations of employers and workmen at their conference, and the representatives of the former body intimated that if such constant violations of the arrangements arrived at at these interviews were to continue, it would be better to break off all negotiations at once, and each side follow its own policy. The members of the deputation expressed their utter surprise and utter ignorance of the events that had occurred at the collieries named, the first intimation of which they had received was at that meeting, and they desired to be allowed a private consultation before they proceeded further. After a short consultation in private, the deputation drew up the following telegram, the substance of which they communicated to the employers:-- We regret to hear that Haswell and Castle Eden Collieries are idle. You must know that you are wrong, and we strongly advise you to commence work to-morrow, otherwise steps will be taken to repudiate such reprehensible conduct, and if necessary the strongest action will be taken in the matter. This was deemed satisfactory, and the conference then proceeded to the business which had drawn them together--viz. the remuneration of the offhanded men and boys. The employers stated that they had agreed to give all offhanded men and boys who work underground 20 per cent. advance on last April's prices, the same as they had conceded to the hewers. To the men who work above ground--viz. to the cinder drawers, joiners, blacksmiths, firemen, screenmen, and banksmen, and all other men and boys, with the exception of the enginemen and a few rare cases of cinder drawers--they offered an advance of 12½ per cent. on last April's prices. The deputation, while expressing their perfect satisfaction with the underground men and boys' advance, suggested the propriety of the same advance being extended to all those men, as enumerated, who work above bank. On the part of the employers, however, it was stated that the reason only 12½ per cent. was offered to the above-bank men was that a reduction of 8 per cent. in their working hours had been conceded; and further that their work was not of so risky and dangerous a nature as that of the underground men, and also that there was always a superabundance of men willing to work on the screens, and to do other work above bank. After a conversation, the terms offered by the employers for both descriptions of men were accepted. The report of the interview was given to a delegate meeting, Mr Crawford again presiding. The number of delegates was very large. The points under discussion were the two offers contained in the report above. It was agreed that the offer of the owners should be accepted, with the understanding that it come into operation at once. This was the whole of the important business discussed. It will serve no useful purpose to deal with every local strike, they are incidental to the main course. Mention will only be made when any incident cognate to the general purpose be connected with them. With that idea in view I refer to the strike at Seaham. This strike commenced on Monday, 17th May. The main causes of the stoppage were the length of the hours of the hewers and the time when the shifts should be worked. The hours of the putters had been reduced from twelve to ten, the pit at the time being a single or day shift. With the reduction of the hours the employers wanted to arrange for two shifts of putters and three shifts of hewers. Against this the workmen not only protested, but stopped work without notice. Two things are noticeable, and of interest to us. We have the first breach of discipline, and the first instance of censure of the general officials, because, in accordance with the obligations of their office, they enforced the rules of the Association, and candidly and clearly told the men their opinion. The cause of complaint with reference to Mr Crawford and the officials of the Union, was a telegram sent to the lodge, which, with slight verbal variation, has formed the model of all sent since under the same circumstances. It read as follows:--"Do go to work. You must know you are wrong. You will get no support. Liable to punishment. Do return." For sending that message Mr Crawford was subject to some very scurrilous remarks at the meetings which were held in connection with the strike. These remarks called forth a public reply. In the press of that day is found a letter which contains an unflinching and manly statement of the facts of the case: the cause of the strike, the illegal position of the men, and an extenuation of the action of himself and his colleagues. I quote the concluding words. After pointing out how expeditious the agents had been in their attendance to the matter in dispute, how they (the men) were striking against their own agreement, how he had been vilified, and how his views were still unchanged, he wrote: The report of yesterday's proceedings at Seaham Colliery has not changed my views on this matter. I repeat it, the men are in the wrong, and even liable to punishment. A miner characterised the telegram as an insult to the men at that colliery. Of this I have not the slightest doubt. I have recently been accused of both insults and incivility; and why? Because, as in the case of Seaham, my opinion has been asked, or advice sought, and where such opinion or advice has been adverse to their own preconceived ideas of right or wrong, and they have been told so decisively but courteously, then I became uncivil! These are the men who can prate about liberty of speech and freedom of action, and yet, because they are supposed to subscribe their mite towards a person's maintenance,--every penny of which is doubly worked for,--would only allow his tongue to utter words in accordance with their own crude and contracted views, even though such words were a mere utterance of the most glaring untruths, and a flagrant violation of all the rules now in operation as between masters and servants in their respective relations to each other. I willingly admit that these are but a small minority among the 30,000 members now composing our Association. From the men I have received the utmost consideration, demonstrating by their conduct, that they will give to those whom they employ that treatment which they would like to receive from those by whom they themselves are employed. I commenced my present agency amongst the miners of Durham on May 16th, 1870. From then, till now, I have done my utmost to protect and further their interests in a fair and equitable manner. Where I have deemed the doings of owners or agents to be wrong, I have not been slow to condemn them, and what I have done will do again; and where I have found the workmen to be wrong, I have pursued the same course, unhesitatingly making known my views without the slightest hesitation. If any man or number of men are mean and cowardly enough to think that I shall sit and become a mere machine of repetition, I beg to clearly intimate that they are sadly mistaken. I shall retain my individuality intact, holding myself free to unreservedly express my opinion of all matters which in any way may effect the welfare of our Association, being always willing to retrace my steps, if shown wherein I am wrong; but holding on, amid the folly of fools and the abuse of knaves, if convinced that I am right. And in conclusion, allow me to say that, if such doings are not in keeping with those of the men, the sooner I am replaced the better. A Council meeting was held on the 25th of May in the Town Hall, Durham. The only thing of note was a proposition for the establishment of an institution for the benefit of old men. Nothing definite was done in the matter. After discussing it the Council decided to refer the matter to the Executive Committee, with instructions to draw up a plan or plans to be submitted to the county for acceptance or rejection. In this we have the germ which eventually developed, through the Permanent Relief Fund, into the Superannuation Fund, which has been such a blessing to hundreds of aged miners in the northern counties. On Saturday, June 1st, an important conference was held between the coal owners and a deputation of representatives of the Association. The deputation consisted of J. Forman (President), W. Crawford (Secretary), W. H. Patterson (Agent), N. Wilkinson (Treasurer), T. Mitcheson, Coundon, M. Thompson, Murton, G. Jackson, and H. Davison, Thornley. The first question was the dispute at Seaham and the night shift in general. There was a long discussion, and eventually the employers promised not to commence any more night-shift pits unless it were a case of absolute necessity. The conference next turned its attention to the first rank for pony putters. The proposal of the men was that the distance should be 100 yards. It will be as well to say here that afterwards the distance was fixed at that number of yards. The next subject was as to how many tubs should constitute a score. There was no uniformity in the county. Although twenty of anything is generally reckoned a score, yet at some collieries it was as high as twenty-five. The object was to reduce it to twenty, and the deputation was willing to rearrange the prices wherever the number was reduced. The owners thought it unwise to alter the arrangements, and suggested an adjournment, which was agreed to. The last question was the arrangement of a uniform time for the foreshift men to go down. The custom varied; at some places it was as early as one or two in the morning. The hour named by the representatives of the workmen was from four o'clock. The employers had no very strong objection, except that of interfering with other classes of labour--such as cokemen, waiters-on, and others who would have to commence later, and therefore be later at work. The deputation replied by instancing the Peases firm, where the system had been introduced and was working satisfactorily. The employers asked for time to consult the trade, and promised to inform the coal trade how emphatic the workmen were in their desire for the change. THE FIRST GALA ON THE RACE-COURSE, DURHAM Beyond this gala, which may be truly classed as the first, there will not be any need to mention the yearly gatherings in this history. Its importance compels notice. Important it was, for two reasons--first, its place in the series; and second, because of the public feeling, and in many quarters fear, which was felt as to the consequence of bringing such a large number of the miners and massing them in the city. As showing the state of feeling I will insert a portion of an article which appeared in _The Durham Chronicle_ for Friday, June 14th, 1872. The coming demonstration has occasioned not a few timid residents much uneasiness during the past few days, on account, as they imagine, of the extreme likelihood of the affair resulting in a scene of riot and disorder, and two or three nervous females in business in the town have so far given way to their fears that they have actually consulted their friends as to the propriety of closing their shops in order to protect their persons and property from "those horrid pitmen!" Even the borough magistrates, too, seem to have had an idea that the dog-fighting and pitch-and-toss portion of the mining community was going to be introduced into the city by the approaching gathering, for they declined when first requested to grant the usual licences to the proprietors of the refreshment booths. A full meeting of the borough magistrates was, however, subsequently held, and the Bench after hearing a statement from Mr Crawford, the principal agent of the Durham Miners' Association, relative to the object of the miners in assembling together agreed to issue the required certificates. For our own part, we have not the slightest doubt of the proceedings being characterised by anything but the best of feeling and order on the part of the men taking part in the demonstration, which we are sure is intended to partake more of the character of a monster "outing" of a class of men whose only desire is to discuss amongst themselves the best means of improving, in a rational and legal manner, their condition, rather than an assemblage of either political or social conspirators and agitators. Almost the worst contingency, however, has been anticipated, as there will be a force of 40 policemen on the ground, the expense of the attendance of 20 of whom will be borne by the Miners' Association, whilst the remuneration of the remaining 20 will be defrayed from the funds of the borough watch rate. In addition to this, many tradesmen barricaded their shop windows, and an urgent request was made to the Mayor to have soldiers in readiness. Mr J. Fowler stood in defence. His reply was characteristic, but correct: "I know the pitmen better than you, and there is no fear." He was borne out by the proceedings, which were in the highest degree satisfactory. The first part of the procession came in at 7.30 A.M., and from first to last the most complete good order obtained. There were in all 180 collieries present--the membership of the Association being 32,000. The speakers were A. M'Donald, then President of the National Association of Miners; W. Brown, Stafford; and T. Burt, Northumberland. The local speakers were W. Crawford, W. H. Patterson, H. Davison (Thornley), N. Wilkinson, T. Mitcheson, G. ("General") Jackson, T. Ramsey, and W. Askew. The following resolutions were submitted:-- 1. The change which during the past twelve months has taken place in the position of the Durham Miners' Association, both numerically and financially, ought to be encouraging to all who take an interest in its welfare. During that period differences, as in other places, have arisen; but, so far, they have been managed without a single pit having been stopped, or the loss of any work whatever. This is a condition of things which, taken all together, ought to give the utmost satisfaction to all parties concerned. 2. This meeting begs to utter its indignant protest against the action of the Select Committee in the way they have amended the Payment of Wages Bill. It at the same time most earnestly calls upon Government to restore it to its original form by amendment whilst it is under the consideration of the committee of the whole House. It further begs to state that no measure will be satisfactory to the miners of the county of Durham that does not contain payment of wages weekly without any reduction whatever. 3. That this meeting also has learnt with surprise that it has been stated that the miners of Durham do not want weekly payment of their wages, and that they are not aggrieved with the present reduction. They beg to give the statement, by whomsoever made, an unqualified denial. 4. This meeting likewise looks upon the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1871 as an insult to the working classes of this country. It at the same time pledges itself to every legal means to have the law repealed or so modified as that all classes in the country will be alike in the eye of the law. 5. That this meeting regards arbitration as a logical way of settling those differences which in trade necessarily arise between employers and employed. Arbitration recognises the right of both parties to put forth views, and leads to examination or investigation, which tends to avoid strikes and lockouts, with all their commercial ruin and social misery. It has now for a short time been in operation amongst the miners of Durham, and we are able to speak to beneficial results; and we most heartily wish to have a continuance and extension of the principle. 6. That a copy of the foregoing resolutions be sent to the Prime Minister and Home Secretary. With this all too brief reference we must leave this, our first race-course gathering. If anyone be desirous of reading a very full description of the collieries attending, with their numbers on the books, the banners with their inscriptions and designs, and the speeches, let him refer to _The Durham Chronicle_ for June 21st of that year. Suffice it here to say that the day was all that could be desired. The old city was enlivened and its trade enhanced. The great crowd came and went in good order. The fears of the fearful were shown to be groundless, and the good behaviour initiated that day, amid the firing of the cannons in Wharton Park, has never varied up to the last of this series of gatherings. The cannons were fired at the expense of T. Ramsey. THE SECOND ADVANCE IN WAGES On Friday, the 12th of July 1872, a meeting took place between the employers' and workmen's representatives. The meeting was arranged in response to a request for an advance of fifteen per cent. on the rate of wages. Mr H. Taylor occupied the chair. The deputation was headed by Mr W. Crawford. At the outset of the meeting the owners complained that the men were neglecting work to a very great extent, causing a diminution in the output of not less than twenty per cent. as compared with the previous twelve months. Statistics showed that the average working time of the hewers was not more than eight days per fortnight. That entailed heavy loss on the owners, and while such neglect of work continued they could not grant the advance asked for, and they suggested the propriety of having a clause inserted in all agreements, that the men should be compelled to work at least thirty-five hours per week before claiming the highest price paid at the colliery. That meant the system of bonus money paid at many collieries, and the deputation emphatically refused it, and said they were not asking because of the state of trade only, but because of the very low condition of their wages which had obtained in Durham for so long, and which they hoped to raise, even if trade became depressed. The deputation was asked to retire, and on their return were handed the following resolution:-- The Association [Owners'] has decided to give 10 per cent. advance to all underground workmen, including banking-out men; but excepting pony putters, who are to be dealt with after the putting question has been settled in Northumberland; and 7½ per cent. to the whole of the above-ground labour; enginemen, both above and below ground, to be excepted. This advance to be on present prices, and to date from the pay commencing nearest the first day of August. This offer was brought before a special Council meeting held on Saturday, the 13th, Mr John Forman presiding. The report of the meeting with the employers was given by Mr Crawford, who went very fully into the reasons why the advance of fifteen per cent. was claimed. The Council adopted the following series of resolutions:-- 1. That in the opinion of this meeting we are more than justified in asking the 15 per cent. on present prices, which is being sought by our Association. There never was a time when the price of coals approximated to what they are at the present time, and in justice we believe that we ought to fully share in that increase and increasing prosperity. On the 8th day of the present month the following are quotations from the London Coal Market:--Kelloe, 26s. 3d.; South Hetton and Lambton, 27s.; and Hetton, 27s. 6d. Having seen coals sold in the same market for as little as 13s. per ton, or more than cent. per cent. less than now, we certainly conclude that we are more than justified in seeking 6d. or even 1s. out of 14s. or 15s. This being so, we abide by the 15 per cent. now being asked for all classes of workmen, above and below ground. 2. That the owners be requested to meet our deputation on Friday next for the purpose of reconsidering the 15 per cent. advance, or if possible on a more early day. 3. That this meeting deplores the oft-repeated statement of coal owners and others relative to the amount of work at present lost by the miners in the county of Durham. We cannot with our present knowledge admit the accuracy of these statements, but believe, on the contrary, that such statements are very greatly overdrawn, and thus an entire false impression is being conveyed to the public mind, and a positive injury done to a large body of men. We have again and again declared that in our opinion men ought to attend their work as regularly as possible, believing that to do so is for the benefit of themselves as well as the employers, and we again urge our members to be as regular as possible in their attendance at work, so as alike to benefit themselves and deprive all parties from so maligning them. The adjourned meeting with the owners took place on Friday, July 19th, when Mr H. Taylor again occupied the chair. The owners repeated their complaint about the loss of work, and asked whether the deputation were willing to give any guarantee that the men would in future work more regularly. They could not give such a guarantee, but said their Council meeting had agreed to recommend the men to work as regularly as possible. With this assurance the owners then handed the following resolution to the deputation:-- We have decided to give 15 per cent. advance to all underground workmen--including banking-out men--except pony putters (who are to be dealt with after the putting question has been settled in Northumberland), and 10 per cent. to the whole of the above-ground workmen, enginemen (both above and below) excepted. This advance to be on present prices, and to date from pays commencing nearest to Monday the 22nd and Monday the 29th of July. The deputation were not satisfied with the reservation as to the putters, and after some further discussion it was agreed to make the advance applicable to them as to the other underground workmen. FORMATION OF JOINT COMMITTEE It will be interesting to give this important step in detail. It was first mentioned in connection with certain meetings which were held mainly on the wages question or the abolition of the yearly bond. While discussing these matters Mr Crawford, on behalf of the deputation, mentioned the advisability of forming a committee of six on either side to consider local disputes and changes in wages. The first formal action taken by the employers was on July 12th, 1872, when the following resolution was adopted at their meeting:-- JOINT COMMITTEE.--Mr Crawford was also informed that on the motion of Mr Lindsay Wood, seconded by Mr Hunter, a Committee consisting of the following gentlemen:--Hugh Taylor, W. Stobart, W. Hunter, C. Berkley, R. F. Matthews and Lindsay Wood had been appointed to meet a Committee from the Miners' Union, to draw up rules for guiding the Association in receiving demands from the workmen. It was arranged with Mr Crawford, that the Committee from the Miners' Union should meet the above-formed Committee at 10.30 on Friday, the 19th inst. The suggested meeting was held on 19th July, when the following recommendation was agreed to:-- JOINT COMMITTEE.--It was agreed to recommend--That six members of each Association should meet every fortnight and discuss all demands except cases of consideration in temporary bad places, the consideration to be given in such places to be settled from fortnight to fortnight by the agents of the collieries affected. All demands to come through Mr Crawford, who is to give the agents of the colliery and the Secretary of this Association, at least three clear days' notice of the nature of the demands that it is intended to prefer at the next meeting. As a result of this recommendation a meeting was held on the 2nd of August, and the first code of rules was arranged. The names of the parties at the meeting are in the following list:-- _Owners_ Hugh Taylor. W. Stobart. Lindsay Wood. John Taylor. J. B. Simpson. C. Berkley. P. Cooper. W. Hunter. R. F. Matthews. T. T. Smith. _Workmen_ W. Crawford. W. H. Patterson. N. Wilkinson. J. Jackson. J. Forman. T. Mitcheson. R. B. Sanderson occupied the chair. The following rules were agreed to:-- The object of the Committee shall be to arbitrate, appoint arbitrators, or otherwise settle all questions (except such as may be termed county questions or questions affecting the general trade) relating to matters of wages, practices or working, or any other subject which may arise from time to time at any particular colliery, and which shall be referred to the consideration of the Committee by the parties concerned. The Committee shall have full power to settle all disputes, and their decision shall be final and binding upon all parties in such manner as the Committee may direct. The Committee shall consist of six representatives chosen by the Miners' Union and six representatives chosen by the Coal Owners' Association. At meetings of this Committee it shall be deemed that there shall be no quorum unless at least three members of each Association be present. Each meeting shall nominate its own chairman, who shall have no casting vote. In case of equality of votes upon any question, it shall be referred to two arbitrators, one to be chosen by the members of each Association present at the meeting. These arbitrators to appoint an umpire in the usual way. Each party to pay its own expenses. The expenses of the umpire to be borne equally by the two Associations. Should any alteration of or addition to these rules be desired, notice of such change shall be given at the meeting previous to its discussion. If any member of the Committee is directly interested in any question under discussion, he shall abstain from voting, and a member of the opposite party shall also abstain from voting. When any subject is to be considered by the Committee, the Secretary of the Association by whom it is brought forward shall give notice thereof to the Secretary of the other Association, at least three clear days before the meeting at which it is to be considered. The Committee to meet every alternate Friday at half-past eleven o'clock. The first meeting of Joint Committee was held on 16th August. The members were: _Owners_ R. B. Sanderson, Chairman. C. Berkley. J. B. Simpson. J. Taylor. P. Cooper. R. F. Matthews. _Workmen_ W. Crawford. W. H. Patterson. J. Forman. N. Wilkinson. J. Jackson. T. Mitcheson. There were in all six cases, which, with their decisions, are as follows:-- _August 16th, 1872._ MURTON (_Stonemen_).--Demand for an advance of from 6d. to 8d. per day. To stand over for a fortnight to ascertain the average wages of the district. OAKENSHAW.--Demand for 1s. per score on the broken and a sliding scale similar to that in the whole. The 1s. per score in the broken was granted to date from (uncertain?). The sliding scale was waived by Mr Crawford and his Committee. SEAHAM.--Mr Matthews' report objected to,--referred, together with a question of removing bottom coal (Mr T. Taylor was chosen arbitrator by the Association); any concessions made by the arbitrators to date from Monday the 19th August. ETHERLEY.--Complaint that the banksmen and others have not received the different advances granted by the Association. Mr Lishman was desired to carry out the resolutions of the Association in their entirety. SOUTH DERWENT.--Complaint that the deputies have not got the 20 per cent. advance. Mr Dickenson, having stated the circumstances of the case and the wages paid, the complaint was withdrawn; it being considered that the deputies are fully in the receipt of the advances decided upon. WARDLEY.--Longwall skirting.--This turned upon the question as to whether it was intended by the arbitrators to include skirting in their award of the 25th March 1872, but it was decided that it was not so included, and that 8d. per yard extra should be given for skirting. SHIFTERS' WAGES.--Demand withdrawn. RAMBLE.--To be considered at the next meeting. It was agreed that full particulars of subjects to be discussed before the meeting should be given at least three clear days before the meeting. THE MINES REGULATION ACT In the session of 1871 a Mines Bill was under discussion, but was not carried through its various stages. It was again introduced in the session of 1872, and for a long time its fate was uncertain. Men from all the districts were up lobbying on behalf of the Bill. Mr Crawford was sent from Durham. A Council meeting was held on Saturday, 27th July. While the meeting was in progress a telegram was received from Mr Crawford as follows:-- Crawford, London, to Mr John Forman, Town Hall, Durham.--Many hours in the Lords last night. Happily disappointed. Bill passed satisfactory. Weighing clause safe. Boys ten hours from bank to bank. A vote of thanks was carried to Mr Crawford, the Government, and to the Home Secretary for the able manner in which he had conducted the Bill through Parliament. CLAIM FOR ADVANCE OF FIFTEEN PER CENT. At the ordinary Council meeting held on Saturday, 7th September, the number of members reported was 35,000. Mr Crawford gave the result of a conference which had taken place with the coal owners with respect to another advance of fifteen per cent. Nothing definite had been done, as the employers were indisposed to comply with the request, and it was adjourned for a fortnight. That meeting was held on Friday, September 27th, in Newcastle. The deputation was informed that the subject had been fully considered. Coals were falling in price, the demand was declining, and the commercial prospects were assuming a more unfavourable aspect, and therefore they could not give any further advance in wages. The meeting terminated, but the deputation expressed their dissatisfaction with the result, and they were supported in their objection by a Council which was held on Saturday, September 28th, and they were instructed to again meet the employers. 1873 The Mines Act--The third Advance--Death of "Tommy" Ramsey--The drawing Hours--The second Gala--Advance in Wages On January 1st the new Mines Act came into force. It is no part of this history to enter into all the changes made by the new measure, but there are three portions of it which deserve a brief notice--these are the weighing of minerals, the position of the checkweighman, and the hours of the boys. The weighing of minerals clause was to provide against the "Rocking" customs such as had obtained at the Brancepeth Collieries, and which had caused the "Rocking" strike. The new Act set forth that: Where the amount of wages paid to any of the persons employed in a mine to which this Act applies depends on the amount of mineral gotten by them, such persons shall, after the first day of August one thousand eight hundred and seventy-three, unless the mine is exempted by a Secretary of State, be paid according to the weight of the mineral gotten by them, and such mineral shall be truly weighed accordingly. The clause further provided for deductions and for exemptions by the Secretary of State from the weighing clause if it were proved that the exigencies of the mine warranted it. In a note to this section Mr Maskell W. Peace, Solicitor to the Mining Association of Great Britain, warned the employers that: "This is an entirely new enactment. Care must be taken to provide the necessary machines for carrying out the provisions by the 1st of August 1872." The portion of the Act relating to the appointment of the checkweighman was a great advance in the direction of freedom of choice. Prior to this the choice of the workmen was confined to those employed on the colliery subject to the confirmation of the manager, and the man chosen was as liable to be discharged as any other of the workmen for any reason. The new Act provided that one of the workmen could be chosen either from the mine or under the firm. He need not be sanctioned by the manager, and could only be removed "on the ground that such checkweigher has impeded or interfered with the working of the mine, or interfered with the weighing or has otherwise misconducted himself." The last provision gave rise to some very glaring removals for acts done away from the mine. These anomalies were corrected by the Act of 1887. THE HOURS OF BOYS There were two provisions in the new Act relating to the hours of boys. One was for those between the ages of ten and twelve, and they were for the purpose of employment in thin seams; their time was to be for only "six hours in any one day." The other provision (which still exists) was for boys between twelve and sixteen years. The weekly hours were fixed at fifty-four. This latter provision was the cause of some confusion, seeing the hours of drawing coal were twelve, and the difficulty was to bring these boys away without interfering with that. A very important Council was held in the Town Hall, Durham. There were two questions before the meeting--first, the demand for fifteen per cent. advance; and second, the working hours under the new Mines Regulation Act. As stated in the review of the previous year, meetings had been held on the advance in September, but the employers would not give way, and asked us to wait. In consequence there was a very strong feeling in the county which found expression at the Council. There was some complaint that the Executive Committee had not been so energetic in the matter as they ought to have been. Mr Crawford defended the Committee. An attempt was made to increase the amount claimed to thirty-five per cent., but in the end the original request was confirmed. The question of the number of hours the pits should draw coal was next considered. The employers were asking for eleven hours, but this was felt to be difficult because of the Act in its application to the boys under sixteen. There was a desire on the part of many delegates that the coal drawing should be limited to ten. During the discussion Mr Crawford said: No more important question could occupy their attention than that before the meeting. Not even the question of an advance exceeded it in importance, because whether or not that was given a great deal depended on how they settled the question of the hours. He might hold views very different to what were entertained by many in that room, but he was bound to state them. The question had occupied his attention, and he was of the opinion that the owners would be unable to keep the men fully employed for eleven hours. They had, however, requested to be allowed to work those hours, and they had a perfect right to do so if they could employ the men. At the same time, he did not believe they could keep the men employed during the last hour after the lads had gone to bank. Eventually it was resolved that the employers should have the unreserved right to draw coal eleven hours per day, providing they did not violate the Mines Act relative to the boys under sixteen, nor keep the men in the pit the last hour doing nothing. The meeting with the employers on the advance was held on February 8th, Mr Hugh Taylor presiding. In a very long statement he reviewed the state of the coal trade. He reminded the deputation that, although there had been delay, there had not been any breach of faith. He brought before them the question of short time, which was an evil not only to those engaged in the coal trade, but to the country at large. He urged again the request of the employers that there should be an agreement binding men to work so many hours at the coal face. The Mines Act had been passed. It did not satisfy anyone. All they asked was that the men should do their duty. In the face of these difficulties, but in the hope that the men would help them, they had decided on an all-round advance of fifteen per cent. There were some of the lodges who refused to carry out the eleven hours' arrangement, and with a view to induce them to do so the following circular was issued:-- TO THE MEMBERS OF THE DURHAM MINERS' ASSOCIATION Fellow-workmen,--In the inauguration of any new system, difficulties always occur; whether these difficulties are easily overcome, or otherwise, will much depend on the manner and extent to which men, or classes, are affected thereby. As a matter of consequence, we have found these difficulties amongst ourselves in putting into operation the new "Mines Regulation Bill." These have arisen from various causes. We have, first, a very erroneous impression gone forth, to the effect, that after the commencement of the new Mines Bill, on the first day of the present year, no pit, or no person in a pit, must work more than 10 hours per day, or 54 hours in any one week. In the Minutes of Committee Meeting, held on the 4th inst., we clearly and distinctly stated that this view was a wrong one. We again beg to emphatically state that the law, in this particular, affects only boys under 16 years of age, and that so far as regards all parties above this age, matters remain identically as they have been. It would appear, however, that in the face of this intimation, some collieries of men are still insisting on the general adoption of the 10 hours per day, and 54 hours per week. In addition to this, we have existing at many collieries, both where men work two and three shifts per day, difficulties as to what the working hours ought to be. Under these circumstances, the owners asked your deputation to meet them last week, for the purpose of discussing, and if possible arranging, some understood mode of action. This meeting took place, at Newcastle, on Friday last. The first question asked was, what objection we had to owners working their pits 11 hours per day, and 11 or 12 days per fortnight as usual, so long as they did not violate the Act of Parliament relative to boys under 16 years of age? After talking over the matter for a long time, we retired, and in consulting among ourselves, failed to see any reason why pits should not draw coals 11 hours per day as heretofore they had done. We returned and told them that we could see nothing to prevent them from working the pits 11 hours per day, if they thought desirable to do so, and they could find men or boys to bring the coals to bank; but that, in trying to carry this into effect, they must not keep men laying at their work for the last hour doing absolutely nothing, as, if such cases did occur, they would most certainly be complained of, and a remedy sought by an appeal to the Joint Committee, in which case they would be exposed to the entire county throughout. Respecting boys being brought into the pit an hour or two after work commences, or sent home an hour or two before the pit is done at night, we cannot see that any difficulties should exist. The question was asked, should a boy be sent home for the first 5 days, having worked less by far than the allotted 10 hours' per day, and such boy should purposely remain at home on the Saturday, would such boy claim his 5 days' pay, remembering that for 5 days he had worked short time for the very purpose of going to work on the Saturday? To this the owners demurred, when we suggested the desirability of seeing boys, or their parents, and making with them necessary arrangements. We may be told that the boys are sent home to suit the owner's convenience, but we must not forget, for whatever purpose sent home, that while they worked short time they were paid full hours, and we certainly cannot see the wisdom of preventing boys from receiving 6 days' pay for working 54 hours, when, but a short time ago, they worked 66 hours for the same money. The employers, by Act of Parliament, are compelled to reduce the working hours of boys under 16 years of age, but we cannot expect them to reduce the hours of all datal men, if work can be found for them for the ordinary time. We must not lose sight of one very important fact, viz., that a reduction of working hours to those who are paid a datal wage means an advance of price, a reduction of hours, from 11 to 10 per day, is equal to 9 per cent., which practically means 9 per cent. advance, seeing that the productive powers are lessened by so much. In this manner it must be seen too, that no boy under 16 years of age is allowed to be in the pit more than 10 hours in any one single day, or 54 hours in any one week. If this is strictly seen to, a great work has been accomplished, and don't let us spoil that which is really good by trying to accomplish too much. Those lodges who object to the pit drawing coal 11 hours per day, ought to bear in mind that a reduction to 10 hours is a very serious curtailment in the drawing or producing powers of the pit, and as such only tends to lessen the power of owners to pay good wages. The profits arising from the produce of any article are up to a given quantity consumed in paying current expenses; and, therefore, the more the produce is restricted, the less means are there at command wherewith to pay all classes of workmen. The disadvantages arising from the operation of the new Mines Act must necessarily tell heavily on the mine owners in the two Northern Counties, where the double-shift system is worked, and it would be an act of imprudence--not to say injustice--and materially militate against our own interests, to increase drawbacks beyond an absolutely necessary point. We would, therefore, strongly urge on all our associated collieries to allow the employers (1) to work their pits 11 hours per day, where they can find men or boys to keep them going that time, without, of course, infringing the law, relative to boys under 16 years of age. And (2) to allow boys to be sent home on one or more days, so as to make up six nine-hour shifts in the week. By this plan no workman can lose, while the boys would materially gain thereby. We have so far worked successfully, but that success has been greatly, if not altogether, owing to the caution we have exercised, and the general reasonableness of our requests, having at all times a respect for the right, while we have tried to bring into active operation the duties of capitalists. Let us not then mar that success by an imprudent or forward act of ours, particularly at a time when a change which must tell very severely on the interests of mine owners, and which, moreover, is of our own seeking, is just being introduced amongst us, and from which boys at least must gain immense advantages. By order of the Committee, Wm. Crawford, _Secretary_. Offices--16 North Road, Durham. _Jan. 20th, 1873._ While these questions were claiming and received the attention of Mr Crawford and his colleagues a foul attack was made upon him by G. ("General") Jackson of Nettlesworth. He published a number of letters, which were not very choice in language, but prolific in the lowest form of abuse. He spoke of "that fellow Crawford," "that bully" who was feathering his nest by defrauding. This went on until the Executive came to the defence of Mr Crawford. They published a circular, pointing out the false charges which had been made, and that Jackson was a member of the Committee during the period in which he alleged the misappropriation of money had taken place. They reminded him of the neglect of duty implied in his not exposing such things before, and ended the circular by saying: "Further this Committee begs respectfully to say that they have the greatest esteem for their secretary, Mr Crawford, and are fully convinced that he has always acted in harmony with the highest principles of moral rectitude." On Thursday, 8th of May, the first of the pioneers who crossed the border line, "Tommy" Ramsey, died at the house of his brother at Blaydon at the age of sixty-two. He was buried in the cemetery at Blaydon on Monday, the 12th. The number of people attending his funeral was a proof of the high esteem in which he was held. According to the account there were fifty of the Trimdon miners, where he worked last, present, while from collieries around Durham large numbers also attended. The procession was headed by the Blaydon Main banner. We have made a note about him, as one of the leaders, but we may add a few words from an obituary which was published at the time of his death. "Old Tommy," as his brother miners of every degree loved to call him, was chiefly known to the pitmen at large as a Unionist. With a face furrowed with care and the hardships of his laborious calling, and scarred by many an accident in the pits, he was never afraid to stand up before his brethren and agitate for that amelioration in the condition of the working pitmen which has at length been conceded. His style of oratory, if it were not strictly grammatical, was gifted with a warmth of expression that told forcibly on his hearers of his own class, and his perfect knowledge of the one subject he engaged upon--the danger and the excessive toil of the miner's life--caused him to be held in respect by masters and men alike. In every movement that had for its object the freedom from the bondage the miner was held in, Ramsey was always to the front, and none mourned in bygone years more sincerely than he did the failure to establish on a firm and lasting basis the Union, by which alone he maintained were they likely to obtain their rights as workmen. When the present Association was started, amongst the dozen delegates or so who assembled at the Market Hall, Durham, bent if they could on forming a union, was "Old Tommy"; and there he attended every meeting, when to be identified as a delegate was to almost sign his own death warrant so far as employment was concerned. "Men and brothers," he said, addressing a public meeting near Thornley a few weeks after the Association was formed, "I've been a Unionist all my days, and with the help of God I will remain one to the end of the chapter." At the Council meeting held on 31st May we have the first mention of a hall for the use of the Association, with offices and agents' houses. After a lengthy discussion the project was endorsed, the money to be taken from the general funds, and the Executive were appointed a Building Committee. The Committee immediately commenced operations by purchasing a block of houses known as Monks Buildings, the site of the Hall and houses, and offering a premium of £25 for the best design for hall and offices. This was won by Mr T. Oliver, Architect, of Newcastle. The other important question was the eleven hours' drawing of coals. The system received general condemnation. At the conclusion of the consideration a very long resolution was adopted. It set forth that when the Mines Act came into operation the workmen did not think it right to curtail the producing powers of the pits, and they, therefore, fell in with the views of the owners. Having tried the system they had no hesitation in pronouncing it an utter failure on the following grounds:-- "1. Because of the great difficulty, if not impossibility, of working the pits full time on both the first and last hour of the day, thus inflicting a positive injustice on large bodies of men. We have the testimony of Lindsay Wood, Esq., in his evidence before the Coal Committee that the system of eleven hours' work entails great danger on the boys going and coming out of the mine while the pit is at full work. We regret to say that this system has already borne fruit in the slaughter of one or more boys in going and coming out of the mine during the day. This being so we now find ourselves compelled to make an emphatic appeal to the mine owners of the county to work their pits only ten hours per diem in order to obviate both this injustice and danger." As I have said, it will not assist the history we have on hand if we dwell upon the whole series of our galas, and therefore we will only make a reference to the second one in the series. It was held on Saturday, the 14th of June, and the gathering was larger than the year prior. There were three platforms. The chairmen were J. Cowen, J. Laverick, and J. Fowler. The speakers outside were P. Casey, Yorkshire; A. M'Donald, Scotland; B. Pickard, Yorkshire; Lloyd Jones, London; J. Shepherd, Cleveland; T. Burt, Northumberland; and R. Fynes, Blyth, with the addition of the Executive Committee. The speeches need not be referred to beyond the references by Mr Crawford, as indicating the progress of the Association during the year. They had added 5000 to their numbers, bringing the membership up to 40,000, and they had increased their funds from £12,000 to £34,000. They had proved their leading principle was amicability. "That principle had been not to get a thing because they had the power, but first of all to ask the question was it right that they ought to have it." The ordinary Council meeting was held in the Town Hall on July 26th. It is important because of the attempt that was made to censure Mr Crawford. For some weeks a personal controversy had been taking place between Mr E. Rhymer and Mr Crawford. Mr Rhymer had complained that, although the miners had invited him to the demonstration, yet Mr Crawford had stood in his way. This was denied very strongly, and some very curious epithets were applied to him (Mr Crawford) for making the statement. At the Council a resolution was on the programme from Ushaw Moor as follows:-- "That Mr Crawford receive three months' notice from next delegates' meeting, for his behaviour to E. Rhymer and also the Bearpark men." In a note he sent out with the programme he said "he was prepared to account for all he had done in open day, and after that, if the Association was so minded, he was prepared to leave them not in three months, but in three days or three hours." The result of the discussion was the withdrawal of the Ushaw Moor resolution and the carrying of one from Hetton which not only exonerated him, but expressed their high approval of his conduct and work in the county. On the 4th of October a Council meeting was held. The object of the meeting was to consider the advisability of applying for a twenty per cent. advance. In the end the resolution was carried, and Mr Crawford was instructed to arrange for a meeting with the employers. This meeting was held on October 17th, but was refused by the owners, and in refusing they intimated that, as the state of trade was, they would shortly be making a claim for a reduction. The refusal was reported to a special Council, when the deputation was again instructed to meet the employers. The second meeting was held on November 14th. After the question had been discussed the following resolution was handed the deputation:-- "This Association cannot accede to the application of the Durham Miners' Association for an advance in wages, but is prepared to refer to arbitration the question of whether since the last settlement of wages in February 1873 there has been such a change in the condition of the Durham coal trade as to call for an alteration in the wages now paid, and if so whether by way of advance or reduction and the amount in either case." This offer was discussed at a Council meeting, when the arbitration was agreed to; but the submission was disapproved of, and the Executive Committee instructed to draw up a counter proposal, to be submitted to a subsequent meeting for approval. Another meeting with the employers was held on Friday, the 12th of December. At the conclusion of the meeting the employers intimated that they would send their decision to Mr Crawford. On the 13th a Council meeting was held. A letter was read from the employers, in which they objected to accede to the request of the workmen for an alteration of the submission they had proposed. After a further discussion the following resolution was proposed:-- "Having fully considered the objections of the employers to our suggested basis for arbitration we fail to see the soundness of such objections. Nevertheless in order that no difficulties may arise in carrying out this matter, we are willing to alter that basis by leaving the question entirely open. Allowing both parties to bring forward all reliant matter which may bear upon their respective positions, leaving it to the arbitrator to say whether any advance ought to be given and that the Durham Coal Owners' Association be urgently requested to consider this matter on the earliest day possible." There are two matters which deserve a brief notice here, although not essentially part of the Association. These were the Royal Commission to inquire into the coal supply and the causes of the high prices, and the rise of the Franchise Association. The former of these was appointed on 21st February 1873 by the following resolution of the House of Commons:-- "That a Select Committee be appointed to inquire into the causes of the present dearness and duration of coal, and report thereon to the House." This Committee examined a large number of witnesses, including all classes connected with the coal trade. The following is a portion of their report:-- "1. Considering the great extent of the coal fields in Great Britain, the number of collieries at work, and the variety of coals produced, which though primarily used for particular purposes, will, at certain prices, be used for others, your Committee, notwithstanding intermittent and startling fluctuations in price due to temporary causes, do not believe that any combination either of employers or workmen can by artificial means succeed in permanently affecting the ordinary results of the relations of demand and supply in adjusting the quantity of coal produced to the demand, or can permanently affect the price resulting from the state of the market; nor do your Committee believe that the interference of Parliament with the course of industry and trade in coal could produce any useful or beneficial result to the public beyond what has been arrived at in recent legislation, namely, the prevention of injury to the health and morals of young children and young persons, and the prevention of accidents from wilful neglect of recognised precautions. "2. Much evidence has however been given to show the great increase in the rate of wages, and the earnings of the working miners; but whilst it is true that in some cases the earnings have enormously increased, and have been improvidently spent, your Committee conclude that in general the condition of the workmen has been much improved, and that the rise in the rate of wages has not, under the exceptional circumstances, been unreasonable, nor been unattended with considerable benefit to the workers; indeed in some cases the workmen have preferred improving the conditions under which they work to increasing the amount of their wages in money. "3. It is clearly shown that the real order of events has been the rise in the price of iron, the rise in the price of coal, and the rise in the rate of wages. The increased payment per ton for labour employed in getting the coal cannot therefore be considered as the primary cause of the large increase in the price of coal; a rise in wages followed upon rather than preceded a rise in the price of coal. To the extent to which increased rates of wages have induced workmen to labour for a shorter number of hours than heretofore, resulting in a reduced output per man, a higher payment for labour has contributed indirectly in an important degree to maintain the high price of coal, but having regard to the great danger to which coal miners are exposed, and the character of their labour, the average rate of wages in collieries has not been more than sufficient to attract the requisite labour to the mine. The workmen, like all others connected with coal mining, should only regard their present earnings as a temporary profit, which may, at no distant day, approach towards former rates." With respect to the Franchise Association, during the year there was a strong agitation in favour of an extension of the Franchise to the householders in the county, as such had been done by the Act of 1868 to those in the borough. The spirit of reform found ready response in the minds of the Durham miners, and a very active Association was formed. Although incidental to the labour organisation, and with a voluntary contribution, it was managed by the leading men in that Association. The names found prominently in one are found in the other. A Council meeting of the Miners' Association was held in November of this year, at which it was proposed that Mr Crawford should be nominated for one of the county divisions, and the matter was remitted to the Franchise Association. There were but two of these divisions at that time--the North and South, each having two members. There was a General Election in prospect, and it was deemed advisable to run Mr Crawford as a Liberal candidate. To anticipate a little, he was duly put forward on Wednesday, the 28th of January 1874. His candidature was publicly announced, but on Friday, the 30th, at a meeting of the ex-Committee, he withdrew. His aim in so doing was to avoid a division of the Liberal forces. There were two Tories in the field and three Liberals, and it was highly necessary that this should be avoided. This decision was reported to a Council held on the 31st. There was a general consensus of opinion that he had acted wisely, although the delegates regretted the necessity. Some of them had brought money--as much as £30 in one instance--towards the election expenses. A resolution was adopted which had for its object the formation of an election fund with the view to strengthen the hands of the Franchise Association, and it was agreed that whenever there was a vacancy in the county, where there was a chance of success, he should be at once brought forward. 1874 The first Reduction--Co-operative Colliery--The Strike of 1874--The Wheatley Hill Revolt and Evictions--Second Reduction--First Arbitration We finished 1873 with a demand for an advance and a difference as to the submission for a reference to arbitration. During the interval the trade had declined to such an extent that the employers sent a claim for a reduction, and thus the young Society was beginning to find itself entering its first dark cloud of depression. Up to that moment the booming times arising out of the Franco-Prussian War had been with it, but now the relapse which generally follows a fever in trade had set in, and the demand for coals had fallen off seriously; and whereas a month or two previously they had expected another advance, it was felt by Mr Crawford and his colleagues that it would not be possible to stave off a reduction. Before coming to the consideration of the first reduction let us, for the sake of chronological order, note one or two matters of some importance. The first of these is the demand for men being trained before being left to themselves in a mine. At the Council meeting held on Saturday, 21st March, the following resolution was carried:-- "We have again to protest against the introduction of strangers into our mines--men to whom mining with all its dangers is thoroughly unknown, whereby the limbs and lives of other men are constantly endangered. We therefore emphatically ask the owners to put such men under the care of some practical miner for a period of not less than six months, who will be responsible for any danger arising from such person's ignorance of mines." Another point worthy of note was the resolve to join in the movement to form a co-operative mining company. At the Council meeting on 4th April it was resolved: "That we take £5000 out of the General Fund, and invest it in the Co-operative Mining Co., as we believe productive co-operation to be the only solution to the many difficulties that exist between Capital and Labour." At the same Council a copy of the owners' request for a reduction was read. It conveyed the decision of their full meeting: "That the state of the Durham Coal Trade imperatively calls for a reduction of twenty per cent. in all colliery wages, both above and below ground, to take effect from the 18th of next month." A meeting was held between the two Associations on the 16th of April, when the employers stated the reasons for their demand. They held "(1) that there was no connection between profit and wages, and the workmen had, therefore, no legitimate right to interfere in such a matter; (2) that trade was vastly more dull, and prices materially less, than was supposed; (3) that in various parts of our own country and also in Germany, reductions had taken place, in the latter 25 per cent., and having to compete in the same markets with firms and districts so brought down, they had no choice but to enforce the reduction." This was brought before a Council meeting on April 25th, but the delegates refused to discuss it then, and referred the question to a special meeting to be held on the 29th. Steps were taken to prepare for a stop should a reduction take place, and men were arranged to visit various districts. Those going to Ireland and Scotland had £30 each. The owners had in the meantime given notice at certain collieries, and the workmen were told to remain at their own collieries. On the 27th the Executive Committee issued the following circular:-- April 27th, 1874. Fellow Workmen,--According to arrangement, Messrs Patterson, Wilkinson and Crawford, saw Messrs Burt and Nixon yesterday, and from information received it appears that the 10 per cent., or a reduction from 50 to 40, has to affect ALL, both above and below ground. We cannot but call your attention to our present position. The adjoining county, much more compact than ours, and many years older in organisation,--two elements of strength and power,--have just accepted a reduction of wages. Miners, immediately south of us,--West Yorkshire,--have expressed their willingness to accept a reduction of 12½ per cent. on wages all round. This, however, the owners refused to accept. They seek a reduction of 25 per cent., and the matter is, therefore, going to arbitration. With these facts before us, is it possible that we can, at the present time, by any means, which we might adopt, altogether stave off a reduction, more or less, without referring it to arbitration, in some way or other? We will not attempt to point out all the terrible effects which must arise from anything like a general strike. Many of you experimentally know the direful effect and heartrending destitution which has arisen from partial strikes amongst ourselves. Suppose a general stop now ensues, what are the probabilities of success? Can we make our efforts successful? Suppose we should strike against a receding market, and a surplus number of men, and lose, what would be the consequences? These are questions worthy your earnest consideration, because on them depend your WEAL or WOE for years to come. We have to-day very fully thought over the matter, and considering everything, we think it wise, if not absolutely necessary, to make some advances, with a view to a settlement of this important question. We, therefore, strongly advise that an offer of 10 per cent. reduction be made to the owners; and should they refuse this, let the whole matter go to arbitration. If arbitration be offered and accepted, we would suggest the appointment of two men on both sides, and let these four men find a basis or starting-point for arbitration. Should they fail to agree as to what such basis ought to be, let the matter go to an umpire, appointed by the four arbitrators. Let no one regard this as in the slightest degree dictatorial. We have too much respect for your collective judgment to attempt anything of the kind. But we think it our duty to point out that, if not careful, we may drift amongst shoals and quicksands, which may endanger the very existence of our Association. And if this should come to pass, we need not name--not our probable, but certain condition, for years to come. On the 29th of April the special Council was held, which approved of the Committee's circular by offering a reduction of ten per cent. This decision was conveyed by telegram to Mr Bunning, the employers' secretary. No sooner was it known in the county than a general protest was made, not only by the miners, but by the mechanics and enginemen. They objected to being included in the reduction. These bodies held meetings in Durham on the race-course on May 2nd, and passed resolutions not to accept any reduction. The spirit of revolt was rampant in the county amongst the members of the Miners' Association. Meetings to protest against it were held throughout the county. Circulars were sent out by District Councils, in which the Executive Committee was held up to ridicule. To these the agents replied, boldly pointing out the danger of the course which was being adopted and the disaster which would assuredly follow if more moderate action were not taken. Some of the members of the Executive Committee were found amongst the protestors and the loudest in their condemnation of Mr Crawford, who came in for a large share of abuse. It was calculated that at one of those meetings in Houghton there were 10,000 people present. On May 5th the coal owners held a meeting. The resolutions dealt mainly with the action of the enginemen. From these the employers offered to accept five per cent. if acceded promptly, but no man should be allowed to work for less reduction than that offer. During the owners' meeting a telegram was read from Mr Crawford as follows:-- "For reasons previously given both to the Standing Committee and full meeting of owners, we shall begin on Monday to work five days per week or pits be laid idle on Saturday, so far as the working and drawing of coal is concerned." To that telegram the owners sent the following reply:-- "The Provisional Committee give notice to the Durham Miners' Association that unless the Owners' Association receive before the end of the week a satisfactory assurance that collieries will continue to work the same number of days per fortnight, as heretofore, they will advise the Coal Owners' Association to insist upon the full twenty per cent.--first demanded; such demand only having been withdrawn on the condition that no change whatever was to be made in the usual mode of working." On the 7th of May a Council meeting was held, when the ten per cent. was under consideration. By a majority of 15 the delegates decided in favour of the ten per cent., 112 voting for it and 97 against. This brought the dispute to an end so far as the wages were concerned. The strike, if it could be called such, was of the most desultory kind, there being a division as to the acceptance of the ten per cent. reduction. It is generally known as the "Week's Strike"; but even the Executive were in ignorance of the time off, and sent out a slip asking the lodges to tell them "what number of days they were off, when they stopped, and when they resumed work and the reasons why they were off." The returns show that there were none off more than a week. None of them were entitled to strike pay seeing that a colliery had to be off a fortnight before they could claim. The Executive by their Minute of June 5th, 1874, said the strike commenced on May 8th and ended on the 14th. The strike being settled generally, all the collieries commenced work except Wheatley Hill, Thornley, and Ludworth. These were in a peculiar position. For some time they had been ten-day collieries, and at Wheatley Hill the hours of stonemen, shifters, and wastemen had been six every day. When the strike ended the Executive Committee sent word out to the county that work should be resumed under the same conditions as obtained before the strike. The workmen at the three collieries claimed they should work the ten days. That position the following Minute of the Executive Committee bears out:-- "We have again had the case of Thornley, Ludworth and Wheatley Hill brought before us, and beg to give the following statement: As will be understood by all lodges, before the stop these places were working ten days under protest. After the settlement of the working days matter at our Council, the question arose between the manager and men whether these were ten or eleven day collieries, the men holding to the former, while the manager held to the latter. On Friday, May 15th, Mr Bunning telegraphed, stating that the owners still held these to be eleven-day places. We replied that they had been working ten days under protest, and that in some way or other they ought to recommence on the same conditions." The three collieries, on the strength of the notice to resume work, corroborated by the above Minute, refused to start except as ten-day collieries. The owners offered arbitration, but conditioned it by asking for the men to work eleven days, and suspended the Joint Committee until the case was settled. The letter from Mr Bunning contained the words: "The action of the Thornley etc. men renders the resumption of the Joint Committee impossible," and asked whether the Executive were supporting them or not. The men were willing to go to arbitration, but asked to be allowed to start at the ten days. The Executive ordered them to work on the employers' terms, summoned a representative from each colliery to the Committee, and sent out large deputations to attend meetings. Still the men stood firm. On Monday, June 1st, the evicting of the men from the houses commenced. A very large contingent of "Candymen" were imported, and a force of seventy or eighty policemen, in charge of Superintendent Scott, to maintain order. There never was an occasion where better humour prevailed throughout and where there was so little need of police. It would afford a break in this dry matter-of-fact history if some of the incidents were related: how a Jew who had come to gather his fortnightly instalments wrung his hands, and, Shylock-like, cried about his "monish"; how some of the women were to carry out in arm-chairs, and one of them stuck hat pins in the Candymen, to the hilarity of all but themselves; how once in a while a "Candyman," sick of the work, broke through the crowd, and ran off, chased by the police and the cheers of the crowd; and how the people dwelt in tents for three weeks, having continuous sunshine by day and jollity by night, making a continual round of "picnicking." We must, however, leave the pleasurable for the historical. The lodge made an attempt at Council to get strike pay on an appeal against the Committee. The merits of the case were with them, but their case was prejudiced by the temper of the delegate, Mr J. Wood. During the discussion of the question some contention rose as to Wood (who could write shorthand) taking notes. Mr Wilkinson (the treasurer) expressed himself in doubt as to Wood's honesty, and the latter struck at the treasurer on the platform--the consequence being the Council decided against, and the men were left to their own resources. An attempt was made to settle the strike by the Rev. W. Mayor of Thornley. He called upon some of the leading men, and asked them to meet Mr Cooper, the manager, who with Mr Bunning agreed to allow the pit to resume work on the old conditions with regard to the number of days, and that the dispute should be left to the two Associations. The arrangement was come to on the Monday, and on the Tuesday the horses and ponies were sent down, and about 100 men commenced. It then transpired that Mr Cooper objected to three of the leading men, and the men alleged that there had been some reduction in prices. The result was the stoppage again. The dispute was as to the submission for the arbitration. The difference lay in this: the owners wanted the men to start as an eleven-hour colliery, and then arbitrate. The workmen were willing to start as at ten hours, and arbitrate. In the end that was accepted. The arbitrators decided that the men were right in considering their collieries ten-day collieries and refusing to resume work except as such; but they concluded that the collieries should work eleven days, "although at the same time we strongly censure the conduct of Mr Cooper, the manager, throughout the entire struggle." They further awarded that the whole expense of the arbitration should be borne by the owners, thus proving the men to be right in their contention as to starting. [Illustration: WILLIAM CRAWFORD, M.P.] We now come to the second claim for a reduction in wages. On July 17th Mr Crawford read to the Committee a resolution he had received from the employers making a claim for a reduction: "That the Durham Coal Miners' Association, through Mr Crawford, be informed that the associated Coal Owners consider that it is necessary to reduce wages substantially and promptly. That the amount of such reduction, as well as the date of the commencement, will be considered by the owners on the 7th day of August next, and that in the meantime the Association will be ready to give their best consideration to anything the representatives of the workmen may desire to lay before it." To this request the Executive Committee could not accede, and on 7th August the employers sent another claim for a reduction of twenty per cent. They said "that the best policy to pursue in the exigencies of the trade, and to restore the activity of the coal and iron trades, was for the men to submit to a twenty per cent. reduction." In the event of the workmen not agreeing to such a reduction the owners would be prepared to leave the whole case to the arbitration of any gentleman mutually appointed, each party being left free to produce such evidence as they may think fit and satisfactory, arrangement being made for prompt decision, and for securing the operation of the arbitrator's award from the 29th of this month. Mr Crawford was instructed by the Executive Committee to inform the employers that, while they did not offer any opinion on the reduction, they would call the attention of the owners to the last portion of their resolution, wherein the date of the reduction was fixed, and said: "In seeking advances we never yet fixed a date, even when coal was going up in an unparalleled manner and certainly very much more rapidly than ever it has come down. Both in March last and now you wish to fix the date in what seems to us rather an arbitrary manner. Had we in seeking advances pursued this course, you would have been more than justified in doing the same thing, but having pursued a course diametrically opposite, we fail to see the grounds of your justification for the course you are at present pursuing." A Council meeting was held on August 22nd, when the first question discussed was the owners' application for the twenty per cent. reduction. The following resolution was carried:-- (1) We cannot see where in the Cleveland, or the Coasting, or other markets the prices of coal and coke are down sufficiently low to warrant a further reduction of wages. (2) The stacking of coal and coke may be made to have--but ought not to have--any very material effect on the workmen's wages, seeing that, if too much is being produced, we have no objection to be put on short time, or any other fair process whereby a reduction of wages can be averted. We fail to see why the employers ought to seek arbitration. We are now in the same position which they were in during the last two and a half years. They were at that time so fully certain that trade would not give any further advance that arbitration was pointedly refused. We are now so sure that the present, as compared with past prices of coal and coke, does not warrant any further reduction, that we think arbitration is only an unnecessary waste of time and money, causing no end of annoyance without any good resulting therefrom. This resolution was sent, accompanied by a demand for fifteen per cent. advance, to the employers, who held a meeting on 28th August, under the presidency of Mr Stobart, for the purpose of considering it and what action they should take. After considerable discussion a resolution was passed to enforce the twenty per cent. reduction and to give the men fourteen days' notice, to expire on the 19th of September, seeing that their claim and arbitration had been refused. The notices were issued in keeping with that resolve, but not to all men alike. The form of notice was as follows:-- On behalf of----Colliery I do hereby give you notice to determine your existing hiring on the nineteenth day of September eighteen hundred and seventy-four, and that the wages and prices heretofore paid at this colliery will from that date be reduced to the rate of twenty per cent. and that if your service be continued, it must be on these terms. In these circumstances the Executive Committee issued a circular and called a special Council. The lodges were asked to send their delegates prepared to discuss and decide upon three questions: "1. Ought bankmen, horsekeepers, furnacemen, etc., to give in their notices? "2. Ought collieries of men (hewers included) who have not received any notice to give in their notices? "3. The matter of arbitration." We will quote a portion or two of the circular. It is very serious and impressive: "It must be clear to all that we are passing through the most important crisis which has marked the history of the present organisation on the need or otherwise of a further reduction; we here offer no opinion, that being a matter which will take the collective wisdom of the county to determine. We wish, however, to point out what seems to us to be one of two ultimatums to the present unpleasant condition of matters in the county. If a stolid and unreasoning resistance be persevered in, a strike is inevitable. We feel certain that nothing can or will prevent a stop. How long such struggle might continue it is impossible to say. But whether it might be for a longer or a shorter period an immense amount of suffering would be entailed. We want you therefore to very carefully consider the whole matter. View the entire position with an unbiased mind, not from the standpoint of mere abstract justice, but from that of probabilities or even possibilities. We are offered arbitration. If we refuse, the press and public will most assuredly say that our position is untenable. If we persistently refuse to submit the entire matter to arbitration, we must prepare to cope with the following difficulties in conducting a struggle. "(1) The strongest combination of employers the North of England ever saw. "(2) Stacks of coal and coke laid up in every direction of the county. "(3) Coal and coke brought from other districts to supply what we may be short of supplying from our own heaps. "(4) The press and public opinion would be against us." The dispute was brought to an amicable settlement by the whole question being referred to open arbitration. By that decision the Association passed out of the era of negotiations into that of arbitration re underground wages. As that was the first step in the path of conciliation it may be useful to give in detail the proceedings. The inquirer after further information may very usefully consult the printed proceedings of the case. There were for arbitrators Mr G. Leeman and Mr D. Dale acting for the owners, and Mr L. Jones and Mr T. Burt for the workmen. The case was conducted by Mr W. Armstrong and Mr L. Wood (now Sir Lindsay Wood) on behalf of the employers. Mr W. Crawford and Mr J. Forman were for the employed. There were with these arbitrators and conductors other gentlemen, whose names we can find no record of either in the press, the owners' books, or in ours. The first meeting was held on Tuesday, 13th October, in the Queen's Head Hotel (now the Liberal Club), Newcastle. After a long sitting the case was adjourned until the 15th, when Mr Forman on behalf of the workmen, and because there had not been sufficient time to prepare a reply to the employers' case, asked for an adjournment. Mr Crawford said they had "sat twenty-eight consecutive hours, and never moved the whole of the time." It was therefore decided to adjourn until the 16th. During the discussion Mr Crawford made the request that the owners should produce their books in order that both costs of production and the selling prices of coal might be obtained. The fourth day's proceedings was held on the 19th. The arbitrators met on the 26th in London. Failing to agree, they agreed to refer the question to the Right Hon. Russell Gurney, M.P., whom they met on the 30th in the Abbey Hotel, Malvern. On November 3rd he gave his award. Without giving the whole of the award it will be explained by a quotation from a circular sent out by Mr Crawford: "The reduction is as follows:--At present time our advances amount to 43 per cent. over 1871 prices. This by Mr Gurney's award is reduced to 30. That is a reduction of 9 per cent. on the gross wages and will take effect from Monday, November 2nd." At that time the attention of the county was turned to the sanitary condition of the mining villages. The Committee took a return in which they asked eleven questions: "What is the size of your best houses? What size are the rooms, and how many to a house? Size of single houses? Is there attached to your houses or on the colliery any private accommodation? Are there any channels or underground sewers to take away the dirty water and other refuse made in the houses? Are the houses damp and incompatible with health, or dry and healthy? Are there many of the members who have houses of their own? What number of double and single houses have you? Have you a good or bad supply of water and whence supplied? What is your school accommodation, national or colliery? Have you a Mechanics' Institute? Is it colliery or private property? Are there any gardens to the houses?" On Saturday, November 7th, the owners made a claim for a reduction from all the men at bank. This was before the Executive Committee. They by resolution expressed their surprise, and their opinion that they had not been treated fairly, as the employers ought to have dealt with the classes now to be affected in the arbitration just concluded. They considered that "such a mode of procedure cannot but have an injurious effect on that good and desirable understanding which has so long existed between the two Associations." The owners gave the surface men notice to terminate their engagement on 12th December. A special Council meeting was called. The questions to be decided were--first, should the Miners' Committee act for the cokemen, seeing those men were forming an association of their own, and over two-thirds of that class had joined it? Of the other classes three questions were asked: "Ought these men to follow Russell Gurney's award? Ought the reduction to be resisted or ought arbitration to be sought?" The Council decided on Saturday, December 5th, that the Cokemen's Association meet the employers themselves, but "that the members of the Joint Committee should meet them on the banksmen, screeners, labourers, etc." The arrangement come to by the Joint Committee was: "The banking-out men having been generally classed with the underground men, should in all cases be dealt with strictly according to the terms of Mr Gurney's award, that is, remain 30 per cent. in excess of March 1871 and it was recommended that the case of men earning less than 3s. per diem be left to the consideration of individual owners." There are two matters not dealt with in the general statement of this year. These are the appointment of Mr Forman as permanent president on 2nd May and the appointment of the first clerk. The first was Mr A. Hall Shotton; but his stay was short, and he was succeeded by Mr W. Golightly, who was in the office for over thirty-one years. [Illustration: W. GOLIGHTLY] 1875 The third Reduction--Co-operative Colliery--The demand for better Houses--The fourth Reduction Early in the year the Association was called upon to face another reduction in wages. The Executive Committee had sent some requests with respect to hewers putting in the foreshifts and working hard places. The owners sent a reply on January 15th refusing the requests, and at the same time saying, such things being asked of them in depressed times were offensive, and would not have to be repeated. In the same letter Mr Crawford was told that the employers had that day "unanimously decided to ask for a reduction in the wages of all men employed about coal mines and that the Standing (Joint) Committee be instructed to discuss the matter of such reductions and the date when it should commence." To this the Executive Committee replied that they would pass over the question of reduction as it was premature to interfere with it, but they complained of the tone of the letter sent to them, which was very unbecoming, to say the least. They had a perfect right to send the requests. No doubt they were annoying. "But however annoying a request properly made may be, it ought, in keeping with the common courtesies of life, to be denied without imperiousness. It was annoying to them as workmen to receive an application for a reduction." The response to that reached Mr Crawford on the 30th. It informed him that they (the owners) felt it needful to claim such reduction as will leave the wages of both underground and surface men ten per cent. in excess of 1871, to take effect from the pay ending 13th March. Mr Bunning added: "As it is our usual custom not to carry out a resolution of this nature without first having a consultation with you, I am requested to ask you to make such arrangements with your clients as may enable you to meet our Committee at an early date to decide." A special Council meeting was called for the 6th of February to consider whether a deputation should meet the employers; if so, how many and whom they should be. The Council decided that as a deputation the members of the Joint Committee should meet the employers, and Mr Crawford was deputed to go to South Wales to inquire into the condition of things amongst the miners there. At an adjourned Council held on February 10th it was again considered, and the following resolution carried:-- In looking at the last reduction, and the undue advantage the coal owners have taken on us in making a call on the bankmen so soon after the arbitration case, that we in future entertain no more reductions on one separate class of workmen, without knowing their intentions as to the rest of the workmen in our Association. The meeting with the employers took place on 16th February, when six reasons were given by them why the reduction was needed: Many collieries were working at ruinous losses; a terribly increased cost of production; at many collieries the men were restricting their work; a greatly increased number of men were needed; the increased cost owing to the great decrease in the working hours; and the fact that Mr Gurney's award was delayed two months. The employers again issued notices, but not to all men or all collieries. The Committee immediately called a Council, and drew the attention of the lodges to two resolutions which were passed on April 21st and December 5th, 1874. That in future when there are notices given for a reduction of wages throughout the county, and where a colliery or collieries of men do not get their notices, they be requested to give them in. Where men who are members of our Association and who have not received notice should these refuse to give in their notices, their names be struck from our books and never again re-entered. In addition to this the Committee issued a circular in which they reviewed the condition of trade, and pointed out that in many districts life and death struggles were taking place. These men were being supported by voluntary contributions from other mining districts and the public. If Durham came out large support would be cut off, and the state here rendered more dangerous. In Northumberland and Cleveland arbitrations were proceeding. There was only two weeks' money in the funds, therefore the best policy was to accept arbitration. Facing these circumstances they advised the acceptance of arbitration. The employers would be compelled to show sufficient reasons for a reduction. If this were not done no umpire would reduce the wages. This advice was accepted at the Council on 8th March, and it was resolved to refer the whole matter to arbitration on the prices and wages ruling at hearing of the last case, that Mr L. Jones and W. Crawford be arbitrators, and the preparing and conducting of the case be left to the Executive Committee. On March 10th they met the employers, and made arrangements for the proceedings and the withdrawal of the notices, and they informed the members that in every case where the workmen had given notices they must at once be withdrawn. The first meeting on the arbitration case was held on April 15th in the Queen's Head Hotel, Newcastle. The Right Hon. W. E. Forster, M.P., was the umpire. The arbitrators for the employers were Mr W. Armstrong and Mr D. Dale; for the workmen Mr L. Jones and Mr W. Crawford. The case was a dual one, a combination of the Miners' and Cokemen's Associations. The latter agreed to accept the statement made by the employers in the miners' case and then put in a separate reply. The following was the order of the procedure:--The employers stated their case. Then the miners replied on the first day. Second day, the owners' reply to the miners, the miners' rejoinder; the cokemen's reply to the employers, then their reply to the cokemen. The third day's sitting was taken up by the cokemen's rejoinder. The same arbitrators acted in both cases, but Mr Jackson Wilson presented the cokemen's case. The umpire gave his award on the 23rd of April--the reduction being five per cent. from the underground wages and four per cent. from those of the surface men. At the Council meeting held on May 4th a resolution was carried urging upon the Miners' National Association to use their influence to have established an important Board of Arbitration, such Board to say: "First, what amount of interest ought to be claimed for capital invested in coal-mining operations; secondly, whether or not the books showing the profit and loss accounts of the employers ought to be laid before the Arbitrators in deciding a matter in dispute as to the rise or fall of the wages of their workmen; and thirdly, what portion of the profits ought to go to the capitalist and what portion to the labourer." The programme for a Council meeting held on 21st August 1875 contained a resolution dealing with the providing of a better class of houses. "That we appeal to the owners to have better houses right throughout the county for the members of the Durham Miners' Association, and not to make such difference between brakesmen and members of the Association. We believe that one man has the same right to a good house as another." In the balance sheet for the first quarter of the year is found an item relating to the Coop Colliery--3100 shares in the Coop Mining Company, £15,500. For some time, and especially during 1874, the idea of a co-operative mine had been agitating the two northern counties. Meetings were held in various parts, addressed chiefly by gentlemen from Northumberland. The idea fell upon good ground in Durham, for from time to time it was found on the Council programme, and, so far as the Association is concerned, bore fruit in the shares mentioned. The fruit was not merely collective, but on every hand those who could took out shares, even to the extent of all their savings. The Committee of management were: Dr J. H. Rutherford, Chairman. Mr T. Burt, M.P. Mr J. Nixon. Mr R. Young. Mr J. Brown. Mr R. Cramon. Mr W. Crawford. Mr J. Forman. Mr W. H. Patterson. Mr J. Byson. Mr G. Fryer. E. Lowther, Secretary. --all good men, and, if it could have been established, would have been. They were all tried co-operators and ardent believers in productive co-operation. But the enterprise was doomed from the first. The name of the colliery was Monkwood, near Chesterfield, Derbyshire. On the 25th of September 1875 the Committee submitted a balance sheet for the year ending 30th June. The auditors were Benson, Eland & Co. They informed the members that after depreciation as per rule the net loss up to date was £10,863, 15s. 8d. The Committee in presenting the balance sheet said it had arisen from circumstances over which they had no control. The output of the colliery had never reached to their anticipations. The cost of production, and the unsatisfactory state in which the Society found the colliery, had occasioned the loss. The vendor had not truthfully represented the output. They had filed a Bill in Chancery against him for the recision of the contract and the return of the purchase money. The loss to Durham was £15,500. On 6th November the ex-Committee was called upon to face the fourth reduction. They received a letter on that date from the employers conveying to them a demand for twenty per cent. reduction from all underground earnings, including banksmen, and twelve and a half per cent. off all above-ground labour, to take effect from the 27th. The Committee replied protesting against the imperative way in which the demand was made, and resolved to ask the county whether a deputation should attend Newcastle to hear the reasons assigned for the reduction. The county agreed to send a deputation and offer open arbitration, the deputation being the Joint Committee, and that a Council meeting be held on the 27th to hear the report. The Committee met the owners on Monday, the 22nd, and the offer of open arbitration was accepted, the Court to consist of four arbitrators and an umpire. 1876 Death of Burdon Sanderson--Appointment of Mr Meynell--The third Arbitration--The General Treasurer and Executive--The new Hall--Deputies' Association JOINT COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN In January 1876 the Joint Committee chairman, Mr R. B. Sanderson, was in a serious railway collision on the Great Northern Railway at Abbots Ripton. He was not killed outright, but was so seriously injured that he died shortly afterwards. He was the first chairman, and sat all through the meetings up to his death. The Joint Committee at their meeting on January 28th passed a resolution paying high respect to his character and to his ability and impartiality in his decisions. From that time until 11th September the chairman was selected from the meeting _pro tem_. On that date Mr Meynell was appointed, and from that time until his death in 1900 he occupied that position to his credit and with fairness to everyone concerned. It would be incorrect to say that no fault was ever found with him; but it is well known that at his death all who had been at the Joint Committee regretted it, and he has been sorely missed, because he had years of experience--experience which is worth a great deal in that position. The proceedings in the arbitration did not proceed further in 1875, but rested over until January 1876. The arbitrators were the same as in the previous case, and the umpire chosen by them was C. H. Hopwood, M.P. The advocates for the owners were Mr H. T. Morton, Mr Lindsay Wood, and Mr T. Wood Bunning, the Secretary of the Owners' Association, and for the workmen Mr J. Forman and Mr W. H. Patterson. The names of the Committee who assisted were: N. Wilkinson. J. Holliday. M. Thompson. W. Prentice. G. Parker. J. Cummings. C. Kidd. C. Cooper. J. Crowther. F. Smith. G. Jackson. J. Day. G. Newton. The first meeting was held on Tuesday, 18th January 1876, in the Queen's Head Hotel, Newcastle. There were two days' sittings. At the close of the sittings in Newcastle the arbitrators and umpire held a meeting in London on 16th February, when the umpire gave his award that there should be a reduction of seven per cent. underground and four per cent. on the surface. Out of this case and the meeting in London there arose a serious disturbance. The treasurer (Mr Wilkinson) refused to pay the Committee for going to London. He alleged that they went without authority. They went on the vote of seven out of seventeen members of the Committee, the rest being either absent or lying neutral. Their going, he said, was a waste of public money. He finally showed there had been an extravagant expenditure and charges for unnecessary meetings. Along with his explanation he sent out a detailed statement in which it is shown that for one fortnight they had received sums varying from £7, 1s. 9d. to £11, 15s. 7d., or an average of £8, 14s. 11d. per man. For another fortnight the average worked out at £12, 12s. each. To this the Committee made a long reply, but all unavailing, for at the Council meeting held on March 4th, 1876, the following resolution was carried:-- "That the members of Executive Committee who went to London be expelled, and that they have no payment for going." By another resolution the number of the Committee was reduced to nine. The result was to leave only three Committee men to transact the business until a new Committee was elected. A word of explanation may be necessary. At the election of Committee in December 1875 three new men were elected. These were C. Simpson, W. Gordon, and J. Wilson. As the arbitration was proceeding when the election of 1875 took place the Executive Committee asked the members whether they should be allowed to continue in office until it was finished. This was granted, and as a consequence the newly elected members did not take their places until the decision was given. The Durham Miners' Triumvirate ruled until May 4th, when the full Committee was elected. As a further result of the dispute between the treasurer and Committee certain rules were suggested by the Executive Committee and approved by Council on 29th April. (1) That in future there be no night sittings of the Committee. (2) For a long time, a custom has existed of the Committee, asking questions on their reassembling after dinner hours. These questions were put on paper during the forenoon and handed in to be read after dinner. It will be seen, that this practice can be abused, and made to lengthen out Committee meetings to any extent. That this practice be entirely abolished unless it be a mere asking a question from the Secretary. The question and answer to be printed on the Minutes; but no discussion whatever to be held on the matter. (3) That the General Secretary alone have the power both to call and disperse Committee meetings. (4) That the Committee have no power to either shorten their hours or alter modes of payment. In a letter bearing date May 19th the employers made another demand for a considerable reduction of wages both above and below ground, and fixing Saturday, the 27th, as the date for a meeting upon the matter. On that date nothing definite was done, and an adjournment took place until 13th June. A special Council was called for June 17th, when lodges were asked to instruct their representatives what should be done in the matter. In the meantime the Committee issued a circular, giving an account of the meeting with the employers, and informing the members that the owners' demand was for fifteen per cent. off underground labour and ten per cent. off surface labour, or they were willing to refer the whole question to arbitration in order to avoid a stoppage of work. They (the Committee) then urged the acceptance of arbitration at once. To refuse it would be to run counter to the efforts of working men in the past who "had fought some of their most severe struggles in trying to enforce arbitration as a means of settling their trade disputes." Many hundreds of thousands of pounds had to be spent before the employers would even recognise the right of the workmen to the merest inquiry in advances or reductions of wages. The employers claimed the right to be the sole judges in matters of that kind. "When the employers arrogated to themselves the right to judge both for them and us, we were not slow in applying the words tyranny, despotism, and even villainy to their actions. Don't let us then be guilty of an imprudence, both by a repudiation of our own principles and going into a battle when everything is against us." The Committee supported that bold and candid statement by drawing attention to the success which had attended the arbitration in the past. "If ever a body of men ought to be satisfied with a means of adjusting differences we ought with arbitration. It has in every instance so far immensely reduced the application of the owners. There is no other means by which we could have fared better. On every occasion the owners complained about the insufficient amount awarded them." The alternative to arbitration was a strike. That course would be madness. There was a complete stagnation in trade, nowhere more felt than in Durham. Pits were working half time, and there were hundreds of men who could not find an hour's work. To strike would be to jeopardise "an organisation which in the very short space of time has done more for its members than any other trades' organisation that ever existed." They urged other reasons in as forcible a manner, and concluded by saying, if arbitration were refused and a struggle entered upon, there could be but one end, "that of utter and terrible defeat for the miners of this county." Towards the end of May preparations were being made for opening the new Hall, and a return was taken as to the mode of procedure. The place of meetings had been on a movable plan. At first the Committee meetings were held in 58 North Road, Durham. Then both Councils and Committees were held in the Market Hall. As the organisation increased the Councils alternated between the Shakespeare Hall and the Town Hall, and the Committees in the Western Hotel, Western Hill, Durham. The opening of the Hall took place on Saturday, June 3rd, the occasion being the consideration of a ten per cent. reduction at a special Council meeting. The cost of the buildings was £6000, and the architect, Mr T. Oliver, Newcastle--the council-room fifty-two feet by thirty-four; the tower thirty feet above the body of the Hall. The clock cost £130. The arrangements as to the lighting of the clock are: the city authorities pay for the gas, while the miners keep the clock in repair. For some time the City Council refused to bear the charge for lighting, and at first only agreed for six months as a trial. There was no opening ceremony beyond a few words from the president, Mr Forman. The delegates took their places as per number of seat. Mr Forman then said he was glad to welcome them to their new Hall. "The noble building had been built with the money of the working miners of the county of Durham. It was a great example of their forethought, their economy, industry, enterprise and unity, and he hoped that it would be one more link that would bind them together in the cause of mutual help and mutual endeavour, and be another great supporting prop to the noble edifice they had reared in their Association. He was sorry that the first business at the opening was to be the unpleasant one of discussing a ten per cent. reduction." The first Council meeting was held in the new Hall on 17th June, and the first resolution was "that we refuse to send the reduction question to arbitration." The spirit of war was in the air, at least among the men who attended the lodge meeting to consider the subject at first. During the next week, however, a ballot of the members was taken, the result of which was declared at a special Council meeting--the voting being for arbitration, 20,190; against, 16,435; majority for, 3,755. There were resolutions passed to remit the question to open arbitration: That the Committee get up the case, but "if any person has to accompany the arbitrators out of the county, only the two men who conduct the case do so." At the same meeting Mr N. Thompson and T. Mitcheson (two of the London Committee) were removed from the trusteeship, and their places filled by John Wilson, Wheatley Hill, and W. Gordon, Ravensworth. The arbitration commenced on 29th August in the Queen's Head Hotel, Newcastle, the umpire being G. J. Shaw-Lefevre, M.P. The arbitrators for the employers were Mr W. Armstrong and H. T. Morton, Mr L. Jones and Mr W. Crawford acting again for the workmen. The advocates on the owners' side were Mr Lindsay Wood and Mr J. B. Simpson and Mr T. W. Bunning; for the workmen were Mr J. Forman and Mr N. Wilkinson. There were two sittings. There is no need to review the arguments or facts in these cases, as that would extend our work too much, but there is one interesting point advanced by the employers in their rejoinder to the workmen's case. It refers to the cost of production at that time over 1871. The increase was thirty-seven or thirty-five per cent. higher than 1871--the items being, wages 14.68 per cent., and the effect of the Mines Bill 22.67 per cent. Assuming that the cost arising from the operation of the mines was divided between employers and workmen--eleven per cent. to each--there was still 26.35 per cent. to the disadvantage of the employer. On the credit side coal was only 5½ or 8.8 per cent. higher than in 1871, and therefore their conclusion was that the claim for fifteen and ten per cent. reduction was amply justified. At the conclusion of the two days' sitting it was agreed that the arbitrators should meet on the 16th of September, and if they failed to agree the umpire would decide. That meeting took place, and the umpire was asked to decide, which he did on September 25th, and awarded a reduction of six per cent. in the wages underground and four per cent. in the wages paid to surface men. No sooner was the arbitration finished than the Association found itself face to face with a difficulty of a different but yet perplexing nature. The employers conceived the idea of separating the deputies from the miners. Their reasons for taking this step are stated in a subsequent letter. The mode of procedure they adopted was to exempt the deputies from the six per cent. reduction, providing a majority of the deputies on any colliery would leave the Miners' Association. The employers said their action was in response to a request by some of the deputies. The action drew from the Executive Committee a strong remonstrance. They pleaded with the deputies and protested against the action of the owners. The circular they issued was a lengthy one. Our object will be served if we quote a few portions. Addressing the deputies, they said: "It appears in response to some application made by some of you the Owners' Committee have agreed that where a majority of deputies on any colliery are not members of ours, they will recommend that such deputies be freed from the recent reduction. Call this offer by what name you will it is neither more nor less than a special kind of bribery held out to you and we regret to hear, that some of you have been imprudent enough to accept it. Why make this difference between those who belong and those who do not belong to our Association? It is not because they respect the one party more than the other, or that the party who have left us are any better workmen or in any way more useful to the owners than those deputies who still belong to our Association. The most unknown amongst you as to your past history, or the most casual observer of present doings, ought to know that the motive which has induced the Owners' Committee to make this offer is not respect for you as a class, is not because they think your responsibilities are increased more than heretofore, neither is it because they think you underpaid, but it is because they want to induce you to sever your connection with an Association which has hitherto been able to gain many advantages for members and for none more than for your class. They offer you an inch now in order that they may take from you a foot hereafter. Most of you can remember the time (only five years ago) when your wages varied from 3s. 4d. to 3s. 8d. per day of eight hours' working, while with the recent reduction of six per cent. your wages are now 4s. 8d. for 7½ hours' working, or an advance in time and money of 39.58 per cent." The circular then draws attention to a portion of a letter from the deputies who had left the miners to those of another colliery, and to the resolution of the Owners' Association. The portion of the deputies' letter said: "If any member of our [the Deputies'] Association leaves and starts to hew, and has to go back to the Hewers' Association, the two pounds' entrance fee will be paid out of the Deputies' Association." The resolution of the Owners read: That this Association thinks that deputies, like overmen, should be the agents of the masters, and that under these circumstances it is imperative that they should not be restricted by any Trades Union resolutions. In relation to these the Committee point out that they (the deputies) could not honestly be members even of the Deputies' Association, for by the stipulation of the employers they were not to be restricted by any Trade Union regulations. "It will thus be seen that if you do this, you sell your birthright, your independence, your manhood, your all, not even for a necessitous 'mess of pottage' but for an insignificant present advantage, in order that you may bring upon yourselves a future permanent and great evil." Some of the deputies were desirous of serving two masters: they wanted to remain in the Miners' and at the same time enter the Deputies' Association for the sake of the six per cent. At the Council held on Saturday, 30th September, a resolution was carried declaring "that the Deputies be not allowed to remain in our Association and also become members of what is called the Deputies' Association." At the same time a sharp correspondence took place between the Owners' Association and the Miners', in which Mr Bunning sent a letter, bearing date 3rd November, which contained a protest and an extenuation. _November 3rd, 1876._ RESOLUTION OF COAL OWNERS The members of this Association regret that the Representatives of the Miners' Association after five years' amicable correspondence, should have thought it necessary to communicate to them so uncourteous and offensive a document as that bearing date 24th October 1876, and relating to the resolution passed respecting the deputies, on October 11th, 1876. And, as this resolution was arrived at after mature deliberation, and from the conviction that both the safety of the mine, and discipline of the pits, are seriously endangered, by having the deputies subject to the restrictions imposed by the Miners' Union, no good can possibly arise from any discussion of the subject at a meeting of the two Associations. [Illustration: JOHN FORMAN] The reply sent by the Executive repudiated all intention to be uncourteous or offensive in language, but at the same time they repeated the charge of bribery, for, said they, "viewed from the most favourable standpoint, your action in the matter can only be characterised as that of holding out a manifestly unfair inducement to the deputies." They asked what the employers would have thought, if, having the power, the Miners' Association had held out inducements to charge men? They reminded the owners that they asked for a reduction off all wages, and the award of six per cent. applied to all underground labour. Considering these facts they could not but look upon the action as a covert attack on the Association. The Executive acting on instruction from Council took a return, which resulted as follows:-- Total number of Deputies--2557. Total number in our Association--936. Total number in Deputies' Association--1621. Total number paid old wage--1449. Total number paid reduced wage--1044. 1877 Deputies--Sliding Scale--Relief Fund--Emigration The dispute about the deputies opened the year. A very lengthy correspondence took place on the subject between the Employers' and Miners' Associations. On January 23rd the whole of it was sent to the lodges. They were informed that the Committee had done all they could to avert a conflict on the question. In keeping with a resolution of Council, the owners had been offered arbitration, which they had refused. The resolution referred to contained the alternative of giving the whole of the notices providing arbitration was refused. Now, to carry out the instructions contained in that resolution the Committee forwarded the ballot tickets for the purpose of taking the vote in accordance with the rule. They concluded by saying: "Whatever the result may be arising out of this case the entire onus of blame must rest with the owners themselves." A resolution was placed on the programme for Council on February 3rd by the ex-Committee asking "that the deputies who are still with us be paid the 6 per cent. out of the General Fund of the Association," but it lost. In addition, the subject was laid before the Central Board of the Miners' National Union. They expressed regret and surprise at the action of the employers in paying one portion of the deputies more than the others, and were of the opinion "that there can only be one object in view in this policy, the disruption of the Miners' Union. The Board earnestly appeal to the mine owners to withdraw from the position they have taken up. Should they fail to do this the Board will feel called upon to ask the members of the National Union to yield all the support to the Durham Miners' Association they can under the circumstances." Nothing further was done in the matter during 1877 except an occasional Council resolution. We shall, however, meet the same question in a few years. THE FIRST SLIDING SCALE Early in the year the Association was entering seriously into a new phase of our industrial relation with the employers and taking another step in the path of amicability by the arrangement of the sliding scale. For some time there had been an inclination in that direction. By the Minutes of the Executive Committee members were informed that negotiations were proceeding with a view to establishing a scale, and at the Council meeting held on December 9th, 1876, the following resolution was on the programme:--"Seeing that coals are up, we ask for 25 per cent. advance." The decision was that the question rest over until the sliding scale question is settled. On February 16th a letter was received from the employers containing the following resolution:-- "This Association having anxiously considered the further serious depression in the Durham coal trade and the necessity for endeavouring to avert in some prompt and thorough manner the complete collapse which has set in to the ruin of many owners, and the casting adrift of large bodies of men, feels compelled to ask the Miners' Association to concur in a further reduction in wages and readjustment of hours." The Executive Committee met the owners on Thursday, February 22nd, when they were informed that the depressed trade and lower prices demanded a reduction of ten per cent. from underground and six per cent. from the bank workmen, "coupled with an increase in the working hours which would, in a great measure, compensate the men for the reduction in their wages." The Committee could neither see the necessity for a reduction nor could they see the compensation in the lengthening of hours. They, however, arranged another meeting for Friday, 9th March, when they would further discuss the sliding scale, and, failing that, the reduction. In the statement explaining these proceedings the Committee placed before the members two scales--one proposed by them and the other by the owners. It will be interesting and instructive to give these scales. _December 22nd, 1876._ SLIDING SCALE PROPOSED BY THE DURHAM COAL OWNERS Price Wage s. d. Per cent. s. d. 5 2 0 4 8.0 5 10 5 4 10.8 6 6 10 5 1.6 7 2 15 5 4.4 7 10 20 5 7.2 8 6 25 5 10.0 9 2 30 6 0.8 9 10 35 6 3.6 10 6 40 6 6.4 11 2 45 6 9.2 11 10 50 7 0.0 12 6 55 7 2.8 13 2 60 7 5.6 _January 2nd, 1877._ SLIDING SCALE AS PROPOSED BY THE DURHAM MINERS' ASSOCIATION Price Wage s. d. Per cent. s. d. 5 6 0 5 0 6 2 5 5 3 6 10 10 5 6 7 6 15 5 9 8 2 20 6 0 8 10 25 6 3 9 6 30 6 6 10 2 35 6 9 10 10 40 7 0 11 6 45 7 3 12 2 50 7 6 12 10 55 7 9 13 6 60 8 0 In the explanation sent out it was shown that each scale would carry a minimum wage. Theirs would be five shillings, while the employers' would be 4s. 8d. The wages in the scale were for coal hewers only. The reduction the employers were asking for would bring the wages down twopence per man below the lowest wages offered in the owners' scale. They asked the members to leave the question entirely in their hands, as in their opinion a better settlement would be got than by any other way. A special Council was called for the 8th of March, and two subjects were sent out for discussion--(1) Should a sliding scale be adopted; if so, under what condition? (2) Should the owners be offered arbitration? The result was that the arranging of the scale was placed in the hands of the Committee, and on 14th March the first sliding scale was signed for two years. THE FIRST SCALE The following scale shall regulate the wages of hewers and labour below ground:-- SCALE Price at and above but below Wage 5 4 7½ per cent. reduction 5 4 5 8 5 " " 5 8 6 4 Present Rate 6 4 7 0 5 per cent. advance 7 0 7 8 10 " " 7 8 8 4 15 " " 8 4 9 0 20 " " 9 0 9 8 25 " " 9 8 10 4 30 " " 10 4 11 0 35 " " 11 0 11 8 40 " " 11 8 12 4 45 " " 12 4 13 0 50 " " 13 0 13 8 55 " " 13 8 60 " " And so on. It will be observed that the grades were eightpence, and for that amount the change in wages was four per cent. Next, there was to be a minimum wage of 4s. 8½d. per day. This is worthy of special notice in the light of subsequent events, especially during the time the minimum existed, which was until 1879, and especially in view of the desire of many people to have a minimum established again. Another point was the amount of reduction, which would depend upon an ascertainment by accountants. Messrs Monkhouse, Goddard & Miller acted for the owners, and Messrs Benson, Eland & Co. for the workmen. The ascertainment was made known on the 31st of March, the average net price realised being certified at 5s. 3.97d. The Committee accompanied the ascertainment with a short circular, and informed the members "that a reduction of 7½ per cent. on underground men and boys and 'banksmen' wages and 6 per cent. on 'bankmen's' wages will take place on the pays commencing April 2nd and April 9th." THE FIRST RELIEF FUND As a consequence of the depressed state of trade very large numbers of men were thrown out of work, and the rules of the Association made no provision for them. Opinion had been ripening for some months, and the Committee realising that the time was opportune, and acting on a Council resolution, suggested the formation of a Relief Fund. In furtherance of the object they sent out the following:-- SUGGESTIONS FOR RELIEF FUND Fellow Workmen,--At last Council meeting, you put into the hands of the Committee, the work of suggesting some plan to relieve the numbers of men now idle at various collieries in the county. After mature consideration, they suggest the following as a means of forming a Relief Fund:-- 1. To take from the General Fund the sum of five thousand pounds to form the nucleus of such Relief Fund. 2. That this Fund be afterwards kept up by the payment of a levy, or extra contribution, of 2d. per member per fortnight. These two are the basis of their suggestions, details can be discussed and arranged afterwards. But to make these suggestions--and especially the second one--a success, the Committee believe that the county will require to have brought before them our exact position. The best, if not the only, means of doing this is to hold a series of public meetings at the various lodges and districts in the county, grouping lodges together where such can be done. What they now ask is, can they have your consent to assist the agents in attending such a series of public meetings? It is the only means of rendering successful the getting of necessary means and would not cost more than an ordinary Council meeting. In support of their proposals they adopted two modes of advocacy--first, to issue a circular, and second, to hold a series of meetings at all the lodges. This latter step they considered most essential, as they would thus be enabled to state the matter more clearly by speech and answer to the members. This view they placed before the lodges, and received sanction with very little objection; and, acting upon it, they arranged themselves into deputations of two each, and for about three weeks either addressed lodge meetings or groups of collieries where convenient, and as a consequence the Relief Fund was formed on the lines suggested. While it existed it proved itself a very useful institution for that period, which was the darkest through which the Association had to pass. The amount paid, although small, was useful to the public as well as the members--to the latter by easing off the pinch of poverty, and to the former by the help to the rates, which would assuredly have been much more heavily weighted if the fund had not existed. It only existed a year, however, for the Committee placed a statement before the county on November 2nd which showed that, while there had only been £4144 contributed to the Relief Fund, the expenditure had been £9695, and that, adding the £5000 grant from the General Fund, the expenditure had exceeded by £551 the whole amount paid into it. EMIGRATION AGENCY During 1876 and up to July 1877 the agents had acted as emigration agents, and had been very useful in their advice to people who were inclined to emigrate by giving them advice upon points and matters of importance to them. All they did was done free of charge, and only with the view to help those who were members of the Association; but as in every movement there are men of the "viler sort," whose envy prompts them to attribute ill motives to those they envy, so in this case there were some who, instead of giving the agents credit for good motives, were not slow to charge them with selfishness and exploiting the volume of emigration for their own benefit. The agents bore this until the Council meeting held on July 21st, when Mr Crawford and his colleagues resolved to give it up. In doing so they gave their reasons in the following circular:-- EMIGRATION AGENCY _To the Members._ Gentlemen,--As announced at Council Meeting on Saturday last, we intend to give up the agency. It was taken with two objects--(1) To have ourselves well posted up in emigration news, so that we might be able to give the best advice possible; (2) to aid our members by allowing them the commission money, which is a very important item indeed. It was not taken with the view of making one penny of profit, but solely to assist our members by advice and also an abatement of their fares. But as some poltroon fellows, who are directly interested in getting emigrants in order that they may get the commission money, are causing some stir, and as, further, some of our lodges are listening to their statements, we think it necessary to give it up. You will be the only losers by it, but remember that it is amongst our own members that the real grumblers are found. 1878 The Hours Arbitration--Position of the Association--Federation Board The first item of interest in 1878 was initiated on 15th March by a letter received from the employers _re_ the lengthening of the coal-drawing hours. It was addressed to Mr Crawford as follows:-- Dear Sir,--I am desired to inform you that the present state of the coal trade in Durham seems to render it imperative to extend the hours of work and increase the facilities for drawing coal. And that the members of this Association would be glad to discuss the matter with you and your Committee with a view to arriving at some decision on the subject. Could you fix Thursday next, the 21st, at two o'clock to meet our Committee here? An answer at your earliest convenience will oblige. The Executive met the employers as requested, and found that the change was to increase from ten hours to eleven all the collieries working ten hours, that drawing time being the outcome of an arrangement. The owners were reminded that it was inconsistent with the sliding scale, and the demand should be withdrawn. They replied by quoting a portion of the scale: "Both parties shall remain at liberty to raise any question not inconsistent with the maintenance of the sliding scale." "Should any dispute arise as to the carrying out of these arrangements the question in dispute shall be submitted to the chairman of the Joint Committee, who, if he cannot act, shall appoint some other umpire to act in his place. The award in either case to be final." These were discussed at great length; finally three proposals suggested by the Executive Committee, subject to the approval of their members, were agreed to: 1st. Is it consistent with the sliding scale to even discuss a lengthening of the hours? 2nd. If it is consistent with the sliding scale to discuss the matter, is it necessary to lengthen such hours? 3rd. If the hours are lengthened, should there follow any increase in wages, and if so, how much? The Committee were not sure whether the full body of owners would agree to them, as those present at the meeting objected to No. 2 being a question of reference. They informed the lodges that Mr Meynell had fixed 9th April for the hearing of the case. They were convinced that the employers could make the demand under the arrangements, and therefore all that was necessary was to say how many persons should attend and who they should be. The question was eventually placed in the hands of the members of Joint Committee to make the best settlement they could. On 15th April Mr Meynell gave the following award:-- COAL DRAWING (_Award_) Whereas the Durham Coal Owners' Association, being of opinion, that it is absolutely necessary that the working hours of all men and boys above 16 years of age should be increased, if they thought fit to place it before me, and to leave me to decide the question. And whereas it was also agreed that the following questions should be left to me for my decision:-- 1st. Is it consistent with the sliding scale to discuss a lengthening of the hours? 2nd. If it is consistent with the sliding scale to discuss the matter, is it necessary to lengthen such hours? 3rd. If the hours are lengthened, should there follow any increase in wages, and, if so, how much? Now, having heard and carefully considered the arguments on each side, I award, decide, and determine that it is not inconsistent with the sliding scale to discuss the question of lengthening the working hours; 2nd. that it is necessary to lengthen such hours; 3rd. that there should be an increase in the wages where the hours are lengthened. I award and decide that the working hours of all men and boys above 16 years of age shall, or may be increased in accordance with my award, that the minimum wage to be paid to the hewers shall be, when the pit works 10½ hours, 4s. 10½d.; and when the pit works 11 hours, 5s. 0½d.; and that the wages of the datal men shall be increased in strict arithmetical proportion to the wages they are earning at the time of such increase in the hours. I determine that the increased hours shall or may commence on and after the first pays after the date of this my award. As witness my hand, this 15th day of April 1878. E. J. MEYNELL. There immediately arose some dispute as to the application of the award, and he was called upon to define it, which he did in a decision given at Joint Committee on May 10th. _May 10th, 1878._ "I further award and decide that where the working hours shall be increased in accordance with my award, that the minimum wages to be paid to the miners shall be where the pit works 10 hours and a half, 4s. 10½d. and where the pit works 11 hours, 5s. 0½d. is intended to mean--that where the hewers are increased one quarter hour per shift, the county average wage shall, in that case, be considered as 4s. 10½d. instead of 4s. 8½d. as hithertofore; and where their hours are increased half-an-hour per shift, the county average wage shall be 5s. 0½d. instead of the present average of 4s. 8½d. It is also intended that the working hours of any or all classes of workmen may be increased on the payment to them of proportionate increased rates as set out in the award; and that the maximum working hours for drawing coals be 11 hours per day in day-shift pits, and double shifts proportionately." The employers then asked that there should be an allowance for the time taken by boys under age descending and ascending. With the ten hours the boys under sixteen came out after coal drawing was done, but under the eleven hours some were taken in at six A.M. and "rode" at four P.M. Some were taken at seven A.M. and came out at five P.M., when the coal drawing finished. There was, therefore, a loss of time at either seven or at four, and this should be allowed for. The matter was arranged on the following principle:--Whatever time was taken either at seven to send the under-age boys down, or at four to bring them up, should be added to the eleven hours. If it took ten minutes, then the coal drawing would be from six A.M. to five-ten P.M., but in no case was the time allowed to be more than a quarter of an hour. POSITION OF THE ASSOCIATION As the year progressed the trade became more depressed. Pits were being laid in or batches of men were being discharged. The price of coals was rushing down; the ascertainment for the four months ending November showed the average was 4s. 7.65d. per ton, a reduction of 8.32d. per ton since the scale was established without any reduction in wages. The evil of this was seen in the numbers of men being discharged and in the sad falling away in the membership. The extent of this may be gathered by a reference to the Executive Committee Minutes for May 13th. Without mentioning names here, suffice it to say that at one large colliery a deputation was sent from the Executive with power to "appoint someone to act as checkweighman and secretary and to guarantee his wages for six months," and that if the men at that colliery wished "the President attend as either steward or treasurer." The state of the county was growing so desperate that the Committee issued two circulars, the object being to place it clearly before the members. In the first they dealt with the Relief Fund. They commenced by saying: "We are passing through a crisis in the coal trade, and during its continuance every step we take requires careful watching. We may even find it necessary to retrace our steps, by undoing what we have hithertofore done. We are well aware, that to many men this kind of conduct seems to portray a want of stability and necessary perseverance. Perseverance in a good and successful cause is highly commendable, but to persevere in a course of conduct, where perseverance means ultimate ruin is neither wise nor commendable. A renowned writer has said that "while fools persevere in their ways, wise men change their opinions and course of conduct." A body of men who either cannot or will not adapt themselves to existing exigencies must not expect success to attend their efforts." Passing from these calm, wise words of warning they bring before the members the position of the Relief Fund. A year prior they (the Committee) had asked them to subscribe to assist those thrown out of employment by the bad condition of trade. To this there had been a response of twopence per fortnight. That had not been adequate to meet the demand, and the twopence had been increased to fivepence. Still the income did not keep pace with the outlay. For the six weeks previous there had been a loss of £2145. There was not only this monetary loss, but there was the more serious one, its effect on the membership. Thousands of members are refusing to pay the fivepence per fortnight, and great numbers of men have left the Association, so that we are not only losing the fivepence but their ordinary labour contributions. This being our position, we would strongly advise you to at once abolish the payment of the Relief Fund levy. While this was their opinion they would continue the benefits for three months. At the Council held on 15th June it was decided "that the benefits of the Relief Fund be continued for 12 weeks longer, but the contributions cease forthwith and the money required to meet the demands thereof be taken from the General Fund." This was done in order that the men in receipt of relief should not suddenly have their small resources cut off, but should have a little time to look round. The second circular dealt with the General Fund in its relation to the demands upon it. As a preface to their suggested alteration they said: The history of Trades Unions during the last 30 years would form a very curious chapter in the annals of our country. The vicissitudes which have happened to organised bodies of workmen have been manifold, and varied; but the disastrous consequences which have so often overtaken them have generally been the result of a want of policy, prudence, and forethought, on the part of those who have composed such Associations. It is just as much the study of those who have the more direct management of Associations like ours to look facts fully in the face before it is too late, as it is that of the head of a household to weigh his position and measure his stores both present and prospective, before he rushes into irretrievable ruin. Believing this to be our duty we now place before you our position both present and prospective. They then point out that the expenditure was just double the income. During the previous nine months there had been £20,000 drawn from the deposit account. In the face of these facts there needed to be retrenchment. They then show that in 1869 the contribution was fixed at 6d. per fortnight, while the strike and breakage allowance was 10s. per week (and a colliery must be off two weeks before receiving anything), and the sacrificed allowance was 13s. per week, with 1s. per week for each child. These benefits continued until 1872, when work was plentiful and wages good. Then the strike and breakage allowance was raised to 15s. (and only to be off a week before being entitled), and the sacrificed allowance was made 20s., with 2s. 6d. for each child, per week. They therefore suggested a reversion to the original payment (except in the case of the week) and the reduction of the death legacy for children from £3 to £2, and they wound up by saying: "It is not now a matter of choice, but one of positive compulsion. An Association wanting money is like a ship wanting a rudder in a boisterous sea. We would soon find ourselves driven on to the rocks of discontent, disaffection, and disunion, and in all probability shattered to pieces in the struggle. To pursue longer the course we are now pursuing must shortly leave us in that pitiable and helpless condition." A special Council meeting was held on 11th October which gave sanction to the whole of the Committee's recommendation. FORMATION OF THE FEDERATION BOARD As soon as the other sections of labour had formed themselves into separate organisations in 1873-4, there sprang up a desire for a federation of forces, and from time to time there appeared resolutions on the Council programme all aiming at that end. In this year it took a more definite shape. On the Committee Minutes for January 28th there is a resolution as follows:-- That a deputation of three agents attend a meeting of cokemen, mechanics and enginemen as to the amalgamation of all those Associations. In October a meeting was held at which a set of rules was drawn up and sent out to the county with an explanation. The members were informed that the suggestions were not unalterable, but in their crude form were submitted subject to their approval or amendment. And they were informed that: "The Federation was formed to protect their joint interests. There might have been divisions but these must be forgotten. The workmen were unconnected, whilst acting against a thoroughly organised body of owners. There had been no cohesion, nor the remotest understanding, while at the same time they were dealing with the same combined body of capitalists. It must be clear to everyone that while in our present divided condition and negotiating with owners who act as one body we must be placed at a very serious disadvantage." The county approved of the idea, and on November 13th the rules were issued to the county. At the Annual Meeting held on 6th December the first members of the Board were elected. Their names were J. Forman, W. Crawford, W. H. Patterson, N. Wilkinson, J. Wilson, and W. Johnson. Slightly anticipating the events happening in 1879, and for the purpose of keeping ourselves in as close sequence as possible, it may be stated here that the first meeting of the Board was held on January 28th, 1879, when Mr Crawford was appointed secretary, and Mr J. Dover (mechanic) treasurer. With respect to the chairman, it was decided to appoint an independent one for six months. He should only have a casting vote, and be paid 21s. per day and expenses. At the meeting held on February 7th Mr John Coward of Durham was elected to that position, and occupied it for some months, and during the strike of 1879, assisted by his counsel. By being unaffected in wage by that stoppage he was able to bring a cool and dispassionate feeling to bear upon the questions in dispute. It is due to him to say he took no remuneration for his services. 1879 Demand for Reduction--Strike of 1879--Dual Arbitration--Renewal of Sliding Scale The Board was just formed when it was called upon to face one of the most serious crises in our history. At the Council meeting held on December 7th, 1878, it was decided that the average wages in the county should be taken, and that the formation of another scale should be remitted to the Committee, with power to renew it. The Committee were not satisfied with that indefinite resolution, and asked for more explicit instructions. There were certain alterations required, and therefore they asked for "full and uncontrolled power." They knew that in adopting that course they would risk a large amount of unpleasantness, but they were willing to risk it if they were assured of the confidence of the majority of the members. Further, they asked that the retiring members of the Committee should be allowed to remain in office until the scale was arranged and the crisis over. These requests as to power and suggestion as to the Committee were both accepted. The formation of the Federation Board, however, somewhat altered, and at first complicated, the situation, for the result was a complex and dual authority. The Board was not then, as now, the sole conductor of the wages disputes, but the various Committees acted collaterally, the Miners' Committee taking the leading part in the negotiations. The demands made by the employers were handed to the Miners' Committee on February 4th. The conditions were as under: (1) That a reduction of 20 per cent. on present underground wages is a condition precedent to the re-establishment of a sliding scale. (2) That a reduction of 12½ per cent. should be made in surface labour, but so that the wages of able-bodied men be not brought below 2s. 6d. per day. (3) In the event of a scale being established, it shall have no limit upward or downward, and shall be subject to termination on 12 months' notice. The Committee could not grant the request, but at once made an offer of seven and a half per cent., to take effect on Monday, the 10th, or they would submit the entire matter to arbitration. These offers were refused by the owners, and as a consequence the meeting was adjourned until the 20th. The Committee called a Council for the 15th of February. On the 7th the Federation Board met, and passed the following resolution:-- This Board feels that the position of the county in reference to wages is anomalous. The owners having as a body demanded a reduction of wages, and as such reduction includes all classes of labour in connection with collieries, we recommend that each Association call a Council meeting to discuss the advisability of adjusting a sliding scale for the regulation of wages, consistent with all our interests. That the Secretary write and ask that at the meeting on the 20th inst. all the four Associations be represented. The Miners' Council decided against the seven and a half per cent., but by the following resolution offered arbitration:-- "That having heard the report of the Committee on their interview with the owners on the reduction now asked by the latter, this meeting is of opinion that the best means of settling the difficulty is, to refer it to open arbitration as heretofore." The owners refused to meet the Federation Board as a whole, and as a consequence the Miners' Committee met them on the 20th, in keeping with the Board Minute, on February 18th. At that meeting the owners modified their demand. OWNERS' MODIFIED OFFER _February 22nd, 1879._ "1. That a reduction of 10 per cent. in underground, and 7½ per cent. in surface labour, be brought into operation in the first pay beginning March next. 2. That the additional 10 per cent. in underground, and 5 per cent. in surface labour, claimed by the owners in their Minute of January 11th, be referred to arbitration in the following manner, viz.:-- Representatives of the two Associations to meet within the first week of March, and if they can agree on a sole arbitrator, the matter to be forthwith referred to him; and if they cannot so agree, each side to appoint an arbitrator, which two arbitrators shall forthwith appoint an umpire, and if they fail to do so by March 15th, such umpire shall, on the application of either arbitrator, be appointed by Mr Meynell, County Court Judge of Durham. In the event of there being two arbitrators and an umpire, they shall sit together to hear the case; and the award shall take effect in the first pay in April. 3. The expediency of re-establishing a sliding scale, to be left for consideration after the award has been given." This was submitted to the Federation Board, who met the modification by the following:-- FEDERATION BOARD'S OFFER _March 6th, 1879._ 1st. To offer the owners the 10 per cent. for underground workmen, and 7½ per cent. for bank workmen as a settlement of the whole question. 2nd. To offer them 7½ per cent. from underground, and 6 per cent. from above-bank workmen, and to refer any further claim they might make to arbitration. The Miners' Committee supported the Board, and did this in a circular which contained some very plain and urgent statements. "At best, the lookout is but a gloomy one, and we must try to bridge over the difficulty as best we can, and if possible, without the pits being stopped. We have no wish to descant on the generally depressed condition of trade, or the evil effects producible by a large surplus number of men. At the present time, both these things are operating amongst us, and the owners know this, and seem determined to use them in this crisis. Looking at the general condition of things, we would very strongly advise you to adopt one of the suggestions contained in this circular. They are the best we can get at the present time, and a refusal of one of the methods suggested cannot result in better terms for the great body of our members. You must remember that these are times when prudent men do the best, and get the most they can without running all the risks which always attend a stoppage of the pits when trade is paralysed and men both suffering and disorganised." Immediately these offers were made known there arose a fierce agitation in the county, and on every hand mass meetings were held protesting against the terms. As is the case in matters of this kind, orators vehement if not polished sprang up from every quarter, whose stock-in-trade consisted of foul epithets which they hurled at the Committee and Federation Board. So desperate was the situation that certain of the Committee were in fear, and came into public view as little as possible. A personal incident may be excused here. A mass meeting was held on the sands in Durham. The writer, as chairman of the Wheatley Hill Lodge, marched to it. The first words heard were: "There's one of the----; let us put him in the river." The crowd surged and rocked. What the consequence might have been it is hard to tell, but just when the feeling ran highest and he was most in danger a man was knocked back over on to a drum which stood end up, and it went off with a loud report, and the cry was: "They are firing guns." In a moment a panic seized the people, and, as is recorded of the battle of Stanhope over the moor hen, "those who ran fastest got soonest out of town." There was a low wall (low on one side, high on the other) over which hundreds fell head foremost, and a good, kind lady who had come from Wheatley Hill to take care of her husband (the man whose presence was the cause of all the hubbub) was carried away by the crowd, and was so rushed along by the panic-stricken stream of humanity that she was with twenty others landed in a stable, the door of which stood invitingly open like a city of refuge. And so the result was the meeting was disturbed, and the culprit, one of the malodorous Committee, was left unhurt, Providence in the shape of a drum being the means of saving him. Apart from the ludicrous incident of the bursting drum the feeling manifested towards the Committee there was only on a par with that found everywhere throughout the county. If one of those at the head of affairs appeared in the street and passed a group of men insult was rampant--slander, being cowardly, feels safe in a crowd. Still the Committee were not to be driven from their task. They regretted the action of the employers in refusing open arbitration, and who, knowing the condition of the Union, were determined to force their full demand; and they were sorry for the opposition of their members, but they knew they were moved by sheer desperation, and played upon by designing men who cared more for popularity, even if it were fleeting, than the welfare of the Union, and who would not hesitate to bring ruin if perchance small gain would come to them from it. The Committee prepared for the struggle which they saw was inevitable if the employers did not move from the position they had taken up. Knowing this they set themselves to ascertain the true state of affairs in the county. They took the actual average of the hewers and reductions which at each colliery had been suffered at Joint Committee, or had been forced upon them since March 1877, with the hewing prices. It was found that while there was a nominal minimum wage of 4s. 8½d. where the drawing hours were ten, 4s. 10½d. where the hours were ten and a half, and 5s. 0½d. where the eleven hours prevailed, the actual average of the hewers throughout the entire county was only 4s. 6¾d. It was therefore about 5d. per day or seven per cent. below the theoretical minimum. This is worth considering when we are desirous of establishing it again. It may work in the summer of trade, but not in the winter of depression. This state of things was brought about as the result of local reductions. There were well-known instances where whole collieries of men petitioned the Executive Committee to be allowed to work at twenty per cent. below the minimum wage. In the final arbitration of 1879, before Lord Derby, the employers admitted the actual average was only 4s. 6¾d. This they had taken just prior to the strike. They likewise stated in their case that many and considerable reductions were privately agreed to, and particularly where the owners possessed little capital or worked inferior or costly seams. The average taken by the Committee harmonised with the 4s. 6¾d. _Quotation from Owners' Case_ 34. At 43 separate pits arrangements for abatements of wages were made in the working of 65 different seams, varying from 2½ per cent. to 20 per cent. and upwards, and this state of things continued up to the close of the period to which the sliding scale applied, when negotiations for a general reduction of wages were entered into by the two Associations which eventually ended in the strike. 35. These local arrangements, as we have stated, were private, and between the individual worker owner and his workmen, and without the official knowledge of the Owners' Association. It is believed that, if not in every case, certainly very many of the private agreements had the approval of the Miners' Executive, for some of these negotiations were conducted personally by their staff, who had the strong motive in thus keeping their constituents employed at the best wages they could obtain for them, of saving the Union funds from supporting every man, who, under the rules of the Association, was entitled to support when thrown out of employment. The Committee in their reply before Lord Derby acknowledged that these reductions took place, but to strengthen their case they charged the whole blame on the employers. They said: Sometimes this was done by threatening to stop the pits and sometimes by the more reprehensible practice of dismissing portions of men, in proof of which we can testify that men were personally canvassed, and if not found pliable were threatened and coerced. That reductions took place, and, as the owners state, in some cases they amounted to 20 per cent., is correct, thus making the wages of numerous bodies of hewers (in place of reaching the owners asserted 4s. 8d. or 5s. per day) fall far below even 4s. per day and proving what we have all along stated, that the average wages of the best paid class of men in the county, viz.--the hewers, are at least 10 per cent. and even more below the rate named by the owners. This proves the inability of our men to suffer any further reduction. In their rejoinder the employers returned to the subject. They asserted that for two years the great bulk of the owners had kept faith with the workmen, at a loss to themselves when the selling price fell below the scale. In the cases where arrangements had been made they had been assisted and concurred in by the Miners' Executive. "We assert and challenge contradiction that the Executive were parties, if not to every abatement of wage in 1878-79, most certainly they were parties to many, and hence the folly of accusing the owners of conniving at the reductions when the Executive were straining every nerve to assist them, with the object, as we again assert, of saving their Union funds." In addition to the general poverty of the workmen through low wages and slack work the Committee had to face a serious disorganisation. At some very large collieries the numbers had decreased very much. This fact was as well known to the owners as the Committee, for it was brought out very prominently at the meeting with the employers, when the Committee made the offer of ten and seven and a half per cent. as a full settlement. One of the employers, urging the acceptance of their claim, said: "There are a large number of men outside the Union, and these are not with you. The logic of events will decide the issue." The reply of one of the Executive was: "You mean the logic of circumstances, the logic of the cupboard. You have a good ally in our poverty." Then there was a sadly depleted fund, which in itself was sufficient to fill them with pessimism, for every man deserving of being at the head of Trade Unions is bound to feel when faced by these circumstances--not in a cowardly manner, but a feeling evolved out of the dark background of poverty and hunger, not of men, but of the children. There was only £22,688 in property and bank. From this was to be deducted £4861 as money invested in the Industrial Bank and Houghton and Shotton Workmen's Hall, which was not available for strike purposes; therefore the war chest was very small, especially to enter upon a struggle such as lay before them. In the face of these adverse circumstances--owners persistent in their demands, wages very low, partial disorganisation, small resources, and an angry people--the Committee stood firm. Their attitude was unflinching, and their advice fearless and clear, as witness the following quotation from a circular:-- The time has now come when there must be unmistakably plain speaking. It is now clear, beyond a doubt, that if you persist in your adherence to open arbitration alone, the owners will allow the sliding scale to run out without further interference or negotiation and at the end of that time they will take all that they can get, either along the whole line or piecemeal, whichever course may best suit their purpose, by enabling them to punish you by lowering wages and reintroducing pernicious practices. To attempt to fight at the present time without offering the terms which we shall further on advise you to offer, would be suicidal. Look around you, and what do you find? On every hand you can count idle men by hundreds and thousands. Many of these men have been idle for weeks and months. All their means have long since been spent, and they are waiting for work, begging for work, and cannot find it. We have spent in two years over strikes amongst our own members, at large and small collieries, nearly one hundred thousand pounds and there is not a single strike, either of large or small dimensions, where we have not signally failed. The offer mentioned in the above was a ten per cent. off underground men and seven and a half per cent. off surface men as a final settlement, or seven and a half per cent. off underground wages and six per cent. off surface wages, and any further claim referred to open arbitration. The circular was submitted to a Council, and refused, but Mr Crawford was instructed to offer open arbitration on the whole question. This was done by telegram: To T. W. Bunning, Coal Trade Hall, Newcastle. Open arbitration having for many years been resorted to by your Association and ours in the settlement of wages questions, our members again wish to have recourse to it in the settlement of your present demand for a further reduction of wages. On the same day a reply was received: W. Crawford, 16 North Road, Durham. The following resolution was passed by a full meeting of the Employers' Association before the receipt of your telegram and has since been unanimously confirmed--At a meeting of this body held to-day arrangements were made for giving notice to expire on April 5th to all men whose wages have been hitherto regulated by the Durham Miners' sliding scale, that from that date underground wages will be reduced fifteen and surface wages ten per cent. It will be seen the offer of the owners confines it to the miners, as they alone were in the scale. This modification of demand and threat of notice was sent out in a circular on the 17th of March. They reviewed the whole situation both at home and in other counties. At home, within the previous six days, four collieries had received notice for depression of trade. In South Wales heavy reductions had taken place. In Scotland nearly the whole of the notices had been served for further reductions, while wages were as low as 2s. 6d. per day. In other parts of the country a similar state of things existed. In stating these matters there was no attempt to terrify. It was a simple statement of facts. It would require the pen of a master to place before them a true picture of "all the comparative and positive destitution to be found in the houses of thousands of men at the present time. With this dreadfully adverse condition of things is it possible to go into a struggle with a body of men, strong in their own cause, determined to fight, and who have every possible advantage on their side? To do so can only end in results the most damaging to our organisation and ruinous to ourselves and families. True valour is not shown in reckless and heedless action, but by waiting until a foe can be met on at least equal terms." It was no use offering arbitration, for the owners had persistently refused that. They urged the whole matter should be left in the hands of somebody chosen by themselves to make the best settlement they could. The voting at the Council was taken on the two questions: the Committee's suggestion or arbitration. The result was 118 for the former and 155 for the latter--being a majority of 37 for open arbitration on the whole question. It will be obvious that the tendency of the owners' offer only being made to the miners would be to disintegrate. It would not be right to say such was the intention, yet that was assuredly the bias. The justification lies in this, the miners were the only parties to the scale at its formation. None of the other sections were parties to it, and therefore the negotiations only applied to them. The terms of the requests were very embracive: they are "underground wages" and "surface wages." This is certain, that no division took place. The action, right or wrong, was as solid as could be expected. The voting on the questions, Committee suggestion or arbitration, did not give a satisfactory decision, and a second ballot was taken on the questions: "Strike" or "Owners' terms," with a result that the workmen refused the terms. The strike was entered upon, the notices terminating on 5th April. Some of the managers threatened to withhold the wages until the houses were vacant, and it was feared that this might provoke disturbance. Notice was sent out by the Committee, in which the action of such managers was condemned as "not only an illegal, but also an inhuman act." "But whatever course they may adopt, either in this or any other matter, be very careful not to be guilty of any breach of the law. Let nothing induce you to pursue a course which at all times is to be deplored, but which just now would be aggravated into the most heinous of crimes." As a result the conduct during the strike was most commendable, the only persons suffering being the Committee and Federation Board. There were certain collieries to whom notice was not given, and the Committee felt it necessary to ask whether these should continue working or give in their notices. The returns of the voting were 224 for stopping the whole of the collieries and only 7 for working on. They were, therefore, ordered to give in their notices, and instructions were sent out as to the mode of procedure. That vote was taken on April 22nd, but on the 30th at a special Council meeting it was qualified by the following resolution:-- "This meeting deems it highly necessary that all those firms ought to be allowed to work their pits who will agree to arbitration as a settlement of their difficulties, or who will agree to a continuation of present prices without being affected by any county change." An offer was made to the enginemen, which their representative brought before the Federation Board. At the meeting on April 21st they were advised "to only take such a reduction as the sliding scale would have warranted them in asking, had it been operative downwards as well as upwards. Should this be refused by the owners, this board would further recommend the enginemen, mechanics and cokemen who are yet employed to give in their notices and thus legally terminate their agreement." The Board met again on the 28th of April, when the enginemen reported a change in their position, and the following resolution was passed:-- This meeting has heard with satisfaction that the owners on Saturday last offered the enginemen open arbitration in the settlement of their present wages difficulty. But it cannot but express its surprise at the conduct of the owners in so determinedly refusing to adopt the same principle in the settlement of the wages difficulty now existing between the miners and them. If the adoption of arbitration in the enginemen's case would have been a right and equitable way of settling, it surely must be right also in the case of the miners. So the strike proceeded. The Committee were formed into a Strike Committee, with full power to manage it. They were called upon to defend themselves in the press. Every effort was made to get help from other districts. On the 4th of May a communication was received from the owners. COPY OF A RESOLUTION UNANIMOUSLY PASSED AT A MEETING OF THE DURHAM COAL OWNERS' ASSOCIATION, May 3rd, 1879 The Durham Coal Owners' Association recognising (1) That the public, as well as private interests, so seriously prejudiced by the strike, render it a duty to adopt a course most likely to bring about a settlement; (2) That the proposition for each side appointing a Committee with the full powers seems to have met with general approval; (3) That such Committee would undoubtedly provide the means by which difficult negotiations can be most successfully conducted; Resolves: That a Committee of 14 members of this Association be and are hereby appointed to meet a similar Committee, if such should be appointed by the Miners' Association, with full power to settle the matter at issue. That the foregoing Resolution be communicated to the Miners' Association, and they be invited to adopt a similar course. The Committee in response to that Resolution met the Owners' Committee on Saturday, the 10th of May, but failed to come to any agreement, and the meeting was adjourned until the 14th. The county was informed of the failure, and told to remain as they were until they heard from the Committee again. Mr Forman and Mr Crawford met Mr L. Wood and Mr D. Dale on the 14th. No settlement was come to as to amount of reduction, but it was arranged there should be a _pro tem_. arbitration, with Mr Bradshaw, County Court Judge, as umpire. The arrangement was that there should be an arbitration to say how the collieries should commence, and a second case after work was resumed to decide what further reduction should be granted. The preliminary case was heard on May 15th, and Judge Bradshaw, after passing in review the various stages of the dispute, decided "that there should be an absolute reduction in wages of 8¾ per cent. on underground and of 6¾ per cent. on surface labour, to take effect from that date, and the question whether any further reduction should be made be left to a future arbitration." AWARD In the matter of disputes relating to wages between the coal owners, members of the Durham Coal Owners' Association, and their workmen, members of the Durham Miners' Association: Whereas the owners claimed a considerable reduction of wages, to take effect from the fifth day of April last, and the miners refusing to accept such reductions the collieries in the county of Durham have for some time been, and still are idle. And whereas, with a view of settling the matter in difference between them, the Owners' Association appointed a Committee of 14 persons, and the Miners' Committee appointed a Committee of like number, with full power to determine the question at issue. And whereas, after long negotiations, the Owners' Committee deputed to Messrs Lindsay Wood and David Dale, and the Miners' Committee deputed to Messrs William Crawford and John Forman, their respective powers. And whereas, the said Lindsay Wood, David Dale, William Crawford, and John Forman having applied to me, the undersigned, for my advice and decision in the premises, and have laid before me the following statements, which are admitted by the parties on both sides, namely:-- 1. That on February 20th last, the owners offered to accept an absolute reduction in wages of 10 per cent. on underground, and 7½ per cent. on surface labour, and to leave to arbitration the question whether any, and what further reduction should be made. 2. That on April 2nd last, the Miners' Association offered to concede an absolute reduction in wages of 7½ per cent. on underground, and 6 per cent. on surface labour, and to leave to arbitration the question, whether any, and what further reduction should be made. 3. That on the 10th inst., the Owners' Committee offered to accept an absolute reduction in wages of 8¾ per cent. on underground and 6¾ per cent. on surface labour, and to leave to arbitration the question, whether any, and what further reduction should be made. 4. That on the 10th inst., the Miners' Committee offered to concede an absolute reduction in wages of 6¼ per cent. on underground, and 5 per cent. on surface labour, and to leave to arbitration whether any, and what further reduction should be made. Now, I, the undersigned, having duly weighed and considered the foregoing statement, and what has been alleged before me by the respective parties, _Do Decide and Award_, that there be an absolute reduction in wages of 8¾ per cent. on underground, and of 6¾ per cent. on surface labour, to take effect from the date of these presents; and the question, whether any, and what further reduction should be made, be left to future arbitration. In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, in duplicate, this fifteenth day of May, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine. THOS. BRADSHAW. Then there arose a dispute as to whether it were competent for the men to show cause before the future arbitrator why there should be a rebatement of the eight and three quarters and six and three quarters per cent. It was again referred to the umpire. He decided that the contention of the workmen's representatives could not be sustained. The employers accepted his decision as an instalment of their claim, and to get the pits to work, but they in no way waived or relinquished their right to refer to arbitration, whether or not they were entitled to any, and if any, what further reduction over and above the absolute reduction by his award. That definition the Committee accepted. Immediately the spirit of revolt ran through the county, and for a few days some lodges objected to resume work. Whenever the Executive appeared they were greeted with cries of "Judge Bradshaw" and "Eight and three quarters." Gradually the resumption of work became universal, and on the 22nd of July the arbitration was opened, with Lord Derby as umpire, in 12 Great George Street, London. Mr W. Armstrong and Mr D. Dale were arbitrators for the employers, with Mr L. Jones and Mr W. Crawford for the workmen. Advocates for the owners were H. T. Morton, L. Wood, and W. T. Bunning; for the employees J. Forman, N. Wilkinson, and W. H. Patterson. The names of the Executive Committee were: W. Johnson. G. Newton. J. Scott. J. Bell. W. R. Fairley. W. Robinson. W. Longstaff. G. Parker. W. Gordon. J. Wilson. There were two days' sittings, and on the 28th of July Lord Derby gave his award. He said it was agreed that the award should apply to all underground and surface men, except enginemen, firemen, joiners, smiths, masons, labourers, and cokemen. He awarded a reduction of one and a quarter per cent. in the present rate of wages paid to underground and surface men affected by his award. Thus ended a stoppage of work--it is a misnomer to call it a strike--which should never have taken place. The men from the first were ready to appeal to reason, and the final decision proved the Executive Committee right in their offer. There is a closer spirit abroad now. The county has been in an atmosphere of amicability. May that better state take full possession and the day of strikes be gone for ever. [Illustration: W. H. PATTERSON] The strike ended, the Committee set themselves to work to repair the broken places and put the Association on to a solid foundation again. They found themselves financially insolvent and shattered numerically. They were unable to meet the benefits provided by rule, and there was a great cry of distress from those who were out of work owing to depression of trade. A return was taken as to a levy to meet the latter class, but it was very unsatisfactory, not one half of the votes being cast, and the suggestions included levies varying from 2d. up to 1s. They therefore decided to call a special Council, warning the members that these people could not be paid from the General Fund. They had been compelled to pay those who were on the funds short allowance. The position was so desperate that "either the contributions must be increased or the benefits reduced," and at the Council the two questions were--first, the general question of contributions and outlay; second, the men idle from depression: how to raise money for their support and how much should they be paid? The Council acting on the advice of the Committee decided that the benefits for strike, lockout, and breakage should be 6s. and 3s. per week for members and half members respectively, and that these payments should only be paid for six months, when they should cease without appeal, the sacrificed allowance being reduced to 10s. per week without a reduction in time. Their next difficulty was the unconstitutional district meetings which were held. At these the wildest statements were made, and as a consequence the minds of the members (as will always be the case when these meetings are in vogue) became unsettled, and disunion followed. Amid the natural difficulties of the situation the Committee were called upon to defend themselves. A circular was sent out which, after renewing the argument of the promoters of the meetings, said: "If you determine to let those men go on, doing their endeavours to undermine your Association, then be prepared to accept with that choice all the evil consequences which must arise therefrom. These are the men who would "_rather rule in_ hell than serve in heaven!" They have yet to learn the most important of all attainments--viz. how to rule themselves, before presuming to guide the thousands of people in this county. If complaints are to be made, let them be made regularly and right. If reformations are needed, let them be sought in keeping with the constitution." History is apt to repeat itself in this mode of procedure as in others. Nothing but evil can result. We are not in Russia; we are a democracy, and have a free tribunal. There were other four questions calling for arrangement: the fixing of the county average; the arranging for official recognition and the operation of the Federation Board; the rearrangement of the sliding scale; and the resumption of the Joint Committee. A dispute as to the average for hewers arose in reference to the figures from which the eight and three quarters per cent. and one and a quarter per cent. should be taken. The employers contended they should be deducted from the actual wage of the county for the three pays prior to the strike, which was found to be 4s. 6¾d. The Committee contended they should be deducted from the nominal minimum wage of 5s. 0½d. for the eleven-hour pits and 4s. 8½d. for the ten-hour pits. These were the wages from which the reductions were sought. If they were averaged as per the number of pits at each it worked out at 4s. 11d. It was therefore obvious that there would be a great difference in the result. If the two reductions were taken from the 4s. 11d. the average would be 4s. 5.16d.; if from the 4s. 6¾d. it would be 4s. 1.33d., or 3.83d. of a difference. It was finally agreed that the average for hewers should be 4s. 5d. for the eleven and 4s. 2d. for the ten hour pits. The official recognition of the Federation Board was at first objected to by the employers. At a meeting of the Board held on the 23rd of September the details of the sliding scale were discussed. They were in doubt as to whether the owners would discuss it with them, or the miners alone. Eventually a joint meeting was held, and the second sliding scale was arranged on October 11th. The date of its commencement was fixed for December. SLIDING SCALE, 1879 There shall be made the following percentage additions When the Net to, or deductions Average Selling from, the now prevailing Price of Coal tonnage rates and wages Reaches But does not reach Additions Deductions s. d. s. d. 4 2 4 6 None None 4 6 4 10 2½ per cent. " 4 10 5 2 5 " " 5 2 5 6 7½ " " 5 6 5 10 10 " " 5 10 6 2 15 " " 6 2 6 6 17½ " " 6 6 6 10 20 " " And so on upwards, 2½ per cent. for each 4d.; the 5 per cent. variation for the 4d. range in price between 5s. 10d. and 6s. 2d. being limited to that special range. s. d. s. d. Deductions. 3 10 4 2 2½ per cent. 3 6 3 10 " And so on downwards. * * * * * The difference between this and the previous one consists in the lessened grades. The 8d. grade was reduced to 4d. for two and a half per cent. change in underground wages and two per cent. in surface wages. Another variation was the giving up of the minimum wage. All parties were agreed on this point, as all had felt the evil arising from the operation of it during the two years of its existence. Long may it be before such another condition arises here, for the days were dark indeed; as witness the first ascertainment, which showed the average selling price of coal to be 4s. 3.3d. per ton. The accountants were, as now (1906), E. Spark, and Monkhouse, Goddard & Co. The Joint Committee was suspended at the commencement of the strike on April 5th, and did not resume its sittings until December 12th. During the time intervening the rules were revised. A special Committee (which might be called an interregnum Committee) met, and transacted business of the same nature as that within the purview of the Joint Committee. Before leaving the strike and the consequences it may be of interest to quote from Mr Crawford's first monthly circular his estimate of it. The strike which took place in the months of April and May last will ever remain an epoch in the history of the Association. A more complete success never took place. At its beginning, strong doubts were expressed and great fears entertained as to what would be the ultimate consequences of such a step. I was amongst those who doubted, but did not despair, and the end more than justified the expectations of the most sanguine. If we take the entire history of trade disputes, it will be found that not one ever commanded so much public sympathy. We had justice and right on our sides, and we took the only wise course--viz. to let the public know it. We deplore strikes as much as anyone can do, but there are times when they become necessary and such a climax had we arrived at in April 1879. Numbers of men who were outside our Association then came forward and joined with us and fought the battle side by side. There never was a more complete stoppage of work or one which to the workmen, at least, ended more satisfactorily. We may fittingly close the year by a reference to the strong tide of emigration that was running. A miners' conference to consider a scheme to assist prospective emigrants and draw up a code of rules was called in Manchester in November. Such a scheme was formulated and the rules suggested, but nothing ever came of it. In connection with this large volume of emigration from the mining districts Mr Crawford took a trip to America in one of the Inman liners, and wrote an account of it in a pamphlet entitled "In the Steerage." A report was circulated in the press describing what purported to be the foul condition of the accommodation provided for the third-class passengers. With a desire to ascertain the truth or otherwise of these statements Mr Crawford went to New York in one of the Inman boats, and completely exposed the untruthfulness of it, and did a great deal towards easing the minds of many of the miners who were preparing for leaving the country. 1880 Violations of Scale--Restriction of Labour--Working Hours Arbitration--Deputies' Wage Arbitration--Employers' Liability By the end of 1879 the consequence of the strike, as seen in disarranged collective machinery, had been reconstructed. One beneficial effect of the stoppage was the great number of men who joined the Union. When the notices terminated there were collieries where the numbers were few; but these men, as if moved by the instinct of self-preservation, ceased work, and to a very large extent became members, remaining until this day. It was the greatest piece of missionary effort ever seen. Instead of disunion and isolated action there were manifest loyal adhesion and solidity. There were sure to be exceptions to this as to all rules, and early in the year the Federation Board was called upon to meet a class of trouble which was entirely illegal, and which arises occasionally now. Without specifying places (but dealing generally) it will suffice to say that in a few instances notices were given for advances beyond what the sliding scale gave. The employers requested the Board to meet them. This they did, and two resolutions, one dealing with the cokemen and the other with the miners at one colliery, were unanimously carried. The workmen were told that they had violated the rules of the Federation Board and sliding scale agreement. They were told (by a circular sent out by the Federation Board) that they were parties to the arrangement, and yet had given in their notices for an advance in direct contravention of its provisions. Having been parties to the scale they ought not to violate it with impunity. If this individual or lodge action were allowed it would end in disruption, and therefore it must be checked. The wisdom of that advice is obvious, and not only in that day, but for the present time. If agreements are made for men they should be adhered to. To violate them is lawlessness, which in the end is hurtful beyond the immediate act. If conditions are forced upon people it is right to repudiate, but for the last thirty-four years in this county there has been freedom and equality. RESTRICTION OF LABOUR At the Council meeting held on January 17th it was decided that there should be a restriction, and that no coal hewer should make more than 4s. 5d. or 4s. 2d. per shift, but this was never carried out in any general manner. On March 13th the Council again dealt with it, and declared all lodges unfinancial where it was not put in force. In furtherance of that resolution the Seaham Lodge put a notice on the pit heap to inform the members "that the restriction had commenced, and that a list be drawn up stating the number of tubs each man had to fill in his respective district or flat, no man to make more than the county average in any one day." To that notice the Owners' Association took objection. A letter was sent to Mr Crawford asking him whether the workmen had determined to enforce restriction, and if so, were they then acting on it. These questions Mr Crawford did not answer, but brought them before the Committee. As a result a circular was issued reviewing the whole case. They pointed out that when the Council carried it very few of the lodges put it in force, and the few who did soon left off, and that at the Council to enforce it the voting was 145 for, 126 against. They reminded the majority that "surely a minority so strong ought to have led to a reconsideration of a matter not only so vitally important, but which has at all times been found so very difficult to carry out in practice." Lodges were sending in resolutions refusing to carry out the Council resolution. That resolution said those lodges should be expelled. The position would be that whole collieries of men would be cut off from the Association because they were determined to abide by the scale agreement. In view of these facts, they resolved to call a special Council. They pointed out that one or two lodges had sent in motions of censure because advice had been given, and they met the censures by saying: One or two lodges have sent motions seeking to pass a vote of censure on us for issuing the last circular. It would seem that these lodges would like to see us sit and do nothing, even though we were certain that an impending evil was threatening our very existence. We cannot regard this as our province. What we did was for the preservation of the Association. The moment we see that our efforts have not ended more satisfactorily we have called a special Council meeting to further consider the matter. Take our advice, and inasmuch as we have only done our duty, spare your censures. We have quite enough to do at present without wasting our energies in useless and pernicious quarrelling amongst ourselves. The result of the special meeting proved the Committee right. A tabulated vote was taken--the voting being against restriction 130, for 117; majority against, 13. Thus ended the only county attempt to carry out a uniformity in piecework. It ended as all such will end. Human nature is too strong for such arrangements. WORKING HOURS ARBITRATION This case arose out of the hewers' hours at some of the collieries. Amongst them were Gurney Pit, Leasingthorne, Letch, and Wingate. These were eleven-hour pits, but during the depression of 1877-79 the hewers had been induced or coerced to go in at three A.M. instead of four A.M. The Executive Committee in their negotiations contended that this was a violation of Mr Meynell's award, and therefore ought not to exist. On the employers' side it was held that the award named only dealt with the coal drawing. After attempts to settle it was finally agreed to refer it to arbitration, with Lord Rowton as umpire. The arbitrators on the owners' side were Mr R. F. Mathews and Mr W. T. Hall, and for the workmen Mr L. Jones and Mr W. Crawford. There were two days' sitting in the Westminster Palace Hotel, London. On the 20th of August the umpire decided that the hours complained of should remain as they were. THE DEPUTIES' ARBITRATION This question of the deputies being paid a higher wage if they were not in the Miners' Association came up in a renewed application for uniformity of wage. This was sent to the owners amongst a number of other requests. The reply was that they were strongly of the opinion that the deputies should not be members of the Miners' Association. The Executive could not accept that reply. They had never asked about the Associations, but a just wage, and they considered the reply was an insult. They recommended to their members that it should be sent to the Federation Board. This was done, and on the 19th of March the Board offered to submit the matter to arbitration. The offer was refused by the following resolution:-- MINERS' REQUEST AND REPLY FORWARDED TO MR CRAWFORD _June 17th, 1880._ _Deputies._--That deputies who are not members of the Deputies' Association be paid the same wages as those who are. Considering the position in which the deputies stand to the hewers and other workmen, any change in the present arrangement is undesirable. On the receipt of this the Board notified the county, and resolved to call a joint meeting of the four Associations. Their advice was that the whole of the notices be given in, and work to cease until the claim was conceded or arbitration granted. The meeting was held on August 26th. Negotiations proceeded, and in November the employers agreed to accept arbitration. The case was not heard until February 1881. The umpire on that occasion was Mr I. Hinde Palmer, M.P.; the advocates were Mr L. Wood, Mr W. Armstrong, Mr L. Jones, and Mr W. Crawford. The hearing lasted two days, and was held in the Westminster Hotel, London. The umpire decided upon two points: (1) That it is competent under the sliding scale agreement of October 1879 for the deputies who are members of the Miners' Association to require that their wages be advanced. (2) That the advance shall be such a sum as will make the amount of their wages respectively the same as the wages paid to those deputies who are not members of the Miners' Association. THE EMPLOYERS' LIABILITY ACT It is not intended to review the introduction and passing of Acts of Parliament, but mention may be made of the Employers' Liability of 1880, not with a view to explain its provisions, but to indicate steps which were taken towards contraction out of it. In Lancashire contracting out was made one of the conditions of hiring, and a strike took place in an attempt to resist it. With us in the north (for the two counties worked together) the same end was sought, but by different means. The aim of the employers here was to avoid litigation if possible, and, with that end in view, would have increased their contributions to the Permanent Relief Fund. The officials of that fund were desirous of bringing an arrangement about, believing it would strengthen their position. There were a few men outside the ranks of those officials who advised the miners to enter into a contract. At a meeting of the Permanent Fund Committee it was just on the point of being carried when a suggestion was made to the effect "that it was not a matter pertaining to the fund, but belonged to the Workmen's Associations, and that a joint meeting should be held." Such did take place, with the result that the proposal was defeated. The leaders of the Associations were very strong against it. Among the strongest was Mr Crawford, whose monthly circular for December contained some very clear and explicit reasons in opposition to the idea. There were threats from some employers as to smart money and subscriptions to the Permanent Relief Fund, but still the workmen refused to give way. 1881-82 Deputies' Wage again--Third Sliding Scale--Death of Mr Macdonald--Change in the Treasurership In February this question was again in evidence. By reference to the award as given above it will be seen that the umpire decided clearly in the workmen's favour, but there arose a complication in the mode of application adopted by the owners. The mode of calculation was skilful and peculiar. The dispute arose in 1876 when, as an inducement for the deputies to form an organisation of their own, they were to be exempt from the six per cent. reduction; therefore, said the employers, we will give those deputies who are in the Miners' Union the six per cent. given in 1876, and then deduct all the reductions since, by this process bringing them to 4s. 1½d. per day. They seemed to forget that the deputies' arbitration was for the difference between the actual wages at that time--the difference being 6d. or 8d. per day. The anomaly was that two men might be doing the same work with equal responsibilities (in some cases the lower paid the best workman) and yet one have a much higher wage than the other. Mr Bunning (on behalf of the owners) sent a copy of the instructions to the managers to Mr Crawford, asking him if they met with his approval. The answer was sharp. Instead of agreeing with them he considered them a clear violation of Mr Palmer's award. It was not based upon Shaw Lefevre's award, but upon the existing difference in the wages. And he informed the owners, that they would demand the higher wages. The negotiations continued until May, when the umpire by joint letter was asked to meet Mr L. Wood and Mr Crawford. He informed them he would write each of them an explanation, and save the journey. This he did, and said the award was clear and intelligible, and that he meant those who were in the Miners' Association to be paid the highest wages. On the strength of that interpretation the owners paid the wage, with everything kept off since the award. THIRD SLIDING SCALE As the two years for which the sliding scale was definitely fixed drew near completion it was obvious that there was a strong feeling against it. The circumstances were against it. Introduced at the conclusion of a very disastrous strike the whole of its operation was in the worst times--trade bad, wages low. There was no wonder that the men had little love for it. Recognising the opposition the Committee placed a motion on the Council programme suggesting that notice be given to terminate it at the end of the two years. This was adopted, and notice given at the proper time. In the meantime the miners generally were turning their attention to the question. A sliding scale conference was held on April 20th, 1881, in the Midland Hotel, Birmingham. The conference affirmed "that the principle of sliding scales is an equitable mode of settling wages questions, if rightly worked out in detail: That the best mode of taking out the selling price will generally be to take the price of coal sold, but that no coals should be taken which were sold on contract; only those sold at the current market price." In the matter of leaving firms out each district was left to its own option. It was considered desirous that the accountants should have more freedom in regard to the matters they were permitted to divulge. A second conference on the same question was called for October 19th in Birmingham, with a programme on very similar lines. A Council meeting was held, and two delegates selected to represent Durham. Certain instructions were given them: sliding scales were the best arrangements for regulating wages; the open markets were preferable to the existing mode of ascertainment, with others of a kindred nature. On January 18th the Federation Board had under discussion a proposal from the employers. It was not accepted, but they were told the Board was ready to meet them at any time. At a special Council held on 25th February 1882 the situation was complicated by the miners deciding to ask for an advance of twenty per cent. if the owners refused the sliding scale drawn up by the Federation Board, and that body was instructed to meet the employers. The meeting took place on March 13th on the two questions, when the owners gave the Board the following:-- OWNERS' OFFER _March 13th, 1882._ The Durham Coal Owners' Association is unable to accept either of the propositions suggested in the Federation Board Minutes of February 25th, that is to say,-- 1. The Association cannot regard "the sliding scale drawn up by the Federation Board as just and equitable," and consequently cannot adopt it. 2. The Association cannot grant "an immediate advance of 20 per cent. in the wages of all men and boys," nor admit "that trade warrants such an application," or any advance at all. Having regard to the difference of view between the Owners' Association and the Federation Board, the Association can only suggest that the question whether wages shall be varied, and if so, to what extent, and in what direction, shall be left to open arbitration. The Miners' Council then decided to take a ballot on the twenty per cent. If the question were not carried by a two-thirds majority, to arbitrate on the advance. When this was sent to the owners they replied that the advance could not be granted, but they were quite ready to leave it to open arbitration. The Federation Board as a whole considered itself in an anomalous position if any section were allowed to act as the miners were doing. If this were allowed to proceed, then on wage questions there was an end to all usefulness. Either the power must be taken away altogether, or they must unreservedly trust them. As the position was, they were in a crippled condition. "This renders our work on general questions nil, and the Federation instead of being a tower of strength is a source of weakness, inasmuch as it exposes to the owners our want of agreement and diversity of thought and action." They had, therefore, come to the conclusion to take a vote, with the view to have the matter settled. The response of the county was in favour of the Board by a large majority. Immediately they decided to ask for a scale with a minimum wage, and that the variations should be two and one and a half per cent. A meeting between the Board and the owners was held on April 17th, when the workmen asked for an advance of seven and a half per cent. To this the employers objected, but said they would pay a wage as if the coals had reached 4s. 8d., which was equal to an advance of three and three quarters per cent., and would be an advantage of two and a half per cent., during the continuance of the scale. The Board strongly urged the acceptance of the offer, which in their opinion was preferable to arbitration. The workmen accepted their advice, and the following scale was signed on April 29th:-- THIRD SLIDING SCALE There shall be made the following percentage of additions to, or deductions from, the standard tonnage When the Net rates and datal wages, Average Selling being those prevailing at Price of Coal November 1879 Reaches But does not reach Additions Deductions s. d. s. d. 3 10 4 0 None None 4 0 4 2 1¼ " 4 2 4 4 2½ " 4 4 4 6 3¾ " 4 6 4 8 5 " 4 8 4 10 6¼ " 4 10 5 0 7½ " 5 0 5 2 8¾ " 5 2 5 4 10 " 5 4 5 6 11¼ " 5 6 5 8 12½ " 5 8 5 10 13¾ " 5 10 6 0 16¼ " 6 0 6 2 18¾ " 6 2 6 4 20 " 6 4 6 6 21¼ " 6 6 6 8 22½ " And so on upwards, 1¼ per cent. for each 2d., the 2½ per cent. variations for the two ranges of 2d. each in price between 5s. 10d. and 6s. 2d. being limited to those special ranges. 3 8 3 10 -- 1¼ 3 6 3 8 -- 2½ And so on downwards. It had to continue in force until 30th June 1883, to be terminated by six months' notice given any time after that date. It will be of interest if we insert the scales proposed by the owners and Board before the agreement. OWNERS' SCALE There shall be made the following percentage of additions to, or deductions from, the standard When the Net tonnage rates and datal average Selling wages, being those prevailing Price of Coal at November 1879 Reaches But does not reach Additions Deductions s. d. s. d. 4 2 4 4 None None 4 4 4 6 1¼ " 4 6 4 8 2½ " 4 8 4 10 3¾ " 4 10 5 0 5 " 5 0 5 2 6¼ " 5 2 5 4 7½ " 5 4 5 6 8¾ " 5 6 5 8 10 " 5 8 5 10 11¼ " 5 10 6 0 13¾ " 6 0 6 2 16¼ " 6 2 6 4 17½ " 6 4 6 6 18¾ " 6 6 6 8 20 " And so on upwards, 1¼ per cent. for each 2d., the 2½ per cent. variations for the two ranges of 2d. each in price between 5s. 10d. and 6s. 2d. being limited to those special ranges. 4 0 4 2 -- 1¼ 3 10 4 0 -- 2½ 3 8 3 10 -- 3¾ 3 6 3 8 -- 5 And so on downwards. WORKMEN'S SCALE There shall be made the following additions to the When the Net standard tonnage rates and Average Selling datal wages, being those at Price of Coal November 1879 Reaches But does not reach Additions s. d. s. d. (5s. minimum wage) 4 8 4 10 2½ 4 10 5 0 5 5 0 5 2 7½ 5 2 5 4 10 5 4 5 6 12½ 5 6 5 8 15 5 8 6 0 17½ 6 0 6 2 20 6 2 6 4 22½ 6 4 6 6 25 6 6 6 8 27½ 6 8 6 10 30 6 10 7 0 And so on upwards, 2½ per cent. for every 2d. It will be obvious that the difference between the two is very wide. The workmen sought to renew the minimum wage, although but two years had intervened since the dark experience of 1877-79, and when it was impossible for the condition to have been forgotten. DEATH OF MR MACDONALD On October 31st, 1881, Mr Macdonald, M.P., died at Wellhall, near Hamilton, Scotland. He was the ablest leader the miners of Scotland had, and one of the first Labour representatives in the House, being elected with our good friend Mr Burt in 1874. He was often called the "Miners' Friend." Although not a Durham man he was so intimately and closely connected with our early history and progress up to his death that there would be a great hiatus if no mention were made of him. The Executive Committee was represented at his funeral, and the first Council meeting after his death passed a resolution expressing deep sorrow at his death, and regarding it as an irreparable loss and national calamity to the mining population of England, Scotland, and Wales. His self-sacrificing efforts for a number of years on their behalf cannot be fully known, but his memory will ever be held dear by a grateful people. A movement was immediately started to commemorate his work, the result of which was the statue which is in front of the Hall in Durham. As Mr Crawford said, "It is the last tribute of respect we can pay to one who through good and evil report kept steadily in view the one object of his life--viz. to reduce the misery, and alleviate the sorrows of the mining population, while following their hazardous occupation." It will be interesting to place on record an outline of his life. He was born in the year 1821, and began work at eight years of age. When he was born the condition of the mining population was dreadful. There was no law to protect the miner, and there was little regard for health or life. The hours were fearfully long. Women worked in the mines under the most debasing conditions. In the midst of this he set himself the uphill task of self-education--uphill now, but how much more so then! In early life he left the mines, and became a teacher. The knowledge he acquired he determined to devote to bettering the condition of the miners. Between 1850 and 1855 he was assiduous in procuring amended Miners' Acts, and those of 1855 and 1860 were mainly due to his efforts. From that time until his death he was earnestly working in efforts to ameliorate the conditions of the life he knew so well, and at his death was busily engaged in further amending the Mines Act. He was a sample of men who have been endowed with splendid powers, and who might have made a fortune if they had followed commercial pursuits as eagerly as they followed after reform and better temporal conditions for others, but who, when there was nothing to gain, counted it their highest good if they could in any way assist their class on to a higher platform and into brighter conditions of life. They chose rather to suffer with the people in their affliction, and help those who needed it, than to make for themselves monetary positions. When he died a truly great man left the ranks of reformers, and to the honour of Englishmen be it said, they honoured him in death as they appreciated him in life, as witness the splendid statue which was unveiled on 17th November 1883 by his colleague in Union and Labour representation in Parliament, Mr T. Burt. In the beginning of 1882 a matter arose which, were it not for the fact that it would leave an incompleteness in our record, might have been passed over unnoticed. Some doubts were felt as to the state of the accounts, and it was resolved to have a thorough inquiry into and examination of the books. Mr John Staton, the accountant, was employed for the purpose. His report was to the effect that the treasurer was indebted to the Association to the amount of £282, 11s. 1d. This examination covered the period commencing with December 1876. He not only described the amount, but he suggested a system of book-keeping. The result of the affair was the suspension of the treasurer (Mr Forman acting _pro tem._), and his removal on the 6th of May, and the appointment of Mr J. Wilson. The whole circumstance was unfortunate. There were many (the writer among them) who doubted if there had been any defrauding, and who were convinced he had only been careless. He was an earnest worker in the Association. [Illustration: ALDERMAN JOHN WILSON, J.P., M.P.] 1883-84 Five Days per Week Movement--Fourth Sliding Scale--Second Relief Fund--Wheatley Hill "Putt Pay" The question of restriction of the output was again brought under discussion at the beginning of the year. It was not peculiar to nor spontaneous in Durham, but was of extraneous suggestion. It was the result of a miners' conference in Leeds, and was set forth under two phases: the reduction in the hours per day and the days per week to five--all the pits being off on the Saturday. The members were told plainly by Mr Crawford what the real issue was and what was the condition of the mining districts. While in other districts the hours had to be reduced, in Durham they would remain, but the days per week would apply to all alike. He, however, pointed out that there was only one-sixth of the miners of the county represented. A special Council was called, and the matter placed before it, when it was decided "that pits ought to work not more than five days per week and draw coal not more than ten hours per day--each and every pit being idle every Saturday, irrespective of how many of the preceding days of the week have been worked." A Second National Conference was held on the question. A report was issued by the representatives, Messrs Crawford and Wilson, which showed the fallacy of attempting any national movement. The conference was called to hear how far the decision had been carried out. The report showed that there were only 81,000 paying members in the districts represented, the total number employed being about 379,000; that there were only 9500 persons who had adopted the Leeds Resolution of Restriction, and some districts positively refused to carry it out. In the face of these facts the conference reaffirmed the restriction resolution, and resolved that the ballot should be taken in each district, and that there should be an adjournment to hear the result. In the meantime a meeting was held between the Executive Committee in Durham and the owners. The Committee stated their reasons for requesting the meeting, and hoped the owners would assist them to carry the conference decisions into effect. The reply was that the question was so important to both employers and employed that it would require serious consideration. Could the workmen point out any probable good which would result? How far it had been carried out? Unless it were generally adopted it would mean ruin to those districts attempting it. They were willing to take part in a national conference for the purpose of discussing the subject. The matter was again brought before a conference in Birmingham on April 10th. There were twenty-seven delegates present from districts where 229,000 men were employed. The only item of business was the appointment of a Committee to meet the Mine Owners' National Association, each district to appoint its own representative on the Committee. Mr Crawford was afterwards appointed to act for Durham. The request for a meeting was sent to Mr Maskell W. Peace, the owners' secretary. It was refused, as they considered it outside their province. Beyond the disorganisation in the other districts it was found in Durham to be incompatible with the sliding scale, and as a consequence the attempt at a national regulation of labour proved abortive. That which oft looks easy when at a distance is often found impracticable when we are brought face to face with it. If a national restriction be ever carried out it will need solid unions, and all men of one mind, or it will fail at the start. THE FOURTH SLIDING SCALE As the period approached when the definite year of the scale would end there were growing signs that the requisite six months' notice would be given. At a meeting of the Federation Board held on May 23rd it was decided to give such notice to terminate the scale at the end of the year, and the Board prepared to meet the emergency, and if possible renew the scale or modify it. A resolution was come to at their meeting in October, expressive of their opinion that "a sliding scale is the best mode of adjusting the wages questions." They further resolved that each section should meet the owners for the purpose of discussing any alteration peculiar to themselves. Acting on that arrangement the Executive Committee sent out a circular urging the maintenance of the principle. In addition they called a special Council, and asked for suggested amendments. In response there were seventy-seven suggestions returned, embracing every kind of alteration or grievance, to be considered before the scale was re-established. These were sent to the employers, who replied by sending a counter list containing (if not as many) a very large number of questions. The Federation Board asked why they were making so many claims. These reasons were supplied, each section being taken _seriatim_. The various Committees and the Federation Board were doing their best to get the settlement placed in the hands of some body of men, so that the scale might be rearranged. This advice was not accepted, for at a special Council the power to settle was retained by the county so far as the miners were concerned. The reasons assigned by the owners in support of their claims were unacceptable to the Board. They felt justified, they said, in refusing, but were willing to meet to discuss the respective alterations. The meeting took place, but it was found that the representatives of the miners could not proceed, as their Council had refused to accept the scale until all the notices of men who were discharged for depression of trade were withdrawn and all the pits recommenced. "The owners said that such a thing was an impossibility, seeing that a want of trade was the only cause of pits being stopped and men dismissed. If the pits could be worked they would work them, but this they could not do in consequence of the terrible depression of trade. It was nonsense to say that the pits were stopped by an arrangement among the owners. That was a monstrous absurdity." These remarks were sent out to the miners with a most earnest appeal not to delay the matter any longer, because it could only result in danger. A form accompanied the circular upon which the lodges were asked to vote whether they would place the question of a sliding scale in the hands of the Federation Board. This appeal was successful, and the Board was instructed to proceed with it by a majority of 104. At the earliest possible moment a meeting was arranged, and the scale agreed to on the lines of the previous one, to commence on 1st August 1884, and to continue for two years certain, subject to two calendar months' notice. But such notice was to be given on a date to permit of a termination on the 31st of July. This fourth sliding scale was similar to the third one, which appears on page 177, so we need not reproduce it. SECOND RELIEF FUND The formation of the Second Relief Fund was forced upon the county by the fact that there were so many men out of work, and their poverty was a peril to those who were in employment. Men's necessities are a strong force, oft compelling them to do things they would otherwise shrink from. It was thought, therefore, it would be sound economy to ease off the poverty, if luxury could not be afforded, and thus save men from overcrowding the labour market, or at least from accepting conditions which, if once established, would prove a general injury. Then there was a feeling of sympathy for the distress seen on all hands, and a desire to alleviate, if not obliterate it; for the miners of Durham may have little, but they never hesitate to share it. They are not the men "who, seeing their brother in distress, shut up their bowels of compassion against him." The sight of distress, or a knowledge that someone is in danger, never appeals in vain. The Council meeting held on May 3rd, 1884, dealt with the question of providing for the relief of those men who were discharged through depression of trade. It decided that a special Council should be called on the 7th for the purpose of discussing the best means, and in the meantime suggestions might be sent in--"motions of all kinds, including levies, to be admissible." Without describing these in detail, suffice it to say that there were eighty-eight in number, covering all phases of the subject, both as to means of raising money and amount of benefit. The Council decided for a levy of 3d. per full and 1½d. per half member per fortnight. That £2000 should be advanced from the General Fund, to be redeemed by the levy, and "that the amount of money the levy will bring be equally divided by the Executive Committee amongst the men idle or who may be idle." It was soon found that the income from the levy would not give anything near 10s., and often it was found to run as low as 5s., per week. WHEATLEY HILL "PUTT PAY" As this, although belonging to an individual colliery, is yet of a peculiar character, it will be well to note it here. On the pay Friday falling on April 4th it was found that the company had become bankrupt, and the wages of the workmen were not forthcoming. This being the second occasion at these collieries, and only half the amount for the previous occasion having been paid, there was great consternation, and the presence of an agent was urgently requested. The treasurer immediately went out, and found the people ready for a riot. This, of course, was to be expected. Mr Ramsay, the agent of the colliery, desirous to meet in part the wants of the people, sold a branch engine, but when the N.E.R. engine came to take it away men, women, and children commenced and pulled the rails up, thus keeping both engines as it were in "pound." It was arranged that there should be a mass meeting the next day (Saturday), and the treasurer was to attend to persuade the men to allow the sale to proceed, and accept the money as an instalment of their wages. The meeting was held in a field. The day was fine, there was a large crowd, and the treasurer was in his most eloquent mood, when a very laughable incident occurred. There was a pigeon-flying match from Newcastle to Thornley. It was about the time when the birds were expected. Some of the men were watching the heavens more closely than they were listening to the speaker or at the time thinking about their wages. Just when the orator was in the midst of one of his best sentences a voice was heard (which was the descent from the sublime to the ridiculous): "Haud thee hand till th' 'Slate Cock' comes in." In a moment speaker and occasion were lost, and the gathering generally watched the bird, hero of the hour, as, like an arrow shot from some great bow, he came right on to his "ducket." Then in deliberate manner the same voice was heard exclaiming: "There, he's landed; thoo can gan on wi' thee speech." But rhetoric and reason were both ineffective after the "Slate Cock" had landed. The Executive Committee, however, were quick in their action, and put in men as bailiffs at each colliery to prevent anything being taken away. After a year had been taken up by the process of law, and £1000 spent in money, the entire wages, slightly over £4724, with the colliery pay sheets, were handed over to the treasurer. That sum included the wages of Union and non-Union men alike, and was paid to all with this difference, that the members got their money free of cost, but the non-members were charged 7s. each towards the cost incurred in procuring the money. This sum was all paid out as per the pay sheets. The last man to turn up was five years after. 1885 Industrial Remuneration Conference--Extension of the Franchise--Labour Representation--Lloyd Jones In January 1884 a peculiar but very useful conference was held in London. It was, and is, known as the "Industrial Remuneration Conference." In the preface to the proceedings, which were published, we are told why the conference was called. "In the spring of 1884, a gentleman of Edinburgh determined to devote a considerable sum of money to the purpose of keeping before the public mind this vital question, viz.: What are the best means, consistent with justice and equity, for bringing about equal division of the daily products of industry between Capital and Labour, so that it may become possible for all to enjoy a fair share of material comfort and intellectual culture, and possible for all to lead a dignified life, and less difficult for all to lead a good life?" For the purpose indicated he gave £1000, vested in seven trustees, Mr T. Burt being one of them. To the trustees there was a Committee added, and Mr Crawford was, by the consent of the Miners' Council, amongst the number. That Committee considered that the best means of carrying out the trust was by organising a conference and inviting all sorts and conditions of opinion. There were two main branches of inquiry: "Is the present system or manner whereby the products of industry are distributed between the various persons and classes of the community satisfactory; or if not, are there any means by which that system could be improved?" These general propositions were divided into many branches. The purpose of this historical outline is served by mentioning the connecting link being Mr Crawford's appointment on the Committee. The chairman of the conference was Sir C. Dilke. While these important industrial matters were taking place the political affairs had not been neglected. The Franchise Association had kept up a close and instructive agitation not only at home, but outside the county, pressing the demand for an assimilation of county to borough. They urged that it was a glaring anomaly for a man to be eligible to vote in a borough, and because he passed over an arbitrary line (yet in all respects the same man in trade and duties of citizenship) he was not permitted to do so. At the Trades Union Congress held in Nottingham in 1883 the following resolution was proposed by the representatives from Durham:-- That, without accepting an equalisation of the county with the borough franchise as a final solution of the great question of Parliamentary Reform, this congress is of opinion that the Government should lose no time in introducing their promised measure, and calls upon the organised trades of the country to assist by every means in their power in promoting the popular movement in support of this long-expected reform, and authorises the Parliamentary Committee to join with the Durham Franchise Association and other Associations of all kinds in the proposed deputation to the Prime Minister. The result of this resolution was the reception by Mr Gladstone of a very large deputation, representative of all the Trades Unions in the country, on January 3rd, 1884. Three speakers--J. Arch, A. Wilkie, and J. Wilson--were selected, and they received the assurance that the Government would introduce the Bill. It was introduced, and occupied nearly the whole of the session; was carried through the Commons, but was defeated by the Lords, or as Mr Gladstone said, they put "an effectual stoppage on the Bill; or in other words, they did practically reject it." The Liberals, however, were determined that the matter should be settled, and for that purpose summoned an autumn session. By the tact and eloquence of the Prime Minister the great measure was carried in spite of the most bitter opposition, in which constitutional means were stretched to their utmost limit, and the deepest depths of vulgarity were ransacked for the foulest epithets to use against the working classes, some of whom appear to have very short memories, as they forget this and other great acts done for them by the Liberals. The passing of the Act did not take the miners of Durham or their colleagues over the Tyne by surprise, but found them expectant, and ready to use their newly acquired power. The twelve years of the teaching of the Franchise Association bore fruit at once. During the summer of 1884 numerous district meetings were held. The Miners' Executive and the Committee of the Franchise worked together. The two great questions were the political right withheld and the action of the irresponsible House of Lords in thwarting the will of the nation as expressed by the duly elected representatives of the people. The 4th of October was the appointed day to hold district meetings simultaneously all over the county. The people were urged to make them a success. The Committee was appointed to take charge, and the owners were notified that all the collieries would be off on that day. The whole county was in a political fever. John Morley had uttered his memorable words, which have passed into one of our epigrams: "End them or mend them." The political creed of the progressives was "Down with the Lords" and "Faith in Gladstone." One sentence may be quoted from Mr Crawford's circular of that time: Mr Gladstone and the Government deserve the highest praise for their action in this matter, and with the support of the people they will yet carry the Bill against the organised and determined opposition of a class of men who have amassed immense wealth by, in past times, taking that which belonged to the people. The practical effect of the Act in Durham was seen on January 24th, 1885, when the Federation Board called a special Council to consider the following programme:-- PROGRAMME, 1885 (1) Shall there be Labour Representatives? (2) If so, how many? (3) If it be decided to have Labour Representatives, who shall he or they be? (4) The ways and means of supporting such person or persons from the Associations. (5) What should the salary of such man or men be? (6) Should we nominate men other than Labour Representatives? That is, men who hold similar views to ourselves, but who will pay their own costs, both in contesting and otherwise. (7) If this be done, who should they be? (8) The selection of divisions. The resolutions come to were--(1) there should be Labour representatives; (2) there should be _bona fide_ Labour candidates selected from the workmen, but run in connection with the Liberals; (3) the candidates should be J. Wilson, W. Crawford, and L. Trotter; (4) the ways and means should be left in the hands of the Federation Board, and that the salaries should be £500 per year. On the same day the Board met, and decided to select the Bishop Auckland, Mid-Durham, and Houghton-le-Spring divisions--Mr Trotter for Bishop Auckland; Mid-Durham, W. Crawford; Houghton-le-Spring, J. Wilson. They further decided to inform the North and South Durham Liberal Associations what had been done, and asked them if they would co-operate with the Board. A meeting between the representatives of the Liberal Associations, the Federation Board, and the Franchise Association was held in the County Hotel, Durham, when the following resolutions were agreed to:-- RESOLUTIONS, 1885 That it is highly desirable for all sections of the new electorate to arrange for the object of securing the return of Liberal Members at the next election, and that this meeting is prepared to give support to the persons nominated by the Miners' Federation Board, providing their candidature is endorsed by the Liberals in each division. That this meeting requests the constituencies to form Liberal organisations, and that small committees from the South and North Durham Liberal Associations, the Federation Board, and the Miners' Franchise Association be appointed to aid such organisations. _January 24th, 1885._ So far as the Mid-Durham and the Houghton divisions were concerned, all went on smoothly. The candidates were accepted with complete unanimity, but in the Auckland division the feeling in some quarters was in strong opposition. The Board were asked to withdraw Mr Trotter, which they refused to do. There were other two gentlemen in nomination, and he was asked to put himself in competition with them, and if rejected retire. He refused, and they, the Board, approved of his refusal, and arranged a meeting of the lodges in the division for the purpose of explaining the situation. At this point there arose a complication of a different order. At their meeting on October 22nd, 1885, the Board decided "that each candidate must be responsible for the returning officer's fees in their respective divisions." Shortly after this was made known Mr Trotter withdrew, the reason assigned being the refusal of the Board to pay the returning officer's fees, although all the candidates were treated alike. As a consequence the division was vacant, and open to any candidate. This only need be added, that at the General Election in November Mr Crawford and Mr Wilson were both returned by great majorities--the latter being defeated in 1886, but succeeding Mr Crawford in 1890 as the Member for Mid-Durham. This may be a fitting place to try to remove a false impression, which has lingered in some minds unto this day, as to what they are pleased to call "the shameful treatment" of Mr Lloyd Jones, while in the Chester-le-Street division, by the Federation Board. There never was a grosser misstatement. The Board did nothing but what was fair and honourable throughout the whole proceedings, although they were made the object of a somewhat bitter attack by _The Newcastle Chronicle_, which attack was entirely founded upon a too slight knowledge of the facts. As mentioned above, an arrangement was made whereby the workmen were to have their divisions undisputed, and with the rest there was no claim for interferences set up. Mr J. (now Lord) Joicey was selected by the Liberals for the Chester-le-Street division, the Federation Board having no part or lot in the transaction. Mr Jones, who was an intimate friend of Mr J. Cowen, was brought out, it is well known, as Mr Cowen's nominee, and as such, contested the division. The Board, as such, did nothing in it in any way. If they had, their action would have been dishonourable in the light of the agreement. This, however, they did do: as soon as Mr Trotter withdrew from Bishop Auckland, they sent a deputation to interview Mr Jones and to make him an offer of that division. The writer was one of the deputation, and with the others did all possible to persuade him, but he refused. It was felt he was not free, or he would have accepted. This can be said without fear of contradiction: the Board as a whole regretted the refusal, for Mr Jones was a great orator, respected very much by the miners in Durham, as witness their continual choice of him for their arbitration cases, and he could have had a safe seat. 1887-89 In Dark Days--The Eight Hours--The Sliding Scale--Advance of Ten per Cent.--Second Advance of Ten per Cent.--Death of the Scale--The County Council The year 1886 passed over uneventfully, and in a routine manner, except in the matter of trade, which continued very much depressed, and wages very low. At the beginning of 1887 the average selling price at the pit mouth was 4s. 5.56d. The Relief Fund (even with the principle of division of income) was in debt to the General Fund £3548, 4s. 11d. as per the balance sheet for quarter ending December 1886. The condition of trade was so bad generally that a Royal Commission was appointed to inquire into it, the present county court judge of Durham being one of the members. He differed from the majority report, and signed a minority report. This objection was in relation to the fragmentary character of the evidence. In the coal and iron industries the witnesses were entirely from the employers. Without stating the whole of his able report, dealing as it did with every phase of our industrial life, a portion may be mentioned. Four causes of depression and low wages upon which he laid emphasis, were the land question and the royalties, way leaves and dead rents. Those who hold the land, claim these from the employers and employed who risk their capital and their lives to get the mineral which he, as landlord, does nothing to assist. In the midst of the dark times the Executive Committee was compelled to face two evils: a small banking account, and a heavy expenditure. The banking account for the quarter ending December 1886 was £16,000, exclusive of the deposit and shares in the Industrial Bank, which amounted to £1841, but which were nominal and, so far as use was concerned, simply on paper. In addition, there was a sum nearing £900 invested in buildings. In a short circular the Committee placed the whole financial position before the members. For the year 1886 the income was £44,506, with an expenditure of £54,126. "You will thus see that we cannot exist long at the rate of £9620 on the wrong side of the ledger. Soon all our funds will be gone, and nothing left for the members who have paid so long." They were compelled by rule to keep £10,000 in the funds, and were therefore driven to consider two propositions: either to increase the subscription by 3d. a fortnight or reduce the benefits. For that purpose they proposed to call a special Council to consider the questions. The reductions suggested would reduce the expenditure by £1600 per quarter. At the Council meeting an all-round reduction of 2s. per week for sickness, breakage, strikes, and sacrificed allowance was made, and £1 off the death legacies, to take place from the rising of the Council, which was held on 9th April. Happily, however, the trade began to turn and the position of the Association to amend, for on August 27th a slip was sent out informing the members "that the funds have so far recouped as to enable the Society to pay all benefits according to rule from Monday the 29th." THE EIGHT HOURS--A RESTRICTION On October 11th, 1887, and three following days a miners' conference was held in Edinburgh. The main purpose of the conference was the limitation of the output. There were a large number and variety of propositions discussed: five days per week, a week or fortnight's holiday, and the eight hours per day. Part of the resolution on the last question was in words that have become familiar to Durham in these later years: "That no miner be allowed to work more than eight hours in the twenty-four." The first resolution on the question did not appeal to the State, but on the fourth day it was brought forward containing an appeal to the legislature, and carried. The position of Durham was the same then as now (1906), and the opposition of to-day is based upon the thought of that day. Before the conference was held the Executive Committee gave their opinion upon the various questions on the programme of business. On the eight hours they said: EIGHT HOURS' RESOLUTION _Eight Hours._--This is to be sought for by Act of Parliament. To seek to fix the hours of men by Act of Parliament is, in the year 1887, a monstrous and illogical proceeding. If you fix the working hours by Act of Parliament, why not fix the rate of wages also? In the old feudal times wages were so fixed by Act of Parliament. Under such laws, men were serfs and slaves, and became as much the property of their employers as the horses that filled his stables. To demand eight hours, and even less, is in the hands of all men if they will only utilise their own organised power. But if such an Act were passed, it would result in our own county in one of two ways, (1) the turning off of 10,000 or 15,000 hands; or (2) the adoption of two shifts of hewers, and two shifts of offhanded men and lads, and thus increase the hewers' hours by one hour, and, in many cases, one and a half hours per day. Again, if you seek by Act of Parliament an Eight Hours' Bill, it logically follows that you regard eight hours as the number of hours men should work. In such a case, you endanger your own position, and would strongly tend to bring upon you an eight hours' system. But why is this sought? It is sought because men are indifferent, apathetic, and consequently disorganised. If this law passed to-morrow, it would be an inducement to indifference and disorganisation, and as such materially injure you. In September 1887 the Trades Union Congress decided to take a ballot of all the unions on the general eight hours. The questions submitted were: Should an eight hours' day be sought; if so, by what means, by Trades Union effort or by law? Again the Executive Committee advised the members to vote against it, which they did. "If this became law to-morrow," they said, "you could not make it operative. To do so you must turn off some thousands of coal hewers, or have two shifts of offhanded men and boys, and draw coals sixteen hours per day instead of as now drawing them ten and eleven hours. If this be sought it follows by clear implication that the men voting for it regard eight hours as a normal and fair time to work per day." The Congress of 1888 decided in favour of eight hours by law. The question came again before a miners' conference held in Birmingham on 8th October 1889. There were three items discussed: "The International Miners' Congress, an advance in wages, and the eight hours." The delegates from Durham, Mr J. Johnson and Mr J. Wilson, drew up a report of the proceedings, which was sent out to the members. They were sent to the conference with definite instructions from the Council: "That we don't take any part in the agitation for an eight hours' day for underground workmen." The representatives in the report say: Beyond that we could not (nor desired to) go. When the conference came to discuss the question we laid our position before the meeting, and told them we could not take any part in the agitation. We make no remarks about the sarcastic reflections which were made by some of the delegates on our position. They were no doubt natural reflections, although their repetition was galling, and evoked from us replies which were not of the calmest order. We stood firm to our instructions, and abstained from either voting or speaking, except in self-defence. The conference resolved that on the 1st of January all men and boys represented there should commence working eight hours from bank to bank. Northumberland and the Forest of Dean voted against, with Durham neutral. Then followed a resolution pledging all the districts to give in notices to terminate with the year. This placed the conference in a dilemma. They were ready to pass resolutions, but few were prepared to say their members would give their notices in for it. Then it was decided to take a ballot and hold another conference in November. At our Council meeting on November 9th it was decided not to be represented. THE SLIDING SCALE The programme for the Council to be held on February 2nd, 1889, contained a resolution asking for a ballot to be taken for or against the sliding scale. In their notes on the questions to be discussed the Committee strongly urged the maintenance of the scale. It steadied trade, made work and wages more regular than any other means. Where sliding scales existed the districts were in better condition. They (the Committee) were as much interested as the members. The gain or loss was alike. Having fully considered the question they were convinced that it was the most just and equitable way of fixing and settling wages. The resolution to ballot was carried. About the same time the mechanics decided to give notice to have the scale amended. The Federation Board not only found themselves called upon to consider the scale, but they had to deal with a demand for an advance in wages. A meeting was held on June 17th. The employers placed before the Board three propositions: arbitration, two and a half per cent. to commence on July 1st, and two and a half on September 1st. These advances would raise the wages to ten per cent. above the standard, or they were willing to arrange for a new scale. The Board were reminded that the scale would run until July 31st, and therefore their application was in violation of that agreement. These offers were recommended to the members, with a request that they, the Board, should be vested with full power to negotiate a settlement, which should be submitted to the county. The offer and request were refused, and another meeting took place on July 9th. The employers then modified their offer, and were willing to give five per cent. advance for the months of August, September, and October, and a further five per cent. for November, December, and January, or they would refer it to open arbitration. Again the question was submitted to the members. The Board said: "There were three courses to pursue: accept the owners' offer, go to arbitration, or ballot the county." Of the three they strongly preferred the offer, as to take the ballot was a repudiation of arbitration as a means of settlement. Arbitration was a lingering and uncertain course. It would last three months, and they would thus lose for that time a clear five per cent., or something like from four to five thousand pounds per week in wages. "Remembering all the difficulties which now surround us, and looking at all the facts, we would very strongly advise you, as men alike interested with yourselves, to accept the offer the owners now make." The reply of the county was to demand twenty per cent. advance. The Federation Board was driven to take the ballot. The result of the ballot was for pressing the demand, and the Miners' Executive made preparation for giving in the notices on August 1st. The employers made another offer: instead of giving two fives they offered a full and immediate ten per cent. DURHAM COAL OWNERS' ASSOCIATION The Owners' Wages Committee is unable to recommend its Association to give an advance of 15 per cent. The actual invoice price of coals and coke has not yet materially advanced. Recent contracts at high prices can only have a gradual and deferred influence. The owners have already given a special advance of 10 per cent., which has been in operation less than four months. Any advance which they now give must, like that previous advance, be in anticipation of the higher prices which will alone allow of higher wages being paid. They are willing to stretch a point in this respect in the expectation that wages will be thereby settled for a period which will allow of equivalent prices being actually realised, but they are not prepared to do more than recommend a general advance of 10 per cent. on the basis rates, to take effect in the first pay commencing after the date of acceptance of this offer. REGINALD GUTHRIE, _Secretary_. Newcastle-on-Tyne, _November 23rd, 1889._ The Federation Board urged the acceptance of that offer. "Everyone (unless it be the unobservant and inexperienced) must be fully alive to all the dangers to our social, and it may be our permanent condition, which always follows a strike, such as we should have in this county. It does not mean a few hands, but the entire county, comprising 500,000 folks laid commercially prostrate; and who can conceive the social and moral disaster arising from such a state of things." They felt confident that it would be for the good of the whole county, for they would reap an immediate and certain gain of from £8000 to £10,000 per week. The ballot was taken. The miners' vote was in favour of a strike, but the whole vote of the Federation was in favour of accepting the ten per cent. Within three months of the acceptance the Miners' Council on September 14th decided that the Committee should demand a further advance of fifteen per cent., to commence on November 1st; if refused, the county to be balloted at once. That request was forwarded to the employers from the Federation Board. They were informed that, after very carefully considering the improved condition of trade and the increased prices at which coal and coke were sold in the open market, the Board considered that they had a just claim for an advance of fifteen per cent. The reply of the employers was contained in the following resolution:-- The Owners' Association, taking an account of the fact that the ascertained price of coal for the quarter just ended is only 5s. 2.93d. (or 4.44d. above the price of the previous quarter), is not prepared to give an advance approaching that which is asked, but is willing to appoint a Committee to confer with the Federation Board, having full authority to negotiate for a settlement of wages, to begin at such a date, and extend over such period, as may afford a reasonable opportunity of actually realising those higher prices which would alone allow higher wages to be paid. The question arose whether the miners should seek the advances themselves or through the medium of the Federation Board, as that was the only regular and effective means. It was at the same time pointed out to the workmen that their claim for the fifteen per cent. was in violation of the understanding that three months must elapse from the date of a previous change before a new application could be considered. The voting on the body to negotiate resulted in favour of the Board, but there was a further question to decide. What was to be the line of procedure? Had the Board to make the best settlement, or should they press for the full fifteen per cent., and, if refused, the members be balloted? The miners' special Council voted by a large majority for the full demand or strike, the voting being 297 for strike and 45 for placing the power in the hands of the Board. It was found that the other three sections had remitted the question absolutely to the Federation by large majorities, and the Miners' Executive naturally felt the advance was being delayed for weeks, whereas the Board might have settled it, and the workmen have got an early increase in wages. It was, therefore, felt imperative that the miners should be asked to reconsider their position, seeing that in the other sections there was unanimity. The Committee resolved to again submit it to a Council meeting, but there was no change, the instruction of the previous one being repeated, the majority being slightly decreased. That Council was held on November 14th. The Federation Board met the same night, and on the 15th Mr Crawford handed Mr R. Guthrie (who had been appointed secretary as successor to Mr Bunning, deceased) a request for a meeting. That was fixed for the 23rd of November. When the Board met the owners they were asked what power they had, and the reply was simply to ask for the fifteen per cent. Mr L. Wood, the owners' chairman, then said: "We only agreed to meet the Federation Board on condition that they had power to settle the entire matter. Have you that power?" The Board had to give the humiliating answer: "No." An adjournment for three hours took place, when an offer of ten per cent. was handed to the Board. They then resolved to take a ballot of the whole of the sections, the decision being to accept the offer. There are two remarks necessary anent the industrial matters of 1889--first, the termination of the sliding scale, which happened on the 31st of July; several attempts were made to revive it again. The latest in the year was a new scale submitted by the Enginemen's Association. It was drawn up by Mr T. Hindmarsh, the treasurer of that Association (who was a very useful man), but it was never proceeded with. The scales had been in existence twelve years. The misfortune was that the trial of the system took place in a series of years which covered the most unbroken period of depression within the experience of the Association. The ascertainment showed that prices never reached (except at the last stage) higher than 5s. per ton, being most of the time below 4s. 8d. We are so much inclined to judge from appearances and not righteous judgment that the blame for bad trade was thrown entirely upon the scale, as if its existence or non-existence could influence the coal markets and their prices. To the superficial observer the collateral conditions of the scale would appeal with force; but men who look at the fitness of things, and who do not measure that fitness by a small period or single phase of our industrial life, are fully aware that all kind of trade seasons are required to supply a proper test--these recognise that the scale, with proper adjustments, is bound to be an equitable means of adjusting wages. There was this coincidence which strengthened the position of the objector: the scale ended just when a boom in trade set in, and many men believed that it had been the incubus which had in an evil manner weighted the trade and kept wages down. "See," they said, "how the conditions have altered since its removal, and shall we not be foolish if we give it another lease of life?" The second remark applied to the delay in securing the advance through not trusting those at the head to negotiate a settlement, and this in spite of urgent appeals. This remark applies not merely to the distrust of that day, but to all such occasions. The foolishness is not merely for a day, but for all time. It is a great check upon men's ardour to find themselves doubted, and it is a grand incitant and inspiration to feel they have the confidence of their people behind them. If a leader is not such as can be relied upon to do his best he is not fit to be in the position. Generals win battles most assuredly when the men trust them. There is always danger when with suspicion those in the ranks are watching the head. THE COUNTY COUNCILS' ACT For a considerable time prior to 1888 there had been a great desire amongst the people for a more active part in local affairs. This was running currently with the national and parliamentary idea. The opposition which reared itself against the national was found striving to prevent an extension of home affairs. It was in relation to this that the Marquis of Salisbury, "that master of jeer and gibe," said what the people wanted was a circus, as they were more eager for that class of amusement than seriously taking part in the management of parish or county business. However, as in the parliamentary suffrage, so in the transferring of the local affairs from the parish magnates and the petty sessions to the people; the spirit of reform, the friends of freedom, and the trustees of the people were too strong. Those who were in power--the masters in the art of "grasping the skirts of happy chance"--those skilful plagiarisers of other people's ideas, calling them their original property, those who have always waited to be forced to do right, introduced and carried the "Local Government Act." As the men of Durham were eager and expectant in 1885 with reference to the extension of the suffrage--not merely eager to receive, but to use--so in relation to the county affairs, they were earnestly desiring to receive the long withheld right and to put it into operation. In this matter they were and are unique. The system of political teaching carried on by their Franchise Association had not been in vain. While in other parts of the country men had been at fever heat until they were incorporated into the electorate, and then lapsed into indifference or misuse, in Durham the same keen zest was manifest after the passing of the Act as before. Between the Royal assent being given and the time of operation a serious preparation took place. A very large number of meetings were held, and in a business manner the election was prepared for, with the result that about one-fourth of the new-formed Council were working men, and fully seventy per cent. of the parish and district councillors were from their ranks. In this respect the county occupied a proud and peculiar position, for in no other county was any such use made of the Act. Instead of that, the lethargy seen in other counties was such as to justify the Salisburian jeer as to the circus. It may be said without fear of contradiction that no selfish or ill use was made of the power thus gained. No county anywhere more needed reform in matters pertaining to the home life of the people, for in matters of convenience and sanitation the condition of many parts was deplorable. There was a general idea that these working men when they were placed in this responsible and new position, with the public purse to draw upon, would act the part of prodigals, and run into all kinds of waste. Those who said that, based their reasoning on a very false position. They said (and no doubt believed) that the miners did not contribute to the rates, and therefore would rush into useless expenditure. Some of the miners asked where the rates came from if not from them. The fear has been falsified. There was great need in the home surroundings for rushing, but with all that, gradual reforms were the order of the day, and no one suffered. 1890 Another Advance sought--Death of Mr Crawford--The Ten Hours' Drawing and Hewers' Hours--The second Advance--International Miners' Conference This year opened with another claim for an advance. In the Federation Minutes for January 8th is the following:-- That the secretary write to the secretary of the Coal Owners' Association asking a meeting requesting an advance of 15 per cent. on all classes. That motion was the outcome of a resolution passed at the Miners' Council on the 4th. Not merely was the amount of advance named, but the 1st of February was to be the date of its commencement, with the alternative that the ballot be taken if it were refused. The Board met the owners on the 21st of January, when they were given the following resolution:-- The Durham Coal Owners' Association is unable to make any further advance in wages unless, or until, a much higher invoice price of coal is realised than has yet been attained. The owners' accountants have ascertained the selling price for the last three months (ending December 31st, 1889) and they certify the net average invoice price to be 5s. 9.88d. This, according to the recent sliding scale agreement, would make wages 13¾ per cent. above the standard of 1879. Wages are, as a matter of fact, now 25 per cent. in advance of that standard brought up to this point, by the special advance of 10 per cent. given only 5 or 6 weeks ago, in anticipation, as the owners then declared, of higher prices yet to be got. The owners invite the Federation Board to verify these figures, and to join in a further ascertainment for the first three months of this year, with a view to thus determining whether any advance in wages is justified, either now or in April next. The owners regard it as all-important that the men employed in the collieries in the county of Durham should be afforded, and should avail themselves of, an opportunity of correcting the serious misapprehension under which they labour from regarding the prices quoted in the newspapers for what is but a small proportion of the output as representing the entire volume of trade. LINDSAY WOOD, _Chairman_. Coal Trade Office, Newcastle, _January 21st, 1890._ The Federation Board resolved to submit the question to a ballot, as it was found that the miners were not in favour of either joining the owners in an ascertainment, or allowing their representatives to meet the employers. The result of the miners' ballot was most perplexing. At that time there were only 48,500 full members, and of these only 25,807 voted for a strike, those against the strike and neutrals amounting to 22,708. Taking the Federation as a whole, the situation was unsatisfactory. For a strike there were 29,048, and against 26,696. There were more than 15,000 unrecorded votes. Under these circumstances they considered their best policy was to call sectional councils, to be held on February 13th. The voting at the Miners' Council was a very large majority for giving in the notices on the 24th. The Federation Board met on the same day, when it was found that the enginemen refused to give in their notices; but the Board decided that the other three sections should tender theirs, and the owners should be informed of the same. Great regret was shown at the refusal of the enginemen. Mr Crawford, acting on the instruction of the Board, at once notified the employers, and received from them a long reply. They were surprised to find no reference made, either in the letter or in the submission to the members, as to the joint ascertainment of the selling price of coal. They reaffirmed their statement that the average price did not warrant the advance. If a strike were entered upon, the responsibility would rest with the side which refused to avail themselves of the full opportunities offered for ascertaining the condition and prospects of the trade. They were prepared to consider whether by arbitration, or by any other course, a strike might be averted, and they invited the Board to meet them again on February 22nd. At that meeting the owners offered an advance of five per cent., making the underground men thirty, and the surface men twenty-seven, per cent. above the standard of 1879. Another ballot was taken--(1) upon this offer; (2) open arbitration; (3) strike. The result of the ballot was to accept the offer of five per cent. On the 9th of May another demand was made for fifteen per cent. advance. This meeting was in response to a letter sent by Mr Crawford from the Executive Committee notifying the employers of the demand. This they could not accede to. Their reasons were the serious reaction which had set in in the coal trade. Whether it would continue, or there would be a recovery, was uncertain. The most they could offer was to leave wages where they were, and reconsider them in a month. For some time there had been a growing desire for shorter hours, and it was felt by some of the leaders of the Union that instead of pressing for wages it would be better to devote all their attention to the shortening of the hours, and even going so far as giving up the advance. In keeping with that idea the question was introduced to the owners; but the Executive felt that these two subjects were too much for successful consideration at the same time, and they therefore asked the lodges to send delegates to a special Council on May 31st to say whether--(1) they had to press for the entire programme--viz. fifteen per cent., with ten hours' drawing and seven hours from bank to bank; (2) should the cases be separated; (3) which one should be preferred. Finally, it was agreed that the claim for an advance should be withdrawn and the whole attention of the county placed upon the shortening of the hours. A more beneficial decision has never been come to in the whole of our history. In this case time has meant money, and has proved the wisdom of applying the spirit of compromise and arrangement to these matters by men who know the technicalities of the trade. DEATH OF MR CRAWFORD We must stay our record of industrial changes to consider a serious blow which fell upon the Association in the death of Mr Crawford on July 1st 1890. It was a blow the force of which can only be realised by those who were intimately acquainted with him, and whose good fortune it was to be colleagues with him. Never yet had an Association a stronger or more capable leader. To see him at his best one had to be with him in a complex question and in a committee. He was not an eloquent orator, moving men's minds by speech, but he was a pilot skilful in guiding their affairs through the perilous times. No man was ever more attacked by men who were never able to reach his excellence in the sphere of life in which he was placed; but this was always certain, those who made the attack were sure to receive cent per cent. in return. His ability was only fully known by those who were in close contact with him. His temper was sudden, fierce for a short time, but soon burnt out. Ofttimes, therefore, he was apt to give offence. He had his failings. Is he to be for that condemned, for where is there a man without them? The Pecksniffs of life may pose as being pure, but _men_ know how far they fall short of that state. Pure spirits are a terror to common mortals, and beyond their reach, and especially to men whose lives, like Crawford's, are cast amid the complexities and complications of an earnest Trades Union leader. Let us place on record the opinion of his colleagues in the circular notifying the county of his death: "It is our sorrowful duty to announce to you that Mr Crawford died this morning at 6 A.M. On this occasion our words will be few, but they must not be taken as the measure of our feelings. We are in a position which enables us to form an estimate of his worth to us as secretary of our Association, and we are therefore the more fully conscious of the loss sustained. He has died doing his duty--as he was at Newcastle at Joint Committee on Monday the 30th of June, and took part both in discussions inside and settling cases outside. He went to that meeting in opposition to the persuasions of his colleagues, who saw the delicate state of his health, and how dangerous it was for him to go to the meeting." He died comparatively young, aged only fifty-eight. If any of the young men want to see his style let them turn to his circulars, which are scattered profusely through our documents. He had been feeble for some time before his death, but when in health he was ready and vigorous with his pen. He passed from us, but his work still lives, and will live so long as the Durham Miners' organisation remains; and if the workmen in folly should allow it to fall, then the work he did for them will be their greatest condemnation. The vacancies caused by his death were filled up by Mr Patterson becoming corresponding secretary, Mr Wilson being made financial secretary, and Mr Johnson being elected treasurer. The political vacancy was supplied by the nomination and election of Mr Wilson for Mid-Durham. [Illustration: JOHN JOHNSON, M.P.] THE SHORTENING OF HOURS At the Executive Committee meeting on July 3rd this matter was under discussion, and it was resolved to ask for a meeting with the owners "on the seven hours' and ten hours' drawing." The interview did not effect a settlement, and the Committee decided to ballot the county. It was submitted as "Strike," "No strike," and the result was, for strike 30,484, with 2728 against. This result was sent to the employers, with a request for an early meeting. It was held on August 14th. The original request was a reversion to the hours worked prior to Mr Meynell's award: "Foreshift men to go down at 4 A.M., back-shift to be loosed to commence to ride at 4 P.M., and no colliery to draw coals more than ten hours per day, for two shifts of hewers. The drawing hours in the night-shift collieries to be in proportion to the day shift." In that request there is no mention of the seven hours. This omission the Committee explained. If they had asked for seven hours they would have lengthened the hours of those men who were loosed by their marrows in the face. In their opinion the plain request of seven hours would have increased the hours in those cases on an average of at least half-an-hour per day, and would have compelled a system of overlapping in all such cases, because a signed agreement would supersede all customs. As a counter proposal the employers submitted the following:-- _August 19th, 1890._ SEVEN HOURS' AND TEN HOURS' COAL DRAWING The Owners' Committee offer as a settlement that hewers' shifts be on an average of foreshift, and back shift not more than seven hours, reckoned from the last cage descending to the first cage ascending, and from the last cage descending to the last cage ascending; the present coal-drawing arrangements remaining unchanged. The custom of shifts changing in the face to be maintained. Failing the acceptance of this offer, the Owners' Committee propose that the whole question of hours be referred to arbitration. You, on the other hand, have urged that there should be simply a return to the drawing hours, and arrangements consequent thereon, prevailing prior to Mr Meynell's award in April 1878. It will be the duty of the Owners' Committee to report this to a general meeting, but in order that that meeting may fully understand what such a proposal means, it is necessary to obtain information from each colliery as to its hours and arrangements prior to April 1878. The Owners' Committee will proceed to ascertain this, and it suggests that your deputation meet the Owners' Committee on Friday, the 29th inst., at 1.30, for a further discussion prior to the owners' general meeting which will be called for this day fortnight. Yours faithfully, REGINALD GUTHRIE, _Secretary_. The whole subject was placed before a special meeting, and sundry questions were asked. Should the question stand adjourned as the owners requested? Should the seven hours be withdrawn? Should the owners' offer be accepted? Should arbitration be offered? Should the notices go in; if so, when? The conclusions of the Council were to wait for another meeting with the employers, and to withdraw the seven hours as a separate question. At the meeting held on August 29th the employers placed before the Committee their proposals. Their chief objection lay in the serious loss of output which would follow a reduction of one hour in the coal-drawing time. In any case it would be impossible to bring the change into operation till the contract engagements could be adapted to new conditions; that the change should not take effect till the first pay in January; that if there were a reduction in hours there should be a proportionate reduction in wages; that the Committees of the two Associations should have full power to settle certain points: "Mode of reckoning the hours in ten and twenty hour pits; for coal drawing; for offhanded men and boys above and below ground; arrangements in cases of accidental stoppage; drawing hours on Saturdays; changing at the face; 'Led tubs'; travelling time in relation to distance; co-operation of miners in making the ten hours of coal drawing as full and effective as possible." The Council meeting before which these were placed decided to accept the owners' offer of ten hours, to operate on January 1st, 1891, and that the Executive Committee meet the owners, with full power to settle the conditions. The appointment of the Committee resulted in the "Ten Hours' Agreement," which need not be inserted here, but a difference arose as to the number of hours the double-shift pits should draw coals. Finding they could not agree, the Committees arranged to refer the matter to an umpire, and two on either side were appointed to place the case before him. The umpire chosen was Mr J. R. D. Lynn, coroner in Northumberland. He decided as follows on December 22nd, 1890:-- DURHAM COAL OWNERS' ASSOCIATION AND THE DURHAM MINERS' ASSOCIATION _re_ DRAWING HOURS OF DOUBLE-SHIFT PITS Whereas, by an agreement between the Durham Miners' Association and the Durham Coal Owners' Association, the question of whether the coal-drawing hours of double-shift pits should be 19 or 20 hours per day was left to my decision; Mr Hall and Mr Parrington on behalf of the Owners' Association; and Mr Forman and Mr Patterson on behalf of the Miners' Association. Now having taken upon myself the said reference, and heard what was alleged by Messrs Hall and Parrington and Messrs Forman and Patterson, on behalf of the said parties respectively, and having heard and considered all the evidence produced to me, and duly weighed and considered the terms of the request of the Miners' Association, contained in their resolution of August 14th, 1890--the terms of the offer of the owners--the terms of the agreement or qualified acceptance of the owners' offer by the Council of the Miners' Association--the agreed working hours of the datal men and boys--the time occupied by the different classes of men and boys descending and ascending the pits--the prevailing custom of the county and all the matters and things bearing upon the question referred to me--I am forced to the conclusion that the drawing hours of double-shift collieries can only be reduced in proportion to the agreed reduction of the drawing hours of the single-shift collieries, and not in proportion to the number of hewers' shifts; and now make and publish this, my award, in writing, as follows:-- I do Award and Determine that the coal-drawing hours of double-shift pits shall be twenty hours per day. J. R. D. LYNN. _Dec. 22nd, 1890._ The negotiations were complicated and a settlement hindered by the action of the Wearmouth Lodge. It arose out of the seven hours' resolution. When the Council carried the resolution that the hewers' day should be seven hours, that lodge, without waiting for any general action on the question, commenced to put it into operation. We need not mention the circumstances beyond saying that the colliery was on strike, causing great friction between them and the Committee, and delaying a settlement of the general question, although they were told repeatedly that they were violating rule, and retarding progress. Before the hours agreement was come to another advance was asked for. As usual, it emanated from the miners. The amount claimed was twenty per cent., and again the date was fixed for commencing, with the alternative of the ballot, and notices if refused. The resolution was brought before the Federation Board, accepted by them, and sent on to the owners, with a request for an early meeting. The discussion on the subject took place on October 27th, when the employers said: "As the application was based upon an alleged increase in the price of coal they must have time to verify the price by the accountants' ascertainment, and as soon as this was done they would meet the Board and give a definite answer." The Federation Board, feeling the anomaly of their position, and being loath to meet the owners with restricted powers, resolved to ask their constituents to give them full power to negotiate as to the amount of the advance. The result of this voting was a large majority in favour of placing the whole matter in their hands. As soon as possible (November 14th) a meeting with the employers was held. The first question asked of the Board was what was the extent of their powers, and they, the owners, were informed the workmen had placed the matter entirely in the hands of the Board to settle. This, the owners said, cleared the ground and prepared for a settlement, as they had resolved not to make any offer if such had not been the case. It was, however, ultimately resolved to give an advance of five per cent., making the percentage above the standard of 1879 thirty-five for the underground workmen, banksmen, mechanics, enginemen, and cokemen, and thirty-two per cent. for the surface workmen, the agreement to take effect with the pays commencing December 29th, 1890, and January 5th, 1891, according to the pays at the various collieries. By that arrangement the shortened hours and the increase in wages were simultaneous. Before leaving 1890 we will notice a very important step taken by the miners of Great Britain --the holding of the first International Miners' Conference at Jolimont in Belgium. As this was the first of the series it will be interesting if we give the origin. The first idea originated in 1889. In that year two Labour Congresses were held in Paris: the Marx or Socialist, and the Possibilist or Trades Unionist. To the latter the Northumberland miners sent Messrs Burt and Fenwick. Prior to the meeting of the Congress those gentlemen sent a joint letter inviting the miners' representatives attending either the Marx or Trades Union Congress to meet for the purpose of a friendly interchange of opinions on questions relating to the condition of the miners. Some eighteen delegates responded, and the meeting took place in a dingy coffee-house in a back street. The interpreter on that occasion was Miss Edith Simcox. The result was the miners of Great Britain were requested to take the initiative in the formation of an International. This request was conveyed to the Central Board of the National Miners' Union (Mr Crawford being at that time secretary). The matter was brought forward at a subsequent miners' conference at Birmingham. The outcome was the Congress held at Jolimont in Belgium in 1890. 1891-1892 Silksworth Strike--Claim for a Reduction--The General Strike--Aftermath of the Strike--The Eight Hours again The year opened with a strike at Silksworth. It is mentioned here because of its being connected with, and being the last of, the disputes about the deputies. In order that there may be a proper understanding it will be necessary to retrace our steps a little. At the Miners' Council held on August 16th, 1890, a resolution was carried giving the Silksworth Lodge power "to take the ballot with a view of giving in their notices to compel the deputies to join the Union." The ballot resulted in the notices being tendered. They expired on November 22nd, and on November 26th, at a Federation Board Meeting, it was reported that the dispute between the deputies and the lodge had been settled amongst themselves, and they were ready to return to work. This had been forwarded to the employers by Mr Patterson and Mr Forman, from whom they had received a reply acknowledging the receipt of the information. They having, however, been informed "that many of the deputies, non-members of the Miners' Association, have been compelled by coercion and violence to join that Association, are not prepared to take any further steps with regard to the strike until they have consulted a general meeting of the owners, and this they will take an early opportunity of doing." Mr Patterson and Mr Forman wrote denying all knowledge of any force, reminding the owners that in all previous cases, whether general or local, the withdrawal of notices had always been mutual, and that they had instructed the workmen to present themselves for work. This action produced a deadlock, and three meetings were held between the Federation Board and the owners--on November 29th in Durham, and on December 1st and 2nd in Newcastle. The owners said they were convinced that some of the deputies had been driven through fear to join the Miners' Association, and therefore they could not sanction the resumption of work at Silksworth until the Federation agreed to provide for the security and freedom of the deputies who refused to join the Miners' Association pending the consideration of the question "whether it is consistent with the duties and responsibilities of deputies to belong to the Miners' Association, and that the deputies at Silksworth should have the opportunity, under proper safeguards, of freely declaring whether they wished to remain in the Miners' Association." To these the workmen made reply that the action of the owners was against all former arrangements made between the two Associations. "In every case that has taken place the men either before or after giving the notices have had to agree to resume work" before the Urgency Committee was appointed, and yet the employers were asking, in the Silksworth case, to reverse that well-established practice, and were demanding that the pit should stand until a settlement was come to. That course of action the Board repudiated, and expressed their willingness to join any body or committee as soon as the pit started. The employers then modified the claim, and asked that a Joint Committee should be formed, and the deputies who had been compelled to join the miners should be allowed to appear before that Committee, and say whether they wanted to remain in such Association. With that understanding the pit should go to work as soon as got ready, and the Committee meet within the next three days, which would mean prior to work being resumed, except very partially. The Board was willing to agree to form the Committee. No settlement was come to, although strong endeavours were made. At last the employers decided to evict the men from the houses. The evictions commenced on February 19th, 1891, and in all there were 106 families turned out, many of whom found shelter with their friends and in the places of worship. To effect that purpose a very large contingent of police was drafted in from other parts of the country, with the usual accessories to these circumstances, the "candymen," to whom the occasion was a harvest, and just the kind of work their natures were akin to, and their minds eagerly desiring, and therefore ready to accept. There were most serious riots, and at one time a violent collision took place, between the crowd and the police. It was not the result of any action on the part of the Silksworth people, but was owing to the presence of strangers. It was customary for the police to escort the candymen out of the village to a large house a short distance off, which afterwards was given the name of "Candy Hall" because of the use it was put to. On a certain night when the escorting took place, the police and their charge were followed by a large concourse of people, some of whom threw stones and various kinds of missiles. In a few instances the officers were hurt. This they bore until they got outside the village, when suddenly wheeling they charged with their batons upon the crowd, many of whom were seriously injured. Before the whole of the people were evicted negotiations re-opened, and the proceedings stayed, which eventuated in the following agreement:-- It is agreed that the Owners' Committee advise the Silksworth deputies who joined the Durham Miners' Association after the notices were handed in to pay up at once their arrears of subscriptions to the present date, on the distinct understanding that they are to be at perfect liberty from this date to be members or non-members of the Miners' or any other Association pending the settlement of the general question of deputies between the two Associations. On the arrears being paid work to be resumed at Silksworth, Seaham, and Rainton, all men being reinstated in the positions occupied by them before work ceased. That ended the last of the privileges given to deputies. THE CLAIM FOR A REDUCTION In the beginning of July the Federation Board met the owners. The employers had made a claim for a reduction on April 25th which the Board met by asking for an advance. As this is the first of the series of events and negotiations which led up to the strike of 1892 it will enable us to better understand that occurrence if we record it in detail. At the meeting referred to, the employers said that as the Board had asserted that the state of trade did not warrant a reduction, but, on the contrary, an advance, they would officially ascertain present and prospective invoice prices, and would then ask the Board to meet and consider them. If that did not lead to an agreement they would ask that the question should be submitted to arbitration. The matter was delayed until November 27th, when another meeting took place. The following statement was handed to the Federation Board:-- OWNERS' STATEMENT The Durham Coal Owners' Association feel that the time has come when they must press for a substantial reduction of wages. They are paying 35 per cent. above the standard rates, whilst the ascertainment of selling prices for the quarter ending September 30th last brought out results corresponding with wages only 23¾ per cent. above the standard. The excess measured in this manner is therefore 11¼ per cent.; but prices are continuing to decline, and this should also be taken into account in considering what reduction ought to be made. The last advance of 5 per cent. arranged in November 1890, to take effect from January 1st, 1891, was given in the expectation that prices were likely to rise; instead of this proving to be the case they have declined to an extent equivalent to a 5 per cent. reduction in wages, thus placing the owners in a worse position to the extent of 10 per cent. as compared with this time last year. This is the smallest amount of reduction that the owners feel ought to at once be conceded, and they are willing either to accept this as an instalment of the relief that the state of trade imperatively calls for, or to submit to open arbitration the question of what change in wages ought to be made. LINDSAY WOOD, _Chairman_. Coal Trade Office, _November 27th, 1891._ The Board promised to place the statement before the members as soon as they had time to examine it, and at the same time they would send the employers a statement with regard to the application for an advance. Nothing more was heard of the subject until the 19th of December, when the owners wrote to the Federation Board as follows:-- I am desired to ask you when the Owners' Association may expect the reply to the proposal as to the reduction of wages made to your Federation Board at the meeting on November 27th. This was brought before the Board, when they suggested that the questions should lie in abeyance until the New Year, after which they would be prepared to arrange for an early meeting. On January 14th, 1892, the Board met the Owners' Wages Committee, when three propositions were handed to them--(1) An immediate reduction of ten per cent.; (2) to submit to open arbitration the question of what change in wages ought to be made; (3) to submit any proposal the Board might have to make to the Coal Owners' Association. Failing to receive an intimation from the Board at the earliest date that they accepted one of those propositions, then the Wage Committee must at once lay the position of affairs before their Association, and obtain instructions as to the steps to be taken to press for an immediate reduction. These questions were at once placed before the workmen by the Board. They, in the first instance, said they did not consider they had the power to make any settlement, and therefore were compelled to take that course. Then they reminded their constituents that when the markets were advancing (and on sufficient reason being shown) the employers gave advances by mutual arrangement, and therefore that mutuality should be reciprocated. They hoped the members would not be rash nor doubtful, for these were dangerous and destructive to their interests. "We must meet these situations like business men. The greatest safeguard is confidence in each other, and, as in the past, we have done all we could to merit that confidence from you, so in this most critical period, if you entrust us with the care of this matter, we shall do all we can to bring about the greatest benefit for our various Associations." There were three modes of settlement open to them: the first to grant the immediate reduction of ten per cent.--this they would not recommend; the second was arbitration; and the third to place the matter in the hands of the Board to negotiate the best settlement possible. They pointed to the last advance of five per cent., which was got so speedily by acting in the latter manner. Upon these three questions the ballot would be taken, the papers to be returned on or before February 3rd. The voting was: for accepting the ten per cent., 605; arbitration, 2050; Board to have power to settle, 7102; for refusing the whole, 41,887. The Board then put in operation Rule 14, which gives them power to call the Committees of the four sections if they deem it necessary. They arranged for such a meeting, and laid before it an amended offer made by the employers: an immediate reduction of seven and a half per cent., or five per cent. immediate, and five per cent. on the first of May. If neither of these was accepted then notices would be given on February 27th. With these offers the united Committees sent out a circular. In it they supplemented the one sent out by the Board in January, prior to the last voting being taken, and they warned the county not to be deceived, because it was quite clear that the owners were in earnest, and resolved not to be put off any longer. The question had waited six months. If they accepted one of the alternatives the dispute would be arranged. If they chose a strike, then they must prepare for taking the consequences. On the 27th of February, the day upon which the notices were given, they met and decided: "That all members of any of the four sections who have not received notice from the owners must put them in at once, except the collieries who are not associated with the Durham Coal Owners' Association, who must work on, providing their wages are not interfered with." These instructions were altered three days after, and the members were informed that "all workmen, whether employed at associated or non-associated collieries, and who have not received notices, must give them in at once." The voting on the amended proposals of the employers was largely in favour of a strike. For agreeing to the seven and a half per cent. 926 voted, for the two five per cents. 1153; for giving the Board full power 12,956, and for strike 40,468. It was then resolved to submit the two highest to another ballot. In the meantime the Board endeavoured to induce the owners to modify their demand still further. On the 10th of March, two days before the notices expired, numerous telegrams passed between the two parties. Those from the Board were urgent; those from the employers as if inspired by indifference, the last one reading: "Owners regret position, but have no suggestion to make." The Board then turned their attention to the prevention of the filling of the coals that were stacked, and they promised that, if any man or men refused to fill at the pits in the county during the strike, they would see them reinstated into their former work. In some places the colliery officials interfered with the enginemen. The Committee of that Association entered their protest, and brought the matter before the Board, who decided: That we endorse the action of the Enginemen's Association in the prompt means taken by them in reference to officials of collieries tampering with the enginemen, and should any action be taken against the enginemen they will have the protection of this Board. On March 11th the Miners' Executive decided to call a special Council meeting of their members on the 12th to consider the situation, and informed the Federation Board of their decision. After a long discussion the Council decided against any reduction, and on the 16th the votes of the whole Federation as per ballot showed: Strike Federation to Settle Miners 39,390 8,473 Enginemen 664 821 Mechanics 1,875 1,122 Cokemen 1,127 1,440 ------- ------ 43,056 11,856 In spite of all these efforts to prevent the strike and induce the members to settle there were some who charged the leaders with not giving the members full information and not daring to put the matter as clearly and as forcibly as they should. In defence they asked the lodge secretaries to look at the circulars and minutes which had been sent to them, and they would find these people were speaking either without full knowledge of the facts or maliciously stating that which they knew was untrue. The Board had placed before the members the various offers, and had in an unequivocal manner advised them that the most beneficial mode of procedure was to give the Board power to settle. "To this we still adhere, as the wisest, surest, and best course to be pursued, and we have no doubt that, were it adopted, a speedy settlement might be arrived at, and all the misery and hardships that are necessarily attached to a strike or lockout, whether it be long or short, would be obviated." The question of the sick members was somewhat perplexing, for the members of the sick department who were not receiving anything beyond the small amount of strike pay, found they could not keep their payments up, and the question was brought before the Council, when the following resolution was carried:-- This meeting deems it advisable to let the sick members who are now on strike cease paying their contributions for the present, and at the same time they be not allowed to come on to the Sick Fund. But those who are now on the Sick Fund have their sick pay continued until they recover from such illness, and at the same time they will have to continue paying their contributions, but death benefits to be paid to all. The banking account as per the balance sheet for December 1891 was £36,000. There was £15,834 in property in the various halls in the county, and there had been so much money spent in local strikes that it had been impossible to accumulate money to the extent they should have done. The members were informed that the amount available would only enable the Committee to pay 10s. to each full member and 5s. to each half member, for they were compelled by rule to reserve £10,000 for the Sick Fund. The strike being fairly started the Federation Board found themselves in a position analogous to that of 1879. The best they did receive (from a large number of people) was slander and vile names, and all because they, realising the dangers of the situation, dared to advise the county and take an unpalatable but manly stand. Meetings were held everywhere, and the speeches delivered were interlarded with epithets of the lowest order; and if the estimate of the agents was even only approximately true they were fit for no place outside a prison, for the most corrupt motives were attributed to them. They were betrayers of their trust, and were selling the interest of the men for their own gain. The main spreaders of those untruths were men from the outside: sailors who loved to sail on land better than sea, and coal porters from London, who thought they knew more about the miners' affairs than the men of the county did. In addition, there were those who believed in brotherhood, and thought the most effective means to establish it was by sowing discord broadcast among a people engaged in an industrial death struggle. The severity of the struggle may be gathered from the fact that 10s. per member and 5s. per half member was all that was available in the funds, and after being off nearly eight weeks the money gathered in from helping friends amounted to 5s. and 2s. 6d. respectively. It took £1000 to give each member of the Federation 4d. each. After being off work close upon eight weeks the Federation Board sought a meeting with the owners for the purpose of talking "over the situation with a view of putting before the members of the various Associations any suggestions that might arise." Three days after the parties met, when the whole question was fully discussed. The position taken up by the Board was that, according to Joint Committee rules, no question could be negotiated during a stoppage, and therefore the owners should open the pits, after which the men would consider their demands for a reduction. That offer was refused, and a reduction of 2s. in the £ was pressed. In connection with it they suggested the formation of a Wage Board as a means of preventing the recurrence of a suspension of work. They were then asked if they would refer the question to arbitration. Their reply was very short and decisive: "No; thirteen and a half per cent. reduction must be conceded before we will agree to open the pits." When asked why they increased their demand they said they had done so because the stoppage of the pits had entailed a great loss upon them, and they thought the men should pay for it. In addition, they chided the Board with simply being message carriers instead of men of influence. There were three results from the action of the owners. The first was to bring the Federation Board and Committees into closer relations with the people as a whole. There had been a tendency towards peace, when the employers took the false step. They had an idea that the workmen were beaten, and there is no doubt there would have been a much earlier settlement but for that mistake. Before, the leaders were doing their best to persuade their people to let them settle the dispute, but afterwards they were in determined opposition to the settlement on the lines of the increased demand. The second result was to throw public sentiment against the owners. It was very clear that, so long as the employers stood by their original demand, there was at least a silent condemnation of the workmen for refusing to place confidence in their leaders, but after the thirteen and a half per cent. was asked for the public veered round to the side of the workmen. The third result was to change the feeling of the miners in relation to their trust in the leaders. What persuasion could not do the extreme demand did. At a Miners' Council held on May 7th it was decided to leave the entire case in the hands of the Board. On the 9th, at a united meeting of the four Committees, the subject was discussed for a considerable time, when it was decided that the Board meet the owners, but the Committees to be in attendance. A telegram was sent to Mr Guthrie informing him that: "The Federation Board having received full power to settle the wages question, can you fix a day as soon as possible for us to meet your Wages Committee? Board waiting reply." To this Mr Guthrie replied that he would call a meeting for the 11th, and lay the message before their members. The meeting took place on the 13th of May. The owners stood firm to their thirteen and a half per cent. The united Committees offered to give five per cent. That offer was refused. The Committees then proposed the following:-- WORKMEN'S OFFER _May 13th, 1892._ That we, the united Committees, representing the four sections of the workmen employed in the county, cannot accede to the demands of the owners for a thirteen and a half per cent., but in order that we may end this dispute, with the consequent stoppage of trade and deprivation amongst the people, we are willing to accept an immediate reduction of seven and a half per cent. from the thirty-five per cent., leaving the wages twenty-seven and a half per cent. above the 1879 basis; and further, that we are willing at the earliest moment after the starting of work to recommend to our members the formation of a Wages Board for the settlement of all county wage questions in the future. W. H. PATTERSON. OWNERS' REPLY The Owners' Wages Committee regrets that it is impossible to accept the offer of the united Committees for an immediate reduction of seven and a half per cent. only. In other respects the Committees' proposal is acceptable. The Wages Committee must again point out that the ascertainment of selling price for the month of February showed that the owners are entitled--according to the relation of wages to prices that so long prevailed, and which the owners still regard as fairly and fully measuring the rates that can be afforded--to a reduction of fifteen per cent. from the standards. In asking for thirteen and a half per cent. only the owners feel that this is the smallest reduction that they would be justified in accepting. They believe, having regard to the deepening depression of trade, that any higher rate of wages than would be thus established must lead to a serious diminution in the amount of employment that could be afforded. REGINALD GUTHRIE. These were sent out with a statement of the case, with three questions upon which the members were asked to vote: Should the owners' terms be accepted? Should the strike continue? What suggestion had they to offer? In the circular sent out four days after these questions the Federation Board pointed out the seriousness of the position. It was difficult to carry on the struggle much longer. Arbitration had been offered to the employers, the pits commencing at the old rate. That had been emphatically refused, although it might have been accepted, if agreed to at the first. One suggestion had come to them--viz. to offer to accept a reduction of ten per cent. This was sent out as from themselves, and was carried by a majority of nearly four to one. When forwarded to the owners it was refused. The following is the resolution:-- _May 23rd, 1892._ RESOLUTION That we, the united Committees, representing the four sections of the workmen employed in the county, adhere to our refusal to accede to the demand of the owners for a thirteen and a half per cent. reduction, but in order that we may end this dispute, with the consequent stoppage of trade and deprivation amongst the people, we are willing to accept ten per cent. reduction from the thirty-five per cent., leaving the wages twenty-five per cent. above the 1879 basis; and further, that we will at the earliest moment after the starting of work recommend to our members the formation of a Wages Board for the settlement of all county wage questions in the future. Seeing the Owners' Committee have refused our offer of ten per cent. reduction, and press for their full claim of thirteen and a half per cent. in wages as a settlement of the present dispute, we offer to submit the whole question to open arbitration, providing the pits be opened out at once. On the refusal of this offer it became clear to the workmen that they were being most harshly dealt with, and as a natural consequence there were a few outbursts of temper and disturbances. There were numbers of policemen imported into the county. Against this the united Committees protested, and pointed out that the massing of these men was likely to cause disturbance, where otherwise there would be peace. They likewise thought the rate-payers should demand the withdrawal of the policemen, as they were an unnecessary burden upon the county. At the same time they placed before the county a detailed account of the whole proceedings from the initiation of it. They showed that they had done all they could in the interests of peace. They had offered to submit to a reduction, the justice of which had never been sufficiently proved; in fact, they were willing to give two and a half more than the owners asked for when they came out, which was equal to the fullest demand before the stoppage. They concluded by saying: The future of this awful struggle is with the owners. We have done our part. We cannot and do not ask you to accept the unjust and exorbitant demand made upon you. So far as we can see, the struggle must continue, that is, unless you are prepared to submit to the unjust demands of the owners. Are you prepared to do this? We implore you to be patient under the strain placed upon you by the latest action of the owners, from which it is evident that they would crush you, and reduce your manhood to the level of serfdom. We urge you to be law-abiding and still continue to show, as you have done in the past, that the men of Durham are a credit, not only to Trade Unionism, but to the country at large. The owners are aware that our ability to successfully resist their demands depends upon our being able to procure the necessaries of life. It is a matter which they have no need to personally fear, but which they appear determined to use as a weapon to force us to accept their terms. We must all do our best to defeat their projects, and nothing shall be left undone that we can do to secure subscriptions in order that our people may have food. We are thankful to those friends who have helped us, and we hope that workmen and all lovers of justice will respond to our appeal. As Committees, we tender our thanks to the leaders and friends at our local lodges, who have so untiringly and unceasingly given their labours for that purpose. They are in a good cause, and we are sure they will not weary in their well-doing. Their action is made more necessary by the determination of the owners. The offer of the employers (thirteen and a half per cent.) was submitted to the county along with the alternative of strike, with the result that every section voted by large majorities for a continuance of the strike, the least majority of any section being near four to one, and in one section nine to one. The resources of the men were gone, but their spirit of determination was strong. The owners by a statement tried to put themselves right with the public, but the Board replied by a counter statement. Then some of the influential men in the county (including Bishop Westcott) thought it was time to interfere, and letters were written by them to the Board, for which thanks were sent in reply. Among the communications was one from N. Wood, Esq., M.P., in which he expressed his regret at the failure to settle and the great misery among the people, and suggested that the Board should make an offer of eleven and a half. A letter of thanks was sent to him, expressing surprise that he should make the suggestion, and informing him that they would feel glad if he would try to get the owners to see that they were preventing a settlement by their stubborn refusal to shift from their demand for thirteen and a half per cent. The good Bishop, however, was not satisfied, and persisted in his endeavours to get the parties together. He was told that as soon as the owners were willing the Board would meet, and an arrangement was made on June 1st at Auckland Castle. A very long joint meeting took place, and then each party met in a separate room, the Bishop passing from room to room, full of solicitude for a settlement. At nearly the final stage of the proceedings he tried his best to persuade the workmen to offer eleven per cent., and he was told that, while he had their most profound respect, and they were sorry to refuse him, yet if they thought ten and a half would settle the dispute they would refuse, and continue the strike. At that point the parties met jointly again, when the following resolution was handed to the workmen:-- OWNERS' OFFER The Federation Board have offered explanations as to the establishment of a system of conciliation in the future, which the Bishop of Durham recommends the owners to accept as satisfactory, and the Bishop having strongly appealed to the owners--not on the ground of any judgment on his part of the reasonableness or otherwise of the owners' claim of 13½ per cent., but solely on the ground of consideration for the impoverished condition of the men and of the general prevailing distress--to reopen the pits at a present reduction of 10 per cent. (that is, from 35 to 25 above standard), with the full expectation that wages will hereafter be amicably settled by the system of conciliation contemplated, the owners yield to the Bishop's appeal on these grounds, and assent thereto. Bishop Auckland, _June 1st, 1892._ It was thought desirable to settle certain details before work was resumed. Amongst these was the restarting of all men as they came out. Some of the owners demurred, and thereupon the meeting broke up, and adjourned until Friday, the 3rd. The workmen at that meeting asked for a plain statement that every man would be engaged at his own work. The proposal of the owners was as follows:-- OWNERS' RESOLUTION 1. The Owners' Association have decided that no person shall be refused employment in consequence of having taken part in the affairs of the Workmen's Associations during the strike; they cannot, however, give a pledge to re-employ all their workmen, but they will recommend their members to employ as large a number as possible, and that the re-engagement of hewers be as follows:--That the places in each pit be cavilled for according to the last cavilling sheet, and that men cavilled to the places not intended to commence again shall be the ones not to be employed, it being understood that one hewer in a family being cavilled to a place that is to work is equal to the engagement of the whole family. In cases where a whole seam is stopped, it having been previously cavilled separately, the men belonging to such seam shall not be entitled to have a cavil put in for any other seam. This mode of re-engagement shall not be adopted as precedent in future cases, either in discharging or employing workmen. 2. That the owners are not prepared to discharge or remove the workmen whom they have employed during the strike for the purpose of reinstating other workmen who were previously employed, but will use their best endeavours to re-engage those previously employed as vacancies occur. REGINALD GUTHRIE, _Secretary_. Durham Coal Owners' Association, _June 3rd, 1892._ The united Committees objected to the second portion, but were willing to accept the first. No definite agreement was come to, but there was an understanding that the matter would be allowed to adjust itself smoothly, which it did, and no disturbance whatever took place in the absence of an agreement. The united Committees guarded themselves by drawing up a resolution, in which they interpreted the owners' resolution to mean that every man would be re-employed as before the stoppage. At the same time they informed their members that if any case of refusal took place, then all the other men must refuse to work. Thus ended one of the most memorable strikes in this or any other country, not on account of its length, but the circumstances which were connected with it. The workmen were poor in funds at the start, and the help (although generous from some quarters) was small per individual; the total benefit for the three months did not exceed 25s. each full member. With these poor resources and prospects they entered upon what was felt would be a strike of a very determined kind--this, too, with the minimum amount of friction. The only event of much importance happened at Castle Eden. The disturbance took place on May 7th. It arose in reference to a man named Stogdale, who would not abstain from working during the strike. Four of the workmen at Castle Eden were tried for intimidation. Their names were Michael Forbes, W. R. Robbins, T. Jones, and T. H. Cann. They were tried at the Durham Assizes in July 1892, before Judge Day. They were tried under the Intimidation Act. The judge summed up in a very strong manner against all the men except Robbins, who was discharged, but the other three were sent to prison. The judge said they had been found guilty by the jury of the offence with which they were charged--namely, with the object of preventing a certain person from pursuing his legal occupation "you in a disorderly manner, with other people, followed him along the road." After making a long speech in a similar strain, to show how beneficent the law was in his opinion and what a trio of desperadoes they were, he sentenced Forbes to a month, Jones to six weeks, and Cann, because the judge thought he was the ringleader, to two months. THE AFTERMATH OF THE STRIKE If the strike was unique in its endurance and order it was none the less important in its lessons. In it, as in 1879, was seen the result that followed the lack of confidence. A strike is the harvest field of the agitator, who cares not what is destroyed so long as he prospers. What would have been the gain to the individual member and to the Association if the resolve taken in the last few weeks had been taken before the tools were brought to bank? The funds, such as they were, would have been kept intact instead of being wasted. The great loss in individual income would have been avoided; in that respect the savings banks and co-operative societies (which in many cases are the poor man's bank) could have told a tale of hardly saved stores used up which had been kept for a "rainy day" of unavoidable troubles. The unnecessary and destructive friction which is sure to arise in these matters, no matter how peaceably the struggle be conducted, would have been avoided. Two great bodies, such as the two great Associations in Durham, are two great armies, and in the struggle and strivings anger will arise, and regrettable things will be said in the heat of the moment. These have a more far-reaching effect than people are apt to credit. Then the loss in wages. This was twofold. There was the three months' irredeemable loss and there was the lessening of the reduction. It was admitted on all hands that less than the ten per cent. would have kept the pits working if the Federation Board had been trusted with power to settle, even up to the eve of the strike. In saying this there is no intention of measuring the result of a strike by the money loss or gain. The world would not have been so far as it is in the path of reform and better life if the forlorn hopes of labour had not been fought, but it would be a piece of false logic if we were to infer that strikes should, therefore, be entered upon at all times. And certainly no one who in 1892 was able to appreciate the situation then would say it was one of those necessities of our industrial life. It was far from that; the gain would have been greater by the avoidance of the quarrel. If in writing our history this is emphasised, it is not in the spirit of reflection, but rather that we may learn wisdom; for in these matters it cries aloud in the street, and we can from a remembrance of such events escape the like evils. If this be done, then the strike of that day will be useful in the greatest degree to those of us who are active in this. Using Longfellow's figure, it is part of our dead selves, of which we can make a ladder, by which we can rise to higher things. Another part of the aftermath was the burden which was thrown upon the funds. This was twofold. There were the men who could not get started, in the first instance, because of the state some of the pits were in; and second, because of the dislocation of trade, which was sure to follow a stoppage of work for three months. Business connections are liable to break, and the difficulty is to heal them again. The consequence was that there were men out of work for a long time after the actual strike was settled, and these were to maintain for a considerable time, many of them so long that they had to be transferred to the Relief Fund. The money paid to them was the outcome of a levy, which pressed heavily on those at work. Then there was another burden, the result of the strike, but which was not any portion of the obligations of rule, the payment of the back rent of those who were living in rented houses. There was one peculiar and pleasing feature in connection with that strike, as with that of 1879, there was no interference with the men who were living in the colliery houses. There was in one or two places some little talk of a rent obligation from such men, but it came to nothing. Perhaps it was never intended that it should. This much it is our duty to state, to the credit of the employers: the men who were in battle with them were allowed to live in their houses, and were not prevented from gathering coal wherever such was lying about. To the men who were in rented houses the case was vastly different. Every week off work added to their debt, which they were bound to pay when they resumed work. With a spirit of generosity which is not restricted the whole of the members recognised the debt of those men as belonging to the whole county, and resolved to pay a levy for the purpose of paying the back rent. The resolution was carried at the Council meeting on June 18th, 1892: "That a levy of 3d. per full member and 1½d. per half member throughout the county be made to help to pay the house rent of the members living in rented houses." At the same meeting the present (1906) Relief Fund was formed, to support men who were out of work. The system adopted in paying rent was to cavil the collieries, and pay them as they were drawn, with this provision, that if any colliery were drawn, but had not paid the levy, no rent was allowed until the levy was paid. THE EIGHT HOURS AGAIN The only remaining subject in 1892 was the ballot on the legal eight hours. We have noted previously how and when this was first introduced, with some plain advice given by Mr Crawford--advice which has never been shown to be wrong. It was decided at the Council meeting held on August 13th "that the county be balloted for and against the eight hours." On September 21st the Committee took the ballot, and issued a circular setting forth their views on the subject. As we have now (1906) reached a crucial stage in the discussion, it will be useful to place on record what the Committee of that date thought of the question and the difficulties it involved. In their opinion there were two modes of procedure by which the hours of labour might be shortened: legal interference and Trades Union effort. The latter was the one they had adopted, and it had been successful. No man could think they were against short hours; any opportunity to shorten them would be welcomed. They referred the members to the action in 1890: how they had given up a claim for ten per cent. and accepted a shorter day. "We are not now to set up a show of weakness, and sacrifice our manhood and independence, by handing ourselves over to the supervision and control of the House of Commons, which is not acquainted with the peculiarities of our occupation." If it were the function of the State to fix hours of labour, was it not logically its function to fix the wages of the workman? "It is said that some of the organisations are weak, and therefore the State should protect." The reply was: "Where weak organisations exist low wages are found. It is therefore necessary for the State to fix the amount of wages men should be paid, for men require bread as well as hours." They then turned to the difficulty. EIGHT HOURS Those who favour legal eight hours must consider how it would work. There would be serious alteration needed in our present mode of working. We must either have two shifts of 8 hours, making 16 hours' coal drawing and 8 hours' shifts, increasing the hours of hewers by 1 to 1½ hours per diem, and deputies half hour per day. This would increase the output, and consequently the price of coal, and necessarily the wages of all men. The other alternative is an 8 hours' shift for all men and boys, which would throw into the labour market thousands of men. Consequently, competition amongst ourselves such as we experienced in '76 and '77 would arise, and thus we would have a repetition of the hardships we underwent in those disastrous times. Much is made of the hours of boys; these we will shorten at the earliest opportunity. Under our present system, and taking a number of years, we work less than we should do under eight hours by law. We therefore strongly urge on you to vote to a man against any Parliament fixing the hours of labour, as in our opinion it would be injurious to the working classes generally, and to ourselves in particular. Do not be led away by the idea that the short hours we have obtained for the hewers will be maintained. The request is eight hours from bank to bank for all and every man who works down the pit. To this, it may be said, it is a maximum number of hours, and that, therefore, some might be allowed to work less. That will depend upon the arrangement. If the employers get the sanction of the law, and they require us to work eight hours, we shall be expected to so work. There is another point which demands consideration. It is a question of wages. Let us suppose the Act passed, and those who work ten hours (both below and above ground) were reduced to eight, how much should the wages be reduced? If we shorten the hours by negotiation, it will be done gradually, and wages could be arranged. The result of the ballot was: for parliamentary eight hours, 12,684; against it, 28,217. 1893 The Wages Board--The Miners' Federation THE WAGES BOARD During the negotiations for a settlement of the strike in 1892 the employers laid emphasis upon what they designated the Wages Board, but which afterwards was known as the Conciliation Board. Their idea (commendable in every point) was to bring the parties closer together, and avoid the recurrence of the stoppage, which they felt (as all must feel) had been a disaster to the whole of them. The question rested over until the beginning of the year, when the owners made application for a reduction in wages, and at the same time asked that the formation of the Board might be taken into consideration. The meeting took place, and on February 27th the Executive Committee issued a circular, putting the whole position before the members. The miners at the time were in a complicated position, being connected with the Durham Federation, and they had a short time before become members of the Miners' Federation of Great Britain. Under Rule 20 that Federation claimed to have control of the wages disputes in all the districts identified with them. In order that the position may be properly understood we will insert the rule. 20. That whenever any county, federation, or district is attacked on the wage question, or any action taken by a general conference, all members connected with the Society shall tender a notice to terminate their contracts, if approved by a conference called to consider the advisability of such action being taken. The application of that rule to Durham, in the situation it was in, would have been to leave the whole matter in the hands of the Miners' Federation, which would have taken full charge of the question, and have told the Durham Association what they must do--whether to accept or reject. The complication arose from the fact that they were members of the home Federation as well, and there would be confusion if two bodies, one in the county and the other at a distance, were to have supervision. It was impossible to go on in that state. One body was on the spot, and knew the whole bearings of the case; the other was at a distance, and therefore bound to be in comparative ignorance of the facts of the situation. The Executive Committee felt they were compelled to put the position clearly before the Federation Board and the county, and inform them they were members of the Miners' Federation. In addition, they resolved to call a special Council, and place before it the plain issue. "Let us state the position to you," they said. "Prior to our becoming members of the Federation of Great Britain we acted on all general and wage questions with the Durham Federation Board. Our action was a whole one with the cokemen, mechanics, and enginemen, the last strike being the most recent and clearest illustration of that. You will remember with what loyalty the four sections worked together on that occasion." If they were resolved to remain members of the Miners' Federation, and accept Rule 20, they must prepare for leaving the county Federation. That would result in sectional action in Durham, for the other sections would naturally seek to make the best of themselves they could. It was not reasonable to ask them to wait until the Miners' Federation had decided, as per Rule 20, for Durham to strike, and then ask the cokemen, mechanics, and enginemen to join in it. There was needed some definiteness on the point, and the Council would be asked to decide two questions: First, "Shall it be settled by the Federation of Great Britain?" Second, "Shall it be settled by the Durham Federation Board and the united Committees?" At the Council held on March 6th the decision was in favour of the latter question. In accordance with that resolution the united Committees met the owners on March 13th, and asked them to reduce their demand for ten per cent. to five, and they (the Committee) would at once accept it. The employers accepted the offer, the following being their resolution:-- The Durham Coal Owners' Wages Committee feels the responsibility of accepting a less reduction than the 10 per cent. claimed, because upon an adequate reduction really depends the extent of employment that can be afforded. Whilst, therefore, the owners' judgment is that the true interest of both parties lies in at once bringing into operation a reduction of at least 10 per cent., the owners, desiring to show a spirit of conciliation, accept the Federation Board's offer to submit to a reduction of 5 per cent., to come into operation from the next pay of each colliery; but in doing so the owners feel it their duty to point out that so small a reduction as 5 per cent. falls far short of meeting the urgent necessities of the trade, and can therefore be regarded only as a temporary settlement. This reduction brought the percentage above the standard down to twenty. But the employers were not satisfied; they pressed upon the Board the formation of a Wages Board. On May 27th Mr Guthrie wrote to Mr Patterson as follows:-- I am directed by the Durham Coal Owners' Association to press strongly upon you the honourable obligation we come under to the Bishop of Durham, and to each other, to endeavour to establish a Wages Board which would secure by conciliation or arbitration the pacific settlement of all questions outside the jurisdiction of the Joint Committee. That honourable obligation has been more than once reaffirmed by your Federation Board, but no steps have been mutually taken to give effect to it, and my Association feels that such steps should not be longer delayed, and therefore instructs me to ask your Board to meet the Owners' Committee in order to advance the matter. The members of the Federation Board were eager, as individuals, to come to an arrangement, but were not sure how the membership would receive it. It was a new but necessary departure in an industry such as the Durham coal trade, but in order that it might be acceptable they were desirous that some scheme (beyond a mere name) should be outlined at least, and placed before the various sections for consideration. They asked the owners, therefore, for certain information: "(1) The allocation of the 3s. 10d. basis price of coal under the following heads:--wages, salaries, material, royalties, and profits. (2) The proportion of coal required to make a ton of coke in 1893 as compared with 1877. (3) The cost of producing a ton of coke in 1893 as compared with the same in 1877. (4) A statement setting forth the various objects to which the 2d. per ton was allocated. (5) A statement showing the percentage of steam coal, gas coal, household coal, manufacturing coal, and coal converted into coke. (6) The average lengths of contracts, with the periods when they are ordinarily made." A reply to these questions was received on December 7th. This was in conjunction with an application for an advance made by the Federation Board. They were informed that the Owners' Committee was willing to meet and discuss the question at the same meeting when the proposed Wages Board was considered. In reference to the list of questions the letter contained the following:-- "The meaning of some of your questions does not seem clear, and generally my Committee failed to understand how they bear on the expediency or otherwise of forming the proposed Board, or arise prior to its establishment, but the Committee accepts your suggestion that a meeting should be held to discuss your communication." The meeting was held on December 19th. Nothing was done in relation to the Wages Board, but an arrangement was made with respect to the advance. The Owners' Committee were convinced that the tendency of prices was downward. These had been somewhat higher during the strike in the Midlands, but the effect of that was passing away, and they had very grave reasons to doubt whether the first quarter in 1894 would justify the rate of wages then paid. They had given a temporary advance in October for six pays only, and they were prepared to make that permanent, and bring the wages to twenty-five and twenty-two per cent. respectively above basis rates. DURHAM AND THE MINERS' FEDERATION In order that we may make the chronology of our history as close and sequential as possible, we will postpone the Wages Board until 1894, and take up a subject which is within the year we are dealing with. In the autumn of 1892 Durham decided to join the Miners' Federation of Great Britain. The membership continued without any difference (except that arising from the eight hours, and the case of the reduction in Durham mentioned above) until the month of July 1893, when a demand was made upon the Miners' Federation for a reduction of twenty-five per cent. In connection therewith a conference was held in Birmingham (the proverbial Hen and Chickens' Conference) to consider the situation. Two delegates were sent from Durham (Mr J. Johnson and Mr J. Wilson). It was found that in some districts organisation was in a very poor condition. The delegates from Durham were sent to move the whole question be referred to arbitration, but when they brought it forward as the best mode of procedure, they were prevented for some time, but finally were permitted, with the result that, by a majority of four to one, they were outvoted. A resolution was carried pledging all the districts within the Federation area to give in notices. If they had suffered reductions within two years, then they had to apply for an advance equal to the amount lost, without regard to the state of trade or any other consideration. The absolute order was to give in notices, the aim being to bring all into the struggle which was impending, and these had to be given within a fortnight. When these proceedings were reported to the county a circular was sent out by the Executive Committee, in which they commented upon the situation, and asked the members what should be done. They said there were two questions for them to decide upon--first, the position in the south; and second, the demand they had to make for fifteen per cent. advance, as per the Birmingham resolution. These could have been sent out in a bald form, but it was their duty to give the county guidance, for if a Committee be appointed for anything at all, it is to watch, warn, and guide the members of the organisation. There could be no doubt but that Durham was in favour of arbitration, for the last vote taken on the instructions to the delegates proved that. This was refused, and instead they were ordered to make a demand for fifteen per cent. advance. The question which they must answer first was: Is trade favourable for such a demand? Unless trade is prosperous now, could they expect to succeed in such a claim? What support could they get? Their own funds were gone entirely. If the Federation strike took place, then there was no source of income anywhere. There were at that moment 5000 men out of work, some of whom had never started since the late strike. The small support these men had been receiving would be cut off. They would have to commence a strike, not in comparative, but absolute poverty. Where, then, was the hope? But suppose notice was not given in for an advance, then Durham must give in notice to terminate their engagement when they had no dispute with their employers. If they were asked "what they were striking about" what answer could be given, except the following:--"Nothing whatever in our own county; we have no difference." Further, if the employers were to offer a ten per cent. advance, it could not be taken without the leave of the Federation. Neither could they accept arbitration, for they had been told the No. 20 Rule of the Federation would not admit of it. Therefore they must strike, or be expelled from the Federation. But, said the Committee, "much as we desire national federation, and may regret our expulsion from that body, we cannot urge you to a course that would in our opinion be disastrous." The questions involved were then placed before a special Council, when it was decided to ask for an advance of fifteen per cent., but that they would not join the Miners' Federation in the strike. The Council likewise resolved to ask the cokemen, mechanics, and enginemen to join them in their demand for the fifteen per cent. If not, then the Miners' Executive should apply themselves. The Federation Board considered the decision of the miners. They regretted the circumstances which had led to the great dilemma in which they were found, but, having a desire to keep the solidity of the Board, they would accede to the request, and meet the owners, but if it were refused, it would be desirable to refer the question to their respective sections for further instructions, and at the same time they would ask the united Committees to accompany the Board. The owners could not accede to the request, and it was necessary that the will of the members should be ascertained by the miners. This was the position: they had been ordered by the Birmingham conference to make a demand for fifteen per cent., and if not conceded, to give in their notices. None of the other sections had received the same orders. The questions were: Should there be a strike to force the demand, or should they work on? But before that stage was reached, it was necessary that they should ascertain whether the ballot should be the whole of the Durham Federation, or simply the miners. The voting was: for the whole Federation Board, 267; for the miners' vote alone to decide, 167. It was then found that the other sections could not join the ballot until they had consulted their members, and the Executive Committee determined to take a ballot of their members alone. The result of the ballot was: for a strike, 20,782; against, 19,704. The rule, therefore, was against a strike. The consequence of that vote was to place Durham in direct conflict with the Miners' Federation. That body had a conference arranged for August 22nd in London. Messrs Johnson and Wilson were sent to it by a nearly unanimous vote. The first business of the conference was to consider the action of Durham, and the following resolution was moved and carried with great unanimity:-- That we, the representatives of this Federation, cannot allow the Durham delegates to sit in this conference, seeing that this district through its officials has not carried out the resolution of the Birmingham conference. There are two very notable things in the resolution and its setting. Durham was expelled from the Federation, and the officials of that organisation were charged with preventing the carrying out of the Birmingham resolution. The first of these is very clear, for on that point the motion is specific; but it will be seen the second is not correct when we consider the two votes recorded above--the first placing it in the hands of the Federation Board and the second by a ballot being against the strike. This is a history, and not a record of any man's opinion. It is necessary that the state of things that existed should be recorded, not a mere theory as to how things should be. The history would be incomplete if we were not to follow the sequence a little further. No sooner had the expulsion taken place than there was an introduction of speakers from the Miners' Federation, who came with the avowed object of trying to induce the county to continue its membership. The only complete illustration of that circumstance would be for a man to kick another out of his house, and the next minute go himself, or send some of his relations, to ask the man to come in again, doing his best to show that he who was kicked out was the offender, and ought to feel thankful for the usage he had received, and to supplicate to be taken in again. It was a curious mode of procedure, to say the least, and, most surprising of all, they were assisted by some of the people in the county, who did not feel the slightest ignobleness in the treatment they had received by the expulsion. 1894-95 The Conciliation Board--Lord Davey's Arbitration The formation of a Conciliation Board was again brought forward by a request from Bishop Westcott to the Federation Board asking them to meet him for the purpose of discussing the subject. The Board acceded to his request, but did not appoint a definite deputation except the four secretaries, leaving any others to join them who thought proper. The result of the interview was the calling of the four Committees to discuss the proposal. The decision of the Miners' Council on March 10th was: That the Committee meet the owners and discuss the advisability of forming a joint Board for fixing the correct selling price of coal, and the other sections of the Federation (county) be asked to join the negotiations and report to the county; that there be a Conciliation Board formed, to consist of members from the owners on the one part and members of the Durham Federation Board on the other part. The said Board shall be formed of equal representatives of the before-named parties, who shall meet on terms of absolute equality. This resolution was brought before the Federation Board, when it was found that the other three sections had not been instructed by their members, and it was resolved that the question be deferred until "they had an opportunity of bringing the matter before their Associations, and that the Board recommend the acceptance of the principle for their adoption, and the four secretaries meet and draw up a code of rules for the guidance of the Conciliation Board." A difficulty arose from a resolution passed by the Cokemen's Association. Dr R. S. Watson had given an award in a cokeman's case shortly before, which in the opinion of the cokemen was not being carried out by the owners, and therefore, while they were in favour of the principle of conciliation, they decided not to take any part in the formation until the owners brought the award into practical operation. The Federation Board regretted the action of the cokemen, as in their opinion "such a Board would be the most effective means of bringing a full recognition of that award. As, however, the other three sections were in favour of proceeding with the formation of the Board, we ask the employers for an early meeting, and we would urge upon the cokemen to reconsider their resolution of March 31st, and give their representatives power to proceed with us in that formation." The owners were desirous that the Board should join them in meeting the Bishop, but they were informed that a previous understanding had been come to, by which it was arranged that each side should meet him separately, and then the joint meeting should take place. They had carried out their part of the bargain, and were ready to meet jointly as soon as his lordship should ask them, as they were very wishful not to throw any obstacle in the way of the formation of the Board. On July 27th the formalities were settled, and the rules were left to the four secretaries, with instructions to draw up a circular recommending such rules to the members. PROPOSED CONCILIATION BOARD Gentlemen,--We hereby desire your attention and consideration to the rules of the "Proposed Conciliation Board," which you instructed us to form. We have always told you that, however carefully we might draft such rules, the acceptance, amendment, or rejection thereof is with you. We were proud to receive the commission of the duty, and we place before you the result of our work, and are hopeful that great benefits will accrue to the trade of the county if these rules are adopted. We do not claim perfection for them, but we do assert that they are in advance of any method ever arranged here for the settlement of disputes. We will not trouble you by any lengthy statement by way of urging you to accept the rules, for in our opinion their fitness is clear, but we will in as brief a manner as possible draw your attention to three of their leading features or principles. First, the scope of the operations of the Board; second, its duration; and third, the machinery by which it arrives at its decisions. The scope of the Board is set forth under the headings of "Objects." We do not quote those objects, but ask you to refer to and consider them carefully. They are clear in their intention and comprehension. What can be more interesting and important to us than the prevention of disputes? We speak for you, as well as ourselves, and say we desire them not, and welcome any mode of settlement which will minimise friction, and help both employers and employed to avoid any irritating action, while it does not interfere with the right of and justice to either party. You will observe that the Board is intended to be _more than a Wages Board_. It will take into its cognisance and decision any questions which may arise and for which the Joint Committee rules do not provide. You know as well as we do the numerous cases that arise which have no standing at the Joint Committee, and you will, therefore, easily recognise the value and importance of any tribunal which will deal with such matters in a ready and expeditious manner. There is no need to enumerate those questions. We hope you will not merely glance at the latter portion of the "Objects," but give it your careful attention. The duration is fixed by rule three. The limit is 1895, and, therefore, if the rules should fail to meet our views, we can terminate the existence of the Board in less than a year and a half from now, which is a short time in the history of our industrial relations. A shorter time than this will not give us the opportunity of testing the usefulness of the arrangement, neither is it long enough to allow any serious evil to arise therefrom. The machinery or mode of operation is contained in rule four and subsequent rules. If you examine these rules you will see, that while they provide for the appointment of an umpire (which is necessary), yet his services are not to be called in until the Board have tried to settle by negotiation and conciliation. We recommend to your special notice the main features of this portion of the rules. These are the provisions for the play of conciliation and mutual confidence. Anything that will beget a feeling of trust and mutuality, that will remove the desire to overreach and withhold on the one hand, and of suspicion and doubt on the other, should be welcomed and tried, and if possible strengthened. There were a number of suggested objects and provisions sent in, which were afterwards commented upon by the united Committees. Amongst these was a minimum wage. The Committees, in relation to that question, drew attention to the period between 1877-79, when, in little more than a year and a half, the miners spent £23,000 in the maintenance of men out of work; that, so severe was the pressure, they were compelled to abolish the Relief Fund; that there were collieries where the men asked to be allowed to work at twenty per cent. below the minimum; and that the actual average went down to nearly 6d. per day below the minimum. The second suggestion was "a voice in the selling price of coals." This, the Committees thought, was a very good ideal, but it was yet a great way off. It implied more mutuality than was in existence, and it was a state which must evolve, rather than be fixed arbitrarily. "The voting to be by ballot at the Board meetings." This was thought to be unbusiness-like, as secret voting was a strange thing for a business meeting. Then it was thought by some lodges that the question of sacrificed men, and arranging for all men to be in the Associations, were matters to come within the purview of the Board, but it was found that they were not compatible with its objects. The rules as framed were not perfect, but were far in advance of any to be found in the country. "Many other districts and trades have adopted the principle, but we venture to say that in no instance has a Conciliation Board been formed which, for breadth of scope in its operation and dealing with questions that can arise, is in any way equal to that proposed for this county. We have had the opportunity of studying the rules of all the Boards already formed, we have watched the work of those, and we unhesitatingly declare that in no single instance have such equitable rules been found." When these views were put before the four sections they were accepted by the other three, but the miners hesitated. The Executive pointed out to them that by a Council resolution the power had been given to the Board to arrange rules and conditions, and therefore theirs was an anomalous position for them to take up by their objection. Under the circumstances they had resolved to call a special Council, in order that the matter might be fully considered. They were confident that if the common good were the aim, and all were imbued by that idea, the Conciliation Board would be formed on the lines suggested by the united Committees. The result of the Council was the acceptance of the proposed constitution, with the alteration of the number of members from fifteen to eighteen on each side, and the owners were informed that the Federation Board was ready to meet and sign the rules. The rules were signed on the 18th of February 1895. There is no need to insert the rules here, as they can at all times be seen in the office, if any person feels desirous of doing so. The election of the first members took place on the 12th February 1895, the following persons being elected:-- J. Wilson. J. Johnson. J. Forman. W. H. Patterson. T. H. Cann. W. Golightly. S. Galbraith. W. House. H. Jemison. At the first meeting of the Conciliation Board the employers asked for a reduction of wages. Many people thought they were in a hurry. Such a conclusion was hardly justifiable when we remember that they had been pressing for a reduction for some time, and the delay had arisen from the length of time taken in the negotiations to establish the Board. The employers felt themselves injured by the delay, and therefore took the first opportunity of having their claim put forward and settled. The Federation Board in their circular on the situation acknowledged that, for they said: We cannot but regret that the first meeting of the Board should have been convened to consider a reduction of wages, yet we feel confident that, however distasteful and unpleasant it may be to submit to a fall in percentage, all who have observed the condition of trade, taken note of the prices prevailing generally, and the serious lessening of the number of hands, during the past six months, could not be otherwise than prepared for a reduction in the rates of wages which were got when the condition of trade was different and prices higher. While the Board were prepared for a demand for a reduction they were not prepared for the amount asked. The demand was for fifteen per cent., which would bring the wages down to a point to which the scale of 1889 would have brought them. The price of coal in 1889 was 4s. 8d., in 1895 it was 5s. 2d. Wages had risen thirty-five per cent., and therefore they had a claim (said the owners) for at least fifteen per cent. The arguments against that claim we need not state in full. The main one was that, taking the whole period since 1889, wages had been between seven and nine per cent. higher than the periodically quoted net selling prices would have given. That argument, as all are aware, was of great weight, and that it influenced the decision, there is not the slightest doubt. The decision of the umpire was a reduction of seven and a half per cent., but it left the wages higher by that amount than the old arrangement would have done. Under it 5s. 2d. per ton would have given a wage ten per cent. above the standard; the award of Lord Davey in May 1895 left it seventeen and a half above the standard. Although they had been called upon to suffer this reduction so early in the era of conciliation, the Federation Board did not lose faith in it as an advance in wage settlements. They said: It may not be out of place to allude to a feature or two of the newly adopted method of dealing with wages regulations as disclosed by recent applications, and we may modestly, yet rightly, claim for it a superiority of character and practice over preceding modes. As already stated, it has by its earliest results confirmed the conviction previously held, that the standard relation of wages to prices governing previous methods was not correct, and established the increased average amount obtained by the negotiations of the past years. At the next meeting of the Board the owners made another application for a reduction. When the July meeting took place the claim was brought forward. It was objected to at first, on the grounds that there had not been sufficient time, seeing the three months had not elapsed. The notice was withdrawn and renewed. The reasons assigned were the declension in the markets and the inadequacy of the previous reduction. These reasons were not accepted, and the umpire was again called in. His decision, after two days' hearing, was a reduction of two and a half per cent. In spite of this adverse circumstance the Federation Board were still strong in their belief in the utility of the system. They said: We are not going to say that its course, so far as it has gone, has been pleasant, for there have been two reductions, but these do not shake our confidence in it. It is an unfortunate coincidence, the initiation of a new system when circumstances are unfavourable and its changes are downward. The true test of institutions, as of men, is their action in a variety of conditions. No arrangement can make trade prosperous. They are dreamers who think so, and are liable to a rude awakening. Wise men recognise the ever-recurring changes, and employ the means which are most expeditious, easy, and equitable in their responses. Friction between employer and employed is a foe to any trade, uncertainty is a sure and hurtful detriment, hastening and enlarging the times of adversity. Our opinion is that, if we have not the best system, we have one which will ward off friction, allay uncertainty, and induce steadiness in the trade of the county. That clear and bold statement of their confidence in the Board was not effective in maintaining it, for at the Miners' Council held on November 16th it was resolved to take a ballot to test its continuance. The Federation Board, on being informed of that action, resolved to take it of all the sections. They at the same time advised their members to keep it intact. They did not find fault with the decision to take the ballot. Their advice was therefore not prompted by a spirit of complaint. It was right that these matters should rest on the will of the members. Their duty, however, was to guide the members and advise, even on subjects that were unpalatable. In October they placed before them their views in as clear a manner as possible. Those views they adhered to, and did not swerve from their belief in conciliation as the best system yet tried. It was condemned, because there had been reductions. If advances had come there would have been loud praise. Would wages not have been reduced if the Board had never been formed? "Without hesitation we tell you that, in our opinion, he is a foolish or a designing man, or ignorant of commercial relations, who attempts to teach such a doctrine. We have never told you such an absurdity. When we asked you in the spring of the year to adopt conciliation we never dreamt of it as a fixed, immovable machine. To us it was (and is) a more mutual, closer, and smoother principle than we have ever had, taking within its comprehension other and important matters outside wages." In spite of this pleading on the part of the Federation Board the voting was: for the Conciliation Board, 11,974; against it, 29,000; neutrals, 17,000, as a result of the miners' vote. The whole Federation vote was: for, 14,894; against, 30,587; neutrals, 20,000. On the strength of that vote notice was given to terminate the Conciliation Board in accordance with rule. 1896 The Conciliation Board--Death of Mr Patterson The Federation Board were still in hope that the decision to terminate the Conciliation Board might be reconsidered, and they again brought the question before the members. They asked what system was to be substituted for it. They were firm in their belief in conciliation, but, if the members still persisted in abolishing it, what other form was to be adopted? "The situation in which we as a county find ourselves makes it imperative that we should address you. We do not refer to our own organisations, for these are strong, but to our relation with the employers and the settlement of our transactions with them. How are these to be managed in the future? Has our attitude to be one of repulsion or attraction? Have the employers and ourselves to act like two antagonistic forces, looking with suspicion upon each other, and ready to take every advantage, as if we were in a continual wrestling match on the catch-who-can principle, where those who get the hold win, whether their cause be righteous or not? If the members persisted in their resolve to have no Conciliation Board, or some substituted machinery, who would suffer most? If there were two parties before you of equal strength and similarly conditioned, then the issue would be uncertain, and the victory would depend upon some unforeseen circumstances. Such is not the case with us. Given a solid organisation of labour, and the same of employers numerically--still the balance of the chances in a wear-and-tear and struggling policy will he on the side of the party who is the best ammunitioned and provisioned. In this case, which in your opinion as the advantage?" They pointed out that they were mutual sufferers with the members, if there were suffering; that there was not time in the lodge meetings to discuss the utility of such a system; and that as a consequence they, as one of the obligations of their office, were bound to have a fuller knowledge of the subject than the members. It was an unfortunate circumstance that the system had been tried in a receding market, but the proper test was not by one condition of trade. If conciliation were tested by an increasing as well as a falling market it would then be seen how useful it was. Some people seemed to charge the Conciliation Board with being the cause of the depression. "There cannot be a greater fallacy. The causes of the reductions lie outside the purview of any system yet arranged, and the control of them is not within the possibility of an arrangement yet thought of. But the question that faces us now, and demands an answer from us, is, would they have come if the Board had never been formed? There needs no philosophical knowledge to satisfy the mind on that point, except it be the philosophy of matter-of-fact, everyday life, which in these matters is not an unsafe test. Let experience guide, and it will afford a sure refutation of the unfounded idea that it is possible to fix, firmly and permanently, wages by any scheme within the knowledge of man." They were desirous of giving them another chance, as the ballot on the previous occasion was very unsatisfactory, and some of the sections had made a request for such to be done. And they were hopeful that, before the notice of termination ran out, the Conciliation Board would be reaffirmed, as "the hope of all true reformers is centred in the cultivation of amicability and friendly intercourse between employers and employed, with a conciliatory method of settling any difference that may arise, monetary or otherwise, and in the ultimate blending of the two forces--Capital and Labour--for the mutual and equal benefit of all concerned. Consider seriously every step we as an organisation take, and let all we do tend towards the attainment of the much-needed object." The result of the second ballot was against the Board, the numbers being in close similarity to the previous vote--the miners being very largely against, while the other three sections were in favour. We may add here that it terminated on August 4th, and for a short time the county entered the region of uncertainty again, which all must acknowledge is no help to trade or district. DEATH OF MR PATTERSON The month of July had been fatal to the organisation, for in it, in 1890, Mr Crawford died, and on July 16th of this year Mr Patterson passed away from the labour to which he gave his youth and manhood. He had filled the position of agent and financial secretary for twenty-five years. It will not be out of place if we insert a portion of the _Monthly Circular_ for the month in which he died. It contains the sincere estimate of one who knew him intimately, who had the highest respect for him while he lived, and who now has pleasant recollections of his manly and reliable actions. He was no self-seeker or panderer for self-profit; he was the antipodes of that mean and despicable character. You might have difference of opinion with Patterson, but you could at all times depend upon the open honesty of his nature. MONTHLY CIRCULAR _July 1896._ My first word must be a note of sorrow. July to us, as regards the agency, has been a fatal month. In it we lost Crawford, and now Patterson has joined the great majority. This is the common lot of all. Happy is the man who leaves this world for the next without regret, feeling that his life has been of some service to his kind, and that the people amongst whom he has lived express their recognition of his worth by their sorrow and appreciation of his labours. Such was our friend. If we, who stood by his bedside in the last moments of the final struggle, could have been cognisant of his thoughts there would have been no regret; for W. H. Patterson was the enemy of no living man, but the friend of all. We were not so privileged, but we were so glad to see the large crowd of people who gathered to pay a tribute to his memory. The gathering was diversified in its character, spontaneous in its gathering, and truly sympathetic in its manner and spirit. But from our regret for his loss let us turn to the influence of his life. The true test of a man is his work. Our friend stood the test. The real measure of a man's life is its actions; he was full measure. He was not showy, but solid, and as such, being dead, yet speaketh--speaks in no uncertain sounds; let us turn no indifferent ear. The main work of his life, in conjunction with others, was the inception, promotion, and solidifying of our organisation. It will be the most real expression of our sorrow if we do our best to carry forward that upon which he set his mind, and which he endeavoured on all occasions to enforce. Would it not be sham sorrow and unreal regret on the part of a son who on the death of a father ... a father who by the toil and care of his life had made a position ... if he were careless of that work, and had regard only to self-indulgence? Little as we may think of it, there has a fortune come to this generation and a position been gained for it by the labours of our friend and others which cannot be estimated in money. We are apt to test everything by a monetary standard, but in this case the test fails. Within the life of Mr Patterson there have been effected changes which he outside the range of wages, but which are none the less valuable to us. These are only known to those whose working life commenced anterior to thirty years ago. There are many who have not the experience, and who cannot, therefore, realise to the full, the contrast. Lightly as these may be inclined to look upon the changed conditions, and think because these conditions exist now they have always existed, there are numbers who know, and who are able to compare, and rejoice in the change made. I would not say that all is attributable to the labours of our lost friend. No man would have protested more strongly against such an idea than himself; but he did what he could; he never devolved his share of work upon others. He was earnest and determined at the foundation of the Society, and anxious for its welfare during the whole course of our existence. We shall best show our respect to his memory by doing what we can to preserve and perfect the Institution. The loss of Mr Patterson was followed by the election of Mr T. H. Cann to the office of treasurer, Mr Wilson being appointed corresponding secretary, and Mr Johnson financial secretary. We will close our reference to our friend by placing on record the estimate placed upon him by the Committee who knew him. [Illustration: T. H. CANN] COMMITTEE NOTICE (_Death of Mr W. H. Patterson_) Gentlemen,--It is with very great regret that we announce to you the death of Mr W. H. Patterson, which took place at 6-15 P.M. on July 16th. Our regrets on this occasion are not those of formality, but are prompted by a recognition of his worth as an official of our organisation and his character as a fellow-worker and a man. Never yet had any organisation a more earnest officer, nor any body of men a more willing colleague, nor any community a more upright, honest, and straightforward man, than our friend who has been taken from us. He has not lived the years allotted to man, but the best part, and by far the largest part, of his life has been spent in the cause of his fellows. He has gone to his rest at the age of forty-nine years. Twenty-eight of these have been spent in active, diligent service--and useful service. He was one of the band of men who twenty-seven years ago, in the face of difficulty, laid the foundation of our organisation; and since that time he has been watchful over its interests, consistent in his desire to benefit the members, and unwearied and uncomplaining in his endeavours to strengthen the structure he helped to rear. It was not his privilege "to die in harness," as we are confident it would have been his pleasure; but those of us who had the opportunity of judging know how anxious he was, so long as he could get about, to do and advise whenever he could. The name of W. H. Patterson is wove into the web of our Institution, and his life will be a blessing after he has gone from our midst. The good that he has done will live after him. Happy shall we be if the same be said of us when Death gathers us in. _July 17th, 1896._ 1897 Miners' Federation--Washington Strike The year 1897 was memorable for two things: the refusal of the Miners' Federation to accept Durham as a member unless the county would agree to support a legislative Eight Hours' Bill, and the conflict between the Executive Committee and Washington Lodge, which settled the question once for all whether money could be paid if a colliery were stopped illegally, even if the Council decided to pay. These we will take in the order stated. Towards the end of 1896 it was decided to join the Miners' Federation. The information was sent to Mr Ashton, the secretary of the Federation, and the application was accepted. Then arose the question as to the meaning of Object 5: "To seek and obtain an eight hours' day from bank to bank in all mines for all persons working underground." In order that the intention might be made clear the Executive passed the following resolution:-- That Mr Ashton be written to, asking whether Object 5 in the Miners' Federation Rules means that the eight hours have to be obtained by State interference alone, or by organised efforts, and whether the districts have any option or choice in the matter. Mr Ashton replied that Object 5 was to be brought about by organised effort or legislation, or both. As far as the district having option or choice was concerned all members were expected to be loyal to the Federation, to be guided by the rules, and assist in carrying out the resolutions passed at the conferences of the Federation. That was interpreted to mean that if Durham became a member, as all the other districts were voting for legislative action, it would be virtually bound to join in the demand for eight hours by State, and the Executive placed the question on the programme for the Council held on February 6th in the following form:-- That the county having decided to join the Miners' Federation, and we having been informed that we must agree to support a legislative eight hours as a condition of membership, and as we remember that the county has decided, by ballot in 1892 and by resolution in 1895, not to support such a measure, we cannot agree to accept that condition until the county alter the previous resolution on the question, either by Council, motion, or ballot. Will delegates come prepared to say what shall be done in this matter? (1) Shall we rescind the previous resolutions? (2) Shall we support an Eight Hours' Bill? (3) Shall a ballot be taken on the subject? The Council passed a general resolution: "We adhere to the resolutions now standing in the Association's minute-books--viz. that we do not go in for the parliamentary eight hours' day, and that there be no ballot taken on the question." That decision was sent to Mr Ashton on February 10th, the following being the letter:-- At our Council meeting held on February 6th our members decided to abide by their previous resolution to oppose any State interference with the hours of labour. I am instructed by our Committee to inform you of this decision and to ask you to let us know whether under these conditions your Executive Committee accept us as members of the Miners' Federation of Great Britain. On the presumption that you will accept us as members on those conditions, I enclose you a cheque on the National Provincial Bank, value £59 (fifty-nine pounds), being our entrance fee at one pound per thousand members.--I am yours, JOHN WILSON. The receipt for the entrance fee not being sent the Executive Committee wrote again on February 18th: If you do not send the receipt the inference on all sides must be that you do not accept us on the conditions stated (our opposition to State interference with hours). If you do send a receipt, then we shall conclude that you do accept us on the conditions, and there will be no need to repeal the resolution of exclusion of 1893. Two days after that was sent Mr Ashton sent a receipt, and said: I have no desire to delay the matter of your district becoming connected with the Federation. I enclose receipt for the entrance fee. As this was written two days after the Committee placed the alternative before the Federation it was assumed that Durham was not to be bound to the legal eight hours. This impression was communicated to Mr Ashton on February 25th, and on the 27th the Committee was surprised to be told: "In reply to your letter of yesterday, Durham has been accepted into the Federation as all other districts have been. Whatever resolutions you may pass on general questions in your Council or Committee meetings you must be governed by majorities at the Federation." Then there arose a dispute about some contributions which were sent to Mr Ashton. The amount was £245, 16s. 8d. The dispute was as to the period which was covered by the payment. On June 30th, in a letter dealing with the disputed point, Mr Ashton said: I think you will agree with me that the difference on the hours question is so great that until Durham can agree to withdraw their opposition to the Miners' Eight Hours' Bill, it is most unwise to keep their connection with the Federation. And on July 10th the cheque for the £245, 16s. 8d. was returned to Durham, and the separation mentioned above was effected by the return of the contributions. The Executive Committee then summarised the situation as follows:-- We decided to join the Federation. We then found that we had resolutions standing against the eight hours. By our own decision of February 6th we resolved to abide by those previous resolutions. We then informed Mr Ashton, as secretary of the Federation, that we had so resolved, and enclosed the cheque for our entrance fee, with the understanding that if the receipt were sent we were accepted on those conditions. Our Council again on May 29th reaffirmed our opposition to the eight hours, and we wrote to Mr Ashton and sent our quarter's contributions, and said we were desirous of remaining members on wage questions. We were then asked to say whether we could pledge the county to come out on strike, which we could not do. The conclusion of the whole matter then is, because we could not give a pledge to come out on strike on every occasion when so ordered, and because we were resolved to oppose the eight hours by State interference, our contributions are returned, and we are told by actions--which speak louder than words--that we are not to be members. We are not to be allowed to judge of our own circumstances and peculiarities, but must submit the most important part of the conditions of our labour to those whose conditions are widely different from ours, and who, knowing nothing of our circumstances, would force us to be guided by the changes they require in the hours of labour. THE WASHINGTON STRIKE It will be observed that there has been no mention of local strikes except there be some peculiarity related to them. There is such in connection with this strike. It was of great importance to the Association and the maintenance of the rules. There had been numbers of illegal stoppages, and although the leaders and members at the lodges affected knew they were breaking the rule, yet they persisted, and were enabled to carry a vote in Council that they should be paid from the General Fund. It was felt that once and for all the question should be decided, and it should be shown that where the constitution of the Association was violated the violation should entail forfeiture of benefit, or else of what use was it to have rules or Committee of Management? To go on in such a loose manner was to make the rules a byword and a mockery. It was time they should have the seal of reality, and be placed on a sure foundation, so that order should be maintained, or at least those who with open eye did wrong should know that their action would not receive condonement, and they be paid the benefit of the Association, as if they had obeyed its provisions. That was the question to be decided. Should the rule be the guide, and the Executive Committee have the management, or should lodges be allowed to stop their colliery in opposition to the constitution, and suffer none of the consequences? The Washington case afforded the opportunity for the settlement, and that is the reason why it is made part of this history. The dispute arose about the application of an agreement made by themselves. The nature of the agreement is of no import now. The action of the lodge and its relation to the rule is what we have to consider. The manager put one interpretation on the agreement, the workmen another, and they were the signatories. Numbers of agreements had been disputed prior to that, and had been brought before Joint Committee or some other properly arranged tribunal, and managed by the agents, or Executive, in accordance with rule. Washington, however, set rule aside, disregarded the Committee, and stopped the pit on the 10th of August. On the 11th the corresponding secretary met their deputation in Newcastle, and told them they were acting illegally, and that they could not be paid from the funds. The deputation, however, were confident the Council would grant them strike pay, although they admitted they were breaking the rule. Other means were adopted to induce them to resume work. The lodge appealed to the Council for a grant; it was not put on the programme. The trustees objected to the treasurer paying the money. They had taken the opinion of Mr Atherley Jones previously. The question submitted to the Counsel was: "Supposing a lodge came out on strike in violation of the rule, without first having obtained the permission of the Committee or Council, would the fact that the Council, after the men came out on strike, approved of their action alter the position or liability of the trustees?" The opinion was as follows:-- MR JONES' OPINION _August 30th, 1897._ With regard to the question raised, whether, under the circumstances described, the trustees have power to allow payments to be made to the men on strike who have violated Rule 50, I am of opinion that they have no such powers, and any payment so made would appear to be a direct breach of trust. Nor do I think the position or liability of the trustees would in any way be altered by the subsequent vote of the Council approving such payments. The wording of Rule 51 is quite clear:-- "Any lodge ceasing work" "under the circumstances which have happened" "shall forfeit all claims on this Association"; and even though the whole Association were to vote in favour of strike pay being granted, I cannot see how the effect of that rule could be removed. Standing upon that advice, the trustees refused to allow the money to be paid. The lodge requested the Executive to call a special Council to consider whether a grant should be given them. The request was refused, because, as the rules had been violated and the trustees had decided that no money should be paid, it was no use calling the Council, seeing, if the vote were given to pay, the decision could not be carried out. However, the question was brought forward at the conclusion of a Council, and the delegates decided to pay a grant equal to strike allowance, but the trustees refused to allow the money to be drawn from the bank. The Executive then placed the position before the members. They said the giving of a grant was but a form of evading the provisions of the constitution. The decision of the Council placed the treasurer in a dilemma: either he had to refuse to pay, or face a prosecution in court for paying money contrary to rule. The Committee had, therefore, either to leave the treasurer to his own devices, or call the trustees together, and place the whole question before them. The meeting was held in the office of Dr R. S. Watson, who was one of the trustees. They decided to take the case to the Court of Chancery, and to inform the Washington Lodge of their intention, and give them the opportunity of being parties to the case. Mr Isaacs (the Association lawyer) was instructed to write the lodge, which he did. He said he was instructed to inquire whether they wished "to be a party to the proceedings, and if so, to kindly supply me with the name and address of any one of your members whom you may appoint to represent the lodge." After some negotiations, and with the view to make the matter mutual, the Executive agreed to bear the cost of the trial for both sides. The hearing did not take place until the 8th of February 1900, but in order that we may keep it in close connection it will be well to consider it here. It was heard in the Chancery Court, before Justice Cozens Hardy. The Association was represented by Mr I. Isaacs, its legal adviser, and the lodge by Mr C. W. Newlands of South Shields. There were able barristers on both sides. The judge decided: If these men came within Section 22 it must be because these particular men must be considered deserving, and also within the objects of the Association. He thought unless there was something to strike them out the argument on their behalf was well founded. The real question was whether, although the language of Rule 3 defining the objects of the Association included them, they had not by 51 been removed. He thought that was the case. He did not think he could limit the effect of that rule so as to make it mean that they should forfeit only the absolute right to have 10s. per week under Rule 52, which it was admitted they had lost. He thought the exclusion applied not merely to claims as of right, but to all protection from the Association, and they could not be deemed legally or properly objects of the benefits of the Association. So far as the Executive and trustees were concerned that trial and decision were satisfactory, but the lodge said they wanted it taken to the Court of Appeal. So far as bearing the cost of the trial was concerned the pledge had been carried out, and the Committee were surprised when it was suggested to carry the case to a higher court. However, as they were desirous to have the case properly decided, and that there should be no room for doubt (the welfare of the Association being their great consideration), they agreed, and guaranteed the payment of the entire costs. The appeal was heard on November 11th and 12th, the Judges being Rigby, Romer, and Vaughan Williams. A strong effort was made to reverse the decision. All the skill, plausibility, and sophistry of very able lawyers were used. The rules were purposely disparaged and travestied, in order that a prejudice might be created against them, but the judges unanimously agreed with the finding of the Court of Chancery. This is a bare record of facts of a dispute and trial which was fraught with importance to the Association. It generated a great deal of bitterness. The leaders could have had no personal ends to serve. Their aim will be truly set forth by a quotation from the _Monthly Circular_ for November 1900. MONTHLY CIRCULAR, 1900 (_The Lessons of the Trial_) The trial is over, and, so far as any personal feelings are concerned, the sooner it is forgotten the better it will be for our Association. To guard and strengthen that should be our first thought and care. But while it will be beneficial for us to forget any attribution of ill motives, and evil speaking or ruffled feelings consequential thereto, we shall be wise men if we gather up the lessons which come to us. This battle has been fought for one purpose only, and that is to support the authority of the rules. To that end, and that alone, have our efforts been devoted. The great question at this moment is: Whether it is better to have a set of rules which requires that the Committee of picked men (responsible year by year to the will of the members) should have a knowledge of, and be called in to assist in, the settlement of disputes before a large colliery is stopped, and a serious expenditure thrown upon the Association; or whether a lodge shall have a free hand to stop a colliery at will, and then run a chance of creating a favourable feeling, and receiving large sums from the funds, when, if the Committee had been consulted, the matter might have been settled; or if not, a strike entered upon legally. Another lesson is that, having received the sanction of the courts to our rules, and having lifted them out of the uncertainty by which they were surrounded, we shall do well to keep them in the certainty in which they have been placed. It is very clear that an attempt will be made to alter the rules which guide this matter. If so, a lax (and ruinous) state of things will be introduced. For the last two or three years the same attempts have been made, and again this year resolutions with the same object are sent in. The rules which place the affairs of the Association in the hands of the Committee (before a stoppage) have to be erased or mutilated, and rendered useless. Surely it is better, and more conducive to the welfare of the Society, to have our affairs placed on business lines, than to have a code of rules which will admit of loose procedure, and spending illegally large sums of money, which will be wanted whenever the depression of trade sets in. My advice to you is to consider carefully every amendment which may come before you. Trades organisations will prosper most when they are founded upon, and guided by, business principles. 1898 The Wages Question--The Compensation Act The uncertainty which the Federation Board had pointed out as the inevitable result of the abolition of the Conciliation Board soon made itself manifest. There were continual demands being made upon the Federation Board to seek advances, but they felt how difficult it was to get reliable data upon which to found a claim. On March 22nd they gave the county an account of an interview they had with the employers on the 12th of that month. The suggestion as to the claim for an advance being made was not supported by any data, and when they met, the employers pointed out that the indications were in the direction of depression more than the expansion of trade, and therefore the Wage Committee could not recommend to the owners to concede an advance. That refusal the Board advised the workmen to accept until there was some better trade prospects. "Like prudent men, and, acting upon the lines you would have us proceed upon, we are convinced it will be more hurtful than useful to initiate or press a demand for an advance unless the state of the markets warrant such a course." Another meeting on the wages question was held on May 25th. A strike took place in South Wales in the beginning of April, the effect of which was felt in an increased demand for the class of coal produced in this district. Their supply being cut off consumers turned to other sources, and as a consequence there was a natural feeling of unrest in Durham among the workmen. They had the impression that the whole of the produce of the county would be affected by the demand, and therefore the increase in price would be an all-round one. The Federation Board met that "false impression which we fear rests in the minds of many of our members" in a statement they sent out on the 26th of May. They pointed out two very important considerations, which the generality of members would lose sight of. There was a large amount of coal sold under contract, which would not be affected by the temporarily increased price, even if all the output of Durham had been steam coal, but it must be remembered that only nine per cent. was of that class. They then gave a calculation to show how a rise on a small percentage would affect the whole. The steam coal being the only part feeling the increase, and that class forming only nine per cent. of the total, what would be its universal effect? "Without contending for the accuracy of the quantities let us give a calculation which may suggest a key to the position. Of the nine per cent. of steam coal let us suppose two-thirds of it was sold under contract at a normal market price. We should then have only three per cent. of the entire output getting a higher price. Let us further suppose that this three per cent. secured an advance in the abnormal state of the market of 6s. per ton during the strike; we should only have realised a general increase equal to, say, 2.16d. per ton over the whole of the coals produced." Considering, then, the purely temporary nature of the rise in price the Board agreed to accept an advance of five per cent.--two and a half on basis rates under the usual conditions, and, with the view of meeting the exceptional circumstances, a temporary advance of two and a half for six pays. The advances were to date back for a fortnight in each case, the understanding being that if the prices fell at the end of the six pays the temporary two and a half would be discontinued. On July 22nd the Board met the employers, when the temporary advance was continued for other six pays. A subsequent meeting was held on October 29th. The employers offered to increase the temporary advance of two and a half to five for a further period of six pays. The Board was willing to take the five per cent. if it were considered a permanent advance. The settlement agreed to was an advance of two and a half, and a continuance of the temporary advance of two and a half for six pays more. THE COMPENSATION ACT During the Parliamentary session of 1897 the first Compensation Act was passed. The date of commencement was fixed for the 1st of July 1898. While the Act was under discussion the representative of the Durham Miners in Parliament urged strongly that, not only should facilities be given for the formation of Committees, but means should be adopted to induce employers and employed to take steps in that direction as a means of avoiding the friction and litigation which the new law involved. The idea of a Compensation Committee was from the very commencement very favourably received by the members of the Association, and the employers were as desirous on their part to join in the endeavour. There was a natural desire on the part of the Permanent Fund officials to formulate a scheme to strengthen their fund. It was found that the attempt between the Trade Unions of Northumberland, the Federation Board, and the Permanent Relief Fund to arrange a Scheme was a failure. A number of meetings of Joint Committees and Sub-Committees, representative of the various Associations, and between those Sub-Committees and the Employers, were held. The failure arose from the character of the proposition--that there should be an Insurance Fund, which would take over all the liabilities of the owners, and insure all the workmen, which, said the employers, was the primary condition. The Miners' Executive in Durham could not accept such a scheme, and they turned to the formation of a Committee representative of their Association alone, and the owners. Negotiations went on with the owners, and finally the Executive Committee asked for full power on lines which they indicated. This the county agreed to give, and an agreement was come to in time for the commencement of the Act on July 1st. The system of class average obtaining in the county lent itself to the formation and working of such a Committee. This the men readily adopted, and it was another illustration of the hold mutuality and compromise had on the men of the county as a whole. Some men would have made above the average wage, and have worked more than the agreed number of days, and as a consequence their compensation would have been greater, but it would have entailed a large amount of labour if it had been on an individual basis. But by the Committee arrangement the system worked automatically. In the formation of the Compensation Committee Durham stood alone. There was nothing like it in any other district or trade, and its action was of the greatest benefit to employers and workmen alike. 1899 Election of Mr House--The Wages again--The second Conciliation Board--The Aged Miners' Homes--Deputies' Basis Wage For some time there had been a growing desire for a further subdivision of the labour in connection with the agency. It was thought that it might be useful if, instead of the Joint Committee business being in the corresponding secretary's department, an agent was appointed, who should have sole charge of that Committee. This rearrangement was hastened by the passing of the Compensation Act. The work thrown upon the organisation as a result of that measure was immense owing to the very great liability there is to accidents in the miners' occupation, and consequently the large number of delicate questions that were sure to arise in the application of a complex and complicated measure such as the new Act. The Executive Committee felt that it was imperative something should be done, and, acting on their suggestion, a new department was formed. Mr W. House was the gentleman selected to fill the new office. Mr House brought to the work a very essential qualification. His ability was unquestioned, but he was also experienced, having served on the Executive and Joint Committees for some years, and was thus thoroughly prepared for taking upon himself the duties of the new office. [Illustration: ALDERMAN W. HOUSE] THE WAGES AGAIN In considering the wage negotiations for 1898 mention was made of a temporary advance of two and a half per cent., which was given for six pays, and then carried forward other two periods of the same duration, and extended into 1899. On the 14th of January the Federation Board met the owners, their errand being to get if possible the temporary advance (which would terminate on January 21st) incorporated into the ordinary percentage. That request the employers could not grant, as the ascertained price for October and November was less than for the three months previous. "They are willing, however, to continue the temporary advance for a further period of six pays, or as an alternative they suggest that this meeting be adjourned until Saturday, the 28th inst., by which time the selling price for the quarter ending 31st of December will be ascertained." The Federation Board chose the extension for a further six pays, as they believed it was the most beneficial course. The next meeting was held on April 5th. Nothing was arranged, and there was an adjournment for three weeks. At that meeting the owners said there had been a declension in the prices. After a long discussion they offered an advance of three and three quarters, bringing the percentage above the standard up to twenty-six and a quarter; and, in consideration of special circumstances, to give a temporary advance for three months of one and a quarter, and they were prepared to date it back a fortnight. The arrangement was a very unique one, and, said the Federation Board in their explanation to the members, "it arises from the operation of the two and a half temporary advance, and the fact that the adjourned meeting was not held until after the dates fixed for its termination." THE SECOND CONCILIATION BOARD The delay and uncertainty, both as to time for making application for, and the data upon which to found, the claim, turned the minds of the members to a renewal of the Conciliation Board, or some similar system by which wages could be regulated more smoothly and expeditiously than the policy they were pursuing. On the programme for the Council held on May 27th there appeared a resolution from Marley Hill: "We move that the county be balloted for and against forming a Conciliation Board." The Executive Committee in their note on that resolution strongly recommended its adoption. It was highly desirable that the feeling of the county should be ascertained. They said: We have previously expressed the opinion that the steadier we can make our trade, and the more certainty we can infuse into our industrial relationship with our employers, the better it will be for the workmen; and there is nothing more calculated to foster this desirable condition than the principle of conciliation. It was a mistake when we terminated the previous Board, and this has been revealed more fully in our negotiations with the owners in a rising market. We feel sure we would have done better, and it would have saved a great deal of friction, if we had had the Board. There are other questions of great importance besides the wage question which a Conciliation Board could deal with. We therefore advise that you carry this resolution. Acting on that advice the Council adopted the ballot, and by a majority of 580 in a total vote of 39,713 the Board was re-established. The Bishop (Westcott), who had been anxiously watching the course of events, came forward to offer his congratulations and assistance if required. No time was lost. The four sections were called together, and they recommended that the old rules should be adopted, and that a circular be sent out urging the acceptance of the same as the constitution of the new Board. The objects may be inserted here. "By conciliatory means to prevent disputes and to put an end to any that may arise, and with this view to consider and decide upon _all claims_ that either party may, from time to time, make for a change in county wages or county practices, _and upon any other questions_ not falling within the jurisdiction of the Joint Committee that it may be agreed between the parties to refer to the Board." The following was the voting on the adoption of the old rules:-- For the old Rules Against Majority Miners 258 125 133 Enginemen 125 -- 125 Cokemen 52 3 49 Mechanics 75 -- 75 At the earliest moment after the result of the vote was known a meeting was arranged with the employers. At that meeting the employers wanted to alter the rules in one or two particulars, but the Federation Board informed them that their powers only extended to the adoption of the old rules, and if any alterations were made they would have to be referred to the members for sanction. "It was agreed that the employers should take the statement to a full meeting of their members, and if they persisted in desiring amendments a further meeting should be held, but if not, then the two secretaries should get the rules signed by the Owners' Committee and the Federation Board." The latter alternative was adopted. The old rules were signed as suggested. The first meeting of the Board was held on November 4th. The officers elected were Sir David Dale, Chairman; W. H. Lambton, Vice-Chairman; R. Guthrie and J. Wilson, Secretaries of their respective Associations; and Lord Davey, Umpire. It was further resolved: "That with pays commencing 6th and 13th of November 1899, wages should be advanced by 3¾ per cent., making the wages of underground men, mechanics, enginemen, cokemen, and banksmen to be 33¾ per cent. above the basis of 1879, other classes of surface labour 30¾ per cent. above the basis." THE AGED MINERS' HOMES In October 1899 was initiated a movement of which Durham may justly claim to be the pioneers--viz. the provision (as far as it can possibly be done) of free houses and coal for the aged mine workers. For a few years the subject had been assuming shape. Vague in its inception, by the perseverance of the originators it was inaugurated in this year. The first to make mention of such a movement was Mr J. Hopper, who subsequently became Secretary and Clerk of the Works. To him was soon joined Mr H. Wallace, land steward to Earl Ravensworth; and then other three: the Rev. Canon Moore Ede, J. Johnson, and J. Wilson. Their first step was to secure a large hall and two acres of ground near Boldon which could be made into tenements. The building was the property of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, but was rented at an easy rent. That was taken over by the Boldon workmen for their own old men. Then the Committee turned to the Ecclesiastical Commissioners again. Without entering into all the stages of the negotiations, the final result was the renting of nine acres of land in three plots situated in three different parts of the county. Just at this juncture there was an opportunity to purchase the colliery village known as Haswell Moor, consisting of 112 houses, to each of which was attached a garden. The whole of it was freehold. This fortunate bargain gave inspiration to the Committee, as it was very cheap, and an impetus to the effort, as it formed a very nice colony of old people, the cost per house being about £25. The scheme rested on a voluntary basis. The Committee in initiating the movement resolved to keep it clear of all compulsion. Their proposition was 1s. per member from all in the Miners' Association per year, which would give £3000. The lodges responded very readily to the appeal, and were soon joined by the other three sections of the Federation Board and the deputies. In addition, the outside public sent large and generous help. One very striking letter was received, enclosing a cheque for £25, which we will record. "Mrs Graham and I are very pleased to find that you are making such good progress with this most useful and laudable scheme. We are quite sure that the old folks would be more at _home_ and more comfortable in cottages such as they have been used to all their lives instead of being placed in specially built almshouses or hospitals. "We would like to feel that we have made one old couple happy by paying the cost of one of the Haswell Moor cottages, as intended to be made fit for habitation, and therefore propose to subscribe £25." That encouraging letter and generous gift were from Coroner Graham of Findon Hill, near Durham, and was soon followed by other expressions of sympathy and substantial help. Bishop Westcott rendered great assistance, and opened his castle at Auckland for one of the sectional meetings the Committee called as a means of bringing the question before the lodges. His lordship allowed the use of his splendid drawing-room, and presided over the meeting, and on every hand the workmen were praised for their grand work. The best commendation, however, was the comfort of the old people, and when the opening day came there could not have been found prouder men anywhere than the Committee of Management. The opening of the first batch of houses took place at Haswell Moor in October. The ceremony was performed by Mr J. Wilson, the chairman of the General Committee, and the inaugural address was delivered by the Bishop. A quotation from the _Monthly Circular_ giving an account of the proceedings will be fitting here. It was a great occasion, and the address was worthy of it. There was a very large company in the tent to listen to the eloquent remarks, but there was a larger outside who were excluded from the privilege. To the men of mature years there was the rejoicing coming from the past, and an exhortation to act in unity, and not to be simply receivers, but givers of strength to the common cause. They were not alone, not isolated separate units, but members of the great body; strong with the strength of all, and glad with the service which they could render to their fellows. A man who received all and gave nothing was like the Dead Sea. However rich the floods might be that flowed into it, it retained no life-giving, no glad force--all was lost. In addition, there was the urging to avoid despair and have hope. Nothing could be more fatal than to declare that, because we were not moving with greater rapidity, the goal was unattainable. "Do not listen to such a vision of despair, cherish the full vigour of hope." Let me finish with the words to the young men. I wish all could have heard the words of wisdom as they fell from the lips of our respected and honoured Bishop. As they could not, let me quote them, "they had received a splendid inheritance, splendid with noble achievements and noble traditions, and they--as men who had mastered themselves and realised their obligations--would use it well, guard it well, and hand it down to those who came after, enriched by the fulfilment of hopes cherished long ago, and illuminated by the brightness of hopes which those who came after them would perhaps be allowed to fulfil." On that day, by the inauguration, the Durham miners took a long step in the path of benevolence, and raised themselves to a proud and prominent position amongst true reformers. It was a grand illustration of the truth that they who most practise self-help are best able and most eager to help others. A working man's income limits the possibility of giving large sums; but the many small rills make the large river. There is large philanthropy in a small gift. The volume and value of it lies in the spirit and intent which prompts it; and the ultimate success of a movement like the Aged Miners' Homes Scheme lies in the willingness of the thousands of workmen in and about the mines to assist. Based on that, the county can be studded with homes where the aged and worn-out miner and his partner can find home comfort and warmth when the sun of their life is nearing the setting and the shadows of life's evening are gathering thick around them. No young man can measure the full meaning of such provision, but all can feel the rich mental luxury which will assuredly result from taking part in the providing. DEPUTIES' WAGES We will close this year by a reference to a settlement made during it. This was in respect to the fixing of a basis wage for deputies. Prior to the agreement there had been a fixed wage, which was altered by adding a penny or twopence, or more, to it, or reducing in that way if the wages were decreased. It was a very unsatisfactory mode of procedure, and always involved a meeting between the Owners' and the Deputies' Association after the Federation Board had dealt with the wages. For some time there had been a strong desire on the part of the deputies who were in the Miners' Association to have their wages regulated by a percentage, the same as the other classes of workmen. In July the following agreement was signed:-- It is hereby agreed that with pays commencing 24th and 31st of July 1899 the basis wage of deputies shall be fixed at 4s. 8½d. (four shillings and eightpence halfpenny) per shift for back-bye shifts, and that these basis rates shall be subject to the same percentage, advances, and reductions as may be from time to time arranged with regard to the wages of the miners. 1900 Death of Mr Forman--Election of Mr Galbraith--Agreements made during the Year On the 2nd of September death made another inroad upon the original leaders of the organisation by carrying off the president, Mr J. Forman. For over twenty-seven years he had been in that position, and from first to last he carried out the obligations of the office in a manner equalled by few and excelled by none. He was fitted at all points for being president of an organisation of workers such as the Durham miners. The best estimate of his character will be found in quotations from the _Monthly Circular_ and the Executive Committee's Minute. DEATH OF OUR RESPECTED PRESIDENT I am sorry to say Death has made one of its most serious inroads into our ranks, and taken from us one of the most prominent figures in our Association. Our much respected and gentlemanly President is no more, and his services, over more than the average length of a generation, are ended. We long for the sound of a voice that is for ever still, and the touch of a hand that had a friendly grasp. For nearly thirty years the name of Forman has been a household word amongst the miners of Durham. He was not ambitious of "spreading a sounding name abroad," but he had a deep desire to do his duty to his own people. His was a quiet nature; but among men, as in nature, the quiet forces are the most productive of good. In the movements that make for progress in men, as in our physical surroundings, the clamour of violent action and noise are not the most useful. In the history of our Association, from its very commencement, our departed friend has been one of the binding and consolidating influences. Wise in counsel, when a spirit of rashness and impatience seized some of us, he has many a time helped to steady the mind and temper, and tone the action. Prolific in suggestion he has oft pointed a way out of difficulty in the time of stress and strain; in fact, he was well and amply equipped and qualified for the important position he filled amongst us. He took upon himself the office when times were vastly different from what they are now; when capital and labour were in this county like two opposing forces, separated by a spirit of doubt and animosity; and he has done much to establish a better feeling between employers and employed. He knew by experience the position of inferiority and harsh conditions in which our lot was cast before the foundations of the Society were laid. He has assisted and rejoiced over every step towards equality and relationship, and he was very anxious lest anything should be done to mar our usefulness. Mr Forman was more than an agent, he was a friend and an example. A man may be appointed to a position and do his work in a mechanical and perfunctory manner, like a hireling waiting for the shadow of the day, but that is not sufficient, and it did not satisfy him whose loss we mourn. He was an example in conduct and in mental cultivation worthy of imitation by all our young men. He looked upon the workmen as something more than machines, and he was desirous that they should pay more attention to the improvement of their minds, and the formation of thrifty and studious habits. In that he was no theorist, for he was a man of very extensive reading, especially upon scientific subjects, and, as a consequence, he was able to approach and deal with our questions in a most intelligent manner. He has gone, but his work is with us. It is our heritage, not merely for enjoyment, but for employment. We can best show our respect for his memory by our acceptance and proper use of that legacy. These men whose lives like his stretch back into the dark days are decreasing in number year by year. Let us do nothing to damage the Institution they helped to establish and consolidate, and let our effort be to strive for the goal they sought to attain. DEATH OF MR JOHN FORMAN (_Executive Committee's Notice_) _September, 1900._ Our regrets on this occasion are not those of formality, but are prompted by a recognition of his worth as an official of our organisation and his character as a fellow-worker and a man. Never yet had any organisation a more earnest officer, any body of men a more willing colleague, nor any community a more upright, honest, and straightforward man than our friend who has been taken from us. He was privileged to live to the ripe old age of 77 years, and for more than a quarter of a century has devoted the whole of his time and the best of his energies to the upbuilding and consolidation of our Society, and the betterment of the working classes generally. We shall miss his genial presence and guiding counsel from all our business meetings. He was on all occasions a reliable guide and counsellor in our deliberations on complicated questions, and in the general matters pertaining to the work of the Association in the midst of dark times and difficult circumstances. We feel that by his death we have not only lost an able and efficient President and colleague, but the workers in and about the mines in Durham have been deprived of a friend whose lifelong services have been devoted to the bettering of their conditions as wage earners. And further, we would tender to the family our sympathy in the great bereavement which has fallen upon them, and the hope that they may be strengthened by the assurance that, although dead, he still lives in the grateful remembrance of the people amongst whom he lived, and for whom he laboured. [Illustration: ALDERMAN S. GALBRAITH] The vacancy caused by his death was filled by Mr House being transferred from the Joint Committee agency to the presidency, and the election of Mr S. Galbraith as his successor in the Joint Committee. In the election the county chose a well-tried and very trustworthy man. He had been checkweighman at the Browney Colliery for twenty-one and a half years. Those workmen placed absolute reliance in him, and without reserve allowed him to manage the affairs of the lodge. The condition of the colliery, the peace and harmony which obtained, and the fact that only one deputation visited them to make inquiry into a grievance during the whole time he was there, are clear proof that he had great care for the interests of the men, and that they were well repaid for their confidence in him. His tactful management of the local business specially fitted him for the wider sphere of labour. The members reasoned safely when they concluded that he who had been faithful in the local would be faithful in the general. Those who knew Mr Galbraith were in perfect agreement as to the opinion formed by the men who had been in such long and profitable business contact with him. AGREEMENTS Screenmen--Labourers--Datal Wage--Hewers' Datal--Houses and House Rent--Boys' Advance The first of these was the raising of the basis wage of the screenmen and labourers. That wage was fixed by an arbitration at 2s. 7½d., but was never quite accepted by the county. Negotiations had been proceeding, and on 31st March 1900 it was agreed "that the basis wage of _bona fide_ screenmen and labourers on and about the pit-heap and on the colliery branches should be 2s. 10d. per day." This was a clear advance of 2½d. per day, and meant nearly a day's wage increase in the fortnight. The second was in reference to the hewers' datal wage. There was no settled or uniform principle of payment for the back-bye work. On August 16th it was arranged that: "When coal hewers are taken from hewing to do other work for a shift or shifts (or portions of a shift), during which they would otherwise have been employed at coal hewing, they shall, for not exceeding three consecutive shifts employed at such other work, be paid the hewers' county average wage." The third settlement was the "Houses and House Rent." This had been on hand for six or seven years. It was placed on the agenda of the Conciliation Board in 1895. After that Board terminated the question lapsed, but was brought forward by the owners at the Board meeting on May 1st, 1900. It was at first part of a general application, but shortly before the meeting the mechanics introduced a house question, and therefore the request of the owners was made to apply solely to miners. The subject was adjourned to give the employers a chance to rearrange their claim. Before the meeting held on August 3rd the Owners' and Miners' Committee held two meetings, and an agreement had been come to, subject to the approval of the miners' lodges. The Conciliation Board was informed of this; further, that a return was being taken, and that the agreement was being strongly recommended. It was adjourned on the understanding that the owners could put it on the next agenda, if not settled in the meantime, and could then ask the Board or umpire to decide. The request of the owners was as follows:-- That the general question of the supply of houses and coals be considered by the Board of Conciliation with a view to the points of difference between the Owners' and Miners' Associations being decided by the Board. The return mentioned above resulted in a refusal of the agreement, although large material changes had been made in it to the advantage of the workmen. The return was most unsatisfactory, as fifty-two collieries, representing 112 votes, did not vote. The Executive Committee decided to call a special Council, and informed their members of the position. The subject was sure to be settled at the next Conciliation Board meeting. "We have pointed out to you on one or two occasions that if it is not settled by us it will come before the next Conciliation Board, who will be asked by the owners to deal with it or refer it to the umpire." The special Council was held, and a discussion took place on the agreement, but no vote was taken. In due course the subject came before the Board. It was felt that the refusal was caused by the exclusion of the shifters and wastemen. The owners were willing to include these, and the Board agreed to the list of classes and conditions contained in the agreement of November 1900. The agreement settled a long-standing dispute, and established for twelve classes the right to a free house, or rent if houses were not found. In respect to the other classes not specifically named in the list, their right would rest on the custom of the colliery obtaining on the 1st of June 1900. Under the circumstances the agreement was the best that could be got, and was a very long way ahead of the uncertain condition of things which existed prior to its signing. There was this to be considered: if the Board had not settled it then the umpire would have been called in, and there was no assurance that he would have gone so far. With respect to the rent, which was dependent upon the custom of the colliery, the right of the classes named to a rent (if not the amount) was guaranteed. Before the arrangement was made, if there were not sufficient houses, the men belonging to the colliery had to prove, at Joint Committee, it was the custom to pay rent at that colliery. If they failed to establish the custom, then they were non-suited, and without rent. That which was indefinite and uncertain was lifted out of the region of contention once and for all, and that in itself was no small advantage. In judging of the merits of the "Houses and House Rent Agreement" it must be remembered that the Executive Committee and Federation Board had to contend against time and precedent. These were no mean forces. Practices which in some cases had existed for thirty years were difficult to alter by the party seeking the alteration. If the effort had been made twenty-five years before it would have been comparatively easy: "Customs would have admitted of easy proof, and the data would have been new and readily substantiated." Keeping those things in remembrance, the conclusion will be that the agreement was a good one. On the 29th of December other two small agreements were signed. One of them had reference to boys whose wages were below 1s. and those having a basis wage of 1s. and 5d. or less. The former were raised to 1s., and the latter had to have 1d. increase. The other change was in relation to smart money for beat hands. It was agreed that, as the Compensation Act did not cover that injury, the smart money should be continued where it had been the custom to pay it before the Act was passed. 1901 The Coal Tax--The Death of Bishop Westcott--The Appointment of an Accountant In the spring of the year the whole of the mining industry was startled by a proposal made by the Chancellor of the Exchequer to place an export duty of 1s. per ton upon all exported coal. It was done to enable him to meet the heavy expenditure which had been thrown upon the nation by the Boer War. The entire cost was over £250,000,000. The year or two previous the coal trade had been prosperous. The profits of the employers and the wages of the miners loomed up very large, and he being in a desperate position (having a deficit of £50,000,000 to meet) thought it safe to make an attack on the trade. His proposition was a very disastrous one. The arguments advanced in support were uneconomic and fallacious, but were forced upon the House of Commons by the sheer weight and force of a great and obedient majority--a majority whose party loyalty covered a large number of political sins. His main arguments (upon which the changes were rung) were as follows:--Coals were a great national asset, and the exportation should be checked, and even if exported under the 1s. tax the foreigners would pay it. To say the least, the former of these arguments was too narrow to be considered at all seriously, because if the necessities of the nation demanded a preservation of our coal supply, then it could only be done by a total prohibition of the export. Further, it lost sight of the large mining population, the amount of capital sunk in the mines, the ships and sailors employed in the carrying of coal, and the interchange of trade, which would be interfered with if the policy were effected. The argument as to the foreigners paying the 1s. was fallacious and selfish; fallacious because it assumed the foreign consumer would not seek the cheapest market, which would be opened out to him by the development of the Continental coal fields; and selfish because, if correct, it was an endeavour to throw upon him a part of the cost of a mad and wasteful war, when he took no part in the initiation of it. His proposal was met by fierce opposition in all the mining districts, both exporting and non-exporting, but in none more than in Durham. Employer and employed united in opposing it. To such an extent was this joint action carried that the pits were all laid idle for the purpose of affording the workmen an opportunity to hold mass meetings. In a circular issued on April 22nd the Executive Committee informed the lodges that they intended to hold seven simultaneous meetings, and to join the Northumberland miners on the Town Moor, Newcastle. In the circular they said: The occasion is important. Time is short. The question is urgent. A more injurious tax was never proposed. If carried, it will cripple our trade, but more especially that of Northumberland and South Wales. Our export trade is not so large as theirs, but we are so closely bound together that we are sure to suffer with them. Let our protest be as large and emphatic as the tax will be injurious, and then the pressure of public opinion will compel a withdrawal of the Chancellor's proposal. In connection with the national protest large conferences were held. The first of these took place on April 25th and 26th, at which a deputation was appointed to meet the Chancellor on the 29th; but he held out no hope. The conference was resumed on the 30th, and on May 1st. There was a very strong feeling in favour of stopping all the mines in the country, and a resolution in that direction was adopted. The main obstacle to an immediate stoppage was the fact that certain districts had not considered it, and the conference was adjourned for a week to give them time to call Council meetings and consult their members. The adjourned meeting took place on May 7th, but it was found that there was a more peaceful spirit abroad. Durham was in favour of the stoppage, and the delegates, acting on instruction from the Council, voted for that course of action. The conference was against it. An arrangement was come to in view of any district being asked to submit to a reduction in consequence of the coal tax. If that occurred, then "another conference should be called to consider and determine whether the whole of the mines of the country should be laid idle until such intimated reduction is withdrawn." So far as any stoppage of work was concerned, the agitation was at an end, but the protest did not cease with it, for year after year it was brought forward, and at all the galas it was made part of the resolutions. Deputations met the Chancellor, and in Parliament the spokesmen of the miners brought forward the question on every opportunity. At the very outset they compelled him to exempt all coals sold for 6s. per ton and under. And (to anticipate a little) one of the first effects of the return of the Liberal party in 1906 was the removal of the tax, to take effect on the 1st of November that year. THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF DURHAM The history would be incomplete if we did not make a reference to the death of Bishop Westcott. He was known amongst us as "The Pitmen's Bishop," and well he deserved the designation, for from the time of his coming to the county he sought on all occasions to make himself acquainted with our conditions, and was ever ready to assist in the work of amelioration. In every effort in that direction he was ready to counsel. He was one of England's greatest scholars, but his learning did not blunt his sympathies nor check his desires to help the people in their struggles. He was highly religious, but it was not the religion of the visionary. It found expression in actions. He proved his faith by his works, and demonstrated it by that higher and truer exponent of a man's creed, his active participation in every movement which tended to purify the conditions of our working and home life. His death was a unique circumstance. At the gala held on July 20th he delivered a masterly address in the cathedral. His closing words were prophetic. He informed the large gathering, mainly miners, that it would be the last time he would address them. Whether this was the presentiment of the coming of the last messenger or not we cannot tell, but it is certain that the kindly heart and eloquent tongue were both stilled by death, and the miners were in sorrow longing for the sound of a voice that was gone, within a short week after he had thrilled the hearts of his hearers, and a great sorrow fell upon the county without regard to class, creed, or social status. The following resolution passed by the Executive Committee will show the appreciation of his worth expressed by them in the name of the miners:-- That we, the Executive Committee of the Durham Miners' Association, in the name of our members, express our universal sorrow at the death of our respected Bishop and friend, the late Bishop Westcott. We recognise that we have lost a sympathiser, counsellor, and helper in all our efforts for better conditions both in our home surroundings and our working life. From the first day of his residence amongst us we felt that it was his desire to be the Bishop of the diocese in the truest and best sense of the term; and as the years have passed that feeling has been strengthened by the words of kindly counsel he has given us and by his generous and helpful actions. While, therefore, we share in the loss that has fallen upon the whole community we join in the expression of regret and sorrow which will be felt in every portion of the sphere in which he moved, and we tender our sympathy to the relations of the truly great and kindly Christian, who has been taken from a life in which he lived usefully and well to a reward which awaits all who try to correct the wrongs and brighten the darkness of this life. APPOINTMENT OF THE ACCOUNTANT Under the sliding scale there were joint ascertainments of prices by each side having a firm of accountants, who agreed to the average realised selling price of coals. When the scales terminated the services of the accountants on the miners' side were dispensed with, and the selling price was gathered by the Federation Board visiting various depôts, the ports whence coal was exported, and the coal exchange in London. Now it was obvious that such a system was at its best very uncertain, and while the data gathered might be asserted it never could be put forward as accurate. Without the accountants, the mode adopted was necessary, but it was difficult, expensive, and unreliable. The Federation Board, upon whom the burden of seeking the prices fell, was never satisfied, and in the end the members came round to that way of thinking. On the Miners' Council programme for September 28th the following resolution appeared:-- Accountant be engaged for the purpose of ascertaining the price of coal, the mode of procedure to be arranged by the Executive Committee. The resolution was carried, and was sent to the Federation, and by them placed before the other sections, and finally adopted. At the Board meeting held on November 28th it was decided "that Mr E. Sparks be appointed as the accountant for the Board in the ascertainment of coal prices on the terms which obtained under the sliding scale, and that he be asked to meet the Board at the next meeting." Between the loose system which obtained prior to his appointment and that which resulted from it there was a very great contrast. Without the definite figures he was able to supply the workmen were always in an atmosphere of uncertainty on two points--first, the time when to apply for an advance; and second, as to the amount to ask for. Further, whatever demand the owners might make it was a matter of guesswork as to the accuracy of the change in the markets. With the quarterly ascertainment the state of the trade was given to the very smallest decimal, it gave reliability as to data, and guaranteed the stability of trade and the regularity of work, which is a great consideration to the workmen. 1902-1903 Hours of Datal Boys and Firemen--Bank Holiday--Mr Patterson's Statue--Ballot on Eight Hours--Coal Drawing after Loose--Agreement of 15th August--Surface Firemen's Wages On Monday, the 27th of January, the Executive Committee met the Employers' Committee on six requests. Three of them were the hours of timber leaders and others, putters at datal work, and the hours of firemen at the week-ends. Those three were settled by the allowing agreement:-- It is hereby agreed between the Durham Coal Owners' Association and the Durham Miners' Association as follows:-- _Putters at Datal Work._--That the hours of putters when sent to datal work shall be those applicable to the particular class of work which they are required to perform. _Firemen's Week-end Shifts._--That the hours of firemen employed at boilers attached to stationary colliery engines which work continuously between 6 A.M. on Saturday and 6 A.M. on Monday shall be eight per shift between these hours. _Timber and Water Leaders._--That the hours of the following classes of boys shall be in future eight per day--namely, timber leaders, stone putters and water leaders, and those boys who for a full shifter's shift may be working with shifters whose hours are eight. Those whose hours are reduced to suffer a proportionate reduction of wage. This agreement to take effect with pays commencing the 3rd and 10th February 1902. For the Durham Coal Owners' Association, REGINALD GUTHRIE, _Secretary_. For the Durham Miners' Association, JOHN WILSON. The result of the settlement so far as it affects the young men will be seen by the following table, and it must be remembered that the total number of days reduced was for any one day, and not for a fortnight:-- Timber leaders 80 Water leaders 234 Stone putters 76 Number of putters at datal work on any given day 220 Other boys so engaged 220 ---- Total days reduced 830 These figures were taken from the Associated Collieries. There were a number of others, which would increase the total somewhat. It will be observed that the hours shortened did not in any way affect the coal-drawing time, and were indications of the willingness to meet the shortening of the hours if it were expedient to do so. It was in complete harmony with the general policy of the Association--self-effort even if the end were a little longer in being reached, and negotiation in preference to an appeal to the legislature. Further, the settlement proved that the inexpediency and difficulty of applying the eight hours a day was the only obstacle in the way of the Durham men, and not their unwillingness to shorten the working time, as was alleged by many outside the county. THE BANK HOLIDAY For some years there had been complaints from the employers in reference to the pits being laid idle on Bank Holidays, without any arrangement being made for the same. The logic of their position was incontrovertible. They stated it in the following manner:-- As Associations we have had business relations for over thirty years. We have in that time made many agreements, and have arranged tribunals for every class of difference, and yet you, one of the Associations, have deliberately set all that machinery to a side, have ruthlessly broken all precedents and procedure, and have for some years laid the pits idle, without even consulting the owners' side. They then brought the subject before the Conciliation Board in August 1902, but while they were wishful to call in the umpire they agreed to defer it for three months. Their request was in the following form:-- The owners complain of the action of the workmen in laying collieries idle on August and December Bank Holidays, and ask that the Conciliation Board take this matter into consideration with a view of requiring the workmen to continue previously existing county arrangements until such are altered, either through negotiations between the Owners' and Workmen's Associations or by the Conciliation Board. After being discussed it was decided that: The claim of the owners, that this Board shall restrain the growing practice of laying pits idle on the August and December Bank Holidays, is to be considered and dealt with at the November meeting of the Board. At that meeting the question was again brought forward; but it was thought desirable that the miners and the employers should have a chance of settling without a reference to the umpire, and for that purpose another adjournment took place, it being understood that if no arrangement were come to the reference should be made as soon as possible. The umpire was not called in until the 8th of July 1903. The hearing of the case took place in London in the Westminster Palace Hotel. On the 13th Lord Davey gave his award: "On the question referred to me at the meeting on July 8th I award that the workmen be allowed the August Bank Holiday, but go to work on the day after Christmas Day." MR PATTERSON'S STATUE The statue was unveiled on Saturday, 31st of January 1903, at two P.M. The ceremony consisted of a formal unveiling in front of the Hall, and a meeting in the Council Chamber immediately after. The Executive Committee, in a short circular sent out to inform the members of the event, said: It will not be necessary to urge upon you to send a deputation to represent you, and thus show respect to a man who did as much as he could to establish our Association and to promote its usefulness. Don't let this be a mere ceremonial function, but let us show by our presence as much as by the statue we are placing in front of the Hall how we appreciate the labours of men like our departed friend. There was a great response to the circular, and both the unveiling and the meeting inside were well attended. The ceremony was performed by the corresponding secretary (J. Wilson), who gave the address. The proceedings were presided over by Mr W. House, the president of the Association, and a number of speeches were delivered by representative men, and many who had been with him during the greater part of his life, and throughout the highest testimony was given to the good qualities and disinterestedness of Mr Patterson. His would be a narrow mind who could say anything else. If true virtue consists of desire to do good, and he is only great who loves his fellow-men, then Patterson was truly great. And that was the standard by which the county judged him, and on that he carried their appreciation. It will be fitting to quote in connection with the unveiling a portion of the _Monthly Circular_ written by one who had lived and worked with Mr Patterson and knew him. But the most cheering part of the unveiling to me does not lie in the appreciation as expressed by the marble, but in the numbers who attended the ceremony and the feeling manifested during the whole of it. If it showed our respect for a colleague and friend, it reflected honour upon us because there was nothing of the cold and formal about it. The gathering was truly representative, and from first to last friendship was in the air and in every heart. There were very few lodges (if any) that were not represented, and in addition there were gentlemen who, although outside our ranks as Trades Unionists, came uninvited to pay a last tribute to a man who in life they had known and learned to respect, and warm were their words in reference to him. THE EIGHT HOURS--SECOND BALLOT This question assumed a new and more prominent shape at the annual Council meeting in 1903. It was decided "to seek for a living wage for all workers in and about the mines and for no man or lad to be more than eight hours from bank to bank in one day." It will be observed that the county had to seek, but it did not define by what means the object had to be sought. The Executive was in a strait between the legal eight hours and negotiation with the employers. They therefore resolved to take the opinion of the county by submitting the question to the ballot. On June 25th they issued the voting papers, accompanied by the following circular:-- Gentlemen,--It will be observed that the word "seek" is the word we invariably use when we send cases before the owners for negotiation. It would have been competent for the Executive Committee to have interpreted the new object in that light, and have looked upon it as being a point to aim at, rather than take it as absolute, and especially when you remember that, recognising the evils of a sudden introduction of a shortening of the hours from ten to eight hours, we have always been against the State regulation of hours, and by ballot before we have so decided. The Committee, however, think it will be best to submit the question to you to say whether we are to proceed by negotiation, or by an appeal to the State, and for that purpose the ballot papers have been drawn up, so that we may have a plain issue upon the two methods. There can be no mistake. There are three things I would like to mention. First, let every full member (and no other) vote, as it affects all, and will affect all; second, I ask the lodge officials to let the ballot be such in nature more than name. Let it be as secret as possible; and third, let me urge upon you not to be led away by sentiment, but consider the effect it may have upon the position of every man, lest we may make things worse than they are. It will be too late to regret after. We had better weigh well the result before the step is taken. J. WILSON. _June 25th, 1903._ The result of the ballot was as follows:--for Trades Union effort, 30,841; for State interference, 12,899; majority, 17,942. There were 161 lodges voted. Some lodges refused to vote, expressing their opposition to any change in the hours, but some refused without assigning any reason. The vote, however, was very decisive, and reaffirmed the opposition to legal enactment in respect to the eight hours. COAL-DRAWING AGREEMENT The question of drawing coals after loose had been for some time in dispute between the two Associations. A number of meetings were held. In the discussion the employers claimed the right to draw coals, if it suited their convenience, at any time. This could not be granted. Then they asked for an arrangement which would allow them to draw coals if it were the custom prior to 1890, and in case of a break up to draw coals to make up the loss. If this were granted they would concede four of the requests the workmen were making. The Executive Committee was not willing to retrospect so far as 1890, but was willing to date back to 1900, and to allow the employers the opportunity for proper preparation for the pit starting the day after an accident, if it were long. This concession formed the basis of settlement, and the following agreement was made:-- It is this day agreed between the Durham Coal Owners' and the Durham Miners' Association as follows:-- 1. That at all collieries where at the end of December 1900 it was customary for coals to be drawn at other times than the ordinary coal-drawing hours, such customs shall continue to the same extent. 2. That at all collieries the owners shall have the right of drawing after the 10 or 20 hours' coal drawing time, as the case may be, such of the coals standing in the shaft sidings as owing to accident it may be necessary to send to bank for any of the following purposes:-- (_a_) To enable stones to be drawn; (_b_) To enable pit timber or other material to be got down and clear of the shaft sidings. 3. That at all collieries, in case of an accident or breakdown which is not remedied one hour before loose, such coals shall be drawn as may be necessary to prepare the pit for working the next shift, such preparations to mean drawing such a quantity of coal as will enable one empty set (or 45 tubs where endless rope haulage is employed) to be taken to each landing affected by the accident. For the Durham Coal Owners' Association, REGINALD GUTHRIE. For the Durham Miners' Association, JOHN WILSON. JOHN JOHNSON. Three of the concessions on the part of the employers are contained in the following agreement:-- It is hereby agreed between the Durham Coal Owners' Association and the Durham Miners' Association as follows:-- _Hand Putters' Basis Wage._--That the basis wage for hand putters when employed on datal work shall be 3s. 4d. per day. _Stone Putters' Short Shifts._--That stone putters when working with stonemen and shifters shall be allowed the same short shifts as those granted to the men with whom they are working. _Boys' Minimum Wage._--That the minimum basis wage of boys employed at bank shall be one shilling per day. For the Durham Coal Owners' Association, REGINALD GUTHRIE. For the Durham Miners' Association, JOHN WILSON. BROKEN PRICE There was a fourth question which was not put in the agreement because it was so complicated--viz. the fixing of a relative price between the whole and broken prices. The custom at some collieries had been to fix a whole and broken price for the seam, the definite figure being named of, say, 2d. per ton difference. In every case where a future broken started it was at the original price, no matter how much the whole prices might have increased. The effect was that there were men who might be working at 2s. or 2s. 6d. per ton on the Saturday, and through the area of goaf being taken out they would have a reduction of in some cases 1s. and 1s. 4d. per ton on Monday. It was always difficult to get a rectification at Joint Committee, and it was thought best to arrange a uniform or relative price between the whole and broken prices, so that, no matter how the prices in the former might alter, the relative difference would never vary. The arrangement removed a very great anomaly and grievance, it being left to the Joint Committee to decide. SURFACE FIREMEN'S WAGES This was a settlement made by the Conciliation Board. Some years prior, by an arbitration, it was decided "that the standard or basis average wage of firemen at bank working twelve hours per day is 3s. 3d. per day of twelve hours." The operation of that award was that before a man could claim the 3s. 3d. he must be working the full twelve hours per day; if not, the employer could claim a proportionate reduction. The arrangement made on November 6th, 1903, reduced the time to eleven hours for the 3s. 3d., those above that time receiving an advance of 3d. per day. By a return taken at the time the number of men and hours at the Associated Collieries was found to be as follows:-- 12 hours per shift 506 men 11½ " " " 1 man 11 " " " 37 men 10½ " " " 78 " 10 " " " 38 " 8 " " " 3 " --- 563 Average hours per shift, 11.63; and the result, therefore, was an all-round increase of 3d. per day. 1904 Labour Representation--Mr Johnson and Gateshead--Suspension of Joint Committee--Conciliation Board--The Fillers' Agreement It will be necessary to retrace our steps a year or two to keep this question in consecutive order. The action taken in 1885 has been set forth, with the result thereof. The matter rested with one representative until the Council meeting held on June 7th, 1902, when the Executive Committee placed on the programme the following resolution:-- The time is now opportune for considering the question of increased Labour representation in Parliament for the county of Durham. On the Council programme for September 12th, 1902, the Committee placed another resolution: With a view of giving effect to Council resolution, with regard to further Labour representation, we ask that the whole matter be relegated to the sections comprising the Federation Board. On November 1st that resolution came before the Federation Board, when it was resolved as follows:-- That we express our belief that the time has fully arrived when we ought to have increased Labour representation in Parliament, and that the other three sections be requested to consult their members on the subject, and as soon as they intimate their decision to the secretary a meeting of the Board be called. The course of action indicated in that resolution was followed. The idea was accepted nearly universally. The Federation Board, therefore, resolved to place the matter before the four Committees on January 31st in the Miners' Hall, Durham. It was decided to call a special delegate meeting, to be held in the Town Hall, Durham, the following programme to be submitted:-- (1) Shall there be an increase in the number of Labour representatives in the county? (2) If so, how many more shall be chosen? (3) Who shall they be? (4) That the selections of divisions be left to the four Committees. (5) Ways and means. The united Committees advised that there should be an increase of two. This was not done because they believed it to be a mathematically fair proportion of the county, but because it was best to move safely. They left the choice of candidates to the Council, but suggested that the selection of divisions should be remitted to them (the four Committees), and that as regards the ways and means the same system as obtained in the case of Mr Wilson should apply to those chosen. Having regard to our space we need not enlarge upon the various steps in the procedure. It will be sufficient to say that the Council accepted the advice, leaving the carrying out of the details to the four Committees. The candidates selected were Mr J. Johnson and Mr J. W. Taylor. Shortly after the selection was made, and while the Committees were trying to arrange for the division, a communication was received from the South-East Durham Liberal Association asking that Mr J. Johnson should be sent there as a candidate. In the end the request was acceded to, but before much was done beyond the acceptance Sir W. Allan, M.P. for Gateshead, died suddenly, and within a day or two the Liberal Association made overtures, and invited Mr Johnson. A meeting was called, and in response he was transferred to Gateshead. It would not serve any good purpose nor assist our history if notice were made of some objections and some objectors. It will be sufficient if we record that he was returned on January 20th, 1904, by a majority of 1205, and we make mention of two matters--first, a resolution of the Federation Board: That we, the Federation Board, representing the whole of the workers in and about the mines in Durham, desire to tender our thanks to the electors of Gateshead for the splendid majority with which they have returned Mr Johnson as Member of Parliament for their borough, and all who worked to secure his return. Second, a portion of the _Monthly Circular_ for January: There are many matters worthy of notice this month, but the one nearest your hearts and mine is _our_ success at Gateshead. Mr Johnson is the M.P. for that borough, but the victory is _ours_. I have no envy for the state of mind of any man or men who can find room for carping or faddism in connection with the election. We are the last people among whom such should be found. The invitation to contest the seat was spontaneous. The workers were numerous, energetic, and of all classes, and the rejoicing when the result was known was of the most enthusiastic nature. It was encouraging to receive from a number of our lodges good wishes during the contest, and their congratulations since the victory was secured. SUSPENSION OF JOINT COMMITTEE Through a dispute which arose over a decision given by the chairman of Joint Committee the meetings were entirely suspended, the employers alleging that the decision was against the rules of the Joint Committee. This objection was not taken until after the decision was given. The Federation Board, as the authority dealing with the Joint Committee, considered the question, and decided: That in the opinion of this Board the protest entered by the owners' side of the Joint Committee on January 15th, 1904, is entirely in opposition to the tenth rule of the Joint Committee constitution, and that whatever stoppage there may be in the proceedings of that Board the blame rests only with them. And further, we protest against the refusal of the owners to meet the other sections of the Board, as in our opinion it is in violation of all past procedure, and cannot conduce to the harmonious relation between the Employers' and Workmen's Associations; and we hope that, whether the difference between the miners and employers be settled or not, no objection will be raised to the business of the other sections being proceeded with. In the opinion of the Federation Board there was something lying behind the objection to the decision. "If," said they, "that was the sole cause for the suspension, why not go on with the other sections?" They felt (rightly or wrongly) that the main objection was against the chairman. It was time for the appointment or reappointment of the chairman, and by the refusal of the owners to reappoint Judge O'Connor the Board was strengthened in their opinion that it was the man--more than the single decision--the objection was taken to. The secretary received a letter from Mr Guthrie asking the Board to meet for the purpose of appointing a chairman, and he was instructed to say they were ready to meet at any time convenient to the owners. That reply was repeated again on April 6th. The business was suspended from January 15th until July 4th, when it was resumed, the chairman being appointed _pro tem_. until the appointment of Colonel Blake, who occupied the position for the first time on October 31st. CONCILIATION BOARD A mention of this is made here because of a unique circumstance which arose at the August meeting of the Board. The ascertainment showed a fall in price sufficient to warrant a reduction of one and a quarter per cent. The Federation Board objected to it. Then the employers asked for the umpire to be called in, and requested it should be done as speedily as possible. There was a difficulty in the way. Mr Wilson was arranging to go to America, and had paid an instalment of his passage money. Either he must forfeit the money he had paid or the meeting must be delayed. In their circular for November the Federation Board placed the following statement of the case:-- Neither of these alternatives was acceptable, and in order to meet the situation the following resolution was submitted by the owners and accepted by us:-- In order to meet the convenience of Mr Wilson it is agreed that consideration of the claim for a reduction of wages be postponed until the meeting of the Board in November, when Lord Davey shall be invited to attend and, failing agreement, to decide on the claim after consideration of the information which may then be put before him as to the state of trade, a preliminary meeting of the Board to be held on October 29th, in order if possible to effect a settlement without the intervention of the umpire. In harmony with that resolution we met on the 29th of October. There were two courses open to us, as you will see: either we must consider the circumstances warranted the reduction asked for, or on the 5th of November--which is the date of the ordinary quarterly meeting--meet the umpire. One thing more let us point out: on the 24th of October we received the accountants' ascertainment for the quarter ending September, which showed a further fall in the realised selling price of coal. You will easily perceive the force of the situation which he had to meet. Let us enumerate the circumstances. In August the employers claimed a reduction on the result of the ascertainment then obtained. Although they were (as they said) convinced of the validity of their claim, we have kept the higher wage for three months, and you will know how much that means to us as a county, with our large wage fund and the thousands of men and boys employed. Furthermore, there had been another fall in price. If we had gone to the umpire these facts faced us. These facts were fully considered, and the probabilities of the case carefully investigated, and we were convinced that the course most conducive to the best interest of those we represent was the acceptance of the one and a quarter per cent. reduction, and we are as fully convinced that the action will carry your general approval. As is seen by the circular, a settlement was made without the umpire. Lord Davey was informed, and replied as follows:-- 86 Brook Street, W., _October 30, 1904._ Dear Sirs,--I deplore the existence of the circumstances which have admittedly rendered some reduction of wages necessary. But I congratulate both parties on having been able to settle the question themselves by amicable discussion without the intervention of a third party. Nothing affords me greater pleasure than to hear that they have done so. I say this not from any desire to spare myself any trouble in your service, but because it is the best earnest for future harmony and co-operation in which the joint claims both of capital and of labour will be recognised.--I am, dear sirs, yours very faithfully, DAVEY. The Joint Secretaries, Durham Board of Conciliation. THE FILLERS' AGREEMENT With this notice we will conclude our history. For some time there had been a gradual introduction of "Mechanical Coal Cutters," and it was necessary that an arrangement should be made for a new class of workmen known as "Fillers," whose work consisted solely of filling the coals after they had been got down. One main feature had obtained from the commencement in the policy of the Association--viz. the permission to the employers to work the mines as they thought proper (consistent with the safety of the workmen), providing the workmen were paid a recognised wage; and second, no objection was ever raised to the introduction of new machinery, if regard were had to safety and wage. When these machines were brought in their utility was recognised. It was seen they were to ease the heaviest portion of the hewers' work, and the attention was turned to the two considerations named. After many meetings and much negotiation the following agreement was made:-- Agreement made this day, 26th day of November 1904, between the Durham Coal Owners' and Durham Miners' Association:-- 1. That the standard basis piece rate of wages for "Fillers" who follow mechanical coal cutters shall be four shillings and sixpence per shift, and that the length of shift shall be eight hours from bank to bank, except on Saturdays, when it shall be less in proportion to the reduced coal-drawing hours on that day at the respective collieries. 2. That the above standard piece rate shall be the basis for Joint Committee purposes, or for the purpose of any adjustment of "filling" prices, either as to advance, reduction, or revision thereof as the case may be, provided that each one and a quarter per cent. advance or reduction in the county percentage shall be held for Joint Committee purposes to vary the wages of "Fillers" by three farthings per shift. 3. That the duties of "Fillers" shall be held to embrace, according to the requirements of the management of the particular colliery concerned, breaking up, casting, and filling (into such receptacle as may be provided by the said management) coal kirved by mechanical coal cutters; the squaring of the coal face so as to leave it straight and perpendicular; the picking out and casting back under an agreed "laid-out" penalty of all material which the hewers are expected to pick out at the respective collieries; timbering in the absence of the deputy and according to the special and timbering rules; preparing the face and leaving it clean and free for the subsequent operations of the coal cutter. 4. That the "Fillers" shall be included among the classes of men entitled to free houses or the customary allowance for house rent under the conditions of the Conciliation Board resolution of November 5th, 1900, regarding "Houses and House Rent." For the Durham Coal Owners' Association, REGINALD GUTHRIE. For the Durham Miners' Association, JOHN WILSON. The noticeable features in the agreement are--first, the wages, which are 4d. per day (as a basis wage) higher than those of the coal getter, the hours being eight from bank to bank; second, the percentage is regulated as it is for the hewers, five per cent. in price meaning 3d. per day in wages; third, the duties they are called upon to perform are plainly set forth; and fourth, they are entitled to free houses or the customary allowance for rent as the other acknowledged classes. * * * * * _P.S._--Inadvertently the death of Mr Meynell, chairman of the Joint Committee, and the appointment of Judge O'Connor to that office has been omitted and this _P.S._ supplies the omission. The last meeting at which Mr Meynell presided was held on December 14th, 1900. The first under the presidency of Mr O'Connor was on April 9th, 1901; the chair in the _interim_ being filled _pro tem_. AFTER WORDS The Lawyers--The Changes We leave the history of the organisation for the time being, but before closing the volume, it would leave a vacuum if there were not some mention (even if it were little) of the legal advisers who have been connected with the Association, and have helped it in the questions of law which from time to time are inevitable in such a large organisation. The first regular lawyer was Mr "Harry" Marshall, the leading solicitor in the city of Durham. He was well on in life when the Association was founded, but he was retained until the time of his death. His offices were in the Market Place, Durham. He was followed by Mr H. Forrest, who was heir to the business and offices of Mr Marshall, and by a natural sequence the legal matters of the organisation fell into his practice; but they did not remain there long. Gradually Mr I. Isaacs of Sunderland was called in, until finally he was appointed officially to the position. In Mr Isaacs the Association had a very skilful and painstaking adviser, and a gentleman who stood well with the magistrates in every district in the county. He died a young man, but he had attained to a position which was one of the envied positions by the whole of the legal gentlemen in the county. He was made clerk to the Castle Eden magistrates, but, unfortunately, died shortly after; in fact, before he had rightly taken over his duties. He was a man of the highest type, a Jew by religion, upright in all his dealings. The standard he lived up to was high enough for all to aim at. [Illustration: H. F. HEATH] To keep the succession complete we may insert here a notice of his successor, Mr H. F. Heath. He was in Mr Isaacs' office until a very short time prior to the decease of the latter, and from the time of his appointment has proved himself a reliable guide. His advice is given for the good of the Association, and not on the low ground of personal profit. He is as skilful in the stating of a case, or detecting the weak places in the position of his opponents, as he is versed in law. Having to deal with mining matters he has made himself thoroughly acquainted with the technicalities of the mine, and is most desirous for the success of the business which is placed in his hands. No member of the Durham Miners' Association has more regard to its welfare and prosperity than has the miners' solicitor and advocate. CHANGES Within the period of our associated life there have been many changes, a few of which we may with profit enumerate. The "Yearly Bond" has been dealt with as one of the first actions of the Associations. It was considered a species of slavery, and a remnant of the old feudal times when men were part of the estate. We need not dwell further upon it nor its abolition. The change in the "First Caller" is no mean one, apart from its implied shortening of the hours. It uniformed the time for men commencing work in the foreshift, and it gave them two or three hours more time to rest when it was most natural and most needed. The writer of this (as all men who were hewers at that time would go) went to work, if in the whole, at one in the morning. The "caller" made his rounds then, but there were many men who never waited until he came. They were at the pit and down before the time. At some collieries the back shift men went in at six or six-thirty A.M. If they were out until the latter time they were the last to go in. It was not considered necessary to suspend the coal-drawing to send them down. The man and his picks were put into an empty tub, and went down against the full tubs coming up. The engineman was told there was a "man on," and the only difference in the running was the easing up a little at the bottom. When the back shift hewer got to the face he had the company of his marrow for some two or three hours. In 1872 the calling time was changed, and the loosing in the face established. Take the position of checkweighmen. Prior to the commencement of the Union (and at the time) the workmen's choice of their weighman was merely nominal. They selected, but the selection was subject to the approval of the employer or manager, and he was at all times liable to receive his notice, not from the men for whom he worked, but from the manager--and it could be given for anything which did not harmonise with the will of the manager. A breach of the law was not considered except it was colliery-made law. It will be obvious that his freedom of action (so far as the advocacy of the rights of workmen was concerned) would be very much restricted. In the generality of cases the policy was to "lie low." In this there has been a great and useful change. Now the checkweighman is employed by the workmen, and can only be removed by them, except he violates the conditions of the Mines' Regulation Act; and now he is (with rare exceptions) the mouthpiece of the men when meeting the manager, the leader in public movements, and the most prominent in matters relating to the Association. No less important is the facility for meeting the employers, and the spirit of equality which obtains. What a contrast between 1869 and 1904! Then it was truly a meeting of the superior with his inferiors, and as a natural consequence there was an absence of free discussion, which is so essential to the proper settlement of the questions arising between employers and workmen. Happily, that feeling has died out. There is less of the dictator and dictated to, and more of the meeting of equals. Then it was thought to employ men was to confer a favour upon them, and that consequently they were to consider themselves under patronage, and be satisfied with the treatment meted out to the patronised. Now it is realised that if the employers employ a man's labour the workmen employ their capital, that reciprocity and mutuality form the platform upon which the two sides can meet, and that free, unrestrained, courteous expression is not merely the right, but the safest and most beneficial course. There has not only been an economic benefit accruing to both sides alike, as a result of this equality, but there has been a mental stimulus given to the workmen. It is true that, concurrently with the life of the Association, the schoolmaster has been more abroad amongst the people. The boys commence work later in life, and with a larger mental capital, and that as a consequence there is more ability at command for the use of workmen, but it is a safe assertion that the fact of the organisation operating in our midst has been no mean factor in stimulating the use of the learning so acquired. The young men think it no small attainment to take part in the various offices which are held out to them in the Union, and they know as well that they must be prepared to fill those offices in an intelligent manner. It would be a difficult, but yet a most interesting, calculation if it could be shown how many men have been incited to mental activity in the manner indicated. From the very inception the Association has demonstrated that the industrial relations in this county were passing out of the region of brute force into that of reason, and the play of mind against mind, and that the body of working men who desire to hold their own, and progress, must do so by the mental force they could command. The greater that force the safer the position, and the more assured the amelioration of their conditions. By that will they conquer. The contrast between the number of able men now and in 1869 is encouraging. It gives the young assurance, and rejoices the heart of the aged, who in their youth saw this day as in a vision, but desired it. A natural corollary from the equality in meeting and the mental impetus is the amended mode of settling disputes and conducting our negotiations. We have come from a chronic state of open and avowed antagonism to (if not complete conciliation) at least a great approach to it. The history in describing the various stages in our path, will prove that the old era of contention was wearying and wasteful, as it was sure to be when the two parties considered themselves as two armies, and their strength of numbers and increase in capital were for purposes of crushing the other side. These ideas, like that of national superiority and large armaments, were hard to destroy on either side. Their presence made the attempts at compromise more difficult, and often helped those who were wishful to retrograde. They brought about the abolition of the sliding scales and the first Conciliation Board. It may be at some future stage they will effect the same with the second. This will not be, if the past teaches any lessons and the workmen of Durham recognise the tendency of the times. That is towards conciliation, and no step should be taken except to perfect it. If wisdom rules, that backward action will be avoided as a great danger. A very pleasing change is the greater care for life manifest during the last thirty-six years. The county has had its share of explosions in the period indicated. The following table will give us a view as to the extent of the life-saving in the mines of the nation. The table deals with three decades, and 1905 singly, and gives the deaths per year, the numbers of persons employed, with the number of tons, the average of each ten years being taken. Ten Years Deaths per Number of Number of ending Year Persons Employed Tons 1882 1129 558,816 152,221,629 1892 1032 614,200 182,646,507 1902 1015 666,060 215,790,835 1905 1159 887,524 249,782,594 The table is very cheering. The full value of it will be realised if we take the decade ending 1882 and compare it with 1905. There we have thirty more deaths, but we have 300,000 more people employed, and an increase of over 97,000,000 tons in output. The proportionate reduction in the saving of life is great. Three more changes remain to be noted. First, the political change. In 1869 the political power in the hands of the miners (as of all county dwellers) was a very small quantity. The logic of the situation was curious. Above a certain monetary position or size of a house, or possession of land, or living on one side of a line, men were allowed to vote; without those, and being over the line, they were prohibited. The law of England was an open declaration that houses, money, land, all insensate, could guarantee a man a qualification for doing that which alone can be done properly by the operation of mind, and living within an arbitrary area imparted to him full competency for the right of citizenship. He might have them to-day, and live on the borough side of the line, and be qualified; but the vicissitudes of life might strip him of his possessions--or the necessities of his occupation might compel him to move to-morrow--and he would be considered unfit to take part in the election of those who had to make the laws he was bound to obey, which is certainly a most sacred right. That anomaly was swept away. The Durham miners took their share of the work, and set the example as to the proper use of the power. Another of the changes we note is the strong desire there is for an improved home life. It is not an extraneous feeling forced upon the miners by outsiders, but is within them. There is a great change in that respect. There has been much done in the direction of the much-needed reform. The present is a long way from being satisfactory, but it is far in advance of the state at the inception of the Association. That only existed because it was born of use. The old-time houses are a standing witness of the opinion those who built them had of the workmen. How should we know that the merciful man regarded the life of his beast except by the manner of his feeding and _housing_? There is a change in that respect, but there is a more hopeful one, and that is the desire on the part of those who live in them for betterment. The man who is _content_ with a hovel, or room in a slum, will never look higher. To be dissatisfied with them is healthy, and is the sure road to a better state. May the feeling grow until bad houses and insanitation are removed; but it should never be forgotten that a house itself does not make a home--the life in it alone can do that. The last of the changes, but not the least, is the altered opinion about, and the more accurate knowledge of, the miner there is in the country. Forty years ago, to many of the people of London the northern miner was a dweller in remote regions, and a man of uncouth and rude speech and habits. Some believed he remained down in the mine, never coming to bank except for a holiday. The writer was once asked by a man not far from London how long he had been in the mines. He replied eight or nine years. Then said the querist: "Have you never been up till now?" He was informed that the miner came up every day. With surprise he exclaimed: "I thought you lived down in the mines altogether." That is only one of the numerous instances which could safely be quoted expressive of the ignorance about the miner and his life. They knew his product because it warmed them and cooked their food, but that was the extent of their correct information. But the change in the geographical and domestic knowledge is not all, nor the most important; the altered opinion of the miner as a man is more. The common name was the "Geordies," and that was used as being indicative of something low rather than a class cognomen. It was the idea as seen in the attitude of many in Durham when the first gala was held--as stated above. That is all changed during the thirty-six years we have existed as an Association. The man who speaks lightly of the class does it in the face of the clearest light, and from malice. It is of the class we speak here. If we reason from the individual our logic will be unsound, and all classes stand condemned. Taken in the bulk, as compared with our start, the miner has been raised on to a pedestal of respect. That is a result of his own self-respect. Without the latter the former will never be attained. It is the compelling force. It is the philosophy of Shakespeare's "To thine own self be true," which finds exemplification in every sphere and grade of life. The Durham miners have shown this in a marked degree. They may be void of some of the polish which is to be found amid the complaisances and conventionalities of the finer trades or higher walks of life--their battle for bread is a rough one--but he who wants honesty, uprightness, and bravery will not be disappointed if he turns to them. He need not seek far. IN MEMORIAM We have finished our history for the present, and traced it in rapid outline for thirty years. With the benefits we are enjoying from it, the enjoyment must not induce forgetfulness of the brave men who laid the foundations of our little kingdom, for such it is. We enter into their labours, but we will do so with gratitude, and not indifference. Their memory deserves more than a mere casual place with us. We should not be true men if we gave it only that. Let us remember that in reality the position we have realised and the solidity of our Association have been won and made possible by their spirit and foresight, and because we have kept ourselves close to the lines of their procedure. Ours is a great organisation, not because of its numbers (bulk may be weakness), but because of its principles. If it were not so, instead of standing out prominently as we do we should be in a dwarfed and stunted condition, and comparatively useless. The structure we now possess has risen by slow growth from very small beginnings and opposing forces. Every new idea, all the teaching of experience, were used as blocks by those patient builders laying the foundation for those who were to follow them. It is true there might be some mistake and bungling in the building. But in spite of these the structure has arisen with solidity, and from the rubble of that time we have reared up great walls and fair outlines, giving promise of future strength, durability, and usefulness. Truly the little one has become a great nation, and the weak one a strong force, and as long as we do not harm ourselves no power outside can. How shall we show our respect for them? We have no possible way except by carrying on their work and seeking to give effect and volume to it. The end of their policy was reform, not revolution--not only in a political way, but in every direction where it was needed. Every hindrance in the whole round of working conditions was to them an evil, and as such should be removed. Where immediate abolition was not possible they tried to reduce its magnitude. They preached the ideal life, seized the possible, and made the best of circumstances. And is the wisdom of their action not evident? The spasmodic has been succeeded by the settled and the orderly. Where hate was endangering the general weal by its unreasoning action we now have regular business relations. No doubt to many whose main feature is ardency and rush they were slow-paced. These would have gone faster, but there would have been slower progress. To the Israelites Moses was slow-paced, but the wilderness was their portion as a result of their grumbling. There were grumblers in our start from Egypt to a better position (some of them remain to this day), but these are not the spirits who would either lay foundations or rear structures. The live men before us now were not grumblers. They were too busy; the work before them was too imperative. They were discontented; but in essence there is a wide difference between that and a grumbler. Never since the world began has any grievance been removed by the latter class. They may have hindered, but never helped. They are the drags on the wheels, and complain because more speed is not made. The men of 1869 were men of different mettle, or the fear is we should never have had the Association we have, nor stood in the proud position we enjoy among the trades organisations of the nation. We are reaping where they sowed, and while we enjoy the harvest let us remember the sowers. We have placed their statues in a prominent position; but what do they mean to us? They are reminders of a state of things in a large part passed away, and as suggesters of a hope of a larger life in the future they contain a recognition and a resolve--a recognition of their work and a resolve to carry it forward: a recognition of the debt we owe to them, which can only be paid by service rendered to others. It is a debt which no statue, no matter how costly or lifelike, can liquidate. It can only be paid in kind. That is a truth we should not forget, but on all occasions give expression to. It is that expression which stamps real dignity upon the life of any man. Position, rank, title, wealth are all useless, for the true index is manliness and useful service. The true reformers have been (and are) men who assisted the good and resisted the evil, not simply because it would pay or bring preferment or popularity, but because they felt in their hearts the impulses (and compulsions, if you will) of duty. The love of man constrained them, and the imperative _I must_ forced them onward. The world's progress has not depended on the acts of the so-called great men, but on the endeavours and self-denials of men who were lost often amid the mists and struggles and poverty of life, and to whom its heavy burdens were not theoretical, but terribly near in their contact, and fearful in their weight and trial. The deeds of the workers of the race are not recorded to decorate history, but for strengthening the generations to come. For such purpose has prominence been given here to our workers. "The measure of a nation's civilisation is the number of the brave men it has had, whose qualities have been harvested for children and youth." We have had our brave men. They did not live to themselves. In this we must be their imitators. AU REVOIR I have had many pleasant occupations in connection with our Association, and the writing of this outline of our history is not the least pleasing among them. It has taken much time, but the result has been (not to be burdensome, but) to impart a somewhat hurried and loose character to the writing, and perhaps some slight omissions of facts, not material to the general course of the history. It has been compiled in the rush of other matters, and in odd minutes as they offered themselves, but its purpose will be attained if a desire to form a closer acquaintance with our growth and transactions be provoked, especially in the minds of our young men, in the hope that they may be rooted and grounded in their faith in Trades Unionism. The dependence of the future is upon them. What is more important than for them to have a full knowledge of our policy and procedure? The subject is to me of the most interesting nature. From start to finish it has been running the current of my own life, because in nearly all the incidents I have had some small share--as one in the ranks at first, and in these later years as one of the officials. I saw the start, have seen the growth, and feel proud of its position. With those who helped to form it I shared the evil speaking and unfair treatment when we made the attempt, and have never hesitated to be a partner in the blame and slanders which small-minded men have seen fit to bestow upon those who were doing their duty. The narrow mind always feels a pleasure in censuring others. I say nothing of the work which has been done except this: in all I have had any part in there has been pleasure, and none of the hireling waiting for the shadow of the day. I have shared the regrets of those who regretted the failures, and now I am thankful there is large room to rejoice over the progress made and the position attained. This feeling, you will permit me to say, is bound to be stronger in me than in most men. It is part of my life. Thirty-seven years is a long time. A man is a fool, or worse, if, living in contact with an institution (one in which he has lived and moved and had his being), it has not made more than a mechanical impression upon him. I have passed from youth to age in that contact. It commenced in the prime of manhood, and continues when life's day is declining, and the gathering shades indicate the sun has dipped far to the west, and to find myself in active service, even with the limited powers resulting from the weight of threescore years and ten, is the crown of my rejoicing. I have been a long time the colleague of some of you. In the battle we have been shoulder to shoulder, and our hair has turned grey in the fight. We have been together in good and evil, for the web of our life has been of mingled yarn. Good and evil together have been mixed, but the good has predominated--how much we alone can tell. I rejoice with you that we have lived to see this day, and that we are still fighting the good fight, with the hopeful spirit, if the physical energies are less than when we commenced. There is a great distance between the point we have attained and the valley whence we started--a distance not measured by time. The true standard is an experience such as our life alone can supply. My final word is to my young brothers. It is that of exhortation to appreciate not merely the conditions you enjoy, but the possibilities opened out to you. The thought of these should stir you up to the enjoyment of one and the use of the other. Believe me, about this I am very anxious, and shall rejoice if something in this book, or suggested by it, tends to stir you to good and profitable use of the facilities and time the Association has opened out to you. The opening out of these devolves upon you a twofold duty: to yourselves first, and then devoting yourselves to the improvement, solidifying, strengthening, and perfecting of the organisation. Let me quote a few words I have written to you before: To omit the duty you owe to yourselves; to neglect the opportunities which are open to you; to think all of pleasure and sport, and nothing of mental culture; to leave the institutes which are opening out to you, with their libraries, and which with their stores of knowledge bring you into living, thoughtful contact with the mental giants of the race; to live only for present enjoyment, with no preparation for to-morrow, which will need and make demands upon you, is surely a lack of forethought, which is condemnable for two reasons, because it stunts your own nature (for no uneducated man is complete), and hinders your usefulness when matured manhood calls upon you to take your place in the affairs of your class and nation, to assist in the progress of one and the rectification of the national evils. Put not your trust in other people entirely; look not to some power outside yourselves to raise you higher in the social scale, whether it be parliamentary or otherwise. The most effective means for further progress lies in us. We want to be true to ourselves, resting not satisfied with foul conditions and surroundings nor ignorance. An educated people is a powerful people; for where is there a man who knows what is due to a man who will be satisfied with less than what a man requires and deserves? These thoughts form the _raison-d'être_ of this history. The aim is to make it a reliable record of facts and an inspiration to those who read. There has been no attempt at literary display. There has been a desire to give prominence to the principles of the founders, and to urge adherence to them, for by them we have come, and by them we shall progress. Our course has been gradual, but it has been safe. We have a record of which all may justly feel proud. It has not been rushing nor spasmodic. In these ofttimes lies ruin, and this we have found when we as an Association have tried that method. Carefulness and caution are not cowardice. These feelings may not be heroic, but they have proved their fitness in the years that are gone. "Discretion is the better part of valour." "More firm and sure the hand of courage strikes When it obeys the watchful eye of caution." This was the leading feature of those who made our present possible. No one would dare charge them with lack of true heroism. Let me urge upon you the same spirit. The road may seem longer, and the processes more painful and slow, but these need not damp your spirits. They should brace you for the struggle, strengthen your purpose, fix more firmly your hopes, give you larger faith in the future, induce you to realise your place in life and not be drifters with the current. There are too many who are satisfied to merely exist. They have no aspiration nor ideal nor hope. No man has a right to pass through life indifferent to the wrongs around him. Two things we must avoid: impetuosity in associated work and stagnation in the individual life. Each life should be a clear current, invigorating, not a mere moral miasmatic pool, but cleansing, elevating, ennobling. There are three voices calling upon this generation: the past with the work done for us; the present with its demands upon our help for rectification; and the future with its possibilities of a better and purer life. There are many powers opened out to you, but there are three which stand out prominently: sobriety, education, association. These used, the darkness will disperse, the downtrodden be raised, and England made truly a home for her people. The continuous sunshine in which some dwell and the dark poverty in which thousands exist will be blended, every soul-enslaving fetter be bruised and broken and cast away, and the world be brighter for our living in it; and we, when called to our account, will feel cheered that we have done what we could to cast out the old and cruel conditions and ring in the Christ that is to be, when want and hunger shall be no more and that state which the rich provision in nature and the wonderful production around us provides for shall be realised. APPENDIX I THE GALAS, WITH THE DAY AND DATE UPON WHICH THEY WERE HELD 1871 Saturday, August 12th, at Wharton Park, Durham. 1872 " June 15th, on Race-course, Durham. 1873 " June 14th " " 1874 " August 15th " " 1875 " July 3rd " " 1876 Monday July 3rd " " 1877 " July 16th " " 1878 Saturday July 6th " " 1879 " July 5th " " 1880 " July 31st " " 1881 " July 30th " " 1882 " July 1st " " 1883 " July 14th " " 1884 " July 5th " " 1885 " July 25th " " 1886 " July 31st " " 1887 " July 23rd " " 1888 " July 14th " " 1889 " July 6th " " 1890 " July 12th " " 1891 " July 4th " " 1892 " July 23rd " " 1893 " July 29th " " 1894 " July 21st " " 1895 " July 27th " " 1896 " July 18th " " 1897 " July 24th " " 1898 " July 16th " " 1899 " July 22nd " " 1900 " July 28th " " 1901 " July 20th " " 1902 " July 26th " " 1903 " July 18th " " 1904 " July 23rd " " 1905 " July 29th " " 1906 " July 21st " " APPENDIX II CHANGES IN WAGES FROM 1872 Date of change Advance Reduction taking effect per cent. per cent. February 1872 20 -- July 1872 15 -- February 1873 15 -- April 1874 -- 10 November 1874 -- 9 April 1875 -- 5 February 1876 -- 7 September 1876 -- 6 April 1877 -- 7½ May 1879 -- 8¾ July 1879 -- 1¼ December 1880 2½ -- April 1882 3¾ -- August 1882 -- 1¼ November 1882 1¼ -- February 1883 1¼ -- August 1884 -- 1¼ May 1885 -- 1¼ May 1886 -- 1¼ February 1888 1¼ -- May 1888 -- 1¼ August 1888 -- 1¼ November 1888 1¼ -- February 1889 1¼ -- August 1889 10 -- December 1889 10 -- March 3-10, 1890 5 -- December 29, 1890 5 -- January 5, 1891 -- -- June 1, 1892 -- 10 March 1893 -- 5 [1]October 16, 1893 5 -- May 6-13, 1895 -- 7½ October 7-14, 1895 -- 2½ August 14-21, 1897 2½ -- [2]May 16-23, 1898 2½ -- May 16-23, 1898 2½ -- Oct. 31-Nov. 7, 1898 2½ -- [3]April 17-24, 1899 2½ -- July 24-31, 1899 2½ -- November 6-13, 1899 3¾ -- February 12-19, 1900 5 -- May 14-21, 1900 7½ -- August 13-20, 1900 10 -- November 12-19, 1900 10 -- February 11-18, 1901 -- 1¼ May 13-20, 1901 -- 11¼ August 12-19, 1901 -- 7½ November 12-19, 1901 -- 5 February 17-24, 1902 -- 1¼ May 12-19, 1902 -- 2½ August 11-18, 1902 -- 2½ February 9-16, 1903 1¼ -- May 11-18, 1903 -- 1¼ August 10-17, 1903 -- 1¼ February 8-15, 1904 -- 1¼ May 16-23, 1904 -- 2½ November 7-14, 1904 -- 1¼ February 5-12, 1906 1¼ -- August 6-13, 1906 2½ -- November 12-19, 1906 1¼ -- [Footnote 1: Originally given as a temporary advance for six pays, afterwards converted into an ordinary advance.] [Footnote 2: Originally given for six pays, afterwards continued for further period of six pays, and again extended until pays ending 15th and 22nd April 1899; it was then continued as an ordinary advance.] [Footnote 3: Of this advance one and a quarter per cent. was given for seven pays, and afterwards merged in the ordinary percentage.] APPENDIX III Table showing the explosions and inundations, with the date and number of lives lost, since the beginning of 1869, in Durham, brought down to the end of 1906, with two statements on the dust theory by Mr J. Forman. Lives lost 1869--May 25, Monkwearmouth 7 1871--October 25, Seaham 30 1878--July 6, Craghead exploded 4 1880--September 8, Seaham Colliery exploded 168 1882--February 16, Trimdon Colliery exploded 74 1882--April 18, Tudhoe exploded 36 1882--April 13, West Stanley exploded 13 1885--March 2, Usworth exploded 41 1885--June 3, Houghton-le-Spring 12 1885--December 2, Elemore 28 1889--November 2, Hebburn 6 1895--December 13, Eppleton 3 1896--April 13, Brancepeth A Pit 20 1897--May 6, East Hetton, inundation 10 1899--August 15, Brandon C Pit 6 1902--May 20, Deaf Hill 1 1903--November 16, Sacriston, inundation 3 1906--October 14, Wingate, explosion 24 1906--December 17, Urpeth Busty, explosion 4 A THEORY SHOWING HOW COAL DUST IS IGNITED AND EXPLODED IN A COAL MINE, MORE ESPECIALLY ON IN-TAKE AIR ROADS In the first place, there must be a considerable quantity of very fine and dry coal dust in the immediate proximity of a shot when fired; and if the shot is a strong one the concussion will be very great. This force, acting on the air, throws the finest particles of coal dust into the circulating current, in a finely divided state, with orbid motion, thereby causing each particle of coal dust to be surrounded with air, and these particles of dust in this condition coming in contact with the flame of a shot, are easily ignited. At the moment of ignition the temperature of the particles of dust is low, but as the ignition extends to other particles, and they become ignited in quantity, the temperature rises, so that the motion of the heated particles becomes more rapid by expanding and compressing the air, until their velocity is so great that the temperature of the burning dust is raised to the temperature of gas flame, exploding the coal dust in its course. At this high temperature, the expansion of the air will develop great force, which acting on the dust at rest, will whirl it into the air current, and this will be continued so long as there is a sufficient quantity of coal dust and air to feed the flame. JOHN FORMAN. * * * * * To J. Wilson, Esq., Secretary to the Royal Commission on Explosions from Coal Dust in Mines. Dear Sir,--In October 1871 an explosion occurred at Seaham Colliery, and my attention was called to it; and, after considering all the circumstances of the case, I eventually came to the conclusion that the shot fired by the two Simpsons ignited the coal dust and caused the explosion. In September 1880 another explosion took place at Seaham Colliery. I went down the pit in the evening of the day of the explosion with Mr Stratton (the manager) and other Mining Engineers, and I remained at Seaham Colliery for 12 months, until the last body was found, and was, during that time, down the pit almost every day as an explorer. I also attended the inquest and gave evidence. I was satisfied from what I saw that the shot fired by Simpson and Brown ignited the coal dust and caused the explosion. In February 1882 an explosion occurred at Trimdon Grange Colliery. I went down the pit and attended the inquest, and from what I saw and heard I concluded that the explosion was caused by a flushed kitty or straw at Maitland's shot firing a small quantity of fire-damp, which ignited the coal dust and caused the explosion. In April 1882 an explosion occurred at West Stanley Colliery. I attended the inquest, and from what I could learn the shot fired by the two men (Douglas and Hutchinson) ignited a small portion of fire-damp, which fired the coal dust, and brought on an explosion. In March 1885 an explosion happened at Usworth Colliery. I attended the inquest, and came to an opinion that the shot fired by the two men, named Brown, ignited the coal dust, which produced an explosion. In December 1886 an explosion occurred at Elemore Colliery. I went down the pit and attended the inquest. I was satisfied, in my mind, that the shot fired by the three men (Johnson, Appleby and Luke) ignited the coal dust, thereby causing the explosion.--Yours, etc. JOHN FORMAN. _December 1886._ INDEX A Accountants, 128, 164, 314 Aftermath of 1892 strike, 245 Agents' districts, 23-24 Alteration of the "First Caller," 59, 337 Amicability in disputes, 340 Arbitration, Deputies', 170 -- earliest, 33 -- first general, 85, 103 -- second, 109 -- third, 113 -- fourth, 118 -- owners refuse, 152 -- working hours, 169 Armstrong, W., 103, 109 Attempts to form Union, 6 Average, county, 162 -- theoretical and real, 147 Award, 1879, _pro tem_., 157 -- J. R. Lyn's, 220 Awards, Lord Davey's, 1895, 267-269 Award, Lord Davey's, 1902, 319 B Bank Holiday, 318 Banking account, 18 Benefits, reduction of, 199 Blagdon, Rev. M., 26 Bond, yearly, 17, 47, 49 Boys' wages, 309, 324 Broken price agreement, 325 Brown, W., 8, 35 Building, the, 16 Bunning, T. W., 47 Burt, T., 8, 20, 103, 182 C Cairns, A., 23, 26, 32 "Caller, First," 59, 337 Candymen, 96 Cann, T. H., appointed treasurer, 276 Care for life, 341 Changes, 337 Checkweighmen, 73, 338 Clerk, first appointed, 105 Coal-drawing agreement, 323 Coal Owners' Association formed, 46 Coal Tax, 310 Commission, Royal, 86 Committee, 1879, 160 Compensation Act 1897, 291 Conciliation Board, 263 -- first members of, 266 -- renewed, 294, 331 Co-operative colliery, 90, 110 -- Committee, 110 County Council, 209 Crake, W., 7, 13 Crawford, W., 6, 9, 23, 26, 31, 33, 37, 103, 109 -- attack on, 80 -- censure on, 84 -- candidature of, 88 -- death of, 215 D Dale, D., Sir, 103, 109, 157 Dark Days, 197 Deputies' basis wage fixed, 301 -- difference as to, 120 -- hours, 1870, 121 -- wage, 1870, 121 -- wage, 173 Derby, Lord, 160 Desire for better houses, 343 E Educational benefit of Union, 340 Emigration, 131, 165 Employers' Liability Act, 172 Entrance fee, first, 18, 121 Equality, 339 Evictions, Wheatley Hill, 96 Ex-Committee condemned, 145 -- expelled, 114 -- rules, 114 F Federation Board formed, 140 -- condemned, 145 -- first members of the, 141 Federation, Miners', -- Durham miners and the, 251, 256 -- expulsion from the, 259 -- refuses Durham, 277 Fillers' agreement, 333 Firemen's week-end shifts, 316 Five days per week, 183 Forman, J., 36, 38, 103, 105, 119 -- death of, 302 Forsters', W. E., award, 109 Fowler, J., 61 Franchise Association, 88 -- extension of, 191 G Gala, first, 31-34 -- first on the race-course, 59 Galbraith, S., appointed, 305 Golightly, W., 105 Gordon, W., 114, 118 Graham, Coroner, 298 Gurney's, Russell, award, 103 Guthrie, R., 207 H Hall, the new, 82, 118 Hand putters' basis wage, 324 Heath, Mr, 337 Hewers' datal wage, 306 Homes, Aged Miners', 297 Hopwood's, C. H., award, 113 Hours arbitration, 132 Hours', arrangement, ten, 214, 217 -- eight, 199 -- ballot on, 248 -- second ballot on, 321 -- of boys, 32, 48, 74, 77, 83 Houses and house rent, 307 Housing condition, 104, 110 House, W., appointed to Joint Committee, 292 -- appointed President, 305 I Imprisonment of Messrs Cann, Jones, and Forbes, 244 Increased knowledge of the miners, 343 Industrial Remuneration Conference, 190 Isaacs, Mr, 336 J Johnson, J., appointed treasurer, 217 -- fin. secretary, 276 Johnson, Mr, and Gateshead, 328 Joint Committee, formation of, 66 -- first meeting, 69 -- suspended, 164, 329 Jones, L., 83, 103, 109, 119, 196 Judge, a, puzzled, 30 L Labourers' basis wage, 306 Labour representation, 194, 326 Leaders, the first, 37 Lords, House of, 192 M Macdonald, A., 17 -- death of, 180 Meynell, Mr E., 112, 335 -- award, 134 Miners' demand for trained miners, 90 -- International Congress, formed, 223 -- National Conference, 25, 124 -- Act 1861, 1 -- Act 1871, 71 -- Act 1872, 71, 72 N Negotiations of 1890, 211 Notices given to enforce a reduction, 101 -- again given by owners, 107 O O'Connor, Judge, 197, 335 Officers, first, 14 Opposition, 41, 42, 43, 44 P Patterson, W. H., 8, 13, 26, 39, 113 -- appointed corres. secretary, 216 -- death of, 273 Patterson's, Mr, statue, 319 Political power, 342 Position of the Association, 136 President, first, 19 President, permanent, 105 Putters' hours at datal work, 316 -- short shift, stone, 324 R Ramsey, T., 8, 25, 80 Reduction, first, 89, 91 -- second, 98 -- third, 105 -- fourth, 111 -- fifth, 115 -- of bankmen, 104 -- of 1879, 141 Reductions, private, 148 Relief Fund, first, 129 -- second, 187 Rent paying in 1892, 247 Resolutions, first gala, 61 Restriction of output, 167 Rhymer, E., 6, 84 Richardson, J., 7, 11 Rocking Strike, 2 S Salary of first treasurer, 25 Sanderson, R. B., 68, 112 Screenmen's basis wage, 306 Seaham strike, 55 Shaw Lefevre's award, 119 Simpson, C., 114 Sliding Scale, first, 124 -- second, 163 -- third, 174 -- fourth, 185 -- abolished, 202 -- violation of, 167 Smart money, 309 Stobart, W., 46 Strike at Silksworth, 223 -- at Wheatley Hill, 95 -- of 1874, 93 -- of 1879, 154 -- of 1892, 231 Strikes illegal, 24 Surface firemen's wages, 325 T Taylor, Hugh, 47, 63 -- J. W., 328 Thornley meeting, 13 Timber leaders' hours, 317 Trotter, L., 197 Trustees, first, 14 W Wage Board, first mention of, 235, 251, 254 Wages, advance in, 48, 50, 63, 71, 76 Wages in 1898-99, 288, 293 Washington strike, 281 Water leaders' hours, 317 Wearmouth strike, 3 Westcott, Bishop, 241, 262, 299 -- death of, 313 Wheatley Hill inundation, 28 -- "Putt Pay," 188 Wilkinson, N., 8, 14, 38, 113, 119, 182 Wilson, J., 114, 118, 182, 192 -- appointed fin. secretary, 217 -- appointed corres. secretary, 276 Wood, Lindsay, Mr, 68, 83, 157, 207 J. H. VEITCH AND SONS DURHAM * * * * * Transcriber's Notes Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Hyphenation has been rationalised. Variations in spelling and punctuation have been retained. Words in _italics_ are denoted thus. The repetition of the title on page 1 has been removed. 
41154	----	THE WALKING DELEGATE [Illustration: THE WALKING DELEGATE] The Walking Delegate By Leroy Scott _With Frontispiece_ New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1905 Copyright, 1905, by Doubleday, Page & Company Published May, 1905 _All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian_ To My Wife CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. ON THE ST. ETIENNE HOTEL 3 II. THE WALKING DELEGATE 14 III. THE RISE OF BUCK FOLEY 30 IV. A COUNCIL OF WAR 9 V. TOM SEEKS HELP FROM THE ENEMY 50 VI. IN WHICH FOLEY PLAYS WITH TWO MICE 59 VII. GETTING THE MEN IN LINE 72 VIII. THE COWARD 85 IX. RUTH ARNOLD 98 X. LAST DAYS OF THE CAMPAIGN 111 XI. IN FOLEY'S "OFFICE" 120 XII. THE ELECTION 129 XIII. THE DAY AFTER 145 XIV. NEW COURAGE AND NEW PLANS 153 XV. MR. BAXTER HAS A FEW CONFERENCES 166 XVI. BLOWS 177 XVII. THE ENTERTAINMENT COMMITTEE 187 XVIII. THE STOLEN STRIKE 203 XIX. FOLEY TASTES REVENGE 210 XX. TOM HAS A CALLER 224 XXI. WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 236 XXII. THE PROGRESS OF THE STRIKE 250 XXIII. THE TRIUMPH OF BUSINESS SENSE 257 XXIV. BUSINESS IS BUSINESS 267 XXV. IN WHICH FOLEY BOWS TO DEFEAT 279 XXVI. PETERSEN'S SIN 290 XXVII. THE THOUSANDTH CHANCE 304 XXVIII. THE EXPOSURE 313 XXIX. IN WHICH MR. BAXTER SHOWS HIMSELF A MAN OF RESOURCES 331 XXX. THE LAST OF BUCK FOLEY 338 XXXI. TOM'S LEVEE 348 XXXII. THE THORN OF THE ROSE 364 LIST OF CHARACTERS BUCK FOLEY, a walking delegate. TOM KEATING, a foreman. MAGGIE KEATING, his wife. MR. BAXTER, President of Iron Employers' Ass'n. MRS. BAXTER. MR. DRISCOLL, a contractor. RUTH ARNOLD, his secretary. MR. BERMAN, junior partner of Mr. Driscoll. MR. MURPHY, a contractor. MR. BOBBS, a contractor. MR. ISAACS, a contractor. CONNELLY, Secretary of Iron Workers' Union. NELS PETERSEN, a "scab." ANNA PETERSEN, his wife. PIG IRON PETE, a workman JOHNSON, a workman. BARRY, a workman. MRS. BARRY. JAKE HENDERSON } ARKANSAS NUMBER TWO } Members of KAFFIR BILL } "The Entertainment SMOKEY } Committee." HICKEY } THE WALKING DELEGATE Chapter I ON THE ST. ETIENNE HOTEL The St. Etienne Hotel would some day be as bulky and as garishly magnificent as four million dollars could make it. Now it was only a steel framework rearing itself into the center of the overhead grayness--a black pier supporting the grimy arch of heaven. Up on its loosely-planked twenty-first story stood Mr. Driscoll, watching his men at work. A raw February wind scraped slowly under the dirty clouds, which soiled the whole sky, and with a leisurely content thrust itself into his office-tendered flesh. He shivered, and at times, to throw off the chill, he paced across the pine boards, carefully going around the gaps his men were wont to leap. And now and then his eyes wandered from his lofty platform. On his right, below, there were roofs; beyond, a dull bar of water; beyond, more roofs: on his left there were roofs; a dull bar of water; more roofs: and all around the jagged wilderness of house-tops reached away and away till it faded into the complete envelopment of a smudgy haze. Once Mr. Driscoll caught hold of the head of a column and leaned out above the street; over its dizzy bottom erratically shifted dark specks--hats. He drew back with a shiver with which the February wind had nothing to do. It was a principle with Mr. Driscoll, of Driscoll & Co., contractors for steel bridges and steel frames of buildings, that you should not show approval of your workmen's work. "Give 'em a smile and they'll do ten per cent. less and ask ten per cent. more." So as he now watched his men, one hand in his overcoat pocket, one on his soft felt hat, he did not smile. It was singularly easy for him not to smile. Balanced on his short, round body he had a round head with a rim of reddish-gray hair, and with a purplish face that had protruding lips which sagged at each corner, and protruding eyes whose lids blinked so sharply you seemed to hear their click. So much nature had done to help him adhere to his principle. And he, in turn, had added to his natural endowment by growing mutton-chops. Long ago someone had probably expressed to him a detestation of side-whiskers, and he of course had begun forthwith to shave only his chin. His men were setting twenty-five foot steel columns into place,--the gang his eyes were now on, moving actively about a great crane, and the gang about the great crane at the building's other end. Their coats were buttoned to their chins to keep out the February wind; their hands were in big, shiny gloves; their blue and brown overalls, from the handling of painted iron, had the surface and polish of leather. They were all in the freshness of their manhood--lean, and keen, and full of spirit--vividly fit. Their work explained their fitness; it was a natural civil service examination that barred all but the active and the daring. And yet, though he did not smile, Mr. Driscoll was cuddled by satisfaction as he stood on the great platform just under the sky and watched the brown men at work. He had had a deal of trouble during the past three years--accidents, poor workmen, delays due to strikes over inconsequential matters--all of which had severely taxed his profits and his profanity. So the smoothness with which this, his greatest job, progressed was his especial joy. In his heart he credited this smoothness to the brown young foreman who had just come back to his side--but he didn't tell Keating so. "The riveters are keeping right on our heels," said Tom. "Would you like to go down and have a look at 'em?" "No," said Mr. Driscoll shortly. The foreman shrugged his shoulders slightly, and joined the gang Mr. Driscoll was watching. In the year he had worked for Mr. Driscoll he had learned to be philosophic over that gentleman's gruffness: he didn't like the man, so why should he mind his words? The men had fastened a sling about a twenty-five foot column and to this had attached the hook of the pulley. The seventy-foot arm of the crane now slowly rose and drew after it the column, dangling vertically. Directed by the signals of Tom's right hand the column sank with precision to its appointed place at one corner of the building. It was quickly fastened to the head of the column beneath it with four bolts. Later the riveters, whose hammers were now maintaining a terrific rattle two floors below, would replace the four bolts by four rows of rivets. "Get the sling, Pete," ordered Tom. At this a loosely-jointed man threw off his slouch hat, encircled the column with his arms, and mounted with little springs. Near its top he locked his legs around the column, and, thus supported and working with both hands, he unfastened the rope from the pulley hook and the column, and threw it below. He then stepped into the hook of the pulley, swung through the air to the flooring, picked up his hat and slapped it against his leg. Sometimes Mr. Driscoll forgot his principle. While Pete was nonchalantly loosening the sling, leaning out over the street, nothing between him and the pavement but the grip of his legs, there was something very like a look of admiration in Mr. Driscoll's aggravating eyes. He moved over to Pete just as the latter was pulling on his slouch hat. "I get a shiver every time I see a man do that," he said. "That? That's nothin'," said Pete. "I'd a heap ruther do that than work down in the street. Down in the street, why, who knows when a brick's agoin' to fall on your head!" "Um!" Mr. Driscoll remembered himself and his eyes clicked. He turned from Pete, and called to the young foreman: "I'll look at the riveters now." "All right. Oh, Barry!" There came toward Tom a little, stocky man, commonly known as "Rivet Head." Someone had noted the likeness of his cranium to a newly-hammered rivet, and the nickname had stuck. "Get the other four columns up out of the street before setting any more," Tom ordered, and then walked with Mr. Driscoll to where the head of a ladder stuck up through the flooring. Pete, with a sour look, watched Mr. Driscoll's round body awkwardly disappear down the ladder. "Boys, if I was a preacher, I know how I'd run my business," he remarked. "How, Pete?" queried one of the gang. "I'd stand up Driscoll in the middle o' the road to hell, then knock off workin' forever. When they seen him standin' there every blamed sinner'd turn back with a yell an' stretch their legs for the other road." "I wonder if Tom'll speak to him about them scabs," said another man, with a scowl at a couple of men working along the building's edge. "That ain't Tom's business, Bill," answered Pete. "It's Rivet Head's. Tom don't like Driscoll any more'n the rest of us do, an' he ain't goin' to say any more to him'n he has to." "Tom ought to call him down, anyhow," Bill declared. "You let Foley do that," put in Jake Henderson, a big fellow with a stubbly face and a scar across his nose. "An' let him peel off a little graft!" sneered Bill. "Close yer face!" growled Jake. "Come on there, boys, an' get that crane around!" shouted Barry. Pete, Bill, and Jake sprang to the wooden lever that extended from the base of the ninety-foot mast; and they threw their weight against the bar, bending it as a bow. The crane slowly turned on its bearings to the desired position. Barry, the "pusher" (under foreman), waved his outstretched hand. The signalman, whose eyes had been alert for this movement, pulled a rope; a bell rang in the ears of an engineer, twenty-one floors below. The big boom slowly came down to a horizontal position, its outer end twenty feet clear of the building's edge. Another signal, and the heavy iron pulley began to descend to the street. After the pulley had started to slide down its rope there was little for the men to do till it had climbed back up the rope with its burden of steel. Pete--who was usually addressed as "Pig Iron," perhaps for the reason that he claimed to be from Pittsburg--settled back at his ease among the gang, his back against a pile of columns, his legs stretched out. "I've just picked out the apartment where I'm goin' to keep my celluloid collar when this here shanty's finished," he remarked. "Over in the corner there, lookin' down in both streets. I ain't goin' to do nothin' but wear kid gloves, an' lean out the windows an' spit on you roughnecks as you go by. An' my boodwar is goin' to have about seventeen push-buttons in it. Whenever I want anything I'll just push a button, an' up'll hot-foot a nigger with it in a suit o' clothes that's nothin' but shirt front. Then I'll kick the nigger, an' push another button. That's life, boys. An' I'll have plush chairs, carpets a foot thick, an iv'ry bath-tub----" Pete's wandering gaze caught one man watching him with serious eyes, and he broke off. "Say, Johnson, wha' d'you suppose I want a bath-tub for?" Johnson was an anomaly among the iron-workers--a man without a sense of humor. He never knew when his fellows were joking and when serious; he usually took them literally. "To wash in," he answered. Pete whistled. "Wash in it! Ain't you got no respect for the traditions o' the workin' class?" "Hey, Pig Iron; talk English!" Bill demanded. "What's traditions?" Pete looked puzzled, and a laugh passed about the men. Then his sang-froid returned. "Your traditions, Bill, is the things you'd try to forget about yourself if you had enough coin to move into a place like this." He turned his lean face back on Johnson. "Don't you know what a bath-tub's for, Johnson? Don't you never read the papers? Well, here's how it is: The landlords come around wearin' about a sixteen-candle-power incandescent smile. They puts in marble bath-tubs all through all the houses. They're goin' to elevate us. The next day they come around again to see how we've improved. They throw up their hands, an' let out a few yells. There's them bath-tubs chuck full o' coal. We didn't know what they was for,--an' they was very handy for coal. That's us. It's down in the papers. An' here you, Johnson, you'd ruin our repitations by usin' the bath-tubs to bathe in." The pulley toiled into view, dragging after it two columns. Johnson was saved the necessity of response. The men hurried to their places. "O' course, Pig Iron, you'll be fixed all right when you've moved in here," began Bill, after the boom had reached out and the pulley had started spinning down for the other two columns. "But how about the rest of us fixers? Three seventy-five a day, when we get in only six or seven months a year, ain't makin' bankers out o' many of us." "Only a few," admitted Pete; "an' them few ain't the whole cheese yet. Me, I can live on three seventy-five, but I don't see how you married men do." "Especially with scabs stealin' your jobs," growled Bill, glancing again at the two men working along the building's edge. "I told you Foley'd look after them," said Barry, who had joined the group for a moment. "It hustles most of us to keep up with the game," he went on, in answer to Pete's last remark. "Some of us don't. An' rents an' everything else goin' up. I don't know what we're goin' to do." "That's easy," said Pete. "Get more money or live cheaper." "How're we goin' to live cheaper?" demanded Bill. "Yes, how?" seconded Barry. "I'm for more money," declared Bill. "Well, I reckon I wear the same size shoe," said Pete. "More money--that's me." "And me," "and me," joined in the other men, except Johnson. "It's about time we were gettin' more," Pete advanced. "The last two years the bosses have been doin' the genteel thing by their own pockets, all right." "We've got to have more if our kids are goin' to know a couple o' facts more'n we do." Barry went over to the edge of the building and watched the tiny figures attaching the columns to the pulley hook. "That's right," said Pete. "You don't stand no chance these days to climb up on top of a good job unless you ripped off a lot o' education when you was young an' riveted it on to your mem'ry. I heard a preacher once. He preached about education. He said if you wanted to get up anywhere you had to be educated like hell. He was right, too. If you left school when you was thirteen, why, by the time you're twenty-seven an' had a few drinks you ain't very likely to be just what I'd call a college on legs." "Keating, he thinks we ought to go after more this spring," said Bill. "I wonder what Foley thinks?" queried another of the men. "If Tom's for a strike, why, Foley'll be again' it," one of the gang answered. "You can place your money on that color." "Tom certainly did pour the hot shot into Foley at the meetin' last night," said Bill, grinning. "Grafter! He called Buck about thirteen diff'rent kind." "If Keating's all right in his nut he'll not go round lookin' for a head-on collision with Buck Foley," asserted Jake, with a wise leer at Bill. Bill answered by giving Jake his back. "Foley don't want no strike," he declared. "What's he want to strike for? He's gettin' his hand in the dough bag enough the way things is now." "See here, the whole bunch o' you roughnecks give me a pain!" broke out Pete. "You shoot off your faces a lot when Buck's not around, but the imitation you give on meetin' nights of a collection o' mummies can't be beat. I ain't in love with Buck--not on your life! You can tell him so, Jake. But he certainly has done the union a lot o' good. Tom'd say that, too. An' you know how much Tom likes Foley. You fixers forget when you was workin' ten hours for two dollars, an' lickin' the boots o' the bosses to hold your jobs." There was a short silence, then Johnson put forward cautiously: "I don't see the good o' strikin'." Pete stared at him. "Why?" he demanded. "Well, I've been in the business longer'n most o' you boys, an' I ain't found the bosses as bad as you make 'em out. When they're makin' more, they'll pay us more." "Oh, you go tell that to a Sunday school!" snorted Pete. "D'you ever hear of a boss payin' more wages'n he had to? Not much! Them kind 'o bosses's all doin' business up in heaven. If we was actually earnin' twenty a day, d'you suppose we'd get a cent more'n three seventy-five till we'd licked the bosses. You do--hey? That shows the kind of a nut you've got. The boss 'ud buy a tutti-frutti yacht, or a few more automobiles, or mebbe a college or two, where they learn you how to wear your pants turned up; but all the extra money you'd get wouldn't pay for the soap used by a Dago. If ever a boss offers you an extra dollar before you've licked him, yell for a cop. He's crazy." Pete's tirade completely flustered Johnson. "All the same, what I said's so." Pete snorted again. "When d'you think you're livin'? You make me tired, Johnson. Go push yourself off the roof!" The two last columns rose swinging above the chasm's brink, and there was no more talk for that afternoon. For the next hour the men were busy setting the last of the columns which were to support the twenty-second and twenty-third stories. Then they began setting in the cross beams, walking about on these five-inch beams (perhaps on one with the pavement straight beneath it) with the matter-of-fact steps of a man on the sidewalk--a circus act, lacking a safety net below, and lacking flourishes and kisses blown to a thrilled audience. Chapter II THE WALKING DELEGATE It was toward the latter part of the afternoon that a tall, angular man, in a black overcoat and a derby hat, stepped from the ladder on to the loose planking, glanced about and walked over to the gang of men about the south crane. "Hello, Buck," they called out on sight of him. "Hello, boys," he answered carelessly. He stood, with hands in the pockets of his overcoat, smoking his cigar, watching the crane accurately swing a beam to its place, and a couple of men run along it and bolt it at each end to the columns. He had a face to hold one's look--lean and long: gray, quick eyes, set close together; high cheek bones, with the dull polish of bronze; a thin nose, with a vulturous droop; a wide tight mouth; a great bone of a chin;--a daring, incisive, masterful face. When the beam had been bolted to its place, Barry, with a reluctance he tried to conceal, walked over to Foley. "How's things?" asked the new-comer, rolling his cigar into the corner of his mouth and slipping his words out between barely parted lips. Barry was the steward on the job,--the union's representative. "Two snakes come on the job this mornin'," he reported. "Them two over there,--that Squarehead an' that Guinea. I was goin' to write you a postal card about 'em to-night." "Who put 'em to work?" "They said Duffy, Driscoll's superintendent." Foley grunted, and his eyes fastened thoughtfully on the two non-union men. "When the boys seen they had no cards, o' course they said they wouldn't work with the scabs. But I said we'd stand 'em to-day, an' let you straighten it out to-morrow." "We'll fix it now." The walking delegate, with deliberate steps, moved toward the two men, who were sitting astride an outside beam fitting in bolts. He paused beside the Italian. "Clear out!" he ordered quietly. He did not take his hands from his pockets. The Italian looked up, and without answer doggedly resumed twisting a nut. Foley's eyes narrowed. His lips tightened upon his cigar. Suddenly his left hand gripped the head of a column and his right seized the shirt and coat collar of the Italian. He jerked the man outward, unseating him, though his legs clung about the beam, and held him over the street. The Italian let out a frightful yell, that the wind swept along under the clouds; and his wrench went flying from his hand. It struck close beside a mason on a scaffold seventeen stories below. The mason gave a jump, looked up and shook his fist. "D'youse see the asphalt?" Foley demanded. The man, whose down-hanging face was forced to see the pavement far below, with the little hats moving about over it, shrilled out his fear again. "In about a minute youse'll be layin' there, as flat as a picture, if youse don't clear out!" The man answered with a mixture of Italian, English, and yells; from which Foley gathered that he was willing to go, but preferred to gain the street by way of the ladders rather than by the direct route. Foley jerked him back to his seat, and a pair of frantic arms gripped his legs. "Now chase yourself, youse scab! Or----" Foley knew how to swear. The Italian rose tremblingly and stepped across to the flooring. He dropped limply to a seat on a prostrate column, and moaned into his hands. Without glancing at him or at the workmen who had eyed this measure doubtfully, Foley moved over to the Swede and gripped him as he had the Italian. "Now youse, youse sneakin' Squarehead! Get out o' here, too!" The Swede's right hand came up and laid hold of Foley's wrist with a grip that made the walking delegate start. The scab rose to his feet and stepped across to the planking. Foley was tall, but the Swede out-topped him by an inch. "I hold ma yob, yes," growled the Swede, a sudden flame coming into his heavy eyes. Foley had seen that look in a thousand scabs' eyes before. He knew its meaning. He drew back a pace, pulled his derby hat tightly down on his head and bit into his cigar, every lean muscle alert. "Get off the job! Or I'll kick youse off!" The Swede stepped forward, his shoulders hunched up. Foley crouched back; his narrowed gray eyes gleamed. The men in both gangs looked on from their places about the cranes and up on the beams in statued expectation. Barry and Pig Iron hurried up to Foley's support. "Keep back!" he ordered sharply. They fell away from him. A minute passed--the two men standing on the loosely-planked edge of a sheer precipice, watching each other with tense eyes. Suddenly a change began in the Swede; the spirit went out of him as the glow from a cooling rivet. His arms sank to his side, and he turned and fairly slunk over to where lay an old brown overcoat. The men started with relief, then burst into a jeering laugh. Foley moved toward Barry, then paused and, with hands back in his pockets, watched the two scabs make their preparation to leave, trundling his cigar about with his thin prehensile lips. As they started down the ladder, the Swede sullen, the Italian still trembling, he walked over to them with sudden decision. "Go on back to work," he ordered. The two looked at him in surprised doubt. "Go on!" He jerked his head toward the places they had left. They hesitated; then the Swede lay off his old coat and started back to his place, and the Italian followed, his fearful eyes on the walking delegate. Foley rejoined Barry. "I'm goin' to settle this thing with Driscoll," he said to the pusher, loudly, answering the amazed questioning he saw in the eyes of all the men. "I'm goin' to settle the scab question for good with him. Let them two snakes work till youse hear from me." He paused, then asked abruptly: "Where's Keating?" "Down with the riveters." "So-long, boys," he called to Barry's gang; and at the head of the ladder he gestured a farewell to the gang about the other crane. Then his long body sank through the flooring. At the bottom of the thirty-foot ladder he paused and looked around through the maze of beams and columns. This floor was not boarded, as was the one he had just left. Here and there were little platforms on which stood small portable forges, a man at each turning the fan and stirring the rivets among the red coals; and here and there were groups of three men, driving home the rivets. At regular intervals each heater would take a white rivet from his forge, toss it from his tongs sizzling through the air to a man twenty feet away, who would deftly catch it in a tin can. This man would seize the glowing bit of steel with a pair of pincers, strike it smartly against a beam, at which off would go a spray of sparks like an exploding rocket, and then thrust it through its hole. Immediately the terrific throbbing of a pneumatic hammer, held hard against the rivet by another man, would clinch it to its destiny of clinging with all its might. And then, flashing through the gray air like a meteor at twilight, would come another sparkling rivet. And on all sides, beyond the workmen calmly playing at catch with white-hot steel, and beyond the black crosswork of beams and columns, Foley could see great stretches of housetops that in sullen rivalry strove to overmatch the dinginess of the sky. Foley caught sight of Tom with a riveting gang at the southeast corner of the building, and he started toward him, walking over the five-inch beams with a practiced step, and now and then throwing a word at some of the men he passed, and glancing casually down at the workmen putting in the concrete flooring three stories below. Tom had seen him coming, and had turned his back upon his approach. "H'are you, Buck!" shouted one of the gang. Though Foley was but ten feet away, it was the man's lips alone that gave greeting to him; the ravenous din of the pneumatic hammer devoured every other sound. He shouted a reply; his lip movements signaled to the man: "Hello, fellows." Tom still kept his ignoring back upon Foley. The walking delegate touched him on the shoulder. "I'd like to trade some words with youse," he remarked. Tom's set face regarded him steadily an instant; then he said: "All right." "Come on." Foley led the way across beams to the opposite corner of the building where there was a platform now deserted by its forge, and where the noise was slightly less dense. For a space the two men looked squarely into each other's face--Tom's set, Foley's expressionless--as if taking the measure of the other;--and meanwhile the great framework shivered, and the air rattled, under the impact of the throbbing hammers. They were strikingly similar, and strikingly dissimilar. Aggressiveness, fearlessness, self-confidence, a sense of leadership, showed themselves in the faces and bearing of the two, though all three qualities were more pronounced in the older man. Their dissimilarity was summed up in their eyes: there was something to take and hold your confidence in Tom's; Foley's were full of deep, resourceful cunning. "Well?" said Tom, at length. "What's your game?" asked Foley in a tone that was neither friendly nor unfriendly. "Wha' d'youse want?" "Nothing,--from you." Foley went on in the same colorless tone. "I don't know. Youse've been doin' a lot o' growlin' lately. I've had a lot o' men fightin' me. Most of 'em wanted to be bought off." Tom recognized in these words a distant overture of peace,--a peace that if accepted would be profitable to him. He went straight to Foley's insinuated meaning. "You ought to know that's not my size," he returned quietly. "You've tried to buy me off more than once." The mask went from Foley's face and his mouth and forehead creased into harsh lines. His words came out like whetted steel. "See here. I would pass over the kind o' talkin' youse've been doin'. Somebody's always growlin'. Somebody's got to growl. But what youse said at the meetin' last night, I ain't goin' to stand for that kind o' talk. Youse understand?" Tom's legs had spread themselves apart, his black-gloved hands had placed themselves upon his hips, and his brown eyes were looking hard defiance from beneath his cap's peak. "I don't suppose you did like it," he said calmly. "If I remember rightly I didn't say it for the purpose of pleasing you." "Youse're goin' to keep your mouth goin' then?" "My mouth's my own." "Mebbe youse knows what happened to a few other gents that started on the road youse're travelin'?" the steely voice went on insinuatingly. "Duncan--Smith--O'Malley?" "Threats, huh?" Tom's anger began to pass his control. He sneered. "Save 'em for somebody that's afraid of you!" The cigar that had so far kept its place in Foley's mouth now fell out, and a few lurid words followed it. "D'youse know I can drive youse clean out o' New York? Yes, an' fix youse so youse can't get a job in the iron trade in the country? Except as a scab. Which's just about what you are!" The defiant glow in Tom's eyes flared into a blaze of anger. He stepped up to Foley, his fists still on his hips, and fairly thrust his square face into the lean one of the walking delegate. "If you think I'm afraid of you, Buck Foley, or your bunch of toughs, you're almighty mistaken! I'm going to say what I think about you, and say it whenever and wherever I please!" Foley's face tightened. His hands clenched in his pockets. But he controlled himself. He had the wisdom of a thousand fights,--which is, never to fight unless you have to, or unless there is something to gain. "I've got just one thing to say to youse, an' that's all," he said, and his low, steely voice cut distinctly through the hammer's uproar. "If I hear any more about your talk,--well, Duncan an' O'Malley'll have some new company." He turned about shortly, and stepped along beams to a ladder, and down that; leaving Tom struggling with a furious desire to follow and close with him. Out of the building, he made for the office of Mr. Driscoll as rapidly as street car could take him. On leaving the elevator in the Broadway building he strode to a door marked "Driscoll & Co.--Private--Enter Next Door," and without hesitation turned the knob. He found himself in a small room, very neat, whose principal furniture was a letter file and a desk bearing a typewriter. Over the desk was a brown print of William Morris. The room had two inner doors, one, as Foley knew, opening into the general offices, and the other into Mr. Driscoll's private room. A young woman rose from the desk. "What is it?" she asked, with a coldness drawn forth by his disregard of the sign on the door. "I want to see Mr. Driscoll. Tell him Foley wants to speak to him." She went through Mr. Driscoll's door, and Foley heard his name announced. There was a hesitant silence, then he heard the words, "Well, let him come in, Miss Arnold." Miss Arnold immediately reappeared. "Will you step in, please." As he entered the door Foley put on his hat, which he had removed in the presence of the secretary, pulling it aggressively down over one eye. "Hello, Driscoll," he greeted the contractor, who had swung about from a belittered desk; and he closed the door behind him. Mr. Driscoll pointed to a chair, but his face deepened a shade. Foley seated himself, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his bony hands clasped. "Well, what can I do for you?" queried Mr. Driscoll shortly. Foley knew his man. He had met Mr. Driscoll many times at conferences with the Executive Committee of the Iron Employers' Association, and had read him as though he were large print. He noted with satisfaction the color in the contractor's face. The walking delegate spoke with extreme deliberation. "I come around, _Mister_ Driscoll, to find out what the hell youse mean by workin' scabs on that St. Etienne job. Youse signed an agreement to work only union men, but if I didn't watch youse, youse'd have your work alive with scabs. Now, damn youse, unless youse get them scabs off that job an' do it quicker'n youse ever done anything before, youse'll wish youse had!" Foley made no mistake in his pre-calculation of the effect of this speech. Mr. Driscoll sprang to his feet, with a trembling that his reddish-gray whiskers exaggerated. His glasses tumbled from his nose, and his feet scrunched them unnoted into the rug. "If there's a scab on the job, I didn't know it. If those men're scabs Duffy must have made a mistake. If----" "If one o' youse bosses ever breaks a contract, oh, it's always a mistake!" "If you'd come around here and talked like a gentleman, I'd had 'em off inside of an hour," Mr. Driscoll roared. "But, by thunder, I don't let any walking delegate insult me and tell me what I've _got_ to do!" "Then youse ain't goin' to fire the scabs?" "Not till hell freezes over!" Mr. Driscoll's eyes clicked, and he banged his pudgy fist upon his desk. "Then the men'll go back to work on the day hell freezes over," returned Foley, rising to go. "But I have an idea youse'll want to see me a day or two before then. I've come to youse this time. The next time we talk, youse'll come to me. There's my card." And he went out with the triumphant feeling of the man who can guide events. At ten o'clock the next morning he clambered again to the top of the St. Etienne Hotel. The Italian and Swede were still at work. "Lay down your tools, boys!" he called out to the two gangs. "The job's struck!" The men crowded around him, demanding information. "Driscoll won't fire the scabs," he explained. "Kick 'em off,--settle it that-a-way!" growled one of the men. "We can't afford to lose wages on account o' two scabs." "That'd only settle this one case. We've got to settle the scab question with Driscoll for good an' all. It's hard luck, boys, I know," he said sympathetically, "but we can't do nothin' but strike. We've got to lick Driscoll into shape." Leaving the men talking hotly as they changed their clothes for the street, Foley went down the ladder to bear the same message and the same comfort to the riveters. The next morning the general contractor for the building got Mr. Driscoll on the telephone. "Why aren't you getting that ironwork up?" he demanded. Mr. Driscoll started into an explanation of his trouble with Foley, but the general contractor cut him short. "I don't care what the trouble is. What I care about is that you're not getting that ironwork up. Get your men right back to work." "How?" queried Mr. Driscoll sarcastically. "That's your business!" answered the general contractor, and rang off. Mr. Driscoll talked it over with the "Co.," a young fellow of thirty or thereabouts, of polished manner and irreproachable tailoring. "See Foley," Mr. Berman advised. "It's simply a game for graft!" "That may be," said the junior partner. "But what can you do?" "I won't pay graft!" Mr. Berman shrugged his shapely shoulders and withdrew. Mr. Driscoll paced his office floor, tugged at his whiskers, and used some language that at least had the virtue of being terse. With the consequence, that he saw there was nothing for him but to settle as best as he could. In furious mortification he wrote to Foley asking him to call. The answer was a single scrawled sentence: "If you want to see me, I live at--West One Hundred and Fifteenth Street." The instant after this note was read its fragments were in Mr. Driscoll's waste basket. He'd suffer a sulphurous fate before he'd do it! But the general contractor descended upon him in person, and there was a bitter half hour. The result was that late Saturday afternoon Mr. Driscoll locked his pride in his desk, put his checkbook in his pocket, and set forth for the number on West One Hundred and Fifteenth Street. A large woman, of dark voluptuous beauty, with a left hand like a jeweller's tray, answered his knock and led him into the parlor, on whose furnishings more money than taste had been spent. The room was a war of colors, in which the gilt of the picture frames, enclosing oblongs of high-hued sentiment, had the best of the conflict, and in which baby blue, showing in pictures, upholstery and a fancy lamp shade, was an easy second, despite its infantility. Foley sat in a swinging rocker, reading an evening paper, his coat off, his feet in slippers. He did not rise. "Hello! Are they havin' zero weather in hell?" Mr. Driscoll passed the remark. "I guess you know what I'm here for." "If youse give me three guesses, I might be able to hit it. But chair bottom's as cheap as carpet. Set down." Mr. Driscoll sank into an upholstered chair, and a skirmish began between his purple face and the baby blue of the chair's back. "Let's get to business," he said. "Won't youse have a drink first?" queried Foley, with baiting hospitality. Mr. Driscoll's hands clenched the arms of the chair. "Let's get to business." "Well,--fire away." "You know what it is." "I can't say's I do," Foley returned urbanely. The contractor's hands dug again into the upholstery. "About the strike you called on the St. Etienne." "Oh, that!--Well?" Mr. Driscoll gulped down pride and anger and went desperately to the point. "What'll I have to do to settle it?" "Um! Le's see. First of all, youse'll fire the scabs?" "Yes." "Seems to me I give youse the chance to do that before, an' end it right there. But it can't end there now. There's the wages the men's lost. Youse'll have to pay waitin' time." "Extortion, you mean," Mr. Driscoll could not refrain from saying. "Waitin' time," Foley corrected blandly. "Well,--how much?" Mr. Driscoll remarked to himself that he knew what part of the "waiting time" the men would get. Foley looked at the ceiling and appeared to calculate. "The waitin' time'll cost youse an even thousand." "What!" "If youse ain't learnt your lesson yet, youse might as well go back." He made as if to resume his paper. Mr. Driscoll swallowed hard. "Oh, I'll pay. What else can I do? You've got me in a corner with a gun to my head." Foley did not deny the similitude. "youse're gettin' off dirt cheap." "When'll the men go back to work?" "The minute youse pay, the strike's off." Mr. Driscoll drew out his check-book, and started to fill in a check with a fountain pen. "Hold on there!" Foley cried. "No checks for me." "What's the matter with a check?" "Youse don't catch me scatterin' my name round on the back o' checks. D'youse think I was born yesterday?" "Where's the danger, since the money's to go to the men for waiting time?" Mr. Driscoll asked sarcastically. "It's cash or nothin'," Foley said shortly. "I've no money with me. I'll bring it some time next week." "Just as youse like. Only every day raises the price." Mr. Driscoll made haste to promise to deliver the money Monday morning as soon as he could get it from his bank. And Foley thereupon promised to have the men ready to go back to work Monday afternoon. So much settled, Mr. Driscoll started to leave. He was suffocating. "Won't youse have a drink?" Foley asked again, at the door. Mr. Driscoll wanted only to get out of Foley's company, where he could explode without having it put in the bill. "No," he said curtly. "Well!--now me, when I got to swallow a pill I like somethin' to wash it down." The door slammed, and Mr. Driscoll puffed down the stairs leaving behind him a trail of language like a locomotive's plume. Chapter III THE RISE OF BUCK FOLEY Tom glared at Foley till the walking delegate had covered half the distance to the ladder, then he turned back to his supervision, trying to hide the fires of his wrath. But his soul flamed within him. All that Foley had just threatened, openly and by insinuation, was within his power of accomplishment. Tom knew that. And every other man in the union was as much at his mercy,--and every man's family. And many had suffered greatly, and all, except Foley's friends, had suffered some. Tom's mind ran over the injustice Foley had wrought, and over Foley's history and the union's history during the last few years ... and there was no sinking of the inward fire. And yet there was a long period in the walking delegate's history on which Tom would not have passed harsh judgment. Very early in his career, in conformity with prevailing custom, Buck Foley had had a father and a mother. His mother he did not remember at all. After she had intimated a preference for another man by eloping with him, Buck's father had become afflicted with almost constant unsteadiness in his legs, an affliction that had before victimized him only at intervals. His father he remembered chiefly from having carried a tin pail to a store around the corner where a red-faced man filled it and handed it back to him over a high counter; and also from a white scar which even now his hair did not altogether conceal. One day his father disappeared. Not long after that Buck went to live in a big house with a great lot of boys, the little ones in checked pinafores, the big ones in gray suits. After six years of life here, at the age of twelve, he considered that he was fit for graduation, and so he went out into the world,--this on a very dark night when all in the big house were fast asleep. For three years Buck was a newsboy; sleeping in a bed when he could afford one, sleeping in hallways, over warm gratings, along the docks, when he could not; winning all the newsboy's keen knowledge of human nature. At fifteen the sea fascinated him, and he lived in ships till he was twenty. Then a sailor's duties began to irk him. He came back to New York, took the first job that offered, driving a truck, and joined a political club of young men in a west side ward. Here he found himself. He rose rapidly to power in the club. Dan McGuire, the boss of the ward, had to take notice of him. He left his truck for a city job with a comfortable salary and nothing to do. At twenty-five he was one of McGuire's closest aids. Then his impatient ambition escaped his control. He plotted a revolution, which should overthrow McGuire and enthrone himself. But the Boss had thirty years of political cunning, and behind him a strong machine. For these Buck was no match. He took again to the sea. Buck shipped as second mate on a steamer carrying steel for a great bridge in South Africa. Five years of authority had unfitted him for the subordinate position of second mate, and there were many tilts with the thick-headed captain. The result was that after the steamer had discharged her cargo Foley quitted his berth and followed the steel into the interior. The contractors were in sore need of men, and, even though Foley was not a bridgeman, they gladly gave him a job. His service as a sailor had fitted him to follow, without a twinge of fear, the most expert of the bridgemen in their daring clambering about cables and over narrow steel beams; and being naturally skillful he rapidly became an efficient workman. Of the men sent out to this distant job perhaps one-half were union members. These formed a local branch of their society, and this Foley was induced to join. He rapidly won to influence and power in the affairs of the union, finding here the same keen enjoyment in managing men that he had first tasted in Dan McGuire's ward. After the completion of this job he worked in Scotland and Brazil, always active in the affairs of his union. At thirty-two he found himself back in New York,--a forceful leader ripe for an opportunity. He had not been in New York a week when he discovered his chance. The union there was wofully weak--an organization only in name. The employers hardly gave it a consideration; the members themselves hardly held it in higher esteem. The men were working ten hours a day for two dollars; lacking the support of a strong union they were afraid to seek better terms. As Foley grimly expressed it, "The bosses have got youse down an' are settin' on your heads." Here in this utter disorganization Foley perceived his opportunity. He foresaw the extent to which the erection of steel-frame buildings, then in its beginning, was certain to develop. His trade was bound to become the "fundamental trade"; until his union had put up the steel frames the contractors could do nothing--the other workmen could do nothing. A strongly organized union holding this power--there was no limit to the concessions it might demand and secure. It was a great opportunity. Foley went quietly to work on a job at twelve dollars a week, and bided his time. At the end of six months he was elected president and walking delegate of the union. He had no trouble in securing the offices. No one else wanted them. This was early in the spring. The first labor he set himself was the thorough organization of the union and the taking into its ranks of every ironworker in the city. The following spring there was a strike. Foley now came for the first time before the contractors' attention. They regarded him lightly, having remembrance of his predecessors. But they soon found they were facing a man who, though uneducated and of ungrammatical speech, was as keen and powerful as the best of them. The strike was won, and great was the name of Foley. In the next three years there were two more strikes for increases in wages, which were won. And the name of Foley waxed greater. During these first four years no man could have served the union better. But here ended the stretch of Foley's history on which Tom would not have passed harsh judgment; and here began the period whose acts of corruption and oppression were now moving in burning procession through Tom's mind. It is a matter of no moment whether Foley or the employers took the initiative in starting him on the new phase of his career as a labor leader. It is axiomatic that money is the ammunition of war; among the employers there were many who were indifferent whether this ammunition was spent in fighting or in buying. On the other hand, Foley's training on the street and in Dan McGuire's ward was not such as to produce an incorruptible integrity. It is only fair to Foley to say that the first sums he received were in return for services which did not work any injury or loss to the union. It was easy to excuse to himself these first lapses. He knew his own worth; he saw that men of much less capacity in the employ of the bosses were paid big salaries. The union paid him thirty dollars a week. "Who's hurt if I increase my salary to something like it ought to be at the expense of the bosses?" he reasoned; and took the money with an easy conscience. This first "easy money" made Foley hungry for more. He saw the many opportunities that existed for acquiring it; he saw where he could readily create other opportunities. In earlier days he had envied McGuire the chances that were his. He had no reason to envy McGuire now. During the first three or four years of his administration there was no opposition to him within the union. His work was too strenuous to be envied him by any man. But after the union had become an established power, and the position of walking delegate one of prominence, a few ambitious spirits began to aspire to his job. Also there began to be mutterings about his grafting. A party was formed which secretly busied itself with a plan to do to him what he had tried to do to Dan McGuire. He triumphed, as McGuire had triumphed. But the revolution, though unsuccessful, had a deep lesson for him. It taught him that, unless he fortified it, his position was insecure. At present he was dependent for its retention upon the favor of the members; and favor, as he knew, was not a dependable quantity. He was determined to remain the walking delegate of the union. He had made the union, and the position. They were both his by right. He rapidly took measures to insure himself against the possibility of overthrow. He became relentless to all opposition. Those who dared talk were quick to hear from him. Some fared easily--the clever ones who were not bribe-proof. After being given jobs as foremen, and presented with neat little sums, they readily saw the justice of Foley's cause. Some, who were not worth bribing, he intimidated into silence. Those whom he had threatened and who still talked found themselves out of work and unable to get new jobs; they were forced into other trades or out of the city. A few such examples lessened the necessity for such severe action. Men with families to support perceived the value of a discreet tongue. These methods were successful in quelling open opposition; but they, together with the knowledge that Foley was taking money wherever it was offered, had the effect of rapidly alienating the better element in the union. This forced him into a close alliance with the rougher members, who were greatly in the minority. But this minority, never more than five hundred out of three thousand men, Foley made immensely effective. He instructed them to make the meetings as disorderly as possible. His scheme worked to perfection. The better members came less and less frequently, and soon the meetings were entirely in the hands of the roughs. As time passed Foley grew more and more jealous of his power, and more and more harsh in the methods used to guard it. He attached to himself intimately several of the worst of his followers whom grim facetiousness soon nominated "The Entertainment Committee." If any one attacked him now, the bold one did so knowing that he would probably experience the hospitality of these gentlemen the first dark night he ventured forth alone. Such were the conditions behind the acts of tyranny that Tom furiously overhauled, as he mechanically directed the work. He had considered these conditions and acts before, but never with such fierceness as now. Hitherto he had been, as it were, merely one citizen, though a more or less prominent one, of an oppressed nation; now he, as an individual, had felt the tyrant's malevolence. He had before talked of the union's getting rid of Foley as a necessary action, and only the previous night he had gone to the length of denouncing Foley in open meeting, an adventurous act that had not been matched in the union for two years. Perhaps, in the course of time, his patriotism alone would have pushed him to take up arms against Foley. But now to his patriotic indignation there was added the selfish wrath of the outraged individual,--and the sum was an impulse there was no restraining. Tom was not one who, in a hot moment, for the assuagement of his wrath, would bang down his fist and consign himself to a purpose. Here, however, was a case where wrath made the same demand that already had been made by cool, moral judgment--the dethronement of Foley. And Tom felt in himself the power for its accomplishment. He was well furnished with self-confidence,--lacking which any man is an engine without fire. During the last five years--that is, since he was twenty-five, when he began to look upon life seriously--the knowledge had grown upon him that he was abler, and of stronger purpose, than his fellows. He had accepted this knowledge quietly, as a fact. It had not made him presumptuous; rather it had imposed upon him a serious sense of duty. He considered the risks of a fight against Foley. Personal danger,--plenty of that, yes,--but his hot mind did not care for that. Financial loss,--he drew back from thinking what his wife would say; anyhow, there were his savings, which would keep them for awhile, if worst came to worst. As the men were leaving the building at the end of the day's work, Tom drew Barry and Pete to one side. "I know you fellows don't like Foley a lot," he began abruptly, "but I don't know how far you're willing to go. For my part, I can't stand for him any longer. Can't we get together to-night and have a talk?" To this Barry and Pete agreed. "Where'bouts?" asked Barry. Tom hesitated; and he was thinking of his wife when he said, "How about your house?" "Glad to have you," was Barry's answer. Chapter IV A COUNCIL OF WAR Tom lived in the district below West Fourteenth Street, where, to the bewildered explorer venturing for the first time into that region, the jumbled streets seem to have been laid out by an egg-beater. It was almost six o'clock when, hungry and wrathful, he thrust his latch-key into the door of his four-room flat. The door opened into blackness. He gave an irritated groan and groped about for matches, in the search striking his hip sharply against the corner of the dining table. A match found and the gas lit, he sat down in the sitting-room to await his wife's coming. From the mantel a square, gilded clock, on which stood a knight in full armor, counted off the minutes with irritating deliberation. It struck six; no Maggie. Tom's impatience rapidly mounted, for he had promised to be at Barry's at quarter to eight. He was on the point of going to a restaurant for his dinner, when, at half-past six, he heard the fumble of a latch-key in the lock, and in came his wife, followed by their son, a boy of four, crying from weariness. She was a rather large, well-formed, and well-featured young woman, and was showily dressed in the extreme styles of the cheap department stores. She was pretty, with the prettiness of cheap jewelry. Tom rose as she carefully placed her packages on the table. "You really decided to come home, did you?" "Oh, I know I'm late," she said crossly, breathing heavily. "But it wasn't my fault. I started early enough. But there was such a mob in the store you couldn't get anywhere. If you'd been squeezed and pushed and punched like I was in the stores and in the street cars, well, you wouldn't say a word." "Of course you had to go!" "I wasn't going to miss a bargain of that kind. You don't get 'em often." Tom gazed darkly at the two bulky packages, the cause of his delayed dinner. "Can I have something to eat,--and quick?" By this time her hat and jacket were off. "Just as soon as I get back my breath," she said, and began to undo the packages. The little boy came to her side. "I'm so hungry, ma," he whined. "Gimme a piece." "Dinner'll be ready in a little while," she answered carelessly. "But I can't wait!"--and he began to cry. Maggie turned upon him sharply. "If you don't stop that bawling, Ferdie, you shan't have a bite of dinner." The boy cried all the louder. "Oh, you!" she ejaculated; and took a piece of coarse cake from the cupboard and handed it to him. "Now do be still!" Ferdinand filled his mouth with the cake, and she returned to the packages. "I been wanting something to fill them empty places at the ends of the mantel this long time, and when I saw the advertisement in the papers this morning, I said it was just the thing.... Now there!" Out of one pasteboard box she had taken a dancing Swiss shepherdess, of plaster, pink and green and blue, and out of the other box a dancing Swiss shepherd. One of these peasants she had put on either side of the knight, at the ends of the mantel. "Now, don't you like that?" Tom looked doubtfully at the latest adornment of his home. Somehow, he didn't just like it, though he didn't know why. "I guess it'll do," he said at length. "And they were only thirty-nine cents apiece! Now when I get a new tidy for the mantel,--a nice pink one with flowers. Just you wait!" "Well,--but let's have dinner first." "In just a minute." With temper restored by sight of her art treasures, Maggie went into the bedroom and quickly returned in an old dress. The dinner of round steak, fried potatoes and coffee was ready in a very short time. The steak avenged its hasty preparation by presenting one badly burnt side. But Tom ate the poor dinner without complaint. He was used to poor dinners; and his only desire was to get away and to Barry's. Once during the meal he looked at his wife, a question in his mind. Should he tell her? But his eyes fell back to his plate and he said nothing. She must know some time, of course--but he didn't want the scene now. But she herself approached uncomfortably near the subject. She had glanced at him hesitatingly several times while they were eating; as he was rising from the table she began resolutely: "I met Mrs. Jones this afternoon. She told me what you said about Foley last night at the meeting. Her husband told her." Tom paused. "There's no sense doing a thing of that kind," she went on. "Here we are just beginning to have things a little comfortable. You know well enough what Foley can do to you if you get him down on you." "Well?" Tom said guardedly. "Well, don't you be that foolish again. We can't afford it." "I'll see about it." He went into the sitting-room and returned with hat and overcoat on. "I'm going over to Barry's for awhile--on some business," he said, and went out. Barry and Pete, who boarded with the Barrys, were waiting in the sitting-room when Tom arrived,--and with them sat Mrs. Barry and a boy of about thirteen and a girl apparently a couple of years younger, the two children with idle school books in their laps. Mrs. Barry's sitting-room, also her parlor, would not have satisfied that amiable lady, the president of the Society for Instructing Wage-Earners in House Furnishing. There was a coarse red Smyrna rug in the middle of the floor; a dingy, blue-flowered sofa, with three chairs to match (the sort seen in the windows of cheap furniture stores on bargain days, marked "Nineteen dollars for Set"); a table in one corner, bearing a stack of photographs and a glass vase holding up a bunch of pink paper roses; a half dozen colored prints in gilt-and-white plaster frames. The room, however, quite satisfied Mrs. Barry, and the amiable president of the S. I. W. E. H. F. would needs have given benign approval to the room's utter cleanliness. Mrs. Barry, a big, red-faced woman, greeted Tom heartily. Then she turned to the boy and girl. "Come on, children. We've got to chase ourselves. The men folks want to talk." She drove the two before her wide body into the kitchen. Tom plunged into the middle of what he had to say. "We've talked about Foley a lot--all of us. We've said other unions are managed decently, honestly--why shouldn't ours be? We've said we didn't like Foley's bulldozing ways. We didn't like the tough gang he's got into the union. We didn't like the rough-house meetings. We didn't like his grafting. We've said we ought to raise up and kick him out. And then, having said that much, we've gone back to work--me, you and all the rest of us--and he's kept on bullying us, and using the union as a lever to pry off graft. I'm dead sick of this sort of business. For one, I'm tired talking. I'm ready for doing." "Sure, we're all sick o' Foley. But what d'you think we ought to do?" queried Barry. "Fire him out," Tom answered shortly. "It only takes three words to say that," said Pig Iron. "But how?" "Fire him out!" Tom was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his big, red hands interlocked. There was determination in his square face, in the set of his powerful red neck, in the hunch of his big shoulders. He gazed steadily at the two men for a brief space. "Boys, my mind's made up. I'm going to fight him." Pete and Barry looked at him in amazement. "You're goin' to fight Buck Foley!" cried Barry. "You're jokin'!" said Pig Iron. "I'm in dead earnest." "You know what'll happen to you if you lose?" queried Barry. "Yes. And I know Foley may not even give me a chance to lose," Tom added grimly. "You've got nerve to burn, Tom," said Pig Iron. "It's not an easy proposition. Myself, I'd as soon put on the gloves an' mix it up with the devil. An' to spit it right out on the carpet, Tom, I think Buck's done the union a lot o' good." "You're right there, Pete. No one knows that better than I do. As you fellows know, I left town eight years ago and was bridging in the West four years. I was pretty much of a kid when I went away, but I was old enough to see the union didn't have enough energy left to die. When I came back and saw what Foley'd done, I thought he was the greatest thing that ever happened. If he'd quit right then the union'd 'a' papered the hall with his pictures. But you know how he's changed since then. The public knows it, too. Look how the newspapers have been shooting it into him. I'm not fighting Foley as he was four or five years ago, Pete, but Foley as he is now." "There's no denyin' he's so crooked now he can't lay straight in bed," Pete admitted. "We've got to get rid of him some time, haven't we?" Tom went on. "Yes," the two men conceded. "Or sooner or later he'll smash the union. That's certain. Now there's only one way to get rid of him. That's to go out after him, and go after him hard." "But it's an awful risk for you, Tom," said Barry. "Someone's got to take it if we ever get rid of Foley." "One thing's straight, anyhow," declared Pete. "You're the best man in the union to go against Foley." "Of course," said Barry. Tom did not deny it. There was a moment's silence. Then Pete asked: "What's your plan?" "Election comes the first meeting in March. I'm going to run against him for walking delegate." "If you care anything for my opinion," said Pete, "here it is: You've got about as much chance as a snowball in hell." "You're away off, Pig Iron. You know as well as I do that five-sixths of the men in the union are against Foley. Why do they stand for him? Because they're unorganized, and he's got them bluffed out. If those men got together, Foley'd be the snowball. That's what I'm going to try to do,--get those men in line." A door opened, and Mrs. Barry looked in. "I left my glasses somewhere in there. Will I bother you men much if I look for 'em?" "Not me," said Tom. "You can stay and listen if you want to." Mrs. Barry sat down. "I suppose you don't mind tellin' us how you're goin' to get the men in line," said Pete. "My platform's going to be an honest administration of the affairs of the union, and every man to be treated like a man. That's simple enough, ain't it?--and strong enough? And a demand for more wages. I'm going to talk these things to every man I meet. If they can kick Foley out, and get honest management and decent treatment, just by all coming out and voting, don't you think they're going to do it? They'll all fall in line." "That demand for more wages is a good card. Our wage contract with the bosses expires May first, you know. The men all want more money; they need it; they deserve it. If I talk for it Foley'll be certain to oppose it, and that'll weaken him. "I wanted to talk this over with you fellows to get your opinion. I thought you might suggest something. But even if you don't like the scheme, and even if you don't want to join in the fight, I'm going to stick it out. My mind's made up." Tom sank back into his chair and waited for the two men to speak. "Well, your scheme don't sound just like an insane asylum," Pete admitted. "Count me in." Tom looked across at Barry. Barry's face was turned down and his hands were inter-gripped. Tom understood. Barry had been out of work much during the last three years, and recent illness in the family had endowed him with debts. If he actively engaged in Tom's movement, and Foley triumphed, Foley's vengeance would see to it that Barry worked no more in New York. It was too great a risk to ask of a man situated as Barry was. "I understand, Barry," said Tom. "That's all right. Don't you do it." Barry made no answer. Mrs. Barry put her hand on her husband's shoulder. "Jim, ain't we goin' to be in on this fight against Foley?" "You know why, Mary." There was a catch in his voice. "Yes. Because of me an' the kids. You, I know you've got as much nerve as anybody. We're goin' in, Jim. An' if we lose"--she tried to smile--"why, I ain't much of a consumptive, am I? I'll take in washin' to help out." Tom turned his face about. Pete did the same, and their eyes met. Pete's face was set hard. He growled out something that sounded very much like an oath. It was midnight when Tom left. The strike which Foley called on the St. Etienne Hotel the next day gave him time for much thinking about his campaign. He acquainted several of the more influential members of the union with his purpose, asking them to keep secret what he said till he was ready to begin an open fight. All gave him sympathy, but most of them hesitated when it came to promising active assistance. "Now if Foley only couldn't do us out of our jobs, in case you lose, we'd be right with you. But----" Fear inclined them to let bad enough alone. This set Tom to thinking again. On Monday evening--that afternoon Foley had ordered the men back to work on the St. Etienne Hotel--Tom announced a new plan to Barry and Pete. "We want to get every argument we can to use on the boys. It struck me we might make some use of the bosses. It's to their interest, as well as to ours, for us to have the right sort of delegate. If we could say that the bosses are sick of Foley and want us to get a decent man, and will guarantee to keep us at work no matter what Foley says,--that might have influence on some of the weak-kneed brothers." "The boys'd say the bosses ain't runnin' the union," said Pete. "If you get the bosses on your side, the boys'll all stand by Foley." "I thought of that. That's what'd happen if we got mixed up with anybody on the Executive Committee of the bosses except Baxter. The boys think Murphy, Bobbs, and Isaacs are pretty small potatoes, and they think Driscoll's not on the square. I guess it's a case of the pot calling the kettle black, but you know what Foley says about Driscoll. But with Baxter it's different. He's friendly to the union, and the boys know it. A word from him might help a lot. And he hates Foley, and Foley has no use for him. I've heard Buck say as much." "It's worth tryin', anyhow," Pete and Barry agreed. "Well, I'm going to brace him to-morrow after work," said Tom. Chapter V TOM SEEKS HELP FROM THE ENEMY At the end of work the next day Tom joined the rush of men down the ladders and the narrow servants' stairways, the only ones in as yet, and on gaining the street made for the nearest saloon. Five cents invested in beer secured for him the liberty of the house. He washed himself, brushed his hair and clothing, and set forth for the office of Baxter & Co. Baxter & Co. occupied one side of the tenth floor of a big downtown office building. Tom found himself in a large waiting-room, divided by a wooden railing, beyond which at a desk sat an imperious youth in a blue uniform. "Is Mr. Baxter in?" Tom inquired. The uniform noted that Tom's clothes were worn and wrinkled. "He's busy," it said stiffly. "Is he in?" "I s'pose he is." "Well, you tell him I want to see him. Keating's my name. I'll wait if he's busy." The uniform carelessly handed him a slip of paper. "Write down yer name an' business, an' I'll see if he'll see youse." With a gleam in his eyes Tom took the printed form, wrote his name and "on business of the Iron Workers' Union." The boy accepted the slip and calmly read it. Tom gave him a push that sent him spinning. "Get a move on you, there! I'm in a hurry." The boy gave a startled look back, and walked quickly down an alley that ran between two rows of offices. Tom sat down in one of the leather-bottomed chairs and with a show of coolness, but with inward excitement, waited his interview with Mr. Baxter. He had never met an employer in his life, save regarding his own work or as a member of a strike committee. And now the first he was to meet in a private interview was the most prominent employer in his trade--head of the big firm of Baxter & Co., and president of the Iron Employers' Association. Several minutes passed before the uniform reappeared and led Tom into Mr. Baxter's office, a large, airy room with red burlap walls, cherry woodwork, cherry chairs, a long cherry table, a flat-top cherry desk. The room was absolutely without attempt at decoration, and was as clean as though it had been swept and dusted the minute before. The only piece of paper in the room was an architect's drawing of a façade, which Mr. Baxter was examining. Mr. Baxter did not look up immediately. Tom, standing with hat in hand, was impressed with his busyness. He was not yet acquainted with the devices by which men of affairs fortify their importance. Suddenly Mr. Baxter wheeled about in his chair. "I beg your pardon. Be seated. What can I do for you?" He was perhaps forty-five or fifty--slender, of high, narrow brow, steely eyes, and Vandyke beard. His neatness was equal to that of his office; he looked as though he were fresh from barber, haberdasher and tailor. Tom understood the success of the man in the first glance at his face: he was as quick to act upon the opportunity as a steel trap. Tom sat down in one of the polished chairs, and affected composure by throwing his left arm across the cherry table. "I belong to the Iron Workers' Union. To come right to the point----" "I shall be obliged if you will. I'm really very busy." Mr. Baxter's tone was a model of courtesy. A more analytical man than Tom might have felt the distinction that it was the courtesy a gentlemen owes himself, not the courtesy one man owes another. Tom merely felt a vague antagonism, and that put him at his ease. "I'm busy, too," he returned quietly. "What I've come to see you about is a matter which I consider of great importance to the bosses and the union. And I've come to see you because I know you are friendly to the union." "I believe that in most cases the interests of the employers and the interests of the union are practically the same." "And also because you don't like Foley." Mr. Baxter fingered his narrow watch chain a moment. "So you've come to see me about Mr. Foley?" "Yes. There's no use going into details with you, Mr. Baxter. You know the sort Foley is as well as I do. He bullies the union. That's nothing to you. But he's not on the square with the bosses. That is. As you said awhile ago, the interests of the bosses and the union are the same. It's to the interest of both to get rid of Foley. That's so, ain't it?" Mr. Baxter's face was inscrutable. "You're going to turn him out then?" "We're going to try to." "And what will be your policy then?--if you don't mind my asking it." "To run things on the square." "A praiseworthy purpose. Of course you'll put in a square man as delegate then." "I'm going to run myself." Tom thought he saw a significant look pass across Mr. Baxter's face. "Not because I'm anxious for his job," he hastened to explain. "But somebody's got to run against him." Mr. Baxter nodded slightly. "I see. Not a very popular risk." His keen eyes never wavered from Tom's face. "How do you propose to defeat Foley? But don't tell me anything you don't want to." Tom outlined his plans for organizing the better element against Foley. "That sounds feasible," was Mr. Baxter's comment when Tom had concluded. His eyes were still fastened on Tom's face. "And after you win, there'll be a strike?" This question, asked quietly but with electrical quickness, caught Tom unprepared. He floundered an instant. "We've got to bridge two or three rivers before we come to that one," he answered. Mr. Baxter hardly moved an eyelash. "That's obvious. And now, aside from the benefit which we are to secure by the change, how does your plan concern me?" "Since you are going to profit by the fight, if we win, I thought you might help us. And you can do it easy enough. One thing that'll keep a lot of the members from joining in the fight is that they're afraid, if Foley wins out, he'll get 'em all fired. Now if you'll simply guarantee that you'll stand by the men, why, they'll all come out against Foley and we'll beat him five to one. There'll be no chance for us to lose." Mr. Baxter's white brow wrinkled in thought. Tom waited his words in suspense. At length he spoke. "You will readily realize, Mr. Keating, that it is an almost unprecedented step for us to take such a part in the affairs of a union. Your suggestion is something I must think about." Tom had been certain Mr. Baxter would fall in with his scheme enthusiastically. It required so little, merely his word, and assured so much. Mr. Baxter's judicial reception of his plan shot him through with disappointment. "What, don't it appeal to you?" he cried. "It certainly seems full of promise." "It will clear us of Foley--certain! And it is to the interest of both of us that the union be run on the square." "That's true,--very true. But the most I can say to you now, Mr. Keating, is that I'll take the matter under advisement. Come to see me again in a few days." Mr. Baxter began to finger the drawing on his desk, whereby Tom knew the interview was at an end. Greatly dashed, but somewhat reassured by the contractor's last words, he said good-afternoon and withdrew. The uniform respectfully opened the gate in the railing. In the uniform's book of wisdom it was writ down that anyone who could be closeted with your boss was deserving of courtesy. The instant the office door closed on Tom's back Mr. Baxter quickly rose and paced the floor for several minutes. Then he sat down at his desk, took a sheet of paper from a drawer, and dashed off a note to Foley. Mr. Baxter did not rise to greet Foley when the walking delegate entered his office the next afternoon. "Mr. Foley," he said, with a short nod of his head. "Youse guessed my name," said Foley, cooly helping himself to a chair. "What's doin'?" The two men watched each other narrowly, as might two enemies who have established a truce, yet who suspect treachery on the part of the other. There was a distant superiority in the manner of Mr. Baxter,--and also the hardly concealed strain of the man who, from policy or breeding, would be polite where he loathes. Foley, tilted back in his chair, matched this manner with an air of defiant self-assertion. Mr. Baxter rapidly sketched the outline of what Tom had said to him. "And so Keating come to youse for help," grinned Foley. "That ain't bad!" Mr. Baxter did not recognize Foley's equality by smiling. "I thought it to your interest to let you know this at once, for----" "And to your interest, too." "I knew you were not particularly desirous of having Mr. Keating elected," he continued. "I'm just about as anxious as youse are," said Foley promptly. "Anyhow," he added carelessly, "I already knew what youse told me." Which he did not. "Then my sending for you and telling you has served no purpose." The coldness of his voice placed a wide distance between himself and the walking delegate. Foley perceived the distance, and took a vindictive pleasure in bridging it with easy familiarity. "Not at all, Baxter. It gives youse a chance to show how much youse like me, an' how much youse've got the interest o' the union at heart." The lean, sarcastic face nettled Mr. Baxter. "I think my reputation speaks for my interest in the union," he said stiffly. "Your interest in the union!" Foley laughed. No man had ever seen Mr. Baxter lose his self-control; but he was as near losing it now as he had ever been, else he would not have made so weak a rejoinder. "My reputation speaks for my interest," he repeated. "You won't find a man in your union but that'll say I'm the union's friend." Foley laughed again--a harsh, biting laugh. "An' why do they say it, eh? Because I told 'em so. An' youse've got the nerve, Baxter, to sit there an' talk that rot to me!--me, the man that made youse!" "Made me!" Foley's heart leaped to see the wrathful color flame in the white cheek of the suave and collected Mr. Baxter--to see the white shapely hands twitch. "Yes, made youse!" And he went on with his grim pleasure. "Youse're doin' twice the business youse were three years ago. Why did youse get the contracts for the Atwell building and the Sewanee Hotel--the two jobs that put youse at the head o' things in New York? Because Driscoll, Bobbs, an' some o' the others had failed to get the jobs they were workin' on done in contract time. An' why didn't they get done on time? Because youse didn't want 'em to get through on time. I saw that they got bum men, who made mistakes,--an' I give 'em their bellyful o' strikes." "You didn't do these things out of love for me," Mr. Baxter put in meaningly. He was getting himself in hand again. "Sure, I didn't,--not any more'n youse told me about Keating for love o' me." Foley went on. "The men who want buildings put up have found youse get through on time, an' the others don't--so youse get the business. Why do youse get through on time? Because I see youse get the fastest men in the union. An' because I see youse don't have any labor trouble." "Neither of which you do solely for love." "Sure not. Now don't youse say again I haven't made youse. An' don't give me that hot air about bein' friendly to the union. Three years ago youse seen clearer than the others that youse bosses was bound to lose the strike. Youse'd been fightin' the union till then, an' not makin' any more'n the rest o' the bosses. So youse tried a new game. Youse led the other bosses round to give in, an' got the credit o' bein' a friend o' the union. I know how much youse like the union!" "Pardon me if I fail to see the purpose of all this retrospection," said Mr. Baxter sarcastically. "I just wanted to remind youse that I'm on to youse from hair to toenails--that's all," Foley answered calmly. "I think it would be wiser to confine our conversation to the matter in hand," said Mr. Baxter coldly. "Mr. Keating said he was certain to beat you. What chance does he have of being elected?" "The same as youse." "And a strike,--how about that?" "It follows if I'm elected, don't it, there'll not be any strike." "That's according to our agreement," said Mr. Baxter. "No," said Foley, as he rose, "Keating ain't goin' to trouble youse much." A hard look came over his face. "Nor me." Chapter VI IN WHICH FOLEY PLAYS WITH TWO MICE Foley left Mr. Baxter's office with the purpose of making straight for the office of Mr. Driscoll; but his inborn desire to play with the mouse caused him to change the direct road to an acute angle having at its apex the St. Etienne Hotel. He paused a moment to look up at the great black skeleton,--a lofty scaffolding that might have been erected for some mural painter ambitious to fresco his fame upon the sky. He saw the crane swing a beam to its place between two of the outside columns, and saw a man step upon its either end to bolt it to its place. Suddenly the crane jerked up the beam, and the men frantically threw their arms around it. As suddenly the crane lowered it. It struck upon the head of a column. Foley saw one man fly from the beam, catch hold of the end of a board that extended over the edge of the building, hang there; saw the beam, freed in some manner from the pulley hook, start down, ridden by one man; and then saw it come whirling downward alone. "Look out!" he shouted with all his lungs. Pedestrians rushed wildly from beneath the shed which extended, as a protection to them, over the sidewalk. Horses were jerked rearing backwards. The black beam crashed through the shed and through the pine sidewalk. Foley dashed inside and for the ladder. Up on the great scaffolding hands had seized the wrists of the pendant man and lifted him to safety. All were now leaning over the platform's edge, gazing far down at the ragged hole in the shed. "D'you see Pete?" Tom asked at large, in a strained voice. There were several noes. "That was certainly the last o' Pig Iron," muttered one of the gang. He was not disputed. "It wasn't my fault," said the signalman, as pale as paper. "I didn't give any wrong signals. Someone below must 'a' got caught in the rope." "I'm going down," said Tom; and started rapidly for the ladder's head--to be met with an ascending current of the sort of English story books ascribe to pirates. Pete's body followed the words so closely as to suggest a possible relation between the two. Tom worked Pete's hand. The men crowded up. "Now who the"--some pirate words--"done that?" Pete demanded. "It was all an accident," Tom explained. "But I might 'a' been kilt!" "Sure you might," agreed Johnson sympathetically. "How is it you weren't?" Tom asked. "The beam, in whirlin' over, swung the end I was on into the floor below. I grabbed a beam an' let it travel alone. That's all." Foley, breathing deeply from his rapid climb, emerged this instant from the flooring, and walked quickly to the group. "Anybody kilt?" he asked. The particulars of the accident were given him. "Well, boys, youse see what happens when youse got a foreman that ain't onto his job." Tom contemptuously turned his back and walked away. "I don't see why Driscoll don't fire him," growled Jake. "Who knows what'll happen!" Foley turned a twisted, knowing look about the group. "He's been talkin' a lot!" He walked over to where Tom stood watching the gang about the north crane. "I'm dead onto your game," he said, in a hard, quiet voice, his eyes glittering. Tom was startled. He had expected Foley to learn of his plan, but thought he had guarded against such an early discovery. "Well?" he said defiantly. Foley began to play with his mouse. "I guess youse know things'll begin to happen." He greedily watched Tom's face for signs of inward squirming. "Remember the little promise I made youse t'other day? Buck Foley usually keeps his promises, don't he--hey?" But the mouse refused to be played with. "The other beam, boys," it called out to three men, and strode away toward them. Foley watched Tom darkly an instant, and then turned sharply about. At the ladder's head Jake stopped him. "Get him fired, Buck. Here's your chance to get me that foreman's job you promised me." "We'll see," Foley returned shortly, and passed down the ladder and along the other leg of the angle to the office of Driscoll & Co. He gave his name to Miss Arnold. She brought back the message that he should call again, as Mr. Driscoll was too busy to see him. "Sorry, miss, but I guess I'm as busy as he is. I can't come again." And Foley brushed coolly past her and entered Mr. Driscoll's office. "Good-afternoon, Mr. Driscoll," he said, showing his yellow teeth in a smile, and helping himself to a chair. "Nice afternoon, ain't it?" Mr. Driscoll wheeled angrily about in his chair. "I thought I sent word to you I was too busy to see you?" "So youse did, Mr. Driscoll. So youse did." "Well, I meant it!" He turned back to his desk. "I s'pose so," Foley said cheerfully. He tilted back easily in his chair, and crossed his legs. "But, youse see, I could hardly come again, an' I wanted very much to see youse." Mr. Driscoll looked as though he were going to explode. But fits of temper at a thousand dollars a fit were a relief that he could afford only now and then. He kept himself in hand, though the effort it cost him was plain to Foley. "What d'you want to see me about? Be in a hurry. I'm busy." The point of Foley's tongue ran gratified between his thin lips, as his eyes took in every squirm of this cornered mouse. "In the first place, I come just in a social way. I wanted to return the calls youse made on me last week. Youse see, I been studyin' up etiquette. Gettin' ready to break into the Four Hundred." "And in the second place?" snapped Mr. Driscoll. Foley stepped to the office door, closed it, and resumed his back-tilted seat. "In the second place, I thought I'd like to talk over one little point about the St. Etienne job." Mr. Driscoll drew a check-book out of a pigeon-hole and dipped his pen. "How much this time?" The sarcasm did not touch Foley. He made a wide negative sweep with his right arm. "What I'm goin' to tell youse won't cost youse a cent. It's as free as religion." The point of red again slipped between his lips. "Well?--I said I was busy." "Well, here it is: Don't youse think youse got a pretty bum foreman on the St. Etienne job?" "What business is that of yours?" "Won't youse talk in a little more of a Christian spirit, Mr. Driscoll?" It was half a minute before Mr. Driscoll could speak in any kind of a spirit. "Will you please come to the point!" "Why, I'm there already," the walking delegate returned sweetly. "As I was sayin', don't youse think your foreman on the St. Etienne job is a pretty bum outfit?" "Keating?--I never had a better." "D'youse think so? Now I was goin' to suggest, in a friendly way, that youse get another man in his place." "Are you running my business, or am I?" "If youse'd only talk with a little more Christian----" The eyes clicked. The members of the church to which Mr. Driscoll belonged would have stuffed fingers into their horrified ears at the language in which Foley was asked to go to a place that was being prepared for him. Foley was very apologetic. "I'm too busy now, an' I don't get my vacation till August. Then youse ain't goin' to take my advice?" "No! I'm not!" The walking delegate stopped purring. He leaned forward, and the claws pushed themselves from out their flesh-pads. "Let's me and youse make a little bet on that, Mr. Driscoll. Shall we say a thousand a side?" Driscoll's eyes and Foley's battled for a moment. "And if I don't do it?" queried Mr. Driscoll, abruptly. "I don't like to disturb youse by talkin' about unpleasant things. It would be too bad if you didn't do it. Youse really couldn't afford any more delays on the job, could youse?" Mr. Driscoll made no reply. Foley stood up, again purring. "It's really good advice, ain't it? I'll send youse round a good man in the mornin' to take his place. Good-by." As Foley passed out Mr. Driscoll savagely brushed the papers before him to one side of his desk, crushing them into a crumpled heap, and sat staring into the pigeon-holes. He sent for Mr. Berman, who after delivering an opinion in favor of Foley's proposition, departed for his own office, pausing for a moment to lean over the desk of the fair secretary. Presently, with a great gulp, Mr. Driscoll touched a button on his desk and Miss Arnold appeared within the doorway. She was slender, but not too slender. Her heavy brown hair was parted in the middle and fell over either end of her low, broad forehead. The face was sensitive, sensible, intellectual. Persons chancing into Mr. Driscoll's office for the first time wondered how he had come by such a secretary. "Miss Arnold, did you ever see a jelly fish?" he demanded. "Yes." "Well, here's another." "I can't say I see much family resemblance," smiled Miss Arnold. "It's there, all right. We ain't got any nerve." "It seems to me you are riding the transmigration of soul theory at a pretty hard pace, Mr. Driscoll. Yesterday, when you upset the bottle of ink, you were a bull in a china shop, you know." "When you know me a year or two longer, you'll know I'm several sorts of dumb animals. But I didn't call you to give you a natural history lecture. Get Duffy on the 'phone, will you, and tell him to send Keating around as soon as he can. Then come in and take some letters that I want you to let me have just as quick as you can get them off." Two hours later Tom appeared in Miss Arnold's office. She had seen him two or three times when he had come in on business, and had been struck by his square, open face and his confident bearing. She now greeted him with a slight smile. "Mr. Driscoll is waiting for you," she said; and sent him straight on through the next door. Mr. Driscoll asked Tom to be seated and continued to hold his bulging eyes on a sheet of paper which he scratched with a pencil. Tom, with a sense of impending disaster, sat waiting for his employer to speak. At length Mr. Driscoll wheeled about abruptly. "What d'you think of Foley?" "I've known worse men," Tom answered, on his guard. "You must have been in hell, then! You think better of him than I do. And better than he thinks of you. He's just been in to see me. He wants me to fire you." Tom had half-guessed this from the moment Duffy had told him Mr. Driscoll wanted him, but nevertheless he was startled by its announcement in words. He let several seconds pass, the while he got hold of himself, then asked in a hard voice: "And what are you going to do?" Mr. Driscoll knew what he was going to do, but his temper insisted on gratification before he told his plan. "What can I do?" he demanded testily. "It's your fault--the union's fault. And I don't have any sympathy to waste for anything that happens to any of you. Why don't you put a decent man in as your business agent?" Tom passed all this by. "So you're going to fire me?" "What else can I do?" Mr. Driscoll reiterated. "Hasn't my work been satisfactory?" "It isn't a question of work. If it's any satisfaction to you, I'll say that I never had a foreman that got as much or as good work out of the men." "Then you're firing me because Foley orders you to?" There were both pity and indignation in Tom's voice. Mr. Driscoll had expected to put his foreman on the defensive; instead, he found himself getting on that side. "If you want it right out, that's it. But what can I do? I'm held up." "Do?" Tom stood up before his employer, neck and face red, eyes flashing. "Why, fight him!" "I've tried that"--sarcastically--"thanks." "That's what's the matter with you bosses! You think more of dollars than you do of self-respect!" Mr. Driscoll trembled. "Young man, d'you know who you're talking to?" "I do!" Tom cried hotly. "To the man who's firing me because he's too cowardly to stand up for what's right!" Mr. Driscoll glared, his eyes clicked. Then he gave a great swallow. "I guess you're about right. But if I understand the situation, I guess there's a lot of men in your union that'd rather hold their jobs than stand up for what's right." Tom, in his turn, had his fires drawn. "And I guess you're about right, too," he had to admit. "I may be a coward," Mr. Driscoll went on, "but if a man puts a gun to my head and says he'll pull the trigger unless I do what he says, I've got to do it, that's all. And I rather guess you would, too. But let's pass this by. I've got a plan. Foley can make me put you off one job, but he can't make me fire you. Let's see; I'm paying you thirty a week, ain't I?" "That's it." "Well, I'm going to give you thirty-five a week and put you to work in the shop as a superintendent. Foley can't touch you there,--or me either. Isn't that all right?" Mr. Driscoll wore a look of half-hearted triumph. Tom had regarded Mr. Driscoll so long with dislike that even this proposal, apparently uttered in good faith, made him suspicious. He began to search for a hidden motive. "Well?" queried Mr. Driscoll impatiently. He could find no dishonest motive. "But if I took the job I'd have to go out of the union," he said finally. "It oughtn't break your heart to quit Foley's company." Tom walked to the window and looked meditatively into the street. Mr. Driscoll's offer was tempting. It was full of possibilities that appealed to his ambition. He was confident of his ability to fill this position, and was confident that he would develop capacity to fill higher positions. This chance would prove the first of a series of opportunities that would lead him higher and higher,--perhaps even to Mr. Driscoll's own desk. He knew he had it in him. And the comfort, even the little luxuries, the broader opportunities for self-development that would be his, all appealed to him. And he was aware of the joy this new career would give to Maggie. But to leave the union--to give up the fight---- He turned back to Mr. Driscoll. "I can't do it." "What!" cried the contractor in amazement. "I can't do it," Tom repeated. "Do you know what you're throwing away? If you turned out well, and I know you would, why there'd be no end of chances for advancement. I've got a lot of weak men on my pay-roll." "I understand the chance, Mr. Driscoll. But I can't take it. Do you know why Foley's got it in for me?" "He don't like you, I suppose." "Because he's found out, somehow, that I've begun a fight on him, and am going to try to put him out of business. If I take this job, I've got to drop the fight. And I'll never do that!" Tom was warming up again. "Do you know the sort Foley is? I suppose you know he's a grafter?" "Yes. So does my pocket-book." "And so does his pocket-book. His grafting alone is enough to fight him on. But there's the way he treats the union! You know what he's done to me. Well, he's done that to a lot of others. He's got some of us scared so we're afraid to breathe. And the union's just his machine. Now d'you suppose I'm going to quit the union in that shape?" He brought his big red fist thundering down on the desk before Mr. Driscoll. "No, by God! I'm going to stick by the boys. I've got a few hundred saved. They'll last me a while, if I can't get another job. And I'm going to fight that damned skate till one of us drops!" Miss Arnold had come in the moment before with letters for Mr. Driscoll's signature, and had stood through Tom's outburst. She now handed the letters to Mr. Driscoll, and Tom for the first time noticed her presence. It struck him full of confusion. "I beg pardon, miss. I didn't know you were here. I--I hope you didn't mind what I said." "If Miss Arnold objects to what you said, I'll fire her!" put in Mr. Driscoll. The secretary looked with hardly-concealed admiration at Tom, still splendid in the dying glow of his defiant wrath. "If I objected, I'd deserve to be fired," she said. Then she added, smiling: "You may say it again if you like." After Miss Arnold had gone out Mr. Driscoll looked at Tom with blinking eyes. "I suppose you think you're some sort of a hero," he growled. Tom's sudden confusion had collapsed his indignation. "No, I'm a man looking for a job," he returned, with a faint smile. "Well, I'm glad you didn't take the job I offered you. I can't afford to let fools help manage my business." Tom took his hat. "I suppose this is all," he said and started for the door. "Hold on!" Mr. Driscoll stood up. "Why don't you shake hands with a man, like a gentleman? There. That's the stuff. I want to say to you, Keating, that I think you're just about all right. If ever you want a job with me, just come around and say so and I'll give you one if I have to fire myself to make a place for you. And if your money gives out, or you need some to use in your fight, why I ain't throwing much away these days, but you can get all you want by asking for it." Chapter VII GETTING THE MEN IN LINE His dismissal had been one of the risks Tom had accepted when he had decided upon war, and though he felt it keenly now that it had come, yet its chief effect was to intensify his resolution to overturn Buck Foley. He strode on block after block, with his long, powerful steps, his resolution gripping him fiercer and fiercer,--till the thought leaped into his mind: "I've got to tell Maggie." He stopped as though a cold hand had been laid against his heart; then walked on more slowly, considering how he should give the news to her. His first thought was to say nothing of his dismissal for a few days. By then he might have found another job, and the telling that he had lost one would be an easy matter. But his second thought was that she would doubtless learn the news from some of her friends, and would use her tongue all the more freely because of his attempt at concealment; and, furthermore, he would be in the somewhat inglorious position of the man who has been found out. He decided to have done with it at once. When he entered his flat Maggie looked up in surprise from the tidy on which she was working. "What! home already!" Then she noticed his face. "Why, what's the matter?" Tom drew off his overcoat and threw it upon the couch. "I've been fired." She looked at him in astonishment. "Fired!" "Yes." He sat down, determined to get through with the scene as quickly as possible. For the better part of a minute she could not speak. "Fired? What for?" she articulated. "It's Foley's work. He ordered Driscoll to." "You've been talking about Foley some more, then?" "I have." Tom saw what he had feared, a hard, accusing look spread itself over her face. "And you've done that, Tom Keating, after what I, your wife, said to you only last week? I told you what would happen. I told you Foley would make us suffer. I told you not to talk again, and you've gone and done it!" The words came out slowly, sharply, as though it were her desire to thrust them into him one by one. Tom began to harden, as she had hardened. But at least he would give her the chance to understand him. "You know what Foley's like. You know some of the things he's done. Well, I've made up my mind that we oughtn't to stand him any longer. I'm going to do what I can to drive him out of the union." "And you've been talking this?" she cut in. "Oh, of course you have! No wonder he got you fired! Oh, my God! I see it all. And you, you never thought once of your wife or your child!" "I did, and you'll see when I tell you all," Tom said harshly. "But would you have me stand for all the dirty things he does?" "Couldn't you keep out of his way--as I asked you to? Because a wolf's a wolf, that's no reason why you should jump in his mouth." "It is if you can do him up. And I'm going to do Foley up. I'm going to run against him as walking delegate. The situation ain't so bad as you think," he went on, with a weak effort to appease her. "You think things look dark, but they're going to be brighter than they ever were. I'll get another job soon, and after the first of March I'll be walking delegate. I'm going to beat Buck Foley, sure!" For a moment the vision of an even greater elevation than the one from which they were falling made her forget her bitter wrath. Then it flooded back upon her, and she put it all into a laugh. "You beat Buck Foley! Oh, my!" Her ireful words he had borne with outward calm; he had learned they were borne more easily, if borne calmly. But her sneering disbelief in him was too much. He sprang up, his wrath tugging at its leash. She, too, came to her feet, and stood facing him, hands clenched, breast heaving, sneering, sobbing. Her words tumbled out. "Oh, you! you! Brighter days, you say. Ha! ha! You beat Buck Foley? Yes, I know how! Buck Foley'll not let you get a job in your trade. You'll have to take up some other work--if you can get it! Begin all over! We'll grow poorer and poorer. We'll have to eat anything. I'll have to wear rags. Just when we were getting comfortable. And all because you wouldn't pay any attention to what I said. Because you were such a fo-o-ol! Oh, my God! My God!" As she went on her voice rose to a scream, broken by gasps and sobs. At the end she passionately jerked Tom's coat and hat from the couch and threw herself upon it--and the frenzied words tumbled on, and on. Tom looked down upon her a moment, quivering with wrath and a nameless sickness. Then he picked up hat and coat, and glancing at Ferdinand, who had shrunk terrified into a corner, walked quickly out of the flat. He strode about the streets awhile, had dinner in a restaurant, and then, as Wednesday was the union's meeting night, he went to Potomac Hall. It fell out that he met Pete and Barry entering as he came up. "I guess you'll have another foreman to-morrow, boys," he announced; and he briefly told them of his discharge. "It'll be us next, Rivet Head," said Pete. Barry nodded, his face pale. All the men in the hall learned that evening what had happened to Tom, some from his friends, more from Foley's friends. And the manner of the latter's telling was a warning to every listener. "D'you hear Keating has been fired?" "Fired? No. What for?" A wise wink: "Well, he's been talkin' about Foley, you know." Tom grew hot under, but ignored, the open jeering of the Foleyites. The sympathy of his friends he answered with a quiet, but ominous, "Just you wait!" There were few present of the men he had counted on seeing, and soon after the meeting ended, which was unusually early, he started home. It was after ten when he came in. Maggie sat working at the tidy; she did not look up or speak; her passion had settled into resentful obstinacy, and that, he knew from experience, only time could overcome. He had not the least desire to assist time in its work of subjection, and passed straight into their bedroom. Tom felt her sustained resentment, as indeed he could not help; but he did not feel that which was the first cause of the resentment--her lack of sympathetic understanding of him. At twenty-three he had come into a man's wages, and Maggie's was the first pretty face he had seen after that. The novelty of their married life had soon worn off, and with the development of his stronger qualities and of her worst ones, it had gradually come about that the only thoughts they shared were those concerning their common existence in their home. Tom had long since become accustomed to carrying his real ideas to other ears. And so he did not now consciously miss wifely sympathy with his efforts. There was no break the next morning in Maggie's sullen resentment. After an almost wordless breakfast Tom set forth to look for another job. An opening presented itself at the first place he called. "Yes, it happens we do need a foreman," said the contractor. "What experience have you had?" Tom gave an outline of his course in his trade, dwelling on the last two years and a half that he had been a foreman. "Um,--yes. That sounds very good. You say you worked last for Driscoll on the St. Etienne job?" "Yes." "I suppose you don't mind telling why you left? Driscoll hasn't finished that job yet." Tom briefly related the circumstances. "So you're out with Foley." The contractor shook his head. "Sorry. We need a man, and I guess you're a good one. But if Foley did that to Driscoll, he'll do the same to me. I can't afford to be mixed up in any trouble with him." This conversation was a more or less accurate pattern of many that followed on this and succeeding days. Tom called on every contractor of importance doing steel construction work. None of them cared to risk trouble with Foley, and so Tom continued walking the streets. One contractor--the man for whom he had worked before he went on the St. Etienne job--offered Tom what he called some "business advice." "I'm a pretty good friend of yours, Keating, for I've found you all on the level. The trouble with you is, when you see a stone wall you think it was put there to butt your head against. Now, I'm older than you are, and had a lot more experience, and let me tell you it's a lot easier, and a lot quicker, when you see trouble across your path like a stone wall, to go round it than it is to try to butt it out of your way. Stop butting against Foley. Make up with him, or go to some other city. Go round him." In the meantime Tom was busy with his campaign against Foley. He was discharged on the fourteenth of February; the election came on the seventh of March; only three weeks, so haste was necessary. On the days he was tramping about for a job he met many members of the union also looking for work, and to these he talked wherever he found them. And every night he was out talking to the men, in the streets, in saloons, in their own homes. The problem of his campaign was a simple one--to get at least five hundred of the three thousand members of the union to come to the hall on election night and cast their votes against Foley. His campaign, therefore, could have no spectacular methods and no spectacular features. Hard, persistent work, night after night--that was all. On the evening after the meeting and on the following evening Tom had talks with several leading men in the union. A few joined in his plan with spirit. But most that he saw held back; they were willing to help him in secret, but they feared the result of an open espousal of his cause. There were only a dozen men, including Barry and Pete, who were willing to go the whole way with him, and these he formed loosely into a campaign committee. They held a caucus and nominations for all offices were made, Tom being chosen to run for walking delegate and president. The presidency was unsalaried, and during Foley's régime had become an office of only nominal importance; all real power that had ever belonged to the position had been gradually absorbed by the office of walking delegate. At the meeting on the twenty-first Tom's ticket was formally presented to the union, as was also Foley's. Even before this the dozen were busy with a canvass of the union. The members agreed heartily to the plan of demanding an increase in wages, for they had long been dissatisfied with the present scale. But to come out against Foley, that was another matter. Tom found, as he had expected, that his arguments had to be directed, not at convincing the men that Foley was bad, but at convincing them it was safe to oppose him. Reformers are accustomed to explain their failure by saying they cannot arouse the respectable element to come out and vote against corruption. They would find that even fewer would come to the polls if the voters thereby endangered their jobs. The answers of the men in almost all cases were the same. "If I was sure I wouldn't lose my job, I'd vote against Foley in a minute. But you know well enough, Tom, that we have a hard enough time getting on now. Where'd we be if Foley blacklisted us?" "But there's no danger at all, if enough of us come out," Tom would reply. "We can't lose." "But you can't count on the boys coming out. And if we lose, Foley'll make us all smart. He'll manage to find out every man that voted against him." Here was the place in which the guarantee he had sought from Mr. Baxter would fit in. Impelled by knowledge of the great value of this guarantee, Tom went to see the big contractor a few days after his first visit. The uniform traveled down the alley between the offices and brought back word that Mr. Baxter was not in. Tom called again and again. Mr. Baxter was always out. Tom was sorely disappointed by his failure to get the guarantee, but there was nothing to do but to make the best of it; and so he and his friends went on tirelessly with their nightly canvassing. The days, of course, Tom continued to spend in looking for work. In wandering from contractor to contractor he frequently passed the building in which was located the office of Driscoll & Co.; and, a week after his discharge, as he was going by near one o'clock, it chanced Miss Arnold was coming into the street. They saw each other in the same instant. Tom, with his natural diffidence at meeting strange women, was for passing her by with a lift of his hat. "Why, Mr. Keating!" she cried, with a little smile, and as they held the same direction he could but fall into step with her. "What's the latest war news?" she asked. "One man still out of a job," he answered, taking refuge in an attempt at lightness. "No actual conflict yet. I'm busy massing my forces. So far I have one man together--myself." "You ought to find that a loyal army." She was silent for a dozen paces, then asked impulsively: "Have you had lunch yet?" Tom threw a surprised look down upon her. "Yes. Twelve o'clock's our noon hour. We men are used to having our lunch then." "I thought if you hadn't we might have lunched in the same place," she hastened to explain, with a slight flush of embarrassment. "I wanted to ask you some questions. You see, since I've been in New York I've been in a way thrown in contact with labor unions. I've read a great deal on both sides. But the only persons I've had a chance to talk to have all been on the employers' side,--persons like Mr. Driscoll and my uncle, Mr. Baxter." "Baxter, the contractor--Baxter & Co.?" "Yes." Tom wondered what necessity had forced the niece of so rich a man as Mr. Baxter to earn her living as a stenographer. "I've often wanted to talk with some trade union man, but I've never had the chance. I thought you might tell me some of the things I want to know." The note of sincere disappointment in Miss Arnold's voice brought a suggestion to Tom's mind that both embarrassed and attracted. He was not accustomed to the society of women of Miss Arnold's sort, whose order of life had been altogether different from his own, and the idea of an hour alone with her filled him with a certain confusion. But her freshness and her desire to know more of the subject that was his whole life allured him; and his interest was stronger than his embarrassment. "For that matter, I'm not busy, as you know. If you would like it, I can talk to you while you eat." For the next hour they sat face to face in the quiet little restaurant to which Miss Arnold had led the way. The other patrons found themselves looking over at the table in the corner, and wondering what common subject could so engross the refined young woman in the tailored gown and the man in ill-fitting clothes, with big red hands, red neck and crude, square face. For their part these two were unconscious of the wondering eyes upon them. With a query now and then from Miss Arnold, Tom spiritedly presented the union side of mooted questions of the day,--the open shop, the strike, the sympathetic strike, the boycott. The things Miss Arnold had read had dealt coldly with the moral and economic principles involved in these questions. Tom spoke in human terms; he showed how every point affected living men, and women, and children. The difference was the difference between a treatise and life. Miss Arnold was impressed,--not alone by what Tom said, but by the man himself. The first two or three times she had seen him, on his brief visits to the office, she had been struck only by a vague bigness--a bigness that was not so much of figure as of bearing. On his last visit she had been struck by his bold spirit. She now discovered the crude, rugged strength of the man: he had thought much; he felt deeply; he believed in the justice of his cause; he was willing, if the need might be, to suffer for his beliefs. And he spoke well, for his sentences, though not always grammatical, were always vital. He seemed to present the very heart of a thing, and let it throb before the eyes. When they were in the street again and about to go their separate ways, Miss Arnold asked, with impulsive interest: "Won't you talk to me again about these things--some time?" Tom, glowing with the excitement of his own words and of her sympathetic listening, promised. It was finally settled that he should call the following Sunday afternoon. Back at her desk, Miss Arnold fell to wondering what sort of man Tom would be had he had four years at a university, and had his life been thrown among people of cultivation. His power, plus these advantages, would have made him--something big, to say the least. But had he gone to college he would not now be in a trade union. And in a trade union, Miss Arnold admitted to herself, was where he was needed, and where he belonged. Tom went on his way in the elation that comes of a new and gratifying experience. He had never before had so keen and sympathetic a listener. And never before had he had speech with a woman of Miss Arnold's type--educated, thoughtful, of broad interests. Most of the women he had known necessity had made into household drudges--tired and uninteresting, whose few thoughts rarely ranged far from home. Miss Arnold was a discovery to him. Deep down in his consciousness was a distinct surprise that a woman should be interested in the big things of the outside world. He was fairly jerked out of his elation, when, on turning a corner, he met Foley face to face in front of a skyscraper that was going up in lower Broadway. It was their first meeting since Foley had tried to have grim sport out of him on the St. Etienne Hotel. Foley planted himself squarely across Tom's path. "Hello, Keating! How're youse? Where youse workin' now?" The sneering good-fellowship in Foley's voice set Tom's blood a-tingling. But he tried to step to one side and pass on. Again Foley blocked his way. "I understand youse're goin' to be the next walkin' delegate o' the union. That's nice. I s'pose these days youse're trainin' your legs for the job?" "See here, Buck Foley, are you looking for a fight? If you are, come around to some quiet place and I'll mix it up with you all you want." "I don't fight a man till he gets in my class." "If you don't want to fight, then get out of my way!" With that Tom stepped forward quickly and butted his hunched-out right shoulder against Foley's left. Foley, unprepared, swung round as though on a pivot. Tom brushed by and continued on his way with unturned head. Again the walking delegate proved that he could swear. Chapter VIII THE COWARD Two days before his meeting with Miss Arnold Tom had been convinced that any more time was wasted that was spent in looking for a job as foreman. He had before him the choice of being idle or working in the gang. He disliked to do the latter, regarding it as a professional relapse. But he was unwilling to draw upon his savings, if that could be avoided, so he decided to go back into the ranks. The previous evening he had heard of three new jobs that were being started. The contractors on two of them he had seen during the morning; and after his encounter with Foley he set out to interview the third. The contractor was an employer of the smallest consequence--a florid man with little cunning eyes. "Yes, I do need some men," he replied to Tom's inquiry. "How much d'you want?" "Three seventy-five a day, the regular rate." The contractor shook his head. "Too much. I can only pay three." "But you signed an agreement to pay the full rate!" Tom cried. "Oh, a man signs a lot o' things." Tom was about to turn away, when his curiosity got the better of his disgust. For a union man to work under the scale was an offense against the union. For an employer to pay under the scale was an offense against the employers' association. Tom decided to draw the contractor out. "Well, suppose I go to work at three dollars, how do we keep from being discovered?" he asked. The little eyes gleamed with appreciation of their small cunning. "I make this agreement with all my men: You get the full amount in your envelope Saturday. Anybody that sees you open your envelope sees that you're gettin' full scale. Then you hand me back four-fifty later. That's for money I advanced you durin' the week. D'you understand?" "I do," said Tom. "But I'm no three dollar man!" "Hold on!" the contractor cried to Tom's back. His cunning told him in an instant that he had made a mistake; that this man, if let go, might make trouble. "I was just foolin' you. Of course, I'll pay you full rate." Tom knew the man was lying, but he had no real proof that the contractor was breaking faith both with the union and his fellow employers; so, as he needed the money, he took the offered position and went to work the next morning. The job was a fire-engine house just being started on the upper west side of the island. The isolation of the job and the insignificance of the contractor made Tom feel there was a chance Foley might overlook him for the next two weeks. On the following Saturday morning three new men began work on the job. One of them Tom was certain he knew--a tall, lank fellow, chiefly knobs and angles, with wide, drooping shoulders and a big yellow mustache. Tom left his place at the crane of the jimmy derrick and ran down a plank into the basement to where this man and four others were rolling a round column to its place. He touched the man on the shoulder. "Your name's Petersen, ain't it?" "Yah," said the big fellow. "And you worked for a couple of days on the St. Etienne Hotel?" "Yah." Tom did his duty as prescribed by the union rules. He pointed out Petersen as a scab to the steward. Straightway the men crowded up and there was a rapid exchange of opinions. Tom and the steward wanted that a demand for Petersen's discharge be made of the contractor. But the others favored summary action, and made for where the big Swede was standing. "Get out!" they ordered. Petersen glowered at the crowd. "I lick de whole bunch!" he said with slow defiance. The men were brought to a pause by his threatening attitude. His resentful eyes turned for an instant on Tom. The men began to move forward cautiously. Then the transformation that had taken place on the St. Etienne Hotel took place again. The courage faded from him, and he turned and started up the inclined plank for the street. Jeers broke from the men. Caps and greasy gloves pelted Petersen's retreating figure. One man, the smallest of the gang, ran up the plank after him. "Do him up, Kid!" the men shouted scrambling up to the sidewalk. Kid, with showy valiance, aimed an upward blow at the Swede's head. Petersen warded off the fist with automatic ease, but made no attempt to strike back. He started away, walking sidewise, one eye on his path, one on his little assailant who kept delivering fierce blows that somehow failed to reach their mark. "If he ain't runnin' from Kid!" ejaculated the men. "Good boy, Kid!" The blows became faster and fiercer. At the corner Petersen turned back, held his foe at bay an instant, and a second time Tom felt the resentment of his eyes. Then he was driven around the corner. A minute later the little man came back, puffed out and swaggering. "What an infernal coward!" the men marveled, as they went back to work. That was a hard evening for Tom. He not only had to work for votes, but he met two or three lieutenants who were disheartened by the men's slowness to promise support, and to these friends he had to give new courage. Twice, as he was talking to men on the street, he glimpsed the tall, lean figure of Petersen, standing in a doorway as though waiting for someone. The end of his exhausting evening's work found him near the Barrys', and he dropped in for an exchange of experiences. Barry and Pig Iron Pete had themselves come in but a few minutes before. "Got work on your job for a couple more men?" asked Pete after the first words had been spoken. "Hello! You haven't been fired?" "That's it," answered Pete; and Barry nodded. "Foley's work, I suppose?" "Sure. Foley put Jake Henderson up to it. Oh, Jake makes a hot foreman! Driscoll ought to pay him ten a day to keep off the job. Jake complained against us an' got us fired. Said we didn't know our business." "Well, it's only for another week, boys," Tom cheered them. "If you think that then you've had better luck with the men than me 'n' Barry has," Pete declared in disgust. "They're a bunch o' old maids! Foley's too good for 'em. I don't see why we should try to force 'em to take somethin' better." The whole blankety-blanked outfit had Pete's permission to go where they didn't need a forge to heat their rivets. "You don't understand 'em, Pete," returned Tom. "They've got to think first of all of how to earn a living for their families. Of course they're going to hesitate to do anything that will endanger their chance to earn a living. And you seem to forget that we've only got to get one man in five to win out." "An' we've got to get him!" said Barry, almost fiercely. "D'you think there's much danger of your losin', Tom?" Mrs. Barry queried anxiously. "Not if we work. But we've got to work." Mrs. Barry was silent for several moments, during which the talk of the men ran on. Suddenly, she broke in: "Don't you think the women'd have some influence with their husbands?" Tom was silent for a thoughtful minute. "Some of them, mebbe." "More'n you think, I bet!" Mrs. Barry declared. "It's worth tryin', anyhow. Here's what I'm goin' to do: I'm goin' to start out to-morrow an' begin visitin' all the union women I know. I can get the addresses of others from them. An' I'll keep at it every afternoon I can get away till the election. I'll talk to 'em good an' straight an' get 'em to talk to other women. An' we'll get a lot o' the men in line, see if we don't!" Tom looked admiringly at Mrs. Barry's homely face, flushed with determination. "The surest thing we can do to win is to put you up for walking delegate. I'll hustle for you." "Oh, g'wan with you, Tom!" She smiled with pleasure, however. "I've got a picture o' myself climbin' up ladders an' buyin' drinks for the men." "If you was the walkin' delegate," said Pete, "we'd always work on the first floor, an' never drink nothin' but tea." "You shut up, Pete!" Mrs. Barry looked at Tom. "I suppose you're wife'll help in this, too?" Tom looked steadily at the scroll in Mrs. Barry's red rug. "I'm afraid not," he said at length. "She--she couldn't stand climbing the stairs." It was after eleven o'clock when Tom left the Barrys' and started through the quiet cross street toward a car line. A man stepped from an adjoining doorway, and fell in a score of paces behind him. Tom heard rapid steps drawing nearer and nearer, but it was not till the man had gained to within a pace that it occurred to him perhaps he was being followed. Then it was too late. His arm was seized in a grip of steel. The street was dark and empty. Thoughts of Foley's entertainment committee flashed through his head. He whirled about and struck out fiercely with his free arm. His wrist was caught and held by a grip like the first. He was as helpless as if handcuffed. "I vant a yob," a savage voice demanded. Tom recognized the tall, angular figure. "Hello, Petersen! What d'you want?" "I vant a yob." "A job. How can I give you a job?" "You take to-day ma yob avay. You give me a yob!" In a flash Tom understood. The Swede held him accountable for the incident of the morning, and was determined to force another job from him. Was the man crazy? At any rate 'twould be wiser to parley than to bring on a conflict with one possessed of such strength as those hands betokened. So he made no attempt to break loose. "I can't give you a job, I say." "You take it avay!" the Swede said, with fierce persistence. "You make me leave!" "It's your own fault. If you want to work, why don't you get into the union?" Tom felt a convulsive shiver run through the man's big frame. "De union? Ah, de union! Ev'ryvare I ask for yob. Ev'ryvare! 'You b'long to union?' de boss say. 'No,' I say. De boss give me no yob. De union let me not vork! De union----!" His hands gripped tighter in his impotent bitterness. "Of course the union won't let you work." "Vy? I am strong!--yes. I know de vork." Tom felt that no explanation of unionism, however lucid, would quiet this simple-minded excitement. So he said nothing. "Vy should I not vork? Dare be yobs. I know how to vork. But no! De union! I mak dis mont' two days. I mak seven dollar. Seven dollar!" He fairly shook Tom, and a half sob broke from his lips. "How de union tank I live? My family?--me? Seven dollar?" Tom recognized with a thrill that which he was hearing. It was the man's soul crying out in resentment and despair. "But you can't blame the union," he said weakly, feeling that his answer did not answer. "You tank not?" Petersen cried fiercely. "You tank not?" He was silent a brief space, and his breath surged in and out as though he had just paused from running. Suddenly he freed Tom's wrists and set his right hand into Tom's left arm. "Come! I show you vot de union done." He started away. Those iron fingers locked about the prisoner's arm were a needless fetter. The Swede's despairing soul, glimpsed for a moment, had thrown a spell upon Tom, and he would have followed willingly. Their long strides matched, and their heel-clicks coincided. Both were silent. At the end of ten minutes they were in a narrow street, clifted on its either side with tenements that reached up darkly. Presently the Swede turned down a stairway, sentineled by garbage cans. Tom thought they were entering a basement. But Petersen walked on, and in the solid blackness Tom was glad of the hand locked on his arm. They mounted a flight of stone steps, and came into a little stone-paved court. Far above there was a roof-framed square of stars. Petersen led the way across the court and into the doorway of a rear tenement. The air was rotting. They went up two flights of stairs, so old that the wood shivered under foot. Petersen opened a door. A coal oil lamp burned on an otherwise barren table, and beside the table sat a slight woman with a quilt drawn closely about her. She rose, the quilt fell from her shoulders, and she stood forth in a faded calico wrapper. "Oh, Nels! You've come at last!" she said. Then she saw Tom, and drew back a step. "Yah," said Petersen. He dragged Tom after him into the room and swept his left arm about. "See!--De union!" The room was almost bare. The table, three wooden chairs, a few dishes, a cooking-stove without fire,--this was the furniture. Half the plastering was gone from the ceiling, the blue kalsomine was scaling leprously from the walls, in places the floor was worn almost through. In another room he saw a child asleep on a bed. There was just one picture on the walls, a brown-framed photograph of a man in the dress and pose of a prize fighter--a big, tall, angular man, with a drooping mustache. Tom gave a quick glance at Petersen. "See!--De union!" Petersen repeated fiercely. The little woman came quickly forward and laid her hand on Petersen's arm. "Nels, Nels," she said gently. "Yah, Anna. But he is de man vot drove me from ma yob." "We must forgive them that despitefully use us, the Lord says." Petersen quieted under her touch and dropped Tom's arm. She turned her blue eyes upon Tom in gentle accusation. "How could you? Oh, how could you?" Tom could only answer helplessly: "But why don't he join the union?" "How can he?" The words echoed within Tom. How could he? Everything Tom saw had not the value of half the union's initiation fee. There was an awkward silence. "Won't you sit down, brother." Mrs. Petersen offered Tom one of the wooden chairs, and all three sat down. He noted that the resentment was passing from Petersen's eyes, and that, fastened on his wife, they were filling with submissive adoration. "Nels has tried very hard," the little woman said. They had been in the West for three years, she went on; Nels had worked with a non-union crew on a bridge over the Missouri. When that job was finished they had spent their savings coming to New York, hearing there was plenty of work there. "We had but twenty dollars when we got here. How could Nels join the union? We had to live. An' since he couldn't join the union, the union wouldn't let him work. Brother, is that just? Is that the sort o' treatment you'd like to get?" Tom was helpless against her charges. The union was right in principle, but what was mere correctness of principle in the presence of such a situation? "Would you be willing to join the union?" he asked abruptly of Petersen. It was Petersen's wife who answered. "O' course he would." "Well, don't you worry any more then. He won't have any trouble getting a job." "How?" asked the little woman. "I'm going to get him in the union." "But that costs twenty-five dollars." "Yes." "But, brother, we haven't got _one_!" "I'll advance it. He can pay it back easy enough afterwards." The little woman rose and stood before Tom. Her thin white face was touched up faintly with color, and tears glistened in her eyes. She took Tom's big red hand in her two frail ones. "Brother, if you ain't a Christian, you've got a Christian heart!" she cried out, and the thin hands tightened fervently. She turned to her husband. "Nels, what did I say! The Lord would not forget them that remembered him." Tom saw Petersen stand up, nothing in his eyes now but adoration, and open his arms. He turned his head. For the second time Tom took note of the brown-framed photograph, with "The Swedish Terror" in black letters at its bottom, and rose and stood staring at it. Presently, Mrs. Petersen drew to his side. "We keep it before us to remind us what wonders the Lord can work, bless His holy name!" she explained. "Nels was a terrible fightin' man before we was married an' I left the Salvation Army. A terrible fightin' man!" Even in her awe of Petersen's one-time wickedness Tom could detect a lurking admiration of his prowess. "The Lord has saved him from all that. But he has a terrible temper. It flares up at times, an' the old carnal desire to fight gets hold o' him again. That's his great weakness. But we pray that God will keep him from fightin', an' God does!" Tom looked at the little woman, a bundle of religious ardor, looked at Petersen with his big shoulders, thought of the incident of the morning. He blinked his eyes. Tom stepped to the table and laid down a five-dollar bill. "You can pay that back later." He moved quickly to the door. "Good-night," he said, and tried to escape. But Mrs. Petersen was upon him instantly. "Brother! Brother!" She seized his hands again in both hers, and looked at him with glowing eyes. "Brother, may God bless you!" Tom blinked his eyes again. "Good-night," he said. Petersen stepped forward and without a word took Tom's arm. The grasp was lighter than when they had come up. Again Tom was glad of the guidance of that hand as they felt their way down the shivering stairs, and out through the tunnel. "Good-night," he said once more, when they had gained the street. Petersen gripped his hand in awkward silence. Chapter IX RUTH ARNOLD Ruth Arnold was known among her friends as a queer girl. Neither the new ones in New York nor the old ones of her birth town understood her "strange impulses." They were constantly being shocked by ideas and actions which they considered, to phrase it mildly, very unusual. The friends in her old home were horrified when she decided to become a stenographer. Friends in both places were horrified when, a little less than a year before, it became known she was going to leave the home of her aunt to become Mr. Driscoll's secretary. "What a fool!" they cried. "If she had stayed she might have married ever so well!" Mrs. Baxter had entreated, and with considerable elaboration had delivered practically these same opinions. But Ruth was obstinate in her queerness, and had left. However, only a few weeks before, Mrs. Baxter had had a partial recompense for Ruth's disappointing conduct. She had noted the growing intimacy between Mr. Berman, who was frequently at her house, and Ruth, and by delicate questioning had drawn the calm statement from her niece that Mr. Berman had asked her in marriage. "Of course you said 'yes,'" said Mrs. Baxter. Ruth had not. "My child! Why not?" "I don't love him." "What of that?" demanded her aunt, who loved her husband. "Love will come. He is educated, a thorough gentleman, and has money. What more do you want in a husband? And your uncle says he is very clever in business." Thus brought to bay, Ruth had taken her aunt into the secret that her refusal had not been final and that Mr. Berman had given her six months in which to make up her mind. This statement was Mrs. Baxter's partial recompense. "Then you'll marry him, Ruth!" she declared, and kissed her lightly. Ruth understood herself no better than did her friends. She was not conscious that she had in a measure that rare endowment--the clear vision which perceives the things of life in their true relation and at their true value, plus the instinct to act upon that vision. It was the manifestations of this instinct that made her friends call her queer. Her instinct, however, did not hold her in sole sway. Her training had fastened many governing conventions upon her, and she was not always as brave as her inward promptings. Her actions made upon impulse were usually in accord with this instinct. Her actions that were the result of thought were frequently in accord with convention. It was her instinct that had impelled her to ask Tom to call. It was convention that, on Sunday afternoon, made her await his coming with trepidation. She was genuinely interested in the things for which Tom stood, and her recent-born admiration of him was sincere. Nevertheless his approaching visit was in the nature of an adventure to her. This workingman, transferred from the business world to the social world, might prove himself an embarrassing impossibility. Especially, she wondered, with more than a little apprehension, how he would be dressed. She feared a flaming necktie crawling up his collar, and perhaps in it a showy pin; or a pair of fancy shoes; or a vest of assertive pattern; or, perhaps, hair oil! When word was brought her by a maid that Tom was below, she gave an order that he was to wait, and put on her hat and jacket. She did not know him well enough to ask him to her room. She could not receive him in the parlor common to all the boarding-house. Her instinctive self told her it would be an embarrassment to him to be set amid the gossiping crowd that gathered there on Sunday afternoon. Her conventional self told her that, if he were but a tenth as bad as was possible, it would be more than an embarrassment for her to sit beside him amid those curious eyes. The street was the best road out of the dilemma. He was sitting in the high-backed hall chair when she came down. "Shall we not take a walk?" she asked. "The day is beautiful for February." Tom acceded gratefully. He had glanced through the parted portières into the parlor, and his minutes of waiting had been minutes of consternation. The first thing Ruth noted when they came out into the light of the street was that his clothes were all in modest taste, and she thrilled with relief. Mixed with this there was another feeling, a glow of pleasure that he was vindicating himself to her conventional part. Ruth lived but a few doors from Central Park. As they started across Central Park West a big red automobile, speeding above the legal rate, came sweeping down upon them, tooting its arrogant warning. Tom jerked Ruth back upon the sidewalk. She glared at the bundled-up occupants of the scurrying car. "Don't it make you feel like an anarchist when people do that?" she gasped. "Not the bomb-throwing sort." "Why not? When people do that, I've got just one desire, and that's to throw a bomb!" "What good would a bomb here or there do? Or what harm?" Tom asked humorously. "What's the use trying to destroy people that're already doomed?" Ruth was silent till they gained the other side of the street. "Doomed? What do you mean?" she then asked. "Every dog has his day, you know. Them rich people are having theirs. It's a summer day, and I guess it's just about noon now. But it's passing." Ruth had learned during her conversation with him on the previous Tuesday that a large figurative statement such as this was likely to have a great many ideas behind it, so she now proceeded to lead him to the ideas' expression. The sun, drawing good-humoredly from his summer's store, had brought thousands to the Park walks, and with genial presumption had unbuttoned their overcoats. The bare gray branches of bush and tree glinted dully in the warm light, as if dreamfully smiling over the budding days not far ahead. But Tom had attention for the joy of neither the sun nor his dependents. He thought only of what he was saying, for he had been led to speech upon one of his dearest subjects. Though he had left school at thirteen to begin work, he had attended night school for a number of years, had belonged to a club whose chief aim was debating, had read a number of solid books and had done a great deal of thinking for himself. As a result of his reading, thinking and observation he had come into some large ideas concerning the future of the working class. In the past, he now said to Ruth, classes had risen to power, served their purpose, and been displaced by new classes stimulated by new ideas. The capitalist class was now in power, and was performing its mission--the development and centralization of industries. But its decline would be even more rapid than its rise. It would be succeeded by the working class. The working class was vast in numbers, and was filled with surging energy. Its future domination was certain. "And you believe this?" Ruth queried when he came to a pause. "I know it." "Admitting that all these things are coming about--which I don't--don't you honestly think it would be disastrous to the general interest for the workingman to come into power?" "You mean we would legislate solely in our own interests? What if we did? Hasn't every class that ever came into power done that? Anyhow, since we make up nine-tenths of the people we'd certainly be legislating in the interests of the majority--which can't always be said now. And as for our ability to run things, I'd rather have an honest fool than a grafter that knows it all. But if you mean we're a pretty rough lot, and haven't much education, I guess you're about right. How can we help it? We've never had a chance to be anything else. But think what the working class was a hundred years ago! Haven't we come up? Thousands of miles! That's because we've been getting more and more chances, like chances for an education, that used to belong only to the rich. And our chances are increasing. Another hundred years and we won't know ourselves. We'll be fit for anything!" "I see you're very much of a dreamer." "Dreamer? Not at all! If you were to look ahead and say in a hundred years from now it'll be 2000, would you call that a dream?" "Hardly!" Ruth admitted with a smile. "Well, what I'm telling you is just as certain as the passage of time. I'm anything but a dreamer. I believe in a present for the working class as well as a future. I believe that we, if we work hard, have the right, now, to-day, to a comfortable living, and with enough over to give our children as good an education as the children of the bosses; and with enough to buy a few books, see a little of the world, and to save a little so we'll not have ahead of us the terrible fear that we and our families may starve when we get too old to work. That's the least we ought to have. But we lack an almighty lot of having it, Miss Arnold. "Take my own trade--and we're a lot better off than most workingmen--we get three seventy-five a day. That wouldn't be so bad if we made it three hundred days a year, but you know we don't average more than six months' work. Less than seven hundred dollars a year. What can a man with a family do in New York on seven hundred dollars a year? Two hundred for rent, three hundred for food, one hundred for clothes. There's six hundred gone in three lumps. Twenty-five cents a day left for heat, light, education, books, amusement, travel, street-car fare,--and to save for your old age! "And then our trade's dangerous. I think half of our men are killed. If you saw the obituary list that's published monthly of all the branches of our union in the country, you'd think so, too! Every other name--crushed, or something broke and he fell. Only the other day on a steel bridge near Pittsburg a piece of rigging snapped and ten men dropped two hundred feet. They landed on steel beams in a barge anchored below--and were pulp. And after the other names, it's pneumonia or consumption. D'you know what that means? It means exposure at work. Killed by their work!... Well, that's our work,--and we get seven hundred a year! "And then our work takes the best part of our lives, and throws us away. So long as we're strong and active, we can be used. But the day we begin to get a little stiff--if we last that long!--we're out of it. It may be at forty. We've got to learn how to do something else, or just wait for the end. There's our families. And you know how much we've got in the bank! "Well, that's how it is in our union. Is seven hundred a year enough?--when we risk our lives every day we work?--when we're fit for work only so long as we're young men? We're human beings, Miss Arnold. We're men. We want comfortable homes, we want to keep our children in school, we'd like to save something up for the time when we can't work. Seven hundred a year! How're we going to do it, Miss Arnold? How're we going to do it?" Ruth looked up at his glowing set face, and for the moment forgot she was allied to the other side. "Demand higher wages!" her instinct answered promptly. "That's the only thing! And that's what we're going to do! More money for the time we do work!" He said no more. Now that the stimulant of his excited words was gone, Ruth felt her fatigue. Engrossed by his emotions he had swung along at a pace that had taxed her lesser stride. "Shall we not sit down," she suggested; and they found a bench on a pinnacle of rock from whence they looked down through a criss-cross of bare branches upon a sun-polished lagoon, and upon the files of people curving along the paths. Tom removed his hat, and Ruth turning to face him took in anew the details of his head--the strong, square, smooth-shaven face, the broad forehead, moist and banded with pink where his hat had pressed, the hair that clung to his head in tight brown curls. Looked,--and felt herself growing small, and the men of her acquaintance growing small. And thought.... Yes, that was it; it was his purpose that made him big. "You have kept me so interested that I've not yet asked you about your fight against Mr. Foley," she said, after a moment. Tom told her all that had been done. "But is there no other way of getting at the men except by seeing them one by one?" she asked. "That seems such a laborious way of carrying on a campaign. Can't you have mass-meetings?" Tom shook his head. "In the first place it would be hard to get the men out; they're tired when they come home from work, and then a lot of them don't want to openly identify themselves with us. And in the second place Foley'd be likely to fill the hall with his roughs and break the meeting up." "But to see the men individually! And you say there are twenty-five hundred of them. Why, that's impossible!" "Yes. A lot of the men we can't find. They're out when we call." "Why not send a letter to every member?" asked Ruth, suggesting the plan to her most obvious. "A letter?" "A letter that would reach them a day or two before election! A short letter, that drove every point home!" She leaned toward him excitedly. "Good!" Tom brought his fist down on his knee. Ruth knew the money would have to come from his pocket. "Let's see. It would cost, for stamps, twenty-five dollars; for the letters--they could be printed--about fifteen dollars; for the envelopes six or seven dollars. Say forty-five or fifty dollars." Fifty dollars was a great deal to Tom--saved little by little. But he hesitated only a moment. "All right. If we can influence a hundred men, one in twenty-five, it'll be worth the money." A thoughtful look came over his face. "What is it?" Ruth asked quickly. "I was thinking about the printing and other things. Wondering how I could get away from work to see to it." "Won't you let me look after that for you?" Ruth asked eagerly. "I look after all our printing. I can leave the office whenever I'm not busy, you know. It would take only a few minutes of my time." "It really wouldn't?" Tom asked hesitantly. "It wouldn't be any trouble at all. And I'd be glad to do it." Tom thanked her. "I wouldn't know how to go about a thing of that sort, anyhow, even if I could get away from work," he admitted. "And I could see to the addressing, too," Ruth pursued. He sat up straight. "There's the trouble! The addresses!" "The addresses? Why?" "There's only one list of the men and where they live. That's the book of the secretary and treasurer." "Won't he lend it to you?" Tom had to laugh. "Connelly lend it to me! Connelly's one of the best friends Foley's got." "Then there's no way of getting it?" "He keeps it in his office, and when he's not there the office is locked. But we'll get it somehow." "Well, then if you'll write out the letter and send it to me in a day or two, I'll see to having it printed right away." It flashed upon Tom what a strong concluding statement to the letter the guarantee from Mr. Baxter would make. He told Ruth of his idea, of his attempts to get the guarantee, and of the influence it would have on the men. "He's probably forgotten all about it," she said. "I think I may be able to help you to get it. I can speak to Aunt Elizabeth and have her speak to him." But her quick second thought was that she could not do this without revealing to her aunt a relation Mrs. Baxter could not understand. "No, after all I can't be of any use there. You might try to see him again, and if you fail then you might write him." Tom gave her a quick puzzled glance, as he had done a few days before when she had mentioned her relation to Mr. Baxter. She caught the look. "You are wondering how it is Mr. Baxter is my uncle," she guessed. "Yes," he admitted. "It's very simple. All rich people have their poor relatives, I suppose? Mrs. Baxter and my mother were sisters. Mr. Baxter made money. My father died before he had a chance. After mamma died, I decided to go to work. There was only enough money to live a shabby-genteel, pottering life--and I was sick of that. I have no talents, and I wanted to be out in the world, in contact with people who are doing real things. So I learned stenography. A little over a year ago I came to New York. I lived for awhile with my uncle and aunt; they were kind, but the part of a poor relation didn't suit me, and I made up my mind to go to work again. They were not pleased very well; they wanted me to stay with them. But my mind was made up. I offered to go to work for my uncle, but he had no place for me, and got me the position with Mr. Driscoll. And that's all." A little later she asked him for the time. His watch showed a quarter of five. On starting out she had told him that she must be home by five, so she now remarked: "Perhaps we'd better be going. It'll take us about fifteen minutes to walk back." They started homeward across the level sunbeams that were stretching themselves out beneath barren trees and over brown lawns for their night's sleep. As they drew near to Ruth's boarding-house they saw a perfectly-tailored man in a high hat go up the steps. He was on the point of ringing the bell when he sighted them, and he stood waiting their coming. A surprised look passed over his face when he recognized Ruth's companion. As they came up the steps he raised his hat to Ruth. "Good-afternoon, Miss Arnold." And to Tom he said carelessly: "Hello, Keating." Tom looked him squarely in the eyes. "Hello, Berman," he returned. Mr. Berman started at the omission of the "Mr." Tom lifted his hat to Ruth, bade her good-afternoon, and turned away, not understanding a sudden pang that shot into his heart. Mr. Berman's eyes followed Tom for a dozen paces. "A very decent sort--for a workingman," he remarked. "For any sort of a man," said Ruth, with an emphasis that surprised her. She took out her latch-key, and they entered. Chapter X LAST DAYS OF THE CAMPAIGN After supper, which was eaten in the customary silence, Tom started for the Barrys' to talk over the scheme of circularizing the members of the union. He met Pete coming out of the Barrys' tenement. He joined him and, as they walked away, outlined the new plan. "That's what I call a mighty foxy scheme," Pete approved. "It's a knock-out blow. It'll come right at the last minute, an' Foley won't have time to hit back." Tom pointed out the difficulty of getting the membership list. "You leave that to me, Tom. It's as easy as fallin' off the twenty-third story an' hittin' the asphalt. You can't miss it." "But what kind of a deal will you make with Connelly? He's crooked, you know." "Yes, he has got pretty much of a bend to him," Pete admitted. "But he ain't so worse, Tom. I've traveled a lot with him. When d'you want the book?" "We've got to get it and put it back without Connelly knowing it's been gone. We'd have to use it at night. Could you get it late, and take it back the next morning?" "That'd be runnin' mighty close. What's the matter with gettin' it Saturday night an' usin' it Sunday?" "Sunday's pretty late, with the election coming Wednesday. But it'll do, I guess." Tom spent the evening at one corner of the dining-table from which he had turned back the red cloth, laboriously scratching on a sheet of ruled letter paper. He had never written when he could avoid it. His ideas were now clear enough, but they struggled against the unaccustomed confinement of written language. The words came slowly, with physical effort, and only after crossing out, and interlining, and crossing out again, were they joined into sentences. At ten o'clock Maggie, who had been calling on a friend, came in with Ferdinand. The boy made straight for the couch and was instantly asleep. Maggie was struck at once by the unwonted sight of her husband writing, but her sulkiness fought her curiosity for more than a minute, during which she removed her hat and jacket, before the latter could gain a grudged victory. "What are you doing?" she asked shortly. "Writing a letter," he answered, keeping his eyes on the paper. She leaned over his shoulder and read a few lines. Her features stiffened. "What're you going to do with that?" "Print it." "But you'll have to pay for it." "Yes." "How much?" "About fifty dollars." She gasped, and her sullen composure fled. "Fifty dollars! For that--that----" Breath failed her. Tom looked around. Her black eyes were blazing. Her hands were clenched. Her full breast was rising and falling rapidly. "Tom Keating, this is about the limit!" she broke out. "Hain't your foolishness learnt you anything yet? It's cost you seven dollars a week already. And here you are, throwing fifty dollars away all in one lump! Fifty dollars!" Her breath failed her again. "That's like you! You'll throw money away, and let me go without a decent rag to my back!" Tom arose. "Maggie," he said, in a voice that was cold and hard, "I don't expect any sympathy from you. I don't expect you to understand what I'm about. I don't think you want to understand. But I do expect you to keep still, if you've got nothing better to say than you've just said!" Maggie had lost herself. "Is that a threat?" she cried furiously. "Do you mean to threaten me? Why, you brute! D'you think you can make me keep still? You throw away money that's as much mine as yours!--you make me suffer for it!--and yet you expect me never to say a word, do you?" Tom glared at her. His hands tingled to lay hold of her and shake her. But, as he glared, he thought of the woman he had so recently left, and a sense of shame for his desire crept upon him. And, too, he began vaguely to feel, what it was inevitable he should some time feel, the contrast between his wife ... and this other. His silence added to her frenzy. "You threaten me? What do I care for your threats! You can't do anything worse than you already have done,--and are doing. You're ruining us! Well, what are you standing there for? Why----" There was but one thing for Tom to do, that which he had often had to do before,--go into the street. He put the scribbled sheets into his coat, and left her standing there in the middle of the floor pouring out her fury. He walked about till he thought she would be asleep, then returned. A glance into their bedroom showed her in bed, and Ferdinand in his cot at the bed's foot. He sat down again at the table and resumed his clumsy pencil. It was midnight before the two-hundred-word production was completed and copied. He put it into an envelope, enclosed a note saying he expected to have the list of names over the following Sunday, and took the letter down and dropped it into a mail-box. Then removing shoes, coat, and collar, he lay down on the sofa with his overcoat for covering, and presently fell asleep. Ruth's heart sank when she received the letter the next afternoon. Her yesterday's talk with him had left her with a profound impression of his power, and that impression had been fresh all the morning. This painfully written letter, with its stiff, hard sentences, headed "Save the Union!" and beginning "Brothers," recalled to her with a shock another element of his personality. It was as though his crudity had dissociated itself from his other qualities and laid itself, bare and unrelieved, before her eyes. As she read the letter a second time she felt a desire to improve upon his sentences; but she thought this might give him offense; and she thought also, and rightly, that his stilted sentences, rich with such epithets, as "tyrant," "bully," "grafter," would have a stronger effect on his readers than would more polished and controlled language. So she carried the letter to the printer as it had left Tom's hand. She wrote Tom that Mr. Driscoll was willing her office should be used for the work of Sunday. Tom's answer was on a postal card and written in pencil. She sighed. The week passed rapidly with Tom, the nights in canvassing, the days in work. Every time he went to work, he did so half expecting it would be his last day on the job. But all went well till Friday morning. Then the expected happened. As he came up to the fire-house a hansom cab, which had turned into the street behind him, stopped and Foley stepped out. "Hold on there, Keating!" the walking delegate called. Tom paused, three or four paces from the cab. Foley stepped to his side. "So this's where youse've sneaked off to work!" Tom kept his square jaw closed. "I heard youse were at work. I thought I'd look youse up to-day. So I followed youse. Now, are youse goin' to quit this job quiet, or do I have to get youse fired?" Tom answered with dangerous restraint. "I haven't got anything against the contractor. And I know what you'd do to him to get me off. I'll go." "Move then, an' quick!" "There's one thing I want to say to you first," said Tom; and instantly his right fist caught the walking delegate squarely on the chin. Foley staggered back against the wheel of the hansom. Without giving him a second look Tom turned about and walked toward the car line. When Foley recovered himself Tom was a score of paces away. Half a dozen of the workmen were looking at him in waiting silence. He glared at Tom's broad back, but made no attempt to follow. "To-day ain't the only day!" he said to the men, closing his eyes to ominous slits; and he stepped back into the cab and drove away. That evening Tom had an answer to the letter he had written Mr. Baxter, after having failed once more to find that gentleman in. It was of but a single sentence. After giving thorough consideration to your suggestion, I have decided that it would be neither wise nor in good taste for me to interfere in the affairs of your union. Tom stared at the letter in amazement. Mr. Baxter had little to risk, and much to gain. He could not understand. But, however obscure Mr. Baxter's motive, the action necessitated by his decision was as clear as a noon sun; a vital change had to be made in the letter to the members of the union. Certain of Mr. Baxter's consent, Tom had set down the guarantee to the men as the last paragraph in the letter and had held the proof awaiting Mr. Baxter's formal authorization of its use. He now cut out the paragraph that might have meant a thousand votes, and mailed the sheet to Ruth. He talked wherever he could all the next day, and the next evening. After going home he sat up till almost one o'clock expecting Pete to come in with the roster of the members. But Pete did not appear. Early Sunday morning Tom was over at the Barrys'. Pete was not yet up, Mrs. Barry told him. Tom softly opened the door of Pete's narrow room and stepped in. Pete announced himself asleep by a mighty trumpeting. Tom shook his shoulders. He stirred, but did not open his eyes. "Doan wan' no breakfas'," he said, and slipped back into unconsciousness. Tom shook him again, without response. Then he threw the covers back from Pig Iron's feet and poured a little water on them. Pete sat suddenly upright; there was a meteoric shower of language; then he recognized Tom. "Hello, Tom! What sort of a damned society call d'you call this?" "If you only worked as hard as you sleep, Pete, you could put up a building alone," said Tom, exasperated. "D'you get the book?" "Over there." Pete pointed to a package lying on the floor. Tom picked it up eagerly, sat down on the edge of the bed--Pete's clothes were sprawling over the only chair--and hastily opened it. Within the wrapping paper was the secretary's book. "How'd you get it, Pete?" "The amount o' licker I turned into spittoons last night, Tom, was certainly an immoral waste. If I'd put it where it belonged, I'd be drunk for life. Connelly, he'll never come to. Now, s'pose you chase along, Tom, an' let me finish things up with my bed." "What time d'you want the book again?" "By nine to-night." "Will you have any trouble putting it back in the office?" "Sure not. While I had Connelly's keys I made myself one to his office. I took a blank and a file with me last night." At ten o'clock, the hour agreed upon, Tom was in Ruth's office. Ruth and a business-looking woman of middle age, who was introduced as a Mrs. Somebody, were already there when he came. Five boxes of envelopes were stacked on a table, which had been drawn to the center of the room, the letters were on a smaller table against one wall, and sheets of stamps were on the top of Ruth's desk. Tom was appalled when he saw what a quantity twenty-five hundred envelopes were. "What! We can't write names on all those to-day!" "It'll take the two of us about seven hours with you reading the names to us," Ruth reassured him. "I had the letters come folded from the printers. We'll put them in the envelopes and put on the stamps to-morrow. They'll all be ready for the mail Monday night." Until five o'clock, with half an hour off for lunch, the two women wrote rapidly, Tom, on the opposite side of the table, reading the names to them alternately and omitting the names of the adherents of Foley. Now that she was with him again Ruth soon forgot all about Tom's crudity. His purposeful power, which projected itself through even so commonplace an occupation as reading off addresses, rapidly remade its first impression. It dwarfed his crudity to insignificance. When he left her at her door she gave him her hand with frank cordiality. "You'll come Thursday evening then to tell me all about it as you promised. When I see you then I'm sure it will be to congratulate you." Chapter XI IN FOLEY'S "OFFICE" Buck Foley's greatest weakness was the consciousness of his strength. Two years before he would have been a much more formidable opponent, for then he was alert for every possible danger and would have put forth his full of strength and wits to overwhelm an aspiring usurper. Now he was like the ring champion of several years' standing who has become too self-confident to train. Foley felt such security that he made light of the first reports of Tom's campaigning brought him by his intimates. "He can't touch me," he said confidently. "After he rubs sole leather on asphalt a few more weeks, he'll be so tame he'll eat out o' my hand." It was not till the meeting at which Tom's ticket was presented that Foley awoke to the possibility of danger. He saw that Tom was tremendously in earnest, that he was working hard, that he was gaining strength among the men. If Tom were to succeed in getting out the goody-goody element, or even a quarter of it----Foley saw the menacing possibility. Connelly hurried up to him at the close of the meeting. "Say, Buck, this here looks serious!" he whispered. "A lot o' the fellows are gettin' scared." "What's serious?" "Keating's game." "I'd forgotten that. I keep forgettin' little things. Well, s'pose youse get the bunch to drop in at Mulligan's." Half an hour later Foley, who knew the value of coming late, sauntered into the back room of Mulligan's saloon, which drinking-place was distant two blocks from Potomac Hall. This back room was commonly known as "Buck's Office," for here he met and issued orders to his lieutenants. It was a square room with a dozen chairs, three tables, several pictures of prize fighters and several nudes of the brewers' school of art. Connelly, Jake Henderson, and six other men sat at the tables, beer glasses before them, talking with deep seriousness. Foley paused in the doorway. "Hello, youse coffin-faces! None o' this for mine!" He started out. "Hold on, Buck!" Connelly cried, starting up. Foley turned back. "Take that crape off your mugs, then!" "We were talkin' about Keating," Connelly explained. "It strikes us he means business." It was a principle in Foley's theory of government not to ask help of his lieutenants in important affairs except when it was necessary; it fed his love of power to feel them dependent upon his action. But it was also a principle that they should feel an absolute confidence in him. He now saw dubiety on every face; an hour's work was marked out. He sat down, threw open his overcoat, put one foot on a table and tipped back in his chair. "Yes, I s'pose Keating thinks he does mean business." With his eyes fixed carelessly on the men he drew from a vest pocket a tight roll of bills, with 100 showing at either end, and struck a match; and moved the roll, held cigar-wise between the first and second fingers of his left hand, and the match toward his mouth. With a cry Connelly sprang forward and seized his wrist. "Now what the hell----" Foley began, exasperatedly. His eyes fell to his hand, and he grinned. "Well! Now I wonder where that cigar is." He went one by one through the pockets of his vest. "Well, I reckon I'll have to buy another. Jake, ask one o' the salesladies to fetch in some cabbage." Jake Henderson stepped to the door and called for cigars. Mulligan himself responded, bearing three boxes which he set down before Foley. "Five, ten and fifteen," he said, pointing in turn at the boxes. Foley picked up the cheapest box and snuffed at its contents. "These the worst youse got?" "Got some two-fers." "Um! Make youse think youse was mendin' the asphalt, I s'pose. I guess these's bad enough. Help youselves, boys." But it was the fifteen-cent box he started around. The men took one each, and the box came back to Foley. "Hain't youse fellows got no vest pockets?" he demanded, and started the box around again. When the box had completed its second circuit Mulligan took it and the two others and started out. "Hold on, Barney," said Foley. "What's the matter with your beer?" "My beer?" "Been beggin' the boys to have some more, but they don't want it." "My beer's----" "Hi, Barney! Don't youse see he's shootin' hot air into youse?" cried Jake delightedly. "Chase in the beer!" "No, youse don't have to drink nothin' youse don't like. Bring in some champagne, Barney. I'm doin' a scientific stunt. I want to see what champagne does to a roughneck." "How much?" asked Mulligan. "Oh, about a barrel." He drew from his trousers pocket a mixture of crumpled bills, loose silver, and keys. From this he untangled a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Mulligan. "Fetch back what youse don't want. An' don't move like your feet was roots, neither." Two minutes later Mulligan returned with four quart bottles. Immediately behind him came a girl in the dress of the Salvation Army. "Won't you help us in our work?" she said, holding her tin box out to Foley. "Take what youse want." He pointed with his cigar to the change Mulligan had just laid upon the table. With hesitation she picked up a quarter. "This much?" she asked, smiling doubtfully. "No wonder youse're poor!" He swept all the change into his palm. "Here!" and he thrust it into her astonished hands. After she had stammered out her thanks and departed, Foley began to fill the glasses from a bottle Mulligan had opened. Jake, moistening his lips, put out his hand in mock refusal. "Only a drop for me, Buck." Foley filled Jake's glass to the brim. "Well, there's several. Pick your choice." He filled the other glasses, then lifted his own with a "Here's how!" They all raised the fragile goblets clumsily and emptied them at a gulp. "Now put about twenty dollars' worth o' grin on your faces," Foley requested. "But what about Keating?" asked Connelly anxiously, harking back to the first subject. "He's startin' a mighty hot fight. An' really, Buck, he's a strong man." "Yes, I reckon he is." Foley put one hand to his mouth and yawned mightily behind it. "But he's sorter like a big friend o' mine who went out to cut ice in July. His judgment ain't good." "Of course, he ain't got no chance." "The same my friend had o' fillin' his ice-house." "But it strikes me we ought to be gettin' busy," Connelly persisted. "See here, Connelly. Just because I ain't got a couple o' niggers humpin' to keep the sweat wiped off me, youse needn't think I'm loafin'," Foley returned calmly. The others, who had shared Connelly's anxiety, were plainly affected by Foley's large manner. "Youse can just bet Buck'll be there with the goods when the time comes," Jake declared confidently. "That's no lie," agreed the others. "Oh, I ain't doubtin' Buck. Never a once!" said Connelly. "But what's your plans, Buck?" Foley gazed mysteriously over their heads, and slowly blew out a cloud of smoke. "Youse just keep your two eyes lookin' my way." Foley knew the value of coming late. He also knew the value of leaving as soon as your point is made. His quick eyes now saw that he had restored the company's confidence; they knew he was prepared for every event. "I guess I'll pull out," he said, standing up. "Champagne ain't never been the same to me since me an' Morgan went off in his yacht, an' the water give out, an' we had to wash our shirts in it." He looked through the door into the bar-room. "Say, Barney, if these roughnecks want anything more, just put it down to me." He turned back to the men. "So-long, boys," he said, with a wave of his hand, and went out through the bar-room. "The man that beats Buck Foley's got to beat five aces," declared Jake admiringly. "Yes," agreed Connelly. "An' he don't keep a strangle holt on his money, neither." Which two sentiments were variously expressed again and again before the bottoms of the bottles were reached. If Foley was slow in getting started, he was not slow to act now that he was started. During the following two weeks any contractor that so wished could have worked non-union men on his jobs for all the trouble Foley would have given him. Buck had more important affairs than the union's affairs. Foley's method of electioneering was even more simple than Tom's. He saw the foreman on every important job in the city. To such as were his friends he said: "Any o' that Keating nonsense bein' talked on this job?" If there was not: "Well, it's up to youse to see that things stay that way." If there was: "Shut it up. If any o' the men talk too loud, fire 'em. If youse ain't got that authority, find somethin' wrong with their work an' get 'em fired. It's your business to see that not a man on your job votes again' me!" To such few as he did not count among his friends he said: "Youse know enough to know I'm goin' to win. Youse know what's the wise thing for youse to do, all right. I like my friends, an' I don't like the men that fight me. I ain't likely to go much out o' my way to help Keating an' his push. I think that's enough, ain't it?" It was--especially since it was said with a cold look straight into the other's eyes. An hour's speech could not have been more effective. Foley made it his practice to see as many of the doubtful workmen as possible during their lunch hour. He had neither hope nor desire that they should come out and vote for him. His wish was merely that they should not come out and vote for Tom. To them his speech was mainly obvious threats. And he called upon the rank and file of his followers to help him in this detail of his campaign. "Just tell 'em youse think they won't enjoy the meetin' very much," was his instruction, given with a grim smile; and this opinion, with effective elaboration, his followers faithfully delivered. When Foley dropped into his office on the Tuesday night before election he found Jake, Connelly and the other members of his cabinet anxiously awaiting him. Connelly thrust a copy of Tom's letter into his hands. "Now wha' d'you think o' that?" he demanded. "Blamed nigh every man in the union got one to-night." As Foley read the blood crept into his face. "'Bully,' 'blood-suckin' grafter', 'trade union pirate', 'come out and make him walk the plank'," Jake quoted appreciatively, watching Foley's face. By the time he reached the end Foley had regained his self-control. "Well, that's a purty nice piece o' writin', ain't it, now?" he said, looking at the sheet admiringly. "Didn't know Keating was buttin' into literchure. Encouragin', ain't it, to see authors springin' up in every walk o' life. This here'll get Keating the votes o' all the lit'ry members, sure." "It'll get him too many!" growled Connelly anxiously. "A-a-h, go count yourself, Connelly!" Foley looked at the secretary with a pity that was akin to disgust. "Youse give me an unpleasant feelin' in my abdomen!" He pushed the letter carelessly across to Connelly. "O' course it'll bring the boys out," he said, in his previous pleasant voice. "But the trouble with Keating is, he believes in the restriction o' output. He believes a man oughtn't to cast more'n one vote a day." But Foley, for all his careless jocularity, was aware of the seriousness of Tom's last move, and till long after midnight the cabinet was in session--to the great profit of Barney Mulligan's cash register. Chapter XII THE ELECTION Tom set out for Potomac Hall Wednesday evening with the emotions of a gambler who had placed his fortune on a single color; his all was risked on the event of that night. However, he had a bracing confidence running through his agitation; he felt that he controlled the arrow of fortune. The man to man canvass; the feminine influence made operative by Mrs. Barry; the letters with which Ruth had helped him,--these, he was certain, had drawn the arrow's head to the spot where rested his stake and the union's. Tom reached the hall at six-thirty. The polls did not open till seven, but already thirty or forty of Foley's men stood in knots in front of the building. "Hello, boys! Now don't he think he's It!" said one admiringly. "Poor Buck! This's the last o' him!" groaned another. There was a burst of derisive laughter, and each of the party tossed a bit of language in his way; but Tom made no answer and passed them unflinchingly. At the doorway he was stopped by the policeman who was regularly stationed at Potomac Hall on meeting nights. "Goin' to have a fist sociable to-night?" the policeman asked, anxiously watching the men in the street. "Can't say, Murphy. Ask Foley. He'll be floor manager, if there is one." As he went through the hallway toward the stairs, Tom paused to glance through a side door into the big bar-room, which, with a café, occupied the whole of the first floor. A couple of score of Foley men stood at the bar and sat about the tables. It certainly did look as if there might be festivities. Tom mounted the broad stairway and knocked at the door of the union's hall. Hogan, the sergeant-at-arms, a Foley man, gingerly admitted him. The hall in which he found himself was a big rectangular room, perhaps fifty by one hundred feet. The walls had once been maroon in color, and had a broad moulding of plaster that had been white and gilt; the ceiling had likewise once been maroon, and was decorated with plaster scroll-work and crudely painted clusters of fruits and flowers--scroll-work and paintings lacking their one-time freshness. From the center of the ceiling hung a great ball of paper roses; at the front of the room was a grand piano in a faded green cover. The sign advertising the hall, nailed on the building's front, had as its last clause: "Also available for weddings, receptions, and balls." Tom's glance swept the room. All was in readiness for the election. The floor was cleared of its folding chairs, they being now stacked at the rear of the room; down the hall's middle ran a row of tables, set end to end, with chairs on either side; Bill Jackson, one of his supporters, was at Hogan's elbow, ready to hand out the ballots as the men were admitted; the five tellers--Barry, Pete, Jake and two other Foley men--were smoking at the front of the room, Jake lolling on the piano, and the other four on the platform where the officers sat at the regular meetings. Tom joined Pete and Barry, and the three drew to one side to await the opening of the door. "Anything new?" Tom asked. "Nothin'," answered Pete. "But say, Tom, that letter was certainly hot stuff! I've heard some o' the boys talkin' about it. They think it's great. It's bringin' a lot o' them out." "That's good." "An' we're goin' to win, sure." Tom nodded. "If Foley don't work some of his tricks." "Oh, we'll look out for that," said Pete confidently. Promptly at seven o'clock Hogan unlocked the door. The men began to mount the stairway. As each man came to the door Hogan examined his membership card, and, if it showed the holder to be in good standing, admitted him. Jackson then handed him a ballot, on which the names of all the candidates were printed in a vertical row, and he walked to one of the tables and made crosses before the names of the men for whom he desired to vote. Five minutes after the door had been opened there were thirty or forty men in the room, an equal number of each party, Foley among them. Jake, who was chief teller, rose at the center table on the platform to discharge the formality of offering the ballot-box for inspection. He unlocked the box, which was about twelve inches square, and performing a slow arc presented the open side to the eyes of the tellers and the waiting members. The box was empty. "All right?" he asked. "Sure," said the men carelessly. The tellers nodded. Foley began the telling of a yarn, and was straightway the center of the group of voters. In the meantime Jake locked the box and started to carry it to its appointed place on a table at one end of the platform, to reach which he had to pass through the narrow space between the wall and the chair-backs of the other tellers. As he brushed through this alley, Tom, whose eyes had not left him, saw the ballot-box turn so that its slot was toward the wall, and glimpsed a quick motion of Jake's hand from a pocket toward the slot--a motion wholly of the wrist. He sprang after the chief teller and seized his hand. "You don't work that game!" he cried. Foley's story snapped off. His hearers pivoted to face the disturbance. Jake turned about. "What game?" "Open your hand!" Tom demanded. Jake elevated his big fist, then opened it. It held nothing. He laughed derisively, and set the box down in its place. A jeering shout rose from Foley's crowd. For an instant Tom was taken aback. Then he stepped quickly to the table and gave the box a light shake. He triumphantly raised it on high and shook it violently. From it there came an unmistakable rattle. "This's how Foley'd win!" he cried to the crowd. Jake, his derision suddenly changed to fury, would have struck Tom in another instant, for all his wits were in his fists; but the incisive voice of Foley sounded out: "A clever trick, Keating." "How's that?" asked several men. "A trick to cast suspicion on us," Foley answered quietly. "Keating put 'em in there himself." Tom stared at him, then turned sharply upon Jake. "Give me the key. I'll show who those ballots are for." Jake, not understanding, but taking his cue from Foley, handed over the key. Tom unlocked the box, and took out a handful of tightly-folded ballots. He opened several of them and held them up to the crowd. The crosses were before the Foley candidates. "Of course I put 'em in!" Tom said sarcastically, looking squarely at Foley. "O' course youse did," Foley returned calmly. "To cast suspicion on us. It's a clever trick, but it's what I call dirty politics." Tom made no reply. His eyes had caught a slight bulge in the pocket of Jake's coat from which he had before seen Jake's hand emerge ballot-laden. He lunged suddenly toward the chief teller, and thrust a hand into the pocket. There was a struggle of an instant; the crowd saw Tom's hand come out of the pocket filled with packets of paper; then Tom broke loose. It all happened so quickly that the crowd had no time to move. The tellers rose just in time to lay hands upon Jake, who was hurling himself upon Tom in animal fury. Tom held the ballots out toward Foley. They were bound in packets half an inch thick by narrow bands of papers which were obviously to be snapped as the packet was thrust into the slot of the box. "I suppose you'll say now, Buck Foley, that I put these in Henderson's pocket!" For once Foley was at a loss. Part of the crowd cursed and hissed him. His own men looked at him expectantly, but the trickery was too apparent for his wits to be of avail. He glared straight ahead, rolling his cigar from side to side of his mouth. Tom tossed the ballots into the open box. "Enough votes there already to elect Foley. Now I demand another teller instead of that man." He jerked his head contemptuously toward Jake. Foley's composure was with him again. "Anything to please youse, Tom. I guess nobody's got a kick again' Connelly. Connelly, youse take Jake's place." As the exchange was being made the Foleyites regarded their leader dubiously; not out of disapproval of his trickery, but because his attempted jugglery had failed. Foley had recourse again to his confidence-compelling glance--eyes narrowed and full of mystery. "It's only seven-thirty, boys!" he said in an impressive whisper, and turned and went out. Jake glowered at Tom and followed him. Tom transferred the ballots from the box to his pockets, locked the box, turned over the key to the tellers, and was resuming his seat when he saw a man of disordered dress at the edge of the platform, who had been anxiously awaiting the end of this episode, beckoning him. Tom quickly stepped to his side. "What's the matter?" "Hell's broke loose downstairs, Tom," said the man. "Come down." "Look out for any more tricks," Tom called to Pete, and hurried out. The stairway was held from top to bottom by a line of Foley men. Foley supporters were marching up, trading rough jests with these guardsmen; but not a single man of his was on the stairs. He saw one of his men start up, and receive a shove in the chest that sent him upon his back. A laugh rose from the line. Tom's fists knotted and his eyes filled with fire. The head guardsman tried to seize him, and got one of the fists in the face. "Look out, you----!" He swore mightily at the line, and plunged downward past the guards, who were held back by a momentary awe. The man below rose to his feet, hotly charged, and was sent staggering again. Tom, descending, caught the assailant by the collar, and with a powerful jerk sent him sprawling upon the floor. He turned fiercely upon the line. But before he could even speak, half of it charged down upon him, overbore him and swept him through the open door into the street. Then they melted away from him and returned to their posts. Tom, bruised and dazed, would have followed the men back through the doorway, but his eyes came upon a new scene. On his either hand in the street, which was weakly illumined by windows and corner lights, several scuffles were going on, six or seven in each; groups of Foley men were blocking the way of his supporters, and blows and high words were passing; farther away he could dimly see his men standing about in hesitant knots--having not the reckless courage to attempt passage through such a rowdy sea. The policeman was trying to quell one of the scuffles with his club. Tom saw it twisted from his hand. Murphy drew his revolver. The club sent it spinning. He turned and walked quickly out of the street. All this Tom saw in two glances. The man beside him swore. "Send for the police, Tom. Nothing else'll save us." His voice barely rose above the cries and oaths. "It won't do, Smith. We'd never hear the last of it." And yet Tom realized, with instant quickness, the hopelessness of the situation. Against Foley's organized ruffianism, holding hall and street, his unorganized supporters, standing on the outskirts, could do nothing. There was but one thing to be done--to get to his men, organize them in some way, wait till their number had grown, and then march in a body to the ballot-box. Ten seconds after his discharge into the street Tom was springing away on this errand, when out of the tail of his eye he saw Foley come to the door and glance about. He wheeled and strode up to the walking delegate. "Is this your only way of winning an election?" he cried hotly. "Well! well! They're mixin' it up a bit, ain't they," Foley drawled, looking over Tom's head. "That's too bad!" "Don't try any of your stage business on me! Stop this fighting!" "What could I do?" Foley asked deprecatingly. "If I tried, I'd only get my nut cracked." And he turned back into the hall. "Come on!" Tom cried to Smith; and together they plunged eastward, in which direction were the largest number of Tom's friends. Before they had gone a dozen paces they were engulfed in the fray. Several of his men swept in from the outskirts to his support; more Foley men rushed into the conflict; the fight that had before been waged in skirmishes was now a general engagement. For a space that seemed an hour to Tom, but that in reality was no more than its quarter, it was struggle at the top of his strength. He warded off blows. He stung under fists. He struck out at dim faces. He swayed fiercely in grappling arms. He sent men down. He went down again and again himself. And oaths were gasped and shouted, and deep-lunged cries battered riotously against the street's high walls.... And so it was all around him--a writhing, striking, kicking, swearing whirlpool of men, over whose fierce turbulence fell the dusky light of bar-room and tenement windows. After a time, when his breath was coming in gasps, and his strength was well-nigh gone, he saw the vindictive face of Jake Henderson, with the bar-room's light across it, draw nearer and nearer through the struggling mob. If Jake should reach him, spent as he was----He saw his limp, outstretched body as in a vision. But Jake's vengeance did not then fall. Tom heard a cry go up and run through the crowd: "Police! Police!" In an instant the whirlpool half calmed. The cry brought to their feet the two men who had last borne him down. Tom scrambled up, saw the mob untangle itself into individuals, and saw, turning the corner, a squad of policemen, clubs drawn, Murphy marching at the captain's side. The captain drew his squad up beside the doorway of the hall, and himself mounted the two steps. "If there's any more o' this rough house, I'll run in every one o' you!" he shouted, shaking his club at the men. The Foleyites laughed, and defiance buzzed among them, but they knew the better part of valor. It was a Foley principle to observe the law when the law is observing you. Five minutes later the captain's threat was made even more potent for order by the appearance of the reserves from another precinct; and in a little while still another squad leaped from clanging patrol wagons, making in all fifty policemen that had answered Murphy's call. Twenty of these were posted in the stairway, and the rest were placed on guard in the street. A new order came from the bar-room, and Foley's men withdrew to beyond the limits of police influence and intercepted the men coming to vote, using blandishment and threats, and leading some into the bar-room to be further convinced. Tom, who stood outside watching the restoration of order, now started back to the hall. On the way he glanced through the side door into the bar-room. It was heavy with smoke, and at the bar was a crowd, with Foley as its center. "I don't know what youse think about Keating callin' in the police," he was saying, "but youse can bet I know what Buck Foley thinks! A man that'll turn the police on his own union!" And then as a fresh group of men were led into the room: "Step right up to the counter, boys, an' have your measure taken for a drink. I've bought out the place, an' am givin' it away. Me an' Carnegie's tryin' to die poor." Tom mounted to the hall with a secret satisfaction in the protection of the broad-chested bluecoats that now held the stairway. A fusillade of remarks from the men marking their ballots greeted his entrance, but he passed up to the platform without making answers. Pete's mouth fell agape at sight of him. "Hello! You look like you been ticklin' a grizzly under the chin!" Tom noted the relishing grins of the Foley tellers. "The trouble downstairs is all over. I'll tell you all about it after awhile," he said shortly; and sat down just behind Pete to watch the voting. Up to this time the balloting had been light. But now the hall began to fill, and the voting proceeded rapidly--and orderly, too, thanks to the policemen on stairway and in street. Tom, his clothes "lookin' like he tried to take 'em off without unbuttonin'," as a Foley teller whispered, his battered hat down over his eyes, sat tilted against the wall scanning every man that filed past the box. As man after man had his membership card stamped "voted," and dropped in his ballot, Tom's excitement rose, for he recognized the majority of the men that marched by as of his following. At nine o'clock Pete leaned far back in his chair. "Lookin' great, ain't it?" he whispered. "If it only keeps up like this." That it might not was Tom's great fear now. "Oh, it will, don't you worry." The line of voters that marched by, and by, bore out Pete's prediction, as Tom's counting eyes saw. He had the wild exultation and throbbing weakness of the man who is on the verge of success. But the possibility of failure, the cause of his weakness, became less and less as time ticked on and the votes dropped into the ballot box. His enthusiasm grew. Dozens of plans flashed through his head. But his eyes never left that string of men who were deciding his fate and that of the union. At half past ten Tom was certain of his election. Pete leaned back and gripped his hand. "It's a cinch, Tom. It's a shame to take the money," he whispered. Tom acquiesced in Pete's conviction with a jerk of his head, and watched the passing line, now grown thin and slow, drop in their ballots, his certainty growing doubly sure. Fifteen minutes later Foley entered the hall, whispered a moment with Hogan at the door, a moment with Connelly, and then went out again. Tom thought he saw anxiety showing through Foley's ease of manner, and to him it was an advance taste of triumph. Tom wished eleven o'clock had come and the door was locked. The minutes passed with such exhausting slowness. A straggling voter dropped in his ballot--and another straggler--and another. Tom looked at his watch. Two minutes had passed since Foley's visit. Another straggling voter. And then four men appeared in a body at the hall door, all apparently the worse for Foley's hospitality. Tom saw the foremost present his card. Hogan glanced at it, and handed it back. "You can't vote that card; it's expired," Tom heard him say. "What's that?" demanded the man, threateningly. "The card's expired, I said! You can't vote it! Get out!" "I can't vote it, hey!" There was an oath, a blow--a surprisingly light blow to produce such an effect, so it seemed to Tom--and Hogan staggered back and went to the floor. There was a scuffle; the tables on which lay the ballots toppled over, and the ballots went fluttering. By this time Tom reached the door, policemen had rushed in and settled the scuffle, and the four men were being led from the room. Hogan was unhurt, but Jackson was so dazed from a blow that Tom had to put another man in his place. The minutes moved toward eleven with slow, ticking steps. Two stragglers ... at long intervals. At a few minutes before eleven the exhausting monotony was enlivened by the entrance of eight men, singing boisterously and jostling each other in alcoholic jollity. They marked their ballots and staggered in a group to the ballot-box. Two tried to deposit their ballots at once. "Leave me alone, will youse!" cried one, with an oath, and struck at the other. The ballot-box slipped across to the edge of the table. Connelly, who sat just behind the box, made no move for its safety. "Hey, stop that!" cried Pete and sprang across to seize it. But he was too late. The one blow struck, the eight were all instantly delivering blows, and pushing and swearing. The box was knocked forward upon the floor, and the eight sprawled pell-mell upon it. Tom and the tellers sprang from behind the tables upon the scuffling heap, and several policemen rushed in from the hallway. The men, once dragged apart, subsided and gave no trouble. They were allowed to drop their ballots in the box, now back in its place on the table, and were then led out in quietness by the officers. Pete turned about, struck with a sudden fear. "I wonder if that was a trick?" he whispered. Tom's face was pale. The same fear had come to him. "I wonder!" In another five minutes the door was locked and the tellers were counting the ballots. Among the first hundred there were perhaps a score that bore no mark except a cross before Foley's name. Pete looked again at Tom. With both fear had been replaced by certainty. "The box's been stuffed!" Pete whispered. Tom nodded. His only hope now was that not enough false ballots had been got into the box to carry the election. But as the count proceeded, this hope left him. And the end was equal to his worst fears. The count stood: for walking delegate, Foley 976, Keating 763; for president, Keating 763, Foley's man 595; all the other Foley candidates won by a slight margin. The apparent inconsistencies of this count Tom readily understood even in the first wild minutes. Foley's running ahead of his ticket was to be explained on the ground that the brief time permitted of a cross being put before his name alone on the false ballots; his own election to the unimportant presidency, and the failure of his other candidates, was evidently caused by several of his followers splitting their tickets and voting for the minor Foley candidates. As the count had proceeded Tom had exploded more than once, and Pete had made lurid use of his gift. When Connelly read off the final results Tom exploded again. "It's an infernal steal!" he shouted. "Even if it is, what can we do?" returned Connelly. Words ran high. But Tom quickly saw the uselessness of protests and accusations at this time. His great desire now was to take his heat and disappointment out into the street; and so he gave evasive answers to Pete and Barry, who wanted to talk it over, and made his way out of the hall alone. Cheers and laughter were ascending from the bar-room. As he was half-way down the stairs the door of the saloon opened, and Foley came out and started up, followed by a number of men. Among them Tom saw several of the drunken group that had upset the ballot-box; and he also saw that they probably had not been more sober in years. "Why, hello, Tom!" Foley cried out on sight of him. "D'youse hear the election returns?" Tom looked hard at Foley's face with its leering geniality, and he was almost overmastered by a desire to hurl himself upon Foley and annihilate him. "You infernal thief!" he burst out. Foley sidled toward him across the broad step. "I'll pass that by. I can afford to, for youse're about wiped out. I guess youse've had enough." "Enough?" cried Tom. "I've just begun!" With that he brushed by Foley and passed through the door out into the street. Chapter XIII THE DAY AFTER The distance to Tom's home was half a hundred blocks, but he chose to walk. Anger, disappointment, and underlying these the hopeless sense of being barred from his trade, all demanded the sympathy of physical exertion--and, too, there was the inevitable meeting with his wife. Walking would give him an hour before that. It was after one when he opened the hall door and stepped into his flat. Through the dining-room he could see the gas in the sitting-room was turned down to a point, and could see Maggie lying on the couch, a flowered comforter drawn over her. He guessed she had stayed up to wait for his report. He listened. In the night's dead stillness he could faintly hear her breath come deep and regular. Seizing at the chance of postponing the scene, he cautiously closed the hall door, and, sitting down on a chair beside it, removed his shoes. He crossed on tiptoe toward their bedroom, but its door betrayed him by a creak. He turned quickly about. There was Maggie, propped up on one arm, the comforter thrown back. She looked at him for a space without speaking. Through all his other feelings Tom had a sense that he made anything but a brave figure, standing in his stocking feet, his shoes in one hand, hat and overcoat on. "Well?" she demanded at length. Tom returned her fixed gaze, and made no reply to her all-inclusive query. Her hands gripped her covering. She gave a gasp. Then she threw back the comforter and slipped to her feet. "I understand!" she said. "Everything! I knew it! O-o-h!" There were more resentment and recrimination packed into that prolonged "oh" than she could have put into an hour's upbraiding. Tom kept himself in hand. He knew the futility of explanation, but he explained. "I won, fairly. But Foley robbed me. He stuffed the ballot-box." "It makes no difference how you lost! You lost! That's what I've got to face. You know I didn't want you to go into this. I knew you couldn't win. I knew Foley was full of tricks. But you went in. You lost wages. You threw away money--_our_ money! And what have you got to show for it all?" Tom let her words pass in silence. On his long walk he had made up his mind to bear her fury quietly. "Oh, you!" she cried through clenched teeth, stamping a bare foot on the floor. "You do what you please, and I suffer for it. You wouldn't take my advice. And now you're out of a job and can't get one in your trade. How are we to live? Tell me that, Tom Keating? How are we to live?" Only the word he had passed with himself enabled Tom to hold himself in after this outburst. "I'll find work." "Find work! A hod-carrier! Oh, my God!" She turned and flung herself at full length upon the couch, and lay there sobbing, her hands passionately gripping the comforter. Tom silently watched the workings of her passion for a moment. He realized the measure of right on her side, and his sense of justice made his spirit unbend. "If we have to live close, it'll only be for a time," he said. "Oh, my God!" she moaned. He grimly turned and went into the bedroom. After a while he came out again. She had drawn the comforter over her, but her irregular breathing told him she was still awake. "Aren't you coming to bed?" he asked. She made no answer, and he went back. For half an hour he tossed about. Then he came into the sitting-room again. Her breath was coming quietly and regularly. He sat down and gazed at her handsome face for a long, long time, with misty, wondering thoughts. Then he rose with a deep-drawn sigh, took part of the covering from the bed, and spread it over her sleeping figure. He tossed about long before he fell into a restless sleep. It was early when he awoke. He looked into the sitting-room. Maggie was still sleeping. He quickly dressed himself in his best suit (the one he had had on the night before was beyond further wearing), noting with surprise that his face bore few marks of conflict, and stole quietly out. Tom's disappointment and anger were too fresh to allow him to put his mind upon plans for the future. All day he wandered aimlessly about, talking over the events of the previous night with such of his friends as chance put in his path. Late in the afternoon he met Pete and Barry, who had been looking for work since morning. They sat down in a saloon and talked about the election till dinner time. It was decided that Tom should protest the election and appeal to the union--a move they all agreed had little promise. Tom found a soothing gratification in Pete's verbal handling of the affair; there was an ease, a broadness, a completeness, to Pete's profanity that left nothing to be desired; so that Tom was prompted to remark, with a half smile: "If there was a professorship of your kind of English over at Columbia University, Pete, you'd never have to put on overalls again." Tom had breakfasted in a restaurant, and lunched in a restaurant, and after Pete and Barry left he had dinner in one. It was a cheap and meager meal; with his uncertain future he felt it wise to begin to count every cent. Afterwards he walked about the streets till eight, bringing up at Ruth's boarding-house. The colored maid who answered his ring brought back the message: "Miss Arnold says will you please come up." He mounted the stairway behind the maid. Ruth was standing at the head of the stairs awaiting him. She wore a loose white gown, held in at the waist by a red girdle, and there was a knot of red in her heavy dark hair. Tom felt himself go warm at sight of her, and there began a throbbing that beat even in his ears. "You don't mind my receiving you in my room, do you?" she said, opening her door, after she had greeted him. "Why, no," said Tom, slightly puzzled. His acquaintance with the proprieties was so slight that he did not know she was then breaking one. She closed the door. "I'm glad to see you. I know what happened last night; we heard at the office." She held out her hand again. The grip was warm and full of sympathy. The hand sent a thrill through Tom. In his fresh disappointment it was just this intelligent sympathy that he was hungry for. For a moment he was unable to speak or move. She gently withdrew her hand. "But we heard only the bare fact. I want you to tell me the whole story." Tom laid his hat and overcoat upon the couch, which had a dull green cover, glancing, as he did so, about the room. There were a few prints of good pictures on the walls; a small case of books; a writing desk; and in one corner a large screen whose dominant color was a dull green. The thing that struck him most was the absence of the knick-knackery with which his home was decorated. Tom was not accustomed to give attention to his surroundings, but the room pleased him; and yet it was only an ordinary boarding-house room, plus the good taste of a tasteful woman. Tom took one of the two easy chairs in the room, and once again went over the happenings of the previous night. She interrupted again and again with indignant exclamations. "Why, you didn't lose at all!" she cried, when he had finished the episode of the eight drunken men. "You won, and it was stolen from you! Your Mr. Foley is a--a----" Whichever way she turned for an adequate word she ran against a restriction barring its use by femininity. "A robber!" she ended. "But aren't you going to protest the election?" "I shall--certainly. But there's mighty little chance of the result being changed. Foley'll see to that." He tried to look brave, but Ruth guessed the bitterness within. She yearned to have him talk over things with her; her sympathy for him now that she beheld him dispirited after a daring fight was even warmer than when she had seen him pulsing with defiant vigor. "Won't you tell me what you are going to do? If you don't mind." "I'd tell if I knew. But I hardly have my bearings yet." "Are you sure you can't work at your trade?" "Not unless I kiss Foley's shoes." She did not like to ask him if he were going to give in, but the question was in her face, and he saw it. "I'm not that bad licked yet." "There's Mr. Driscoll's offer," she suggested. "Yes. I've thought of that. I don't know what move I'll make next. I don't just see now how I'm going to keep at the fight, but I'm not ready to give it up. If I took Mr. Driscoll's job, I'd have to drop the fight, for I'd practically have to drop out of the union. If the protest fails--well, we'll see." Ruth looked at him thoughtfully, and she thrilled with a personal pride in him. He had been beaten; the days just ahead looked black for him; but his spirit, though exhausted, was unbroken. As a result of her experience she was beginning to regard business as being largely a compromise between self-respect and profit. In Tom's place she guessed what Mr. Baxter would do, and she knew what Mr. Driscoll would do; and the thing they would do was not the thing that Tom was doing. And she wondered what would be the course of Mr. Berman. At the moment of parting she said to him, in her frank, impulsive way: "I think you are the bravest man I have ever known." He could only stumble away from her awkwardly, for to this his startled brain had no proper answer. His courage began to bubble back into him; and the warmth aroused by her words grew and grew--till he drew near his home, and then a chill began to settle about him. Maggie was reading the installment of a serial story in an evening paper when he came in. She glanced up, then quickly looked back at her paper without speaking. He started into the bedroom in silence, but paused hesitant in the doorway and looked at her. "What are you reading, Maggie?" "The Scarlet Stain." He held his eyes upon her a moment longer, and then with a sigh went into the bedroom and lit the gas. The instant he was gone from the doorway Maggie took her eyes from the story and listened irresolutely. All day her brain had burnt with angry thoughts, and all day she had been waiting the chance to speak. But her obstinate pride now strove to keep her tongue silent. "Tom!" she called out, at length. He appeared in the doorway. "Yes." "What are you going to do?" He was silent for a space. "I don't just know yet." "I know," she said in a voice she tried to keep cold and steady. "There's only one thing for you to do. That's to get on the square with Foley." Their eyes met. Hers were cold, hard, rebellious. "I'll think it over," he said quietly; and went back into the bedroom. Chapter XIV NEW COURAGE AND NEW PLANS The next morning after breakfast Tom sat down to take account of his situation. But his wife's sullen presence, as she cleared away the dishes, suffocated his thoughts. He went out and walked south a few blocks to a little park that had formerly served the neighborhood as a burying-ground. A raw wind was chattering among the bare twigs of the sycamore trees; the earth was a rigid shell from the night's frost, and its little squares and oblongs of grass were a brownish-gray; the sky was overcast with gray clouds. The little park, this dull March day, was hardly more cheerful than the death it had erewhile housed, but Tom sat down in its midst with a sense of grateful relief. His mind had already passed upon Maggie's demand of the previous evening. But would it avail to continue the fight against Foley? He had slept well, and the sleep had strengthened his spirit and cleared his brain; and Ruth's recurring words, "I think you are the bravest man I have ever known," were to him a determining inspiration. He went over the situation detail by detail, and slowly a new plan took shape. Foley had beaten him by a trick. In six months there would be another election. He would run again, and this next time, profiting by his dear experience of Wednesday night, he would see that guard was set against every chance for unfair play. During the six months he would hammer at Foley's every weak spot, and emphasize to the union the discredit of Foley's discreditable acts. He would follow up his strike agitation. He had already put Foley into opposition to a demand for more money. If he could induce the union to make the demand in the face of Foley's opposition it would be a telling victory over the walking delegate. Perhaps, even, he might head the management of the strike--if it came to a strike. And if the strike were won, it would be the complete undoing of Foley. As for Maggie, she would oppose the plan, of course, but once he had succeeded she would approve what he had done. In the meantime he would have to work at some poorly paid labor, and appease her as best he could. At dinner that night little was said, till Maggie asked with a choking effort: "Did you see Foley to-day?" "No," said Tom. He ate a mouthful, then laid down knife and fork, and looked firmly into her face. "I didn't try to see him. And I might as well tell you, Maggie, that I'm not going to see him." "You'll not see him?" she asked in a dry voice. "You'll not see him?" "Most likely it would not do any good if I did see him. You mark what I say, Maggie," he went on, hopefully. "Foley thinks I'm down, and you do, too, but in a few months things'll be better than they ever were. We may see some hard times--but in the end!" "You were just that certain last week. But how'll we live?" "I'll find some sort of a temporary job." She looked at him tensely; then she rose abruptly and carried her indignant grief into the kitchen. She had decided that he must be borne with. But would he never, never come to his senses! After he had finished his dinner, which had been ready earlier than usual, Tom hurried to the Barrys', and found the family just leaving the table. He rapidly sketched his new plan. "You're runnin' again' Foley again in six months is all right, but where's the use our tryin' to get more money?" grumbled Pete. "Suppose we fight hard an' win the strike. What then? We get nothin' out of it. Foley won't let us work." "Oh, talk like a man, Pete!" requested Mrs. Barry. "You know you don't think that way." "If we win the strike, with Foley against it, it'll be the end of him," said Tom, in answer to Pete. "But suppose things turn out with Foley in control o' the strike?" questioned Barry. "That won't happen. But if it would, he'd run it all on the square. And he'd manage it well, too. You know what he has done. Well, he'd do the same again if he was forced into a fight. "It won't be hard to work the men up to make the demand for an increase," Tom went on. "All the men who voted for me are in favor of it, and a lot more, too. All we've got to do is to stir them up a bit, and get word to them to come out on a certain night. Foley'll hardly dare put up a fight against us in the open." "Whoever runs the strike, we certainly ought to have more money," said Mrs. Barry decidedly. "And the bosses can afford to give us more," declared Tom. "They've never made more than they have the last two years." "Sure, they could divide a lot o' the money we've made with us, an' still not have to button up their own clothes," averred Mrs. Barry. "Oh, I dunno," said Pete. "They're hard up, just the same as us. What's a hundred thousand when you've got to spend money on yachts, champagne an' Newport, an' other necessities o' life? The last time I was at the Baxters', Mrs. Baxter was settin' at the kitchen table figgerin' how she could make over the new dress she had last summer an' wonderin' how she'd ever pay the gas bill." Mrs. Barry grunted. "I got a picture o' her!" Tom brought the talk back to bear directly upon his scheme, and soon after left, accompanied by Pete, to begin immediately his new campaign. As soon as they had gone Mrs. Barry turned eagerly to her husband. "If we get that ten per cent. raise, Henry won't have to go to work when he's fourteen like we expected." "Yes. I was thinkin' o' that." "An' we could keep him in school mebbe till he's eighteen. Then he could get a place in some office or business. By that time Annie'll be old enough to go to normal college. She can go through there and learn to be a teacher." "An' mebbe I can get you some good clothes, like I've always wanted to." "Oh, you! D'you think you can buy everything with seventy dollars!" She leaned over with glowing eyes and kissed him. Rapid work was required by the new campaign, for Tom had settled upon the first meeting in April as the time when he would have the demand for more wages put to a vote. The new campaign, however, would be much easier than the one that had just come to so disastrous an ending. As he had said, the men were already eager to make the demand for more money; his work was to unite this sentiment into a movement, and to urge upon the men that they be out to vote on the first Wednesday in April. Tom's first step was to enlist the assistance of the nine other men who had helped him in his fight against Foley. He found that the vengeance of the walking delegate had been swift; seven had abruptly lost their jobs. When he had explained his new plan, eight of the nine were with him. The spirit of the ninth was gone. "I've had enough," he said bitterly. "If I hadn't mixed in with you, I'd be all right now." Upon this man Tom promptly turned his back. He was an excellent ally to be without. Tom, with Pete, Barry, and his eight other helpers, began regularly to put in each evening in calling upon the members of the union. Every man they saw was asked to talk to others. And so the word spread and spread. And to Foley it came among the first. Jake Henderson heard it whispered about the St. Etienne Hotel Saturday, and when the day's work was done he hurried straight to Foley's home in order to be certain of catching Buck when he came in to dinner. He had to wait half an hour, but that time was not unpleasantly spent, inasmuch as Mrs. Foley set forth a bottle of beer. When Foley caught the tenor of Jake's story his face darkened and he let out an oath. But immediately thereafter he caught hold of his excitement. While Jake talked Foley's mind worked rapidly. He did not want a strike for three sufficient reasons. First of all, that the move was being fathered by Tom was enough to make him its opponent. Secondly, he had absolutely nothing to gain from a strike; his power was great, and even a successful strike could not add to it. And last, he would lose financially by it; his arrangement with Baxter and one or two other contractors would come to an end, and in the management of a general strike so many persons were involved that he would have no chance to levy tribute. Before Jake had finished his rather long-winded account Foley cut him short. "Yes. I'm glad youse come in. I was goin' to send for youse to-night about this very thing." "What! Youse knew all about it already?" Foley looked surprise at him. "D'youse think I do nothin' but sleep?" "Nobody can't tell youse anything," said Jake admiringly. "Youse're right up to the minute." "Some folks find me a little ahead." He pulled at his cigar. "I got a little work for youse an' your bunch." Jake sprang up excitedly. "Not Keating?" "If youse could guess that well at the races youse'd always pick the winner. This business's got to stop, an' I guess that's the easiest way to stop it." And, Foley might have added, the only way. "He ought to've had it long ago," said Jake, with conviction. "He'll enjoy it all the more for havin' to wait for it." He stood up, and Jake, accepting his dismissal, took his hat. "Youse have a few o' the boys around to-night, an' I'll show up about ten. Four or five ought to be enough--say Arkansas, Smoky, Kaffir Bill, and Hickey." Foley saw Connelly and two or three other members of his cabinet during the evening, and gave orders that the word was to go forth among his followers that he was against Keating's agitation; he knew the inside facts of present conditions, and knew there was no chance of winning a strike. At ten o'clock he sauntered into the rear room of Mulligan's saloon. Five men were playing poker. With the exception of one they were a group to make an honest man fall to his knees and quickly confess his sins. Such a guileless face had the one that the honest man would have been content with him as confessor. In past days the five had worked a little, each in his own part of the world, and not liking work had procured their living in more congenial ways; and on landing in New York, in the course of their wanderings, they had been gathered in by Foley as suited to his purpose. "Hello, Buck!" they called out at sight of Foley. "Hello, gents," he answered. He locked the door with a private key, and kicked a chair up to the table. "Say, Buck, I got a thirst like a barrel o' lime," remarked he of the guileless face, commonly known as Arkansas Number Two. "D'you know anything good for it?" "The amount o' money I spend in a year on other men's drinks'd support a church," Foley answered. But he ordered a quart of whisky and glasses. "Now let's get to business," he said, when they had been placed on the table. "I guess youse've got an idea in your nuts as to what's doin'?" "Jake put us next," grinned Kaffir Bill. "Keating." "Yes. He's over-exertin' his throat. He's likely to spoil his voice, if we don't sorter step in an' stop him." "But Jake didn't tell us how much youse wanted him to have," said Kaffir Bill. "Stiff?" "Not much. Don't youse remember when youse made an undertaker's job out o' Fleischmann? An' how near youse come to takin' the trip to Sing Sing? We don't want any more risks o' that sort. Leave your guns at home." Foley gulped down the raw whisky. "A couple months' vacation'd be about right for Keating. It'd give him a chance to get acquainted with his wife." He drew out a cigar and fitted it to one corner of his mouth. "He's left handed, youse know. An' anyhow he works mostly with his mouth." "An' he's purty chesty," said Jake, following up Foley's cue with a grin. "That's the idea," said Foley. "A wing, an' say two or three slats. Or a leg." The five understood and pledged the faithful discharge of their trust in a round of drinks. "But what's in it for us?" asked Arkansas Number Two. "It's an easy job. Youse get him in a fight, he goes down; youse do the business with your feet. Say ten apiece. That's plenty." "Is that all it's worth to you?" Arkansas asked cunningly. "Make it twenty-five, Buck," petitioned Kaffir Bill. "We need the coin. What's seventy-five more to youse?" The other four joined in the request. "Well, if I don't I s'pose every son-of-a-gun o' youse'll strike," said Foley, assuming the air of a defeated employer. "All right--for this once. But this ain't to be the regular union rate." "You're all to the good, Buck!" the five shouted. Foley rose and started out. At the door he paused. "Youse can't ask me for the coin any too soon," he said meaningly. The five held divergent opinions upon many subjects, but upon one point they were as one mind--esteem for the bottle. So when Buck's quart of whisky was exhausted they unanimously decided to remove themselves to Potomac Hall, in whose bar-room there usually could be found someone that, after a dark glance or two, was delighted to set out the drinks. They quickly found a benefactor in the person of Johnson, also a devotee of the bottle. They were disposing of the third round of drinks when Pete, who had been attending a meeting of the Membership Committee of the union, passed through the bar-room on his way out. Jake saw him, and, three parts drunk, could not resist the opportunity for advance satisfaction. "Hold on, Pig Iron," he called after him. Pete stopped, and Jake walked leeringly up to him. "This here----" the best Jake could do in the way of profanity, "Keating is goin' to get what's comin' to him!" Jake ended with a few more selections from his repertoire of swear-words. Pete retorted in kind, imperatively informing Jake that he knew where he could go, and walked away. Pete recognized the full meaning of Jake's words; and a half hour later he was knocking on Tom's door. He found a tall, raw-boned man sitting in one of Tom's chairs. Maggie had gone to bed. "Shake hands with Mr. Petersen, Pete," said Tom sleepily. "He's just come into the union." "Glad to know you," said Pete, and offered a hand to the Swede, who took it without a word. He turned immediately about on Tom. "I guess you're in for your thumps, Tom." And he told about his meeting with the five members of the entertainment committee. "I expected 'em before the election. Well, I'll be ready for 'em," Tom said grimly. A light had begun to glow in Petersen's heavy eyes as Pete talked. He now spoke for the first time since Pete had come in. "Vot day do?" he asked. Pete explained in pantomine, thrusting rapid fists close to various parts of Petersen's face. "About five men on you at once." Petersen grunted. When Pete left, the Swede remained in his chair with anxiety showing through his natural stolidity. Tom gave a helpless glance at him, and followed Pete out into the hall. "For God's sake, Pete, help me out!" Tom said in a whisper. "He's the fellow I helped get into the union. I told you about him, you know. He came around to-night to tell me he's got a job. When I came in at half past ten he'd been here half an hour already. It's eleven-thirty now. And he ain't said ten words. I want to go to bed, but confound him, he don't know how to leave!" Pete opened the door. "Say, Petersen, ain't you goin' my way? Come on, we'll go together." Petersen rose with obvious relief. He shook hands with Tom in awkward silence, and together he and Pete went down the stairs. Monday morning Tom bought the first revolver he had ever possessed. If he had had any doubt as to the correctness of Pete's news, that doubt would not have been long with him. During the morning, as he went about looking for a job, he twice caught a glimpse of three members of the entertainment committee watching him from the distance; and he knew they were waiting a safe chance to close in upon him. The revolver in his inner vest pocket pressed a welcome assurance against his ribs. That night when he came down from dinner to carry his new plan from ear to ear, he found Petersen, hands in his overcoat pockets, standing patiently without the doorway of the tenement. "Hello, Petersen," he said in surprise. "Hello," said Petersen. Tom wanted no repetition of his experience of Saturday night. "Got a lot of work to do to-night," he said hurriedly. "So-long." He started away. The Swede, with no further words, fell into step beside him. For several blocks they walked in silence, then Tom came to a pause before a tenement in which lived a member of the union. "Good-by, Petersen," he said. "Goo'-by," said Petersen. They shook hands. When Tom came into the street ten minutes later there was Petersen standing just where he had left him. Again the Swede fell into step. Tom, though embarrassed and irritated by the man's silent, persistent company, held back his words. At the second stop Tom said shortly: "I'll be here a long while. You needn't wait." But when he came down from the call, which he had purposely extended, Petersen was waiting beside the steps. This was too much for Tom. "Where are you going?" he demanded. "'Long you," the Swede answered slowly. "I don't know's I need you," Tom returned shortly, and started away. For half a dozen paces there was no sound but his own heel-clicks. Then he heard the heel-clicks of the Swede. He turned about in exasperation. "See here! What's your idea in following me around like this?" Petersen shifted his feet uncomfortably. "De man, last night, he say----" He finished by placing his bony fists successively on either side of his jaw. "I tank maybe I be 'long, I be some good." A light broke in on Tom. And he thought of the photograph on Petersen's leprous wall. He shoved out his hand. "Put it there, Petersen!" he said. And all that evening Tom's silent companion marched through the streets beside him. Chapter XV MR. BAXTER HAS A FEW CONFERENCES Captains of war have it as a common practice to secure information, in such secret ways as they can, about their opponents' plans and movements, and to develop their own plans to match these; and this practice has come into usage among captains of industry. The same afternoon that Jake brought news of Tom's scheme to Foley, a man of furtive glance whom a member of the union would have recognized as Johnson requested the youth in the outer office of Baxter & Co. to carry his name to the head of the firm. "Wha' d'youse want to see him 'bout?" demanded the uniform. "A job." "No good. He don't hire nobody but the foremen." "It's a foreman's job I'm after," returned Johnson, glancing about. The debate continued, but in the end Johnson's name went in to Mr. Baxter, and Johnson himself soon followed it. When he came out Mr. Baxter's information was as complete as Buck Foley's. That evening Johnson's news came into the conversation of Mr. Baxter and his wife. After dinner she drew him into the library--a real library, booked to the ceiling on three sides, an open wood fire on the other--to tell him of a talk she had had that day with chance-met Ruth. With an aunt's privilege she had asked about the state of affairs between her and Mr. Berman. "There's no telling what she's going to do," Mrs. Baxter went on, with a gentle sigh. "I do hope she'll marry him! People are still talking about her strange behavior in leaving us to go to work. How I did try to persuade her not to do it! I knew it would involve us in a scandal. And the idea of her offering to go to work in your office!" Mr. Baxter continued to look abstractedly into the grate, as he had looked ever since she had begun her half-reminiscent strain. Now that she was ended, she could but note that his mind was elsewhere. "James!" "Yes." He turned to her with a start. "Why, you have not spoken a word to me. Is there something on your mind?" He studied the flames for a moment. "I learned this afternoon that the Iron Workers' Union will probably demand a ten per cent. increase in wages." "What! And that means a strike?" "It doubtless does, unless we grant their demand." "But can you afford to?" "We could without actually running at a loss." Mrs. Baxter was on the board of patronesses of one or two workingwomen's clubs and was a contributor to several fashionable charities, so considered herself genuinely thoughtful of the interests of wage-earners. "If you won't lose anything, I suppose you might as well increase their salaries. Most of them can use a little more money. They're respectable people who appreciate everything we do for them. And you can make it up by charging higher prices." Mr. Baxter sat silent for a space looking at his wife, quizzically, admiringly. He was inclined to scoff in his heart at his wife's philanthropic hobbies, but he indulged her in them as he did in all her efforts to attain fashionable standing. He had said, lover fashion, in their courtship days, that she should never have an ungratified wish, and after a score of years he still held warmly to this promise. He still admired her; and little wonder, for sitting with her feet stretched toward the open fire, her blonde head gracefully in one hand, her brown eyes fixed waitingly on him, looking at least eight less than her forty-three years, she was absolutely beautiful. "Elizabeth," he said at length, "do you know how much we spent last year?" "No." "About ninety-three thousand dollars." "So much as that? But really, it isn't such a big sum. A mere nothing to what some of our friends spend." "This year, with our Newport house, it'll be a good thirty thousand more; one hundred and twenty-five thousand, anyway. Now I can't make the owners pay the raise, as you seem to think." He smiled slightly at her business naïveté. "The estimates on the work I'll do this year were all made on the present scale, and I can't raise the estimates. If the ten per cent. increase is granted, it'll have to come out of our income. Our income will be cut down for this year to at least seventy-five thousand. If things go bad, to fifty thousand." Mrs. Baxter rose excitedly to her feet. "Why, that's absurd!" "We'd have to give up the Newport house," he went on, "put the yacht out of commission and lessen expenses here." She looked at her husband in consternation. After several years of effort Mrs. Baxter was just getting into the outer edge of the upper crust of New York society. At her husband's words she saw all that she had striven for, and which of late had seemed near of attainment, withdraw into the shadowy recesses of an uncertain future. "But we can't cut down!" she cried desperately. "We simply can't! We couldn't entertain here in the manner we have planned. And we'd have to go to Atlantic City this summer, or some other such place!--and who goes to Atlantic City? Why, we'd lose everything we've gained! We can never give the raise, James. It's simply out of the question!" "And we won't," said Mr. Baxter, gently tapping a forefinger upon the beautifully carved arm of his chair. "Anyhow, suppose we do spend a hundred and twenty-five thousand, why the working people get everything back in wages," she added ingeniously. Mr. Baxter realized the economic fallacy of this last statement; but he refrained from exposing her sophistry since her conscience found satisfaction in it. Monday morning, in discharge of his duty as president of the Iron Employers' Association, Mr. Baxter got Murphy, Bobbs, Isaacs, and Driscoll, the other four members of the Executive Committee, on the telephone. At eleven o'clock the five men were sitting around Mr. Baxter's cherry table. Bobbs, Murphy, and Isaacs already had knowledge of Tom's plans; Mr. Baxter was not the only one having unionists on his payroll who performed services other than handling beams and hammering rivets. Mr. Driscoll alone was surprised when Mr. Baxter stated the object of calling the committee thus hastily together. "Why, I thought we'd been assured the old schedule would be continued!" he said. "So Mr. Foley gave us to understand," answered Mr. Baxter. "But it's another man, a man named Keating, that's stirring this up." "Keating!" Mr. Driscoll's lips pouted hugely, and his round eyes snapped. For a man to whom he had taken a genuine liking to be stirring up a fight against his interest was in the nature of a personal affront to him. "I think I know him," said Mr. Murphy. "He ain't such a much!" "That shows you don't know him!" said Mr. Driscoll sharply. "Well, if there is a strike, we'll at least have the satisfaction of fighting with an honest man." "That satisfaction, of course," admitted Mr. Baxter, in his soft, rounded voice. "But what shall be our plan? It is certainly the part of wisdom for us to decide upon our attitude, and our course, in advance." "Fight 'em!" said Mr. Driscoll. "What is the opinion of you other gentlemen?" "They don't deserve an increase, so I'm against it," said Mr. Bobbs. Had he spoken his thought his answer would have been: "It'll half ruin me if we give the increase. Fact is, I've gone in pretty heavy in some real estate lately. If my profits are cut down, I can't meet my payments." "Same as Driscoll," said Mr. Murphy, a blowzed, hairy man, a Tammany member of the Board of Aldermen. He swore at the union. "Why, they're already gettin' twice what they're worth!" Mr. Baxter raised his eyebrows the least trifle at Mr. Murphy's profanity. "Mr. Isaacs." "I don't see how we can pay more. And yet if we're tied up by a strike for two or three months we'll lose more than the increase of wages would come to." Mr. Baxter answered the doubtful Mr. Isaacs in his smooth, even tones. "You seem to forget, Mr. Isaacs, that if we grant this without a fight, there'll be another demand next spring, and another the year after. We're compelled to make a stand now if we would keep wages within reasonable bounds." "Yes, I suppose so," agreed Mr. Isaacs. "Besides, if there is a strike it is not at all likely that it will last any time," Mr. Baxter continued. "We should break the strike easily, with a division in the union, as of course you see there is,--this Mr. Keating on one side, Mr. Foley on the other. I've met Mr. Keating. I dare say he's honest enough, as Mr. Driscoll says. But he is inexperienced, and I am sure we can easily outgeneral him." "Beat 'em easy, an' needn't spit on our hands to do it neither," said Mr. Murphy. He started to swing one foot upon the cherry table, but catching Mr. Baxter's eye he checked the leg in mid-career. Straightway the five plunged into an excited discussion of the chance of beating the strike, of plans for fighting it, and of preparation that should be made in anticipation of it. When they had gone Mr. Baxter sat down to his desk and began writing a note. He had listened to the talk of the four, to him mere chatter, with outward courtesy and inward chafing, not caring to mention to them the plan upon which he had already decided. His first impulse had been to fight the union, and fight it hard. He hated trade unionism for its arrogation of powers that he regarded as the natural right of the employer; it was his right, as the owner of a great business, and as the possessor of a superior intelligence, to run his affairs as he saw fit--to employ men on his own terms, work them such hours and under such conditions as he should decide--terms, hours, and conditions, of course, to be as good as he could afford. But his business training, his wholly natural instinct for gain, and later his large family expenses, had fixed upon him the profitable habit of seeking the line of least resistance. And so, succeeding this first hot impulse, was a desire that the strike be avoided--if that were possible. His first thought had been of Foley. But the fewer his meetings with the walking delegate of the iron workers, the more pleased was he. Then came the second thought that it was better to deal directly with the threatening cause--and so the letter he now wrote was to Tom Keating. The letter was delivered Tuesday morning before Tom left home. He read it in wonderment, for to him any letter was an event: "Will you please call at my office as soon as you can find it convenient. I have something to say that I think will interest you." Guessing wildly as to what this something might be, Tom presented himself at ten o'clock in the outer office of Baxter & Co. The uniform respectfully told him that Mr. Baxter would not be in before twelve. At twelve Tom was back. Yes, Mr. Baxter was in, said the uniform, and hurried away with Tom's name. Again there was a wait before the boy came back, and again a wait in a sheeny chair before Mr. Baxter looked up. "Oh, Mr. Keating," he said. "I see you got my letter." "Yes. This morning." Mr. Baxter did not lose a second. "What I wanted to see you about is this: I understand that some time ago you were inquiring here for a position. It happens that I have a place just now that I'm desirous of filling with an absolutely trustworthy man. Mr. Driscoll spoke very highly to me of you, so I've sent for you." This offer came to Tom as a surprise. His uppermost guess as to the reason for his being summoned had been that Mr. Baxter, repenting of his late non-participation, now wished to join in the fight against Foley. Under other circumstances Tom would have accepted the position, said nothing, and held the job as long as he could. But the fact that the offer was coming to him freely and in good faith prompted him to say: "You must know, Mr. Baxter, that if you give me a job Foley'll make trouble for you." "I have no fear of Mr. Foley's interference," Mr. Baxter answered him quietly. "You haven't!" Tom leaned forward in sudden admiration. "You're the first boss I've struck yet that's not afraid of Foley! He's got 'em all scared stiff. If you'd come out against him----" Tom would have said more but Mr. Baxter's cold reserve, not a change of feature, chilled his enthusiasm. He drew up in his chair. "What's the job?" "Foreman. The salary is forty a week." Tom's heart beat exultantly--and he had a momentary triumph over Maggie. "I'll take it," he said. "Can you begin at once?" "Yes." "Very well. Then I'll want you to leave to-morrow." Tom started. "Leave?" "Yes. Didn't I mention that the job is in Chicago?" Mr. Baxter watched Tom closely out of his steely gray eyes. He saw the flush die out of Tom's face, saw Tom's clasped hands suddenly tighten--and knew his answer before he spoke. "I can't do it," he said with an effort. "I can't leave New York." Mr. Baxter studied Tom's face an instant longer.... But it was too honest. He turned toward his desk with a gentle abruptness. "I am very sorry, Mr. Keating. Good-day." With Mr. Baxter there was small space between actions. He had already decided upon his course in case this plan should fail. Tom was scarcely out of his office before he was writing a note to Buck Foley. Foley sauntered in the next morning, hands in overcoat pockets, a cigar in one corner of his mouth. "What's this I hear about a strike?" Mr. Baxter asked, as soon as the walking delegate was seated. "Don't youse waste none o' the thinks in your brain-box on no strike," returned Foley. He had early discovered Mr. Baxter's dislike of uncouth expressions. "But there's a great deal of serious talk." "There's always wind comin' out o' men's mouths." Mr. Baxter showed not a trace of the irritation he felt. "Is there going to be a strike?" "Not if I know myself. And I think I do." He blew out a great cloud of smoke. "But one of your men--a Mr. Keating--is stirring one up." "He thinks he is," Foley corrected. "But he's got another think comin'. He's a fellow youse ought to know, Baxter. Nice an' cultivated; God-fearin' an' otherwise harmless." Mr. Baxter's face tightened. "I know, Mr. Foley, that this situation is much more serious than you pretend," he said sharply. Foley tilted back in his chair. "If youse seen a lion comin' at youse with a yard or so of open mouth youse'd think things was gettin' a little serious. But if youse knew the lion'd never make its last jump, youse wouldn't go into the occupation o' throwin' fits, now would youse?" "What do you mean?" "Nothin'. Only there'll be no last jump for Keating." "How's that?" "How? That's my business." He stood up, relit his cigar, striking the match on the sole of his shoe. "Results is what youse's after. The how belongs to me." At the door he paused, half closed one eye, and slowly blew forth the smoke of his cigar. "Now don't get brain-fag," he said. Chapter XVI BLOWS It was about half past twelve when Tom left Mr. Baxter's office. As he came purposeless into the street it occurred to him that he was but a few blocks from the office of Mr. Driscoll, and in the same instant his chance meeting with Ruth three weeks before as she came out to lunch flashed across his memory. He turned his steps in the direction of Mr. Driscoll's office, and on gaining the block it was in walked slowly back and forth on the opposite side of the street, eagerly watching the revolving door of the great building. At length she appeared. Tom started quickly toward her. Another quarter revolution of the door and a man was discharged at her side. The man was Mr. Berman; and they walked off together, he turning upon her glances whose meaning Tom's quickened instinct divined at once. The sight of these two together, Mr. Berman's eyes upon her with an unmistakable look, struck him through with jagged pain. He was as a man whose sealed vision an oculist's knife has just released. Amid startled anguish his eyes suddenly opened to things he, in his blindness, had never guessed. He saw what she had come to mean to him. This was so great that, at first, it well-nigh obscured all else. She filled him,--her sympathy, her intelligence, her high womanliness. And she, she that filled him, was ... only a great pain. And then (he had mechanically followed them, and now stood watching the door within which they had disappeared--the door through which he had gone with her three weeks before) he saw, his pain writhing within him the while, the double hopelessness of his love: she was educated, cultured--she could care nothing for a mere workman; and even if she could care, he was bound. And then (he was now moving slowly through the Broadway crowd, scarcely conscious of it) he saw how poor he was in his loveless married life. Since his first liking for Maggie had run its so brief course, he had lapsed by such slow degrees to his present relations with her that he had been hardly more conscious of his life's lacking than if he had been living with an unsympathetic sister. But now that a real love had discovered itself to him, with the suddenness of lightning that rips open the night, he saw, almost gaspingly, how glorious life with love could be; and, by contrast, he saw how sordid and commonplace his own life was; and he saw this life without love stretching away its flat monotony, year after year. And there were things he did not see, for he had not been made aware by the unwritten laws prevailing in a more self-conscious social stratum. And one of these things was, he did not see that perhaps in his social ignorance he had done Ruth some great injury. That night Maggie kept his dinner warm on the back of the kitchen range, to no purpose; and that night Petersen waited vainly on the tenement steps. It was after twelve when Tom came into the flat, his face drawn, his heart chilled. He had seen his course vaguely almost from the first moment of his vision's release; he had seen it clearer and more clear as hour after hour of walking had passed; and he felt himself strong enough to hold to that course. The next morning at breakfast he was gentler with Maggie than he had been in many a day; so that once, when she had gone into the kitchen to refill her coffee cup, she looked in at him for a moment in a kind of resentful surprise. Not being accustomed to peering inward upon the workings of his soul, Tom himself understood this slight change in his attitude no better than did his wife. He did not realize that the coming of the knowledge of love, and the coming of sorrow, were together beginning to soften and refine his nature. The work Tom had marked out for himself permitted him little time to brood over his new unhappiness. After breakfast he set out once more upon his twofold purpose: to find a job, if one could be found; to talk strike to as many members of the union as he could see. In seeking work he was limited to such occupations as had not yet been unionized. He walked along the docks, thinking to find something to do as a longshoreman, but the work was heavy and irregular, the hours long, the pay small; and he left the river front without asking for employment. He looked at the men in the tunnel of the underground railway; but he could not bring himself to ask employment among the low-waged Italians he saw there. He did go into three big stores and make blind requests for anything, but at none was there work for him. As he went about Tom visited the jobs near which he passed, on which members of his union were at work. One of these was a small residence hotel just west of Fifth Avenue, whose walls were up, but which was as yet unfinished on the inside. He climbed to the top in search of members employed on the iron stairways and the elevator shafts, but did not find a man. He reached the bottom of the stairway just in time to see three men enter the doorway. One of the three he recognized as Jake Henderson, and he knew the entertainment committee had him cornered. He grimly changed his revolver from his vest pocket to his left coat pocket, and filling his right coat pocket from a heap of sand beside him, quietly awaited their coming. The three paused a moment inside the door, evidently to accustom their eyes to the half darkness, for all the windows were boarded up. At length they sighted him, standing before the servants' staircase in the further corner. They came cautiously across the great room, as yet unpartitioned, Jake slightly in the lead. At ten paces away they came to a halt. "I guess we got youse good an' proper at last," said Jake gloatingly. "It won't do youse no good to yell. We'll give youse all the more if youse do. An' we can give it to youse, anyhow, before the men can get down." Tom did not answer. He had no mind to cry for help. He stood alertly watching them, his hands in his coat pockets. Jake laid off his hat and coat--there was leisure, and it enlarged his pleasure to take his time--and moved forward in advance of his two companions. "Good-by," he said leering. He was on the point of lunging at his victim, when Tom's right hand came out and a fistful of sand went stinging full into his face. He gave a cry, but before he could so much as make a move to brush away the sand Tom's fist caught him on the ear. He dropped limply. The two men sprang forward, to be met in the face by Tom's revolver. "If you fellows want button-holes put into you, just move another step!" he said. They took another step, several of them--but backward steps. Tom kept them covered for a minute, then moved toward the light, walking backward, his eyes never leaving them. On gaining the door he slipped the revolver into his vest pocket and stepped quickly into the blinding street. When Tom, entering the union hall that evening, passed Jake at his place at the door, the latter scowled fiercely, but the presence of several of Tom's friends, who had been acquainted with the afternoon's encounter, pacified his fists. "Why, what's the matter with your eyes, Jake?" asked Pig Iron Pete sympathetically. Jake consigned Pete to the usual place, and whispered in Tom's ear: "Youse just wait! I'll git youse yet!" That night Tom sat his first time in the president's chair. His situation was painfully grotesque,--instead of being the result of the chances of election, it might well have been an ironic jest of Foley: there was Connelly, two tables away, at his right; Brown, the vice-president, at the table next him; Snyder, the corresponding secretary, at his left; Jake Henderson, sergeant-at-arms, at the door;--every man of them an intimate friend of Foley. And it was not long before Tom felt the farce-tragedy of his position. Shortly after he rapped the meeting to order a man in the rear of the hall became persistently obstreperous. After two censured outbreaks he rose unsteadily amid the discussion upon a motion. "I objec'," he said. "What's your objection?" Tom asked, repressing his wrath. The man swore. "Ain't it 'nough I objec'!" "If the member is out of order again he'll have to leave the hall." Tom guessed this to be a scheme of Foley to annoy him. "Put me out, you----" And the man offered some remarks upon Tom's character. Tom pounded the table with his gavel. "Sergeant-at-arms, put that man out!" Jake, who stood at the door whispering to a man, did not even turn about. "Sergeant-at-arms!" Jake went on with his conversation. "Sergeant-at-arms!" thundered Tom, springing to his feet. Jake looked slowly around. "Put that man out!" Tom ordered. "Can't youse see I'm busy?" said Jake; and turned his broad back. Several of Tom's friends sprang up, but all in the room waited to see what he would do. For a moment he stood motionless, a statue of controlled fury, and for that moment there was stillness in the hall. Then he tossed the gavel upon the table and strode down the center aisle. He seized the offending member, who was in an end seat, one hand on his collar and one on his wrist. The man struck out, but a fierce turn of his wrist brought from him a submissive cry of pain. Tom pushed him, swearing, toward the door. No one offered interference, and his ejection was easy, for he was small and half drunken. Tom strode back to his table, brought the gavel down with a blow that broke its handle and looked about with blazing eyes. Again the union waited his action in suspense. His chest heaved; he swallowed mightily. Then he asked steadily: "Are you ready for the question?" This is but one sample of the many annoyances Tom suffered during the meeting, and of the annoyances he was to suffer for many meetings to come. A man less obstinately strong would have yielded his resignation within an hour--to force which was half the purpose of the harassment; and a man more violent would have broken into a fury of words, which, answering the other half of the purpose, would have been to Foley's crew what the tirade of a beggar is to teasing schoolboys. When "new business" was reached Tom yielded the chair to Brown, the vice-president, and rose to make the protest on which he had determined. He had no great hope of winning the union to the action he desired; but it had become a part of his nature never to give up and to try every chance. The union knew what was coming. There were cheers and hisses, but Tom stood waiting minute after minute till both had died away. "Mr. Chairman, I move we set aside last week's election of walking delegate," he began, and went on to make his charges against Foley. Cries of "Good boy, Tom!" "Right there!" came from his friends, and various and variously decorated synonyms for liar came from Foley's crowd; but Tom, raising his voice to a shout, spoke without pause through the cries of friends and foes. When he ended half the crowd was on foot demanding the right to the floor. Brown dutifully recognized Foley. Foley did not speak from where he stood in the front row, but sauntered angularly, hands in trousers pockets, to the platform and mounted it. With a couple of kicks he sent a chair from its place against the wall to the platform's edge, leisurely swung his right foot upon the chair's seat, rested his right elbow upon his knee, and with cigar in the left corner of his mouth, and his side to his audience, he began to speak. "When I was a kid about as big as a rivet I used to play marbles for keeps," he drawled, looking at the side wall. "When I won, I didn't make no kick. When I lost, a deaf man could 'a' heard me a mile. I said the other kid didn't play fair, an' I went cryin' around to make him give 'em up." He paused to puff at his cigar. "Our honorable president, it seems he's still a kid. Me an' him played a little game o' marbles last week. He lost. An' now he's been givin' youse the earache. It's the same old holler. He says I didn't play fair. He says I tried to stuff the box at the start. But that was just a game on his part, as I said then, to throw suspicion on me; an' anyhow, no ballots got in. He says I stuffed it by a trick at the last. What's his proof? He says so. Convincin'--hey? Gents, if youse want to stop his bawlin', give him back his marbles. Turn me down, an' youse'll have about what's comin' to youse--a cry baby sport." He kicked his chair back against the wall and sat down; and amidst all the talk that followed he did not once rise or turn his face direct to the crowd. But when, finally, Brown said, "Everybody in favor of the motion stand up," Foley rose to his full height with his back against the wall, and his withheld gaze now struck upon the crowd with startling effect. It was a phenomenon of his close-set eyes that each man in a crowd thought them fixed upon himself. Upon every face that gaze seemed bent--lean, sarcastic, menacing. "Everybody that likes a cry baby sport, stand up!" he shouted. Men sprang up all over the hall, and stood so till the count was made. "Those opposed," Brown called out. A number equally great rose noisily. A glance showed Tom the motion was lost, since a two-thirds' vote was necessary to rescind an action. But as his hope had been small, his disappointment was now not great. Foley's supporters broke into cheers when they saw their leader was safe, but Foley himself walked with up-tilted cigar back to his first seat in an indifferent silence. Chapter XVII THE ENTERTAINMENT COMMITTEE During the three weeks that followed Tom kept busy day and night,--by day looking for work and talking to chance-met members, by night stirring the members to appear on the first Wednesday of April to vote for the demand for higher wages. He was much of the time dogged by part of the entertainment committee, but he had become watchful, and the knowledge that he was armed made them wary, so day after day passed without another conflict. At first his committee's delay in the discharge of their duty stirred Foley's wrath. "Youse're as slow as fat angels!" he informed them in disgust. Later the delay stirred his anxiety, and he raised his offer from twenty-five dollars a man to one hundred. Every night Tom was met at his street door by Petersen and left there by him a few hours later. His frequent appearance with Tom brought Petersen into some prominence; and he was promptly nicknamed "Babe" by a facetious member who had been struck by his size, and "Rosie" by a man who saw only his awkwardness. Both names stuck. His relation to Tom had a more unpleasant result: it made the story of his discomfiture by a man of half his size, while on the fire-house job, decidedly worth the telling; and so it rapidly came into general circulation, and the sight of Petersen was the signal for jeers, even among Tom's own friends. Petersen flushed at the taunts, but bore them dumbly and kept his arms at his side. All this while Ruth was much in Tom's mind. Had it not been that he kept himself busy he could have done little else but think of her. As it was, he lay awake long hours at night, very quietly that he might not rouse his wife, in wide-eyed dreams of her; and several times by day he caught himself out of thoughts of her to find himself in a street far out of his way. And once, in the evening, he had puzzled the faithful Petersen by walking back and forth through an uptown block and gazing at a house in which no member of the Iron Workers' Union could possibly be living. But he held firmly to the course he had recognized as his only course. For three weeks he maintained his determination, against desire scarcely less strong than his strength, till the evening of the first Tuesday of April, the night before the vote upon the strike. Then, either he was weaker, or desire was stronger. He was overwhelmed. His resolve to keep away from her, his intention to spend this last evening in work, were nothing before his wish to see her again. He was fairly swept up to her door, not heeding Petersen, and not giving a thought to Jake, whom he glimpsed once in the street car behind when a brief blockade let it gain the tail of his own. "You needn't wait for me," he said mechanically to Petersen as he rang the bell. Again the maid brought back word for him to come up. This time Ruth was not waiting him at the head of the stairs. He stood before her door a moment, with burning brain, striving for mastery over himself, before he could knock. She called to him to enter, and he found her leaning against her little case of books, unusually pale, but with eyes brighter than he had ever seen them. She took a step toward him, and held out her hand. "I'm so glad you called, Mr. Keating." Tom, for his part, could make no answer; his throat had suddenly gone cracking dry. He took her hand; his grip was as loose as an unconscious man's. As was the first minute, so were the two hours that followed. In answer to her questions he told her of his new plans, without a vestige of enthusiasm; and presently, to save the situation, she began to talk volubly about nothing at all. They were hours of mutual constraint. Tom hardly had knowledge of what he said, and he hardly heard her words. His very nearness to her made more ruthlessly clear the wideness that lay between them. He felt with its first keenness the utter hopelessness of his love. Every moment that he sat with his hot eyes upon her he realized that he should forthwith go. But still he sat on in a silence of blissful agony. At length there came an interruption--a knock at the door. Ruth answered it, and when she turned about she held out an envelope to Tom. "A letter for you," she said, with a faint show of surprise. "A messenger brought it." Tom tore it open, looking first to the signature. It was from Pete. "I have got a bunch of the fellows in the hall over the saloon at--Third Avenue," read the awkward scramble of words. "On the third floor. Can't you come in and help me with the spieling?" At another time Tom might have wondered at this note: how Pete had come to be in a hall with a crowd of men, how Pete had learned where he was. But now the note did not raise a doubt in his fevered brain. He folded the note, and put it into a pocket. "I've got some work to do yet to-night," he explained, and he took up his hat. It was an unusually warm evening for the first of April and he had worn no overcoat. "You must come again soon," she said a few moments later, as he was leaving. Tom had nothing to say; he could not tell her the truth--that he expected never to see her again. And so he left her, awkwardly, without parting word of any kind. At the foot of the stairs he paused and looked up at her door, at the head of the first flight, and he looked for a long, long space before he stepped forth into the night. A little round man stood bareheaded on the stoop; Petersen was pacing slowly to and fro on the sidewalk. The little man seized Tom by the arm. "Won't you send a policeman, please," he asked excitedly, in an inconsequential voice, such as belongs properly to the husband of a boarding-house mistress. "What for?" "That man there has been walking just so, back and forth, for the last two hours. From the way he keeps looking up at the house it is certain he is contemplating some nefarious act of burglary." "I'll do better than send a cop," said Tom. "I'll take him away myself." He went down the steps, took Petersen's arm and started off with him. "Thank you exceedingly, sir!" called out the little man. They took an Eighty-sixth Street cross-town car to Third Avenue, and after five minutes' riding southward Tom, keeping watch from the end of the car, spied a number near to the one for which he was searching. They got out and easily found the place designated in Pete's note. It was that great rarity, a saloon in the middle of a New York block. The windows of the second floor were dark; a soft glow came through those of the floor above. With the rattle of the elevated trains in their ears Tom and Petersen entered the hallway which ran alongside the saloon, and mounted two flights of stairs so dark that, at the top of the second, Tom had to grope for the door. This discovered, he opened it and found himself at the rear of the hall. This was a barren, dingy room, perhaps forty feet long, with double curtains of some figured cloth at the three front windows. Four men sat at the front end of the room playing cards; there were glasses and beer bottles on the table, and the men were smoking. All this Tom saw within the time of the snapping of an instantaneous shutter; and he recognized, with the same swiftness, that he had been trapped. But before he could shift a foot to retreat, a terrific shove from behind the door sent him staggering against the side wall. The door was slammed shut by the same force, grazing Petersen as he sprang in. The bolt of the lock clicked into place. "We've got youse this time!" Tom heard a harsh voice cry out, and on the other side of Petersen, who stood on guard with clenched fists, he saw Jake Henderson, a heavy stick in his right hand. In the same instant the men at the table had sprung to their feet. "Why, if it ain't Rosie!" cried Kaffir Bill, advancing at the head of the quartette. "Say, fellows, tie my two hands behind me, so's me an' Rosie can have an even fight," requested Arkansas Number Two. "If youse want Rosie to fight, youse've got to tie his feet together," said Smoky; and this happy reference to the time Petersen ran away brought a laugh from the three others. Tom, recovering from his momentary dizziness, drew his revolver and levelled it at the four. "The first man that moves gets the first bullet." The men suddenly checked their steps. For an instant the seven made a tableau. Then Petersen sprang in at Jake. A blow from the club on his left shoulder stopped him. Again he sprang in, this time breaking through Jake's guard, but only to grasp Jake's left arm with his half-numbed left hand. This gave Jake his chance. His right hand swung backward with the club, his eyes on Tom. "Look out!" cried Petersen. Tom, guessing danger in the warning, pulled the trigger. With a cry Hickey dropped to the floor, a bullet in his leg. In the very flash of the revolver the whizzing club sent the weapon flying from Tom's hand. Tom made a rush after the pistol, and Jake, breaking from Petersen's grip, made a plunge on the same errand. Both outstretched hands closed upon it, and the two men went sprawling to the floor in a struggle for its possession. Petersen faced quickly about upon the men whom Tom's revolver had made hesitant. Hickey lay groaning and swearing, a little pool of blood beginning to form on the bare floor. The other three, in their lust for their reward now so nearly won, gave Hickey hardly a glance, but advanced upon Petersen with the confidence that comes of being three to one and of knowing that one to be a coward. Petersen slipped off his coat, threw it together with his derby hat upon the floor near the wall, and with swelling nostrils quietly awaited their onslaught. Arkansas stepped forth from his fellows. "Where'll I hit you first, Rosie? Glad to give you your pref'rence." And he spat into the V of Petersen's vest. That was the last conscious moment of Arkansas for an hour. Petersen took a step forward, his long arm shot out, and Arkansas went to the floor all a-huddle. Tom's eyes, glancing an instant from his own adversary, saw the "Swedish Terror" of the photograph: left foot advanced, fists on guard, body low-crouched. "Come on!" Petersen said, with a joyous snarl, to the two men who had fallen back a step. "Come on. I vant you bod!" Kaffir Bill looked hesitantly upon his companion. "It was only a lucky lick, Smoky; Arkansas wasn't lookin'," he explained doubtfully. "Yes," said the other. "Sure. It couldn't 'a' been nothin' else. Why, Kid Morgan done him up." "Come on then!" cried Smoky. Together they made a rush, Bill a step in advance. Petersen's right landed over Bill's heart. Bill went tottering backward and to the floor. Smoky shot in and clinched; but after Petersen's fists, like alternating hammers, had played a terrific tattoo against his two cheeks, he loosed his hold and staggered away with his arms about his ears. Bill rose dizzily to his feet, and the pair leaned against the further wall, whispering and watching Petersen with glowering irresolution. "Come on, bod! Come on vid you!" Petersen shouted, his fists moving back and forth in invitation, his indrawn breath snoring exultantly. Jake let out an oath. "Get into him!" he said. "Yah! Come on vid you!" They conferred a moment longer, and then crept forward warily. Hickey stopped his groaning and rose to his elbows to watch the second round. At five feet away the two paused. Then suddenly Smoky made a feint, keeping out of reach of the Swede's swinging return, and under cover of this Kaffir Bill ducked and lunged at Petersen's legs. Petersen went floundering to the floor, and Smoky hurled himself upon his chest. The three became a whirling, tumbling tangle,--arms striking out, legs kicking,--Petersen now in under, now half free, striking and hugging with long-untasted joy, breathing fierce grunts and strange ejaculations. The two had thought, once off his feet, the Swede would be an easy conquest. But Petersen had been a mighty rough-and-tumble scrapper before he had gone into the prize ring, and for a few tumultuous moments the astounded twain had all they could do to hold their own. "Slug him, can't youse!" gasped Bill, who was looking after Petersen's lower half, to Smoky, who was looking after the upper. Smoky likewise saw that only a blow in the right place could give them victory over this heaving force. So far it had taken his best to hold these long arms. But he now loosed his hug to get in the victorious blow. Before he could strike, Petersen's fist jammed him in the face. "Ya-a-h!" grunted the Swede. Smoky fell instantly to his old position. "Hit him yourself!" he growled from Petersen's shirt front. Bill, not having seen what had happened to Smoky, released a leg so that he might put his fist into Petersen's stomach. The leg kicked his knee. Bill, with a shriek, frantically re-embraced the leg. The two now saw they could do no more than merely hold Petersen, and so the struggle settled to a stubborn equilibrium. In the meantime the strife between Tom and Jake had been like that of two bulls which stand braced, with locked horns. Jake's right hand had gained possession of the revolver, having at first had the better hold on it; Tom had a fierce grip on his forearm. The whole effort of one was to put the weapon into use; the whole effort of the other was to prevent its use, and perhaps to seize it for himself. Neither dared strike lest the act give the other his chance. When he saw nothing was coming of the struggle between Bill and Smoky and Petersen, a glimpse of the wounded man, raised on his elbows, gave Jake an idea. With a jerk of his wrist he managed to toss the revolver a couple of feet away, beyond his own and Tom's reach. "Hickey!" he called out. "Get it!" The wounded man moved toward them, half crawling, half dragging himself. A vengeful look came into his eyes. Tom needed no one to tell him what would happen when the man he had shot laid hand upon his weapon. Hickey drew nearer and nearer, his bloody trouser leg leaving a moist trail on the bare floor. His head reached their feet--passed them--his right hand stretched out for the revolver. Tom saw his only chance. With a supreme effort he turned Jake, who in watching Hickey was momentarily off his guard, upon his back; and with all the strength of his leg he drove his foot into the crawling man's stomach. The man collapsed with a groaning outrush of breath. Tom saw that the deadlock was likely to be ended, and the victory won, by the side gaining possession of the revolver; and he saw the danger to Petersen and himself that lay in the possibility of either of the unconscious men regaining his senses. Petersen's slow mind worked rapidly enough in a fight; he, too, saw the danger Tom had seen. Anything to be done must be done at once. But a nearer danger presented itself. Jake strained his neck till his eyes were on the trio. "Can't one o' youse hold him?" he gasped. "T'other git the gun." Smoky was on his back crosswise beneath Petersen's chest, his arms tight about Petersen's neck, clamping Petersen's hot cheek against his own. Kaffir Bill lay upon the Swede's legs, arms locked about them just below the hips. Bill was the freer to obey the order of the chief, and he began to slip his arms, still embracing the legs, slowly downward. Certainly anything to be done must be done at once, for Petersen, lost to passion though he was, knew that in another moment Bill's arms would have slipped to his feet, and there would be a spring to be clear of his kick and a rush for the revolver. With a fierce grunt, he quickly placed his broad hands on either side of Smoky's chest and slowly strained upward. Bill, not knowing what this new move meant, immediately regripped Petersen's thighs. Slowly Petersen rose, lifting Smoky's stiffened body after him, cheek still tight against cheek, till his elbows locked. Then his hips gradually raised till part of his weight was on his knees. His back arched upward, and his whole body stiffened till it was like a bar of iron. Suddenly his arms relaxed, and he drove downward, his weight and strength concentrated against Smoky's cheek. Smoky's head battered the floor. His arms loosened; a quick blow on the jaw made them fall limp. Petersen whirled madly over to dispose of Bill, but in the same tick of the watch Bill sprang away, and to his feet, and made a dash for the revolver. Instantly Petersen was up and but two paces behind him. Bill's lunging hand fell upon the weapon, Petersen's fist fell upon Bill, and the revolver was Petersen's. When Jake saw Petersen come up with the pistol he took his arms from about Tom. "Youse've got me done. I give in," he growled. The two were rising when a wild voice sounded out hoarsely: "Come on! Come on now vid you!" Tom, on his feet, turned toward Petersen. The Swede, left hand gripping the revolver about its barrel, stood in challenging attitude, his eyes blazing, saliva trickling from one corner of his mouth. "Yah! Come on!" Tom recognized what he was seeing,--that wild Swedish rage that knows neither when it has beat nor when it is beaten; in this case all the less controllable from its long restraint. Pete, Smoky, and Bill were now all on their feet and leaning against the wall. Petersen strode glaring before them, shaking his great fists madly. "Come on now!" "Petersen!" Tom called. "Come on vid you! I vant all dree!" The harsh voice rose into a shriek. The three did not move. "For God's sake, Petersen! The fight's over!" Tom cried. "Afraid! Yah! Afraid! I lick you all dree!" With an animal-like roar he rushed at the three men. Smoky and Bill ducked and dashed away, but Jake stood his ground and put up his fists. A blow and he went to the floor. Petersen flung about to make for Smoky and Bill. Tom seized his arm. "God, man! Stop! They've give in!" "Look out!" A shove sent Tom staggering, and Petersen was away. "I lick 'em all, by God!" he roared. With annihilating intent he bore down upon Bill and Smoky, who stood back to wall on fearful defense. An inspiration flashed upon Tom. "Your wife, Petersen! Your wife!" he cried. Petersen's raging strides checked. He looked slowly about. "Vot?" "Your wife!" "Anna!... Anna!" Dazed, breathing heavily, he stared at Tom. Something like a convulsion went through him. His face faded to dullness, then to contrition. "Better let me have the gun," Tom said quietly, after a minute had passed. Petersen handed it over. "Now get your hat and coat, and we'll go." Without glancing at the three, who were staring at him in utter bewilderment, Petersen dully put on his hat and coat. A moment later he and Tom were backing toward the door. But before they reached it Tom's steady gaze became conscious of the curtains at the further end of the room. His square face tightened grimly with sudden purpose. "Take down those curtains, Petersen," he said. Petersen removed the six curtains, dusty and stained with tobacco juice, from their places and brought them to Tom. "Tear five of 'em into two strips." The three men, and Hickey from the floor, looked on curiously while Petersen obeyed. "Tie Jake up first; hands behind his back," was Tom's next order. "I'll see youse in hell first!" Jake backed away from Petersen and raised his fists. "If you make any trouble, I'll give you a quick chance to look around there a bit!" Jake gazed a moment at the revolver and the gleaming eye behind it, and his fists dropped. Petersen stepped behind him and went to work, twisting the strip of muslin into a rope as he wound it about Jake's wrists. The job was securely done in a minute, for Petersen had once followed the sea. "Now his feet," said Tom; and to Jake: "It'll be easier for you if you lay down." Jake hesitated, then with an oath dropped to his knees and tumbled awkwardly on his side. In another minute Jake's feet were fastened; and at the end of ten minutes the other four men had been bound, even the wounded Hickey. Tom put his revolver in his outside coat pocket, and unlocked the door. "Good-night," he said; and he and Petersen stepped out. He locked the door and put the key in his pocket. "Police?" asked Petersen, when they had gained the street. "No. That's what they ought to have. But when you've been a union man longer you'll know we boys don't ask the police to mix in our affairs. When there's a strike, they're always turned against us by the bosses. So we leave 'em alone." They were but half a dozen squares from Mulligan's saloon. Tom set out in its direction, and five minutes later, with Petersen behind him, he walked into the doorway of the room beyond the bar. As he had expected, there sat Foley, and with him were three of his men. Foley started, and half rose from his chair, but settled back again. His discomposure confirmed what Tom had already guessed--that Foley's was the brain behind the evening's stratagem, and that he was awaiting his deputies' report. "I guess you were expecting somebody else," Tom said grimly from the doorway, one hand on the revolver in his coat pocket. "I just dropped in to tell you Jake Henderson and his bunch are waiting for you up over Murphy's saloon." Foley was dazed, as he could not help but be, thus learning his last plan had failed. "Youse saw 'em?" "I did." He looked Tom over. And then his eyes took in the figure of Petersen just within the doorway. He grasped instinctively at the chance to raise a laugh. "Was Rosie there?" he queried. The three dutifully guffawed. "Yes," said Tom. "Rosie was there." Foley took a bracing hold of himself, and toyed with the stem of his beer glass. "Much obliged for comin' in to tell me," he said, with a show of carelessness. "But I guess the boys ain't in no hurry." "No, I guess not," Tom agreed. "They said they'd wait till you came." With that he tossed the key upon the table, turned and strode forth from the saloon. Outside he thrust a gripping arm through Petersen's, which straightway took on an embarrassed limpness, and walked away. Chapter XVIII THE STOLEN STRIKE Tom mounted the stairs of Potomac Hall early the next evening. During the day he had told a few friends the story of the encounter of the night before. The story had spread in versions more or less vague and distorted, and now on his entry of the hall he was beset by a crowd who demanded a true and detailed account of the affair. This he gave. "Oh, come now, Tom! This's hot air you're handin' us out about Babe!" expostulated one of the men. "It's the truth." "Get out! I saw Kid Morgan chase him a block. He can't fight." "You think not? Well, there's one way you can convince yourself." "How's that?" "Try it with him for about a minute," answered Tom. There was a laugh, in which the man joined. "I tell you what, boys," he said, after it had subsided. "I hit Babe on the back o' the neck with a glove the day Kid chased him. If what Tom says is straight, I'm goin' to beg Babe's pardon in open meetin'." "Me, too," chimed in another. "It's so," said Tom, thinking with a smile of what was in store for Petersen. For some reason, perhaps one having to do with their personal pride, Jake and his fellows did not appear that night, though several hundred men waited their coming with impatient greetings. But just before Tom opened the session Petersen entered the hall and slipped into an obscure seat near the door. He was immediately recognized. "Petersen!" someone announced. Straightway men arose all over the hall and turned about to face him. "Petersen!" "Petersen!" "What's the matter with Petersen!" the cries went up, and there was a great clapping of hands. Petersen sprang to his feet in wild consternation. Yes, they were looking at him. Yes, that was his name. He didn't know what it meant---- But the next instant he had bolted out of the hall. When the shouting had died away Tom called the union to order. He was filled with an exultant sense of certain triumph; he had kept an estimating eye on the members as they had filed in; an easy majority of the men were with him, and as their decision would be by open vote there would be no chance for Foley to stuff a ballot-box. Pete, the instructed spokesman for Tom's party, was the first man on his feet. "Mr. President," he said, "I move we drop the reg'lar order o' business an' proceed at once to new business." Tom put the motion to rising vote. His confidence grew as he looked about the hall, for the rising vote on the motion showed how strong his majority really was. "Motion carried!" he shouted, and brought down his gavel. The next instant a dozen men were on their feet waving their right hands and crying, "Mr. Chairman." One was Pete, ten were good-intentioned but uninformed friends, and one was Foley. Tom's eyes fastened upon Foley, and his mind worked quickly. "Mr. Foley," he said. A murmur of surprise ran among Tom's friends. But he had his reason for this slight deviation from his set plan. He knew that Foley was opposed to a strike; if he let Foley go on record against it in a public speech, then his coming victory over the walking delegate would be all the more decisive. Foley looked slowly about upon the men, and for a moment did not speak. Then he said suddenly, in a conversational tone: "Boys, how much youse gettin'?" "Three seventy-five," several voices answered. "How long youse been gettin' it?" "Two years." "Yes," he said, his voice rising and ringing with intensity. "Two years youse've been workin' for three seventy-five. The bosses' profits have been growin' bigger an' bigger. But not a cent's raise have youse had. Not a cent, boys! Now here's what I say." He paused, and thrust out his right arm impressively. Tom regarded him in sickened, half-comprehending amazement. "Here's what I say, boys! I say it's time we had more money. I say we ought to make the blood-suckin' bosses give up a part o' what's comin' to us. That's what I say!" And he swung his doubled fist before his face in a great semi-circle. He turned to Tom, with a leer in his eyes that was for Tom alone. "Mr. President, I move we demand a ten per cent. increase o' wages, an' if the bosses won't give it, strike for it!" Tom sank stupefied back in his chair. Foley's own men were bewildered utterly. A dead silence of a minute or more reigned in the hall, while all but the walking delegate strove to recover their bearing. It was Connelly who broke the general trance. Connelly did not understand, but there was Foley's standing order, "Watch me, an' do the same." "I second the motion," he said. A little later Foley's strike measure was carried without a single dissenting vote. Foley, Connelly, Brown, Pete, and Tom, with Foley as chairman, were elected the committee to negotiate with the employers for higher wages, and, if there should be a strike, to manage it. The adoption of the strike measure meant to Foley that the income derived from Mr. Baxter, and two or three others with whom he maintained somewhat similar relations, was to be cut off. But before he reached home that night he had discovered a compensation for this loss, and he smiled with grim satisfaction. The next morning he presented himself in the office of Mr. Baxter, and this same grim smile was on his face. "Hello, Baxter! How youse stackin' up this mornin'?" And he clapped a hand on Mr. Baxter's artistically padded shoulder. The contractor started at this familiarity, and a slight frown showed itself on his brow. "Very well," he said shortly. "Really, now. Why, youse look like youse slept alongside a bad dream." Foley drew forth his cigar-case and held it out. He knew Mr. Baxter did not smoke cigars and hated their smell. "No, thank you." The walking delegate put one in his mouth and scratched a match under the edge of the cherry table. "I don't s'pose youse know there was doin's at the union last night?" "I understand the union decided to strike." "Wonderful, ain't it, how quick news travels?" Mr. Baxter disregarded Foley's look of mock surprise. "You seem to have failed utterly to keep your promise that there would be no strike," he said coldly. "It was Keating stirred it up," Foley returned, calmly biting a bit off his cigar and blowing it out upon the deep red rug. "You also failed to stop Mr. Keating," Mr. Baxter pursued. "Mr. Baxter, even the best of us makes our mistakes. I bet even youse ain't cheated every man youse've counted on cheatin'." Mr. Baxter gave another little start, as when Foley had slapped his shoulder. "Furthermore, I understand you, yourself, made the motion to strike." "The way youse talk sometimes, Baxter, makes me think youse must 'a' been born about minute before last," Foley returned blandly. "As an amachure diplomat, youse've got Mayor Low skinned to death. Sure I made the motion. An' why did I make the motion? If I hadn't 'a' made it, but had opposed it, where'd I 'a' been? About a thousand miles outside the outskirts o' nowhere,--nobody in the union, an' consequently worth about as much to youse as a hair in a bowl o' soup. I stood to lose both. I still got the union." "What do you propose that we do?" Mr. Baxter held himself in, for the reason that he supposed the old relation would merely give place to a new. "Well, there's goin' to be strike. The union'll make a demand, an' I rather guess youse'll not give up without a fight." "We shall certainly fight," Mr. Baxter assured him. "Well," he drawled, "since I've got to lead the union in a strike an' youse're goin' to fight the strike, it seems like everything'd have to be off between us, don't it?" Mr. Baxter did not reply at once, and then did not answer the question. "What are you going to do?" "To tell youse, that is just what I came here for." In a flash Foley's manner changed from the playful to the vindictive, and he leaned slowly forward in his chair. "I'm goin' to fight youse, Baxter, an' fight youse like hell!" he said, between barely parted teeth. And his gray eyes, suddenly hard, gazed maliciously into Mr. Baxter's face. "I'm goin' to fight like hell!" he went on. "For two years I've been standin' your damned manicured manners. Youse've acted like I wasn't fit to touch. Why d'youse s'pose I've stood it? Because it was money to me. Now that there's no money in it, d'youse s'pose I'm goin' to stand it any longer? Not much, by God! And d'youse think I've forgotten the past--your high-nosed, aristocratic ways? Well, youse'll remember 'em too! My chance's come, an' I'm goin' to fight youse like hell!" At the last Foley's clenched fist was under Mr. Baxter's nose. The contractor did not stir the breadth of a hair. "Mr. Foley," he said in his cold, even voice, "I think you know the shortest way out of this office." "I do," said Foley. "An' it's a damned sight too long!" He gave Mr. Baxter a long look, full of defiant hate, contemptuously flipped his half-smoked cigar on Mr. Baxter's spotless desk, and strode out. Chapter XIX FOLEY TASTES REVENGE Foley's threat that, under cover of the strike, he was going to make Mr. Baxter suffer, was anything save empty bluster. But twenty years of fighting had made him something of a connoisseur of vengeance. He knew, for instance, that a moment usually presented itself when revenge was most effective and when it tasted sweetest. So he now waited for time to bring him that moment; and he waited all the more patiently because a month must elapse ere the beginning of the strike would afford him his chance. The month passed dully. Buck had spoken from certain knowledge when he had remarked to Mr. Baxter that the contractors would not yield without a fight. During April there were no less than half a dozen meetings between the union's committee and the Executive Committee of the employers' association in a formal attempt at peaceful settlement. The public attitude of Foley and Baxter toward each other for the past two years had been openly hostile. That attitude was not changed, but it was now sincere. In these meetings the unionists presented their case; the employers gave their side; every point, pro and con, was gone over again and again. On the thirtieth of April the situation was just as it had been on the first: "We're goin' to get all we're askin' for," said Foley; "We can concede nothing," said Mr. Baxter. On the first of May not a man was at work on an iron job in New York City. During these four weeks Foley regained popularity with an astounding rapidity. He was again the Foley of four or five years ago, the Foley that had won the enthusiastic admiration of the union, fierce-tongued in his denunciation of the employers at union meetings, grimly impudent to members of the employers' Executive Committee and matching their every argument,--at all times witty, resourceful, terribly determined, fairly hurling into others a confidence in himself. He was feeling with almost its first freshness the joy of being in, and master of, a great fight. Men that for years had spoken of him only in hate, now cheered him. And even Tom himself had to yield to this new Foley a reluctant admiration, he was so tireless, so aggressive, so equal to the occasion. Tom had become, by the first of May, a figure of no importance. True, he was a member of the strike committee, but Foley gave him no chance to speak; and, anyhow, the walking delegate said what there was to be said so pointedly, albeit with a virulence that antagonized the employers all the more, that there was no reason for his saying aught. And as for his position as president, that had become pathetically ludicrous. As though in opposite pans of a balance, the higher Foley went in the union's estimation, the lower went he. Even his own friends, while not abandoning him, fell in behind Foley. He was that pitiable anomaly, a leader without a following and without a cause. Foley had stolen both. He tried to console himself with the knowledge that the walking delegate was managing the strike for the union's good; but only the millionth man has so little personal ambition that he is content to see the work he would do being well done by another.... And yet, though fallen, he hung obstinately on and waited--blindly. Tom was now in little danger from the entertainment committee, for Foley's disquiet over his influence had been dissipated by his rapid decline. And after the first of May Tom gave Foley even less concern, for he had finally secured work in the shipping department of a wholesale grocer, so could no longer show himself by day among the union men. During April the contractors had prepared for the coming fight by locating non-union ironworkers, and during the first part of May they rushed these into the city and set them to work, guarded by Pinkerton detectives, upon the most pressing jobs. The union, in its turn, picketed every building on which there was an attempt to continue work, and against the scabs the pickets waged a more or less pacific warfare. Foley was of himself as much as all the pickets. He talked to the non-union men as they came up to their work, as they left their work, as they rode away on street cars, as they sat in saloons. Some he reached by his preachment of the principles of trade unionism. And some he reached by such brief speech as this: "This strike'll be settled soon. Our men'll all go back to work. What'll happen to youse about then? The bosses'll kick youse out. If youse're wise youse'll join the union and help us in the strike." This argument was made more effective by the temporary lifting of the initiation fee of twenty-five dollars, by which act scabs were made union men without price. There was also a third method, which Foley called "transmittin' unionism to the brain by the fist," and he reached many this way, for his fist was heavy and had a strong arm behind it. The contractors, in order to retain the non-union men, raised their wages to fifty cents a day more than the union demanded, but even then they were able to hold only enough workers to keep a few jobs going in half-hearted fashion. There were many accidents and delays on these buildings, for the workers were boilermakers, and men who but half knew the trade, and men who did not know the trade at all. As Pete remarked, after watching, from a neighboring roof, the gang finishing up the work on the St. Etienne Hotel, "The shadder of an ironworker would do more'n three o' them snakes." The contractors themselves realized perfectly what poor work they were getting for so extravagant a price, and would have discharged their non-union gangs had this not been a tacit admission of partial defeat. From the first of May there of course had been several hot-heads who favored violent handling of the scabs. Tom opposed these with the remnant of his influence, for he knew the sympathy of the public has its part in the settlement of strikes, and public sympathy goes not to the side guilty of outrage. The most rabid of all these advocates of violence was Johnson, who, after being summoned to Mr. Baxter's office, began diligently to preach this substance: "If we put a dozen or two o' them snakes out o' business, an' fix a job or two, the bosses'll come right to time." "It strikes me, Johnson, that you change your ideas about as often as you ought to change your shirt," Pete remarked one day, after listening to Johnson's inflammatory words. "Not long ago you were all against a strike." For a moment Johnson was disconcerted. Then he said: "But since there is a strike I'm for measures that'll settle it quick. What you got against smashin' a few scabs?" "Oh, it's always right to smash a scab," Pete agreed. "But you ought to know that just now there's nothin' the bosses'd rather have us do. They'd pay good money to get us to give the hospitals a chance to practice up on a few snakes." Johnson looked at Pete searchingly, fearing that Pete suspected. But Pete guessed nothing, and Johnson went about his duty. There were a number of encounters between the strikers and the strike-breakers, and several of these set-tos had an oral repetition in the police courts; but nothing occurred so serious as to estrange public sympathy till the explosion in the Avon, a small apartment house Mr. Baxter was erecting as a private investment. And with this neither Johnson nor the rank and file, on whose excitable feelings he tried to play, had anything to do. Foley's patience mastered his desire for vengeance easily enough during April, but when May had reached its middle without offering the chance he wanted, his patience weakened and desire demanded its rights. At an utterly futile meeting between the committees of the union and the employers, toward the end of the month, arranged for by the Civic Federation, the desire for vengeance suddenly became the master. This was the first meeting since the strike began, and was the first time Foley had seen Mr. Baxter since then. The contractor did not once look at Foley, and did not once address speech to him; he sat with his back to the walking delegate, and put all his remarks to Brown, the least important member of the strikers' committee. Foley gave as good as he received, for he selected Isaacs, who was nothing more than a fifth man, and addressed him as head of the employers' committee; and rather better, for he made Mr. Baxter the object of a condescending affability that must have been as grateful as salt to raw and living flesh. But Foley was not appeased. When he and Connelly were clear of the meeting he swore fiercely. "He won't be so cool to-morrow!" he said, and swore again. "An' the same trick'll help bring 'em all to time," he added. Foley had already had vengeful eyes upon the Avon, which stood on a corner with a vacant lot on one side and an open space between its rear and the next building. Jake had carefully reconnoitered its premises, with the discovery that one of the two Pinkerton guards was an acquaintance belonging to the days when he himself had been in the service of the Pinkerton agency. That night Jake sauntered by the Avon, chatted awhile with the two guards, and suggested a visit to a nearby saloon. As soon as the three were safely around the corner Kaffir Bill and Arkansas Number Two slipped into the doorway of the Avon, leaving Smoky on watch without. Bill and Arkansas had their trouble: to find their way about in the darkness, to light the fuse--and then they had to cut off an unignitable portion of the fuse; and then in their nervous eagerness to get away their legs met a barrel of cement and they went sprawling behind a partition. Several moments passed ere they found the doorway, the while they could hear the sputtering of the shortened fuse, and during which they heard Smoky cry out, "Come on!" When they did come into the street it was to see the two Pinkertons not twenty paces away. Before their haste could take them to the opposite sidewalk the pavement jumped under their feet, and the building at their backs roared heavily. The guards, guessing the whole trick, began shooting at the two. A policeman appeared from around the corner with drawn pistol--and that night Jake, Bill, and Arkansas slept in a cell. The next morning, after getting on the car that carried him to his work, Tom took up his paper with a leisure that straightway left him, for his eyes were instantly caught by the big headlines sketching the explosion in the Avon. He raced through the three columns. He could see Foley behind the whole outrage, and he thrilled with satisfaction as he foresaw the beginning of Foley's undoing in the police court. There was no work for him that morning. He leaped off the car and took another that brought him near the court where the three men were to have their preliminary hearing. It was half-past eight when he reached the court. As he entered the almost empty court-room he saw Foley and a black-maned man of lego-theatric appearance standing before a police sergeant, and he heard Foley say: "This is their lawyer; we want to see 'em straight off." Tom preferred to avoid meeting Foley, so he turned quickly back and walked about for half an hour. When he returned the small court-room was crowded, the clerks were in place, the policemen and their prisoners stood in a long queue having its head at the judge's desk and its tail without the iron railing that fenced off the spectators. Tom had been in the court-room but a few minutes when an officer motioned him within the railing. The court attorney stepped to his side. "You were pointed out to me as the president of the Iron Workers' Union," said the attorney. "Yes." "And I was told you didn't care particularly for the prisoners in this explosion case." "Well?" "Would you be willing to testify against them--not upon the explosion, which you didn't see, but upon their character?" Tom looked at Jake, Arkansas, and Bill, standing at the head of the queue in charge of the two Pinkertons and a couple of policemen, and struggled a moment with his thoughts. Ordinarily it was a point of honor with a union man not to aid the law against a fellow member; but this was not an ordinary case. The papers had thrown the whole blame for the outrage upon the union. The union's innocence could be proved only by fastening the blame upon Foley and the three prisoners. "I will," he consented. There was a tiresome wait for the judge. About ten o'clock he emerged from his chambers and took his place upon his platform. He was a cold-looking man, with an aristocratic face, deeply marked with lines of hard justice, and with a time-tonsured pate. His enemies, and they were many, declared his judgments ignored the law; his answer was that he administered the law according to common sense, and not according to its sometimes stupid letter. The bailiff opened the court, and the case of Jake, Arkansas, and Bill was called. The two Pinkertons recited the details of the explosion and the two policemen added details of the arrest. Then Mr. Baxter, looking pale, but as much the self-controlled gentleman as ever, testified to the damage done by the dynamite. The Avon still stood, but its steel frame was so wrenched at the base that it was liable to fall at any moment. The building would have to be reconstructed entirely. Though much of the material could be used again, the loss, at a conservative estimate, would be seventy-five thousand dollars. Tom came next before the judge's desk. Exclamations of surprise ran among the union men in the room when it was seen Tom was to be a witness, and the bailiff had to pound with his gavel and shout for order. Tom testified that the three were known in the union as men ready for any villainy; and he managed to introduce in his answers to the questions enough to make it plain that the union was in no degree responsible for the outrage, that it abhorred such acts, that responsibility rested upon the three--"And someone else," he added meaningly. "Who's that?" quickly demanded the court attorney. "Buck Foley." "I object!" shouted the prisoners' attorney. Foley, who sat back in the crowd with crossed legs, did not alter his half-interested expression by a wrinkle. "Objection over-ruled," said the judge. "Will you please tell what you know about Mr. Foley's connection with the case," continued the court attorney. "I object, your Honor! Mr. Foley is not on trial." "It's the duty of this court to get at all the facts," returned the judge. "Does the witness speak from his own knowledge, or what he surmises?" "I'm absolutely certain he's at the bottom of this." "But is your evidence first-hand information?" "It is not," Tom had to confess. "But I couldn't be more certain if I had seen him----" "Guess-work isn't evidence," cut in the judge. Tom, however, had attached Foley to the case--he had seen the reporters start at his words as at a fresh sensation--and he gave a look of satisfaction at Foley as he stepped away from the judge's desk. Foley gave back a half-covered sneer, as if to say, "Just youse wait!" Arkansas was the first of the prisoners to be called--the reason for which priority, as Tom afterwards guessed, being his anomalous face that would not have ill-suited a vest that buttoned to the chin and a collar that buttoned at the back. Arkansas, replying to the questions of his long-haired attorney, corroborated the testimony of the policemen and the Pinkertons in every detail. When Arkansas had answered the last query the lawyer allowed several seconds to pass, his figure drawn up impressively, his right hand in the breast of his frock coat. The judge bent over his docket and began to write. "This seems a perfectly plain case. I hold the three prisoners for the grand jury, each in ten thousand----" The attorney's right hand raised itself theatrically. "Hold!" he cried. The judge looked up with a start. Tom's eyes, wandering to Foley's face, met there a malign grin. "The case is not ended, your Honor. The case is just begun." The attorney brushed back his mane with a stagy movement of his hand, and turned upon Arkansas. "You and the other prisoners did this. You do not deny it. But now tell his Honor why you did it." Arkansas, with honesty fairly obtruding from his every feature, looked nervously at Tom, and then said hesitantly: "Because we had to." "And why did you have to?" Again Arkansas showed hesitation. "Speak out," encouraged the attorney. "You're in no danger. The court will protect you." "We was ordered to. If we hadn't done it we'd been thrown out o' the union, an' been done up." "Explain to the court what you mean by 'done up'." "Slugged an' kicked--half killed." "In other words, what you did was done in fear of your life. Now who ordered you to blow up the Avon, and threatened to have you 'done up' if you didn't?" "Mr. Keating, the president o' the union." The judge, who had been leaning forward with kindling eyes, breathed a prolonged "A-a-ah!" For a moment Tom was astounded. Then he sprang to Arkansas's side. "You infernal liar!" he shouted, his eyes blazing. The judge's hammer thundered down. "Silence!" he roared. "But, your Honor, he's lying!" "Five dollars for contempt of court! Another word and I'll give you the full penalty." Two officers jerked Tom back, and surging with indignant wrath he had to listen in silence to the romance that had been spun for Arkansas's lips and which he was now respinning for the court's ears; and he quickly became aware that newspaper artists had set their pencils busy over his face. Once, glancing at Jake, he was treated with a leer of triumph. Arkansas plausibly related what had passed between Tom and himself and his two companions; and then Bill took the stand, and then Jake. Each repeated the story Arkansas, with the help of his face, had made so convincing. "And now, your Honor," the prisoners' attorney began when his evidence was all in, "I think I have made plain my clients' part in this most nefarious outrage. They are guilty--yes. But they were but the all too weak instruments of another's will, who galvanized them by mortal fear to do his dastardly bidding. He, he alone----" "Save your eloquence, councilor," the judge broke in. "The case speaks best for itself. You here." He crooked his forefinger at Tom. Tom was pushed by policemen up before the judge. "Now what have you to say for yourself?" the judge demanded. "It's one string of infernal lies!" Tom exploded. And he launched into a hot denial, strong in phrasing but weak in comparison with the inter-corroborative stones of the three, which had the further verisimilitude gained by tallying in every detail with the officers' account of the explosion. "What you say is merely denial, the denial we hear from every criminal," his Honor began when Tom had finished. "I do not say I believe every word of the testimony of the three prisoners. But it is more credible than your statements. "What has been brought out here to-day--the supreme officer of a union compelling members to commit an act of violence by threat of economic disablement and of physical injury, perhaps death--is in perfect accord with the many diabolical practices that have recently been revealed as existing among trade unions. It is such things as this that force all right-minded men to regard trade unionism as the most menacing danger which our nation now confronts." And for five minutes he continued in his arraignment of trade unions. "In the present circumstances," he ended, "it is my duty to order the arrest of this man who appears to be the chief conspirator--this president of a union who has had the supreme hardihood to appear as a witness against his own tools, doubtless hoping thereby to gain the end of the thief who cried 'stop thief.' I hold him in fifteen thousand dollars bond to await the action of the grand jury. The three prisoners are held in five thousand dollars bail each." Jake, Bill, and Arkansas were led away by their captors, and Tom, utterly dazed by this new disaster that had overtaken him when he had thought there was nothing more that could befall, was shoved over to the warrant clerk. And again he caught Foley's eyes; they were full of malicious satisfaction. As he waited before the warrant clerk's desk he saw Mr. Baxter, on his way to the door, brush by Foley, and in the moment of passing he saw Foley's lips move. He did not hear Foley's words. They were two, and were: "First round!" A few minutes later Tom was led down a stairway, through a corridor and locked in a cell. Chapter XX TOM HAS A CALLER Late in the afternoon, as Tom lay stretched in glowering melancholy on the greasy, dirt-browned board that did service as chair and bed to the transitory tenants of the cell, steps paused in the corridor without and a key rattled in his door. He rose dully out of his dejection. A scowling officer admitted a man, round and short and with side whiskers, and locked the door upon his back. "This is a pretty how-to-do!" growled the man, coming forward. Tom stared at his visitor. "Why, Mr. Driscoll!" he cried. "That's who the most of my friends say I am," the contractor admitted gruffly. He deposited himself upon the bench that had seated and bedded so much unwashed misfortune, and, his back against the cement wall, turned his sour face about the bare room. "This is what I call a pretty poor sort of hospitality to offer a visitor," he commented, in his surly voice. "Not even a chair to sit on." "There is also the floor; you may take your choice," Tom returned, nettled by the other's manner. He himself took the bench. Mr. Driscoll stared at him with blinking eyes, and he stared back defiantly. In Tom's present mood of wrath and depression his temper was tinder waiting another man's spark. "Huh!" Mr. Driscoll ran his pudgy forefinger easefully about between his collar and his neck, and removing his spectacles mopped his purple face. "What's this funny business you've been up to now?" he asked. "What do you mean?" Tom demanded, his irritation mounting. "You ought to read the papers and keep posted on what you do. I just saw a _Star_. There's half a page of your face, and about a pint of red ink." Tom groaned, and his jaws clamped ragefully. "What I read gave me the impression you'd been having a sort of private Fourth of July celebration," Mr. Driscoll pursued. Tom turned on the contractor half savagely. "See here! I don't know what you came here for, but if it was for this kind of talk--well, you can guess how welcome you are!" Mr. Driscoll emitted a little chuckling sound, or Tom thought for an instant he did. But a glance at that sour face, with its straight pouting mouth, corrected Tom's ears. "Now, what was your fool idea in blowing up the Avon?" Tom uprose wrathfully. "Do you mean to say you believe the lies those blackguards told this morning?" "I only know what I read in the papers." "If you swallow everything you see in the papers, you must have an awful maw!" "Yes, I suppose you have got some sort of a story you put up." Tom glared at his pudgy visitor who questioned with such an exasperating presumption. "Did I ask you here?" he demanded. The contractor's eyes snapped, and Tom expected hot words. But none came. "Don't get hot under the collar," Mr. Driscoll advised, running his comforting finger under his own. "Come, what's your side of the story?" Tom was of half a mind to give a curt refusal. But his wrong was too great, too burning, for him to keep silent upon it. He would have talked of it to any one--to his very walls. He took a turn in the cell, then paused before his old employer and hotly explained his innocence and Foley's guilt. While Tom spoke Mr. Driscoll's head nodded excitedly. "Just what I said!" he cried when Tom ended, and brought his fist down on his knee. "Well, we'll show him!" "Show him what?" Tom asked. Mr. Driscoll stopped his fist midway in another excited descent. He stood up, for he saw the officer's scowling face at the grated front of the cell. "Oh, a lot of things before he dies. As for you, keep your courage up. What else's it for?" He held out his hand. Tom took it with bewildered perfunctoriness. Mr. Driscoll passed through the door, held open by the officer. Outside he turned about and growled through the bars: "Now don't be blowing up any more buildings!" Tom, stung anew, would have retorted in kind, but Mr. Driscoll's footsteps had died away down the corridor before adequate words came to him. It was about an hour later that the officer appeared before his cell again and unlocked his door. "Come on," he said shortly. Tom, supposing he was at length to be removed to the county jail, put on his hat and stepped outside the cell. He had expected to find policemen in the corridor, and to be handcuffed. But the officer was alone. Two cells away he saw Jake's malignant face peering at him through the bars. "I guess this puts us about even!" Jake called out. Tom shook his fist. "Wait till the trial! We'll see!" he cried vengefully. "Shut up, youse!" shouted the surly watchman. He pushed Tom through the corridor and up a stairway. At its head Tom was guided through a door, and found himself in the general hall of the police station. "Here youse are," said the officer, starting for the sergeant's desk. "Come on and sign the bail bond." Tom caught his arm. "What's this mean?" he cried. "Don't youse know? Youse're bailed out." "Bailed out! Who by?" "Didn't he tell youse?" Surprise showed in the crabbed face of the officer. "Why, before he done anything he went down to talk it over with youse." "Not Mr. Driscoll?" "I don't know his name. That red-faced old geezer in the glasses. Huh!--his coin comes easier'n mine." Tom put his name to the bond, already signed by Mr. Driscoll, and stumbled out into the street, half blinded by the rush of sunlight into his cell-darkened eyes, and struck through with bewilderment at his unexpected liberation. He threw off a number of quizzing reporters, who had got quick news of his release, and walked several aimless blocks before he came back to his senses. Then he set out for Mr. Driscoll's office, almost choking with emotion at the prospect of meeting Ruth again. But he reached it too late to spend his thanks or to test his self-control. It was past six and the office was locked. He started home, and during the car ride posted himself upon his recent doings by reading the accounts of the trial and his part in the Avon outrage. On reaching the block in which he lived he hesitated long before he found the courage to go up to the ordeal of telling Maggie his last misfortune. When he entered his flat it was to find it empty. He sat down at the window, with its backyard view of clothes-lines and of fire-escape landings that were each an open-air pantry, and rehearsed the sentences with which he should break the news to her, his suspense mounting as the minutes passed. At length her key sounded in the lock, he heard her footsteps, then saw her dim shape come into the sitting-room. In the same instant she saw him at the window. "What--Tom!" she cried, with the tremulous relief of one who ends a great suspense. He had been nerving himself to face another mood than this. He was taken aback by the unexpected note in her voice--a sympathetic note he had not heard for such a time it seemed he had never heard it at all. He rose, embarrassed. "Yes," he said. She had come quickly to his side, and now caught his arm. "You are here, Tom?" "Why, yes," he answered, still dazed and at a loss. "Where have you been, Maggie?" Had the invading twilight not half blindfolded him, Tom could have seen the rapid change that took place in Maggie's face--the relief at finding him safe yielding to the stronger emotion beneath it. When she answered her voice was as of old. "Been? Where haven't I been? To the jail the last place." "To the jail?" He was again surprised. "Then ... you know all?" "Know all?" She laughed harshly, a tremolo beneath the harshness. "How could I help knowing all? The newsboys yelling down in the street! The neighbors coming in with their sympathy!" She did not tell him how to these visitors she had hotly defended his innocence. "I didn't know you were at the police station," he said weakly, still at a loss. "Of course not. When I got there they told me you'd been let out." Her breath was coming rapidly, deeply. "What a time I had! I didn't know how to get to the jail! Dragging myself all over town! Those awful papers everywhere! Everybody looking at me and guessing who I was! Oh, the disgrace! The disgrace!" "But, Maggie, I didn't do this!" "The world don't know that!" The rage and despair that had been held in check all afternoon by her concern for him now completely mastered her. "We're disgraced! You've been in jail! You're now only out on bail! Fifteen thousand dollars bail! Why that boss, Mr. Driscoll, went on it, heaven only knows! You're going to be tried. Even if you get off we'll never hear the last of it. Hadn't we had trouble enough? Now it's disgrace! And why's this come on us? You tell me that!" She was shaking all over, and for her to speak was a struggle with her sobs. She supported herself with arms on the table, and looked at him fiercely, wildly, through the dim light. Tom took her arm. "Sit down, Maggie," he said, and tried to push her into a chair. She repulsed him. "Answer me. Why has this trouble come on us?" He was silent. "Oh, you know! Because you wouldn't take a little advice from your wife! Other men got along with Foley and held their jobs. But you wanted to be different; you wanted to fight Foley. Well, you've had your way; you've fought him. And what of it? We're ruined! Disgraced! You're working for less than half what you used to get. We're ashamed to show our faces in the street. All because you wouldn't pay any attention to me. And me--how I've got to suffer for it! Oh, my God! My God!" Tom recognized the justice, from her point of view, in her wild phrases and did not try to dispute her. He again tried to push her into a chair. She threw off his hand, and went hysterically on, now beating her knuckles upon the table. "Leave me alone! I've made up my mind about one thing. You won't listen to reason. I've given you good advice. I've been right every time. You've paid no attention to me and we're ruined! Well, I've made up my mind. If you do this sort of thing again, I'll lock you out of the house! D'you hear? I'll lock you out of the house!" She fell of her own accord into a chair, and with her head in her hands abandoned herself to sobbing. Tom looked at her silently. In a narrow way, she was right. In a broad way, he knew he was right. But he could not make her understand, so there was nothing he could say. Presently he noticed that her hair had loosened and her hat had fallen over one cheek. With unaccustomed hands he took out the pins and laid the hat upon the table. She gave no sign that she had noted the act.... Her sobs became fewer and less violent. Tom quietly lit the gas. "Where's Ferdinand?" he asked, in his ordinary voice. "I left him with Mrs. Jones," she answered through her hands. When Tom came back with the boy she was in the kitchen, a big apron over her street dress, beginning the dinner. Tom looked in upon her, then obeying an impulse long unstirred he began to set the table. She glanced furtively at this unusual service, but said nothing. She sat through the meal with hard face, but did not again refer to the day's happenings; and, since the day was Wednesday, as soon as he had eaten Tom hurried away to Potomac Hall. Tom was surrounded by friends the minute he entered the hall. The ten o'clock edition of the evening papers, out before seven, had acquainted them with his release. The accounts in this edition played up the anomaly of this labor ruffian, shown by his act to be the arch-enemy of the employers, being bailed out by one of the very contractors with whom the union was at war. Two of the papers printed interviews with Mr. Driscoll upon the question, why had he done it? One interview was, "I don't know"; the other, "None of your business." Tom's friends had the curiosity of the papers, and put to him the question the news sheets had put to Mr. Driscoll. "If Mr. Driscoll don't know, how can I?" was all the answer he could give them. Their curiosity, however, was weak measured by their indignation over the turn events had taken in the court-room. They would stand by him at his trial, they declared, and show what his relations had been with Jake, Bill and Arkansas. Before the meeting was opened there was talk among the Foleyites against Tom being allowed to preside, but he ended their muttering by marching to his table and pounding the union to order. He immediately took the floor and in a speech filled with charges against Foley gave to the union his side of the facts that had already been presented them from a different viewpoint in the papers. When he ended Foley's followers looked to their chief to make reply, but Foley kept his seat. Connelly, seeing it his duty to defend his leader, was rising to his feet when a glance from Foley made him sink back into his chair. The talk from Tom's side went hotly on for a time, but, meeting with no resistance, and having no immediate purpose, it dwindled away. The union then turned to matters pertaining to the management of the strike. As the discussion went on followers of Foley slipped quietly about the hall whispering in the ears of their brethren. The talk became tedious. Tom's friends, wearied and uninterested, sat in silence. Foleyites spoke at great length upon unimportant details. Foley himself made a long speech, the like of which had never before come from him, it was that dull and purposeless. At half-past ten, by which time the men usually were restless to be out of the hall and bound toward their beds, adjournment seemed as far off as at eight. Sleepy and bored by the stupid discussion, members began to go out, and most of those that left were followers of Tom. The pointless talk went on; men kept slipping out. At twelve o'clock not above two hundred were in the hall, and of these not two dozen were Tom's friends. Tom saw Foley cast his eyes over the thinned crowd, and then give a short nod at Connelly. The secretary stood up and claimed Tom's recognition. "Mr. President, I move we suspend the constitution." The motion was instantly seconded. Tom promptly ruled it out of order, on the ground that it was unconstitutional to suspend the constitution. But he was over-ruled, only a score siding with him. The motion was put and was carried by the same big majority that had voted against his decision. Connelly rose a second time. "I make a motion that we remove the president from office on the charge that he is the instigator of an outrage that has blackened the fair name of our union before all the world." A hundred voices cried a second to the motion. Tom rose and looked with impotent wrath into the faces of the crowd from which Foley's cunning had removed his followers. Then he tossed the gavel upon the table. "I refuse to put the motion!" he shouted; and picking up his hat he strode down the middle aisle. Half-way to the door he heard Connelly, in the absence of the vice-president, put the motion; and turning as he passed out he glimpsed the whole crowd on its feet. The next morning Tom saw by his newspaper that Connelly was the union's new president; also that he had been dropped from the strike committee, Hogan now being in his place. The reports in the papers intimated that the union had partially exonerated itself by its prompt discardure of the principal in the Avon explosion. The editorial pages expressed surprise that the notorious Foley bore no relation to an outrage that seemed a legitimate offspring of his character. Tom had not been at work more than an hour when a boy brought him word that the superintendent of the shipping department desired to see him. He hurried to his superior's office. "You were not at work yesterday?" the superintendent said. "No," Tom admitted. The head of the department drew a morning paper from a pigeon-hole and pointed at a face on its first page. "Your likeness, I believe." "It was intended for me." He touched a button, and a clerk appeared. "Phillips, make out Keating's time check." He turned sharply back upon Tom. "That's all. We've got no use for anarchists in our business." Chapter XXI WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN When Ruth carried a handful of letters she had just finished into Mr. Driscoll's office--this while he sat talking to Tom in the latter's cell--she saw staring luridly at her from the desk the newspaper that had sent her employer to the jail on his errand of gruff mercy. There was a great drawing of Tom's face, brutalized, yet easily recognizable, and over it the heavy crimson heading: TOOLS UNION PRESIDENT OF FORCED BY BLEW UP THE AVON DEATH THREATS The stare of that brutal face and of those red words sent her sinking into Mr. Driscoll's chair, and the letters fluttered to the floor. After a moment she reached in eager revulsion for the paper, and her eyes reeled through the high-colored account of the court scene. What was printed there was the newest of news to her; she had lunched early, and the paper she had bought to learn the latest developments in the Avon case had carried her only to the beginning of the trial. As she read, a dizzy sickness ran through all her body. The case against Tom, as the papers made it out, was certainly strong; and the fact that he, the instigator of the outrage, had attempted to escape blame by seeking to help convict his own tools was emphasized as the most blackening phase of the whole black affair. But strong as the case appeared, within her sickened, bewildered self there was something that protested the story could not possibly be true. During the weeks that had passed since she had last seen Tom she had wondered much that he had not come again, guessing every reason but the right one. When ten days had passed without a visit from him she had concluded that he must be too busy in the management of the strike to spare an evening; she did not know how completely Tom had been crowded off the stage by Foley. When more days had passed, and still no call from him, her subtle woman's nature had supplied another reason, and one that was a sufficient explanation to her even to the present. She knew what Tom's feelings were toward her; a woman needs precious little insight to discover when a man loves her. For all her instinctive democracy, she was perfectly conscious of the social difference between herself and him, and with not unnatural egotism she endowed Tom with the same consciousness. He loved her, but felt their social inequality, and felt it with such keenness that he deemed it hopeless to try to win her, and so had decided to see her no more. Such was her explanation of his absence. She pitied him with a warm romantic pity for his renunciation. Held away by such a reason, she knew that if ever he came it must be at her bidding. At times she had been impelled to send for him to come. To her this was not an impulse of prohibitive unmaidenliness; she could bend to a man who thought himself beneath her as she never could to a man on her own level. But she had not sent. To do so without being prepared to give him what he desired would be to do him a great wrong, and to give him this she was neither able nor ready. She admired all that was good in him; but she could not blind her eyes to his shortcomings, and to go into his world, with its easily imagined coarseness, with its ignorance of books and music and painting, and all the little refinements that were dear to her, she could not. And yet her heart had ached that he had not come. But now as she read the story of his disgrace, and as the reflux of wits and strength began, all her heart was one protest of his innocence, and she forgot all the little differences that had before halted her desire to see him; and this desire, freed of its checks, suddenly expanded till it filled the uttermost recesses of her soul. Her first impulse, when she had reached the story's end, was to go straight to him, and she went so far as to put on her hat. But reason stopped her at the door. She could do him no good, and her call would be but an embarrassment to them both. She removed her hat, and sat down to surging thoughts. She was sitting at her desk, white and weak, reading anew the lurid story in the paper, when Mr. Driscoll passed through her room into his office with hat drawn over his eyes. She looked through his open door for several minutes--and then, obeying the desire for the relief of speech, she went in. "Did you see this article about Mr. Keating?" she asked, trying to keep her personal interest in Tom from showing in her voice. Mr. Driscoll's hat brim was still over his eyes. He did not look up. "Yes," he said gruffly. "You remember him, don't you?--one of the foremen?" The hat brim moved affirmatively. She had to summon all her strength to put her next question with calmness. "What will be done with him?" "I don't know. Blowing up buildings isn't a very innocent amusement." "But he didn't do it!" "He didn't? Hum!" Ruth burned to make a hot defense. But instead she asked: "Do you think he's the sort of a man to do a thing of that sort? He says he didn't." "What d'you suppose he'd say?" She checked her rising wrath. "But what do you think will be done with him?" "Hung," growled Mr. Driscoll. She glared at him, but his hat brim shielded off her resentment; and without another word she swept indignantly out of the room. Ruth went home in that weakening anxiety which is most felt by the helpless. On the way she bought an evening paper, but there was nothing new in it. After a dinner hardly touched she went into the street and got a ten o'clock edition. It had the story of Tom's release on bail. "Why, the dear old bear!" she gasped, as she discovered that Mr. Driscoll had gone Tom's bond. She hurried to her room and in utter abandonment to her emotion wrote Tom a note asking him to call the following evening. The next morning Tom, discharged but half an hour before, walked into Ruth's office. He had stood several minutes in front of the building before he had gained sufficient control to carry him through the certain meeting with her. She went red at sight of him, and rose in a throbbing confusion, but subdued herself to greet him with a friendly cordiality. "It's been a long time since I've seen you," she said, giving him her hand. It was barely touched, then dropped. "Yes. I've been--very--busy," Tom mumbled, his big chest heaving. It seemed that his mind, his will, were slipping away from him. He seized his only safety. "Is Mr. Driscoll in?" "Yes." Suddenly chilled, she went into Mr. Driscoll's room. "He says he's too busy to see you," she said on her return; and then a little of her greeting smile came back: "But I think you'd better go in, anyhow." As Tom entered Mr. Driscoll looked up with something that was meant to be a scowl. He had had one uncomfortable scene already that morning. "Didn't I say I was busy?" he asked sharply. "I was told you were. But you didn't think I'd go away without thanking you?" "It's a pity a man can't make a fool of himself without being slobbered over. Well, if you've got to, out with it! But cut it short." Tom expressed his thanks warmly, and obediently made them brief. "But I don't know what you did it for?" he ended. "About fifty reporters have been asking that same thing." The telephone in Ruth's office began to ring. He waited expectantly. "Mr. Bobbs wants to speak to you," said Ruth, appearing at the door. "Tell him I'm out--or dead," he ordered, and went on to Tom: "And he's about the seventeenth contractor that's asked the same question, and tried to walk on my face. Maybe because I don't love Foley. I don't know myself. A man goes out of his head now and then, I suppose." His eyes snapped crossly. "If you're sorry this morning, withdraw the bail and I'll----" "Don't you try to be a fool, too! All I ask of you is, don't skip town, and don't blow up any more buildings." Tom gave his word, smiling into the cross face; and was withdrawing, when Mr. Driscoll stood up. "When this strike you started is over come around to see me." He held out his hand; his grasp was warm and tight. "Good-by." Tom, having none of that control and power of simulation which are given by social training, knew of but one way to pass safely by the danger beyond Mr. Driscoll's door. He hurried across Ruth's office straight for the door opening into the hallway. He had his hand on the knob, when he felt how brutal was his discourtesy. He turned his head. Ruth sat before the typewriter, her white face on him. "Good-by," he said. She did not answer, and he went dazedly out. Ruth sat in frozen stillness for long after he had gone. This new bearing of Tom toward her fitted her explanation for his long absence--and did not fit it. If he had renounced her, though loving her, he probably would have borne himself in the abrupt way he had just done. And he might have acted in just this same way had he come to be indifferent to her. This last was the chilling thought. If he had received her letter then his abrupt manner could mean only that this last thought struck the truth. When she had written him she had been certain of his feeling for her; that certainty now changed to uncertainty, she would have given half her life to have called the letter back with unbroken seal. She told herself that he would not come,--told herself this as she automatically did her work, as she rode home in the car, as she made weak pretense of eating dinner. And yet, after dinner, she put on the white dress that his eyes had told her he liked so well. And later, when Mr. Berman's card was brought her, she sent down word that she was ill. Presently ... he came. He did not speak when she opened the door to him, nor did she. There was an unmastering fever burning in his throat and through all his body; and all her inner self was the prisoner of a climacteric paralysis. They held hands for a time, laxly, till one loosed, and then both swung limply back to their places. "I just got your letter to-night--when I got home," he said, driving out the words. But he said nothing of his struggle: how he had fought back his longing and determined not to come; and how, the victory won, he had madly thrown wisdom aside and rushed to her. They found seats, somehow, she in a chair, he on the green couch, and sat in a silence their heart-beats seemed to make sonant. She was the first to recover somewhat, and being society bred and so knowing the necessity of speech, she questioned him about his arrest. He started out on the story haltingly. But little by little his fever lost its invalidating control, and little by little the madness in his blood, the madness that had forced him hither, possessed his brain and tongue, and the words came rapidly, with spirit. Finishing the story of his yesterday he harked back to the time he had last seen her, and told her what had happened in the second part of that evening in the hall over the Third Avenue saloon; told her how Foley had stolen the strike; how he had declined to his present insignificance. And as he talked he eagerly drank in her sympathy, and loosed himself more and more to the enjoyment of the mad pleasure of being with her. To her his words were not the account of the more or less sordid experiences of a workingman; they were the story of the reverses of the hero who, undaunted, has given battle to one whom all others have dared not, or cared not, fight. "What will you do now?" she asked when he had ended. "I don't know. Foley says he has me down and out--if you know what that means." She nodded. "I guess he's about right. Not many people want to hire men who blow up buildings. I had thought I'd work at whatever I could till October--our next election's then--and run against Foley again. But if he wins the strike he may be too strong to beat." "But do you think he'll win the strike?" "He'll be certain to win, though this explosion will injure us a lot. He's in for the strike for all he's worth, and when he fights his best he's hard to beat. The bosses can't get enough iron-men to keep their jobs going. That's already been proved. And in a little while all the other trades will catch up to where we left off; they'll have to stop then, for they can't do anything till our work's been done. That'll be equivalent to a general strike in all the building trades. We'll be losing money, of course, but so'll the bosses. The side'll win that can hold out longest, and we're fixed to hold out." "According to all the talk I hear the victory is bound to go the opposite way." "Well, you know some people then who'll be mighty disappointed!" Tom returned. She did not take him up, and silence fell between them. Thus far their talk had been of the facts of their daily lives, and though it had been unnatural in that it was far from the matter in both their hearts, yet by help of its moderate distraction they had managed to keep their feelings under control. But now, that distraction ended, Tom's fever began to burn back upon him. He sat rigidly upright, his eyes avoiding her face, and the fever flamed higher and higher. Ruth gazed whitely at him, hands gripped in her lap, her faculties slipping from her, waiting she hardly knew what. Minutes passed, and the silence between them grew intenser and more intense. Amid her throbbing dizziness Ruth's mind held steadily to just two thoughts: she was again certain of Tom's love, and certain that his pride would never allow him to speak. These two thoughts pointed her the one thing there was for her to do; the one thing that must be done for both their sakes--and finally she forced herself to say: "It has been a long time since you have been to see me. I had thought you had quite forgotten me." "I have thought of you often?" he managed to return, eyes still fixed above her, his self-control tottering. "But in a friendly way?--No.--Or you would not have been silent through two months." His eyes came down and fastened upon that noble face, and the words escaped by the guard he tried to keep at his lips: "I have never had a friend like you." She waited. "You are my best friend," the words continued. She waited again, but he said nothing more. She drove herself on. "And yet you could--stay away two months?--till I sent for you?" He stood up, and walked to the window and stood as if looking through it--though the shade was drawn. She saw the fingers at his back writhing and knotting themselves. She waited, unwinking, hardly breathing, all her life in the tumultuous beating of her heart. He turned about. His face was almost wild. "I stayed away--because I love you----" His last word was a gasp, and he did not have the strength to say the rest. It had come! Her great strain over, she fairly collapsed in a swooning happiness. Her head drooped, and she swayed forward till her elbows were on her knees. For a moment she existed only in her great, vague, reeling joy. Then she heard a spasmodic gasp, and heard his hoarse words add: "And because--I am married." Her head uprose slowly, and she looked at him, looked at him, with a deadly stupefaction in her eyes. A sickening minute passed. "Married?" she whispered. "Yes--married." A terrified pallor overspread her face, but the face held fixedly to his own. He stood rigid, looking at her. Her strange silence began to alarm him. "What is it?" he cried. Her face did not change, and seconds passed. Suddenly a gasp, then a little groan, broke from her. "Married!" she cried. For a moment he was astounded; then he began dimly to understand. "What, you don't mean----" he commenced, with dry lips. He moved, with uncertain steps, up before her. "You don't--care for me?" The head bowed a trifle. "Oh, my God!" He half staggered backward into a chair, and his face fell into his hands. He saw, in an agonizing vision, what might have been his, and what never could be his; and he saw the wide desert of his future. "You!" He heard her voice, and he looked up. She was on her feet, and was standing directly in front of him. Her hands were clenched upon folds of her skirt. Her breath was coming rapidly. Her eyes were flashing. "You! How could you come to see me as you have, and you married?" She spoke tremulously, fiercely, and at the last her voice broke into a sob. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she did not heed them. Tom's face dropped back into his hands; he could not stand the awful accusation of that gaze. She was another victim of his tragedy, an innocent victim--and _his_ victim. He saw in a flash the whole ghastly part he, in ignorance, had played. A groan burst from his lips, and he writhed in his self-abasement. "How could you do it?" he heard her fiercely demand again. "Oh, you! you!" He heard her sweep across the little room, and then sweep back; and he knew she was standing before him, gazing down at him in anguish, anger, contempt. He groaned again. "What can I say to you--what?" There was silence. He could feel her eyes, unchanging, still on him. Presently he began to speak into his hands, in a low, broken voice. "I can make no excuse. I don't know that I can explain. But I never intended to do this. Never! Never! "You know how we met, how we came to be together the first two or three times. Afterwards ... I said awhile ago that you were my best friend. I have had few real friends--none but you who sympathized with me, who seemed to understand me. Well, afterwards I came because--I never stopped to think why I came. I guess because you understood, and I liked you. And so I came. As a man might come to see a good man friend. And I never once thought I was doing wrong. And I never thought of my wife--that is, you understand, that she made it wrong for me to see you. I never thought----If you believe in me at all, you must believe this. You must! And then--one day--I saw you with another man, and I knew I loved you. I awoke. I saw what I ought to do. I tried to do it--but it was very hard--and I came to see you again--the last time. I said once more I would not see you again. It was still hard, very hard--but I did not. And then--your letter--came----" His words dwindled away. Then, after a moment, he said very humbly: "Perhaps I don't just understand how to be a gentleman." Again silence. Presently he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He raised his eyes. She was still gazing at him, her face very white, but no anger in it. "I understand," she said. He rose--weak. "I can't ask that you forgive me." "No. Not now." "Of course. I have meant to you only grief--pain. And can mean only that to you, always." She did not deny his words. "Of course," he agreed. Then he stood, without words, unmoving. "You had better go," she said at length. He took his hat mechanically. "The future?" "You were right." "You mean--we should not meet again?" "This is the last time." Again he stood silent, unmoving. "You had better go," she said. "Good-night." "Good-night." He moved sideways to the door, his eyes never leaving her. He paused. She stood just as she had since she had touched his shoulder. He moved back to her, as in a trance. "No." She held up a hand, as if to ward him off. He took the hand--and the other hand. They were all a-tremble. And he bent down, slowly, toward her face that he saw as in a mist. The face did not recede. Their cold lips met. At the touch she collapsed, and the next instant she was sobbing convulsively in his arms. * * * * * And all that night she lay dressed on her couch.... And all that night he walked the streets. Chapter XXII THE PROGRESS OF THE STRIKE When morning began to creep into the streets, and while it was yet only a dingy mist, Tom slipped quietly into his flat and stretched his wearied length upon the couch, his anguish subdued to an aching numbness by his lone walk. He lay for a time, his eyes turned dully into the back yard, watching the dirty light grow cleaner; and presently he sank into a light sleep. After a little his eyes opened and he saw Maggie looking intently at him from their bedroom door. For a moment the two of them maintained a silent gaze. Then she asked: "You were out all night?" "Yes," he answered passively. "Why?" He hesitated. "I was walking about--thinking." "I should think you would be thinking! After what happened to you Wednesday, and after losing your job yesterday!" He did not correct her misinterpretation of his answer, and as he said nothing more she turned back into the bedroom, and soon emerged dressed. As she moved about preparing breakfast his eyes rested on her now and then, and in a not unnatural selfishness he dully wondered why they two were married. Her feeling for him, he knew, was of no higher sort than that attachment which dependence upon a man and the sense of being linked to him for life may engender in an unspiritual woman. There was no love between them; they had no ideas in common; she was not this, and not this, and not this. And all the things that she was not, the other was. And it was always to be Maggie that he was to see thus intimately. He had bowed to the situation as the ancients bowed to fate--accepted it as a fact as unchangeable as death that has fallen. And yet, as he lay watching her, thinking it was to be always so,--always!--his soul was filled with agonizing rebellion; and so it was to be through many a day to come. But later, as his first pain began to settle into an aching sense of irreparable loss, his less selfish vision showed him that Maggie was no more to blame for their terrible mistake than he, and not so much; and that she, in a less painful degree, was also a pitiable victim of their error. He became consciously considerate of her. For her part, she at first marveled at this gentler manner, then slowly yielded to it. But this is running ahead. The first days were all the harder to Tom because he had no work to share his time with his pain. He did not seek another position; as he had told Ruth, he knew it would be useless to ask for work so long as the charge of being a dynamiter rested upon him. He walked about the streets, trying to forget his pain in mixing among his old friends, with no better financial hope than to wait till the court had cleared his name. Several times he met Pig Iron Pete, who, knowing only the public cause for Tom's dejection, prescribed a few drinks as the best cure for such sorrow, and showed his faith in his remedy by offering to take the same medicine. And one evening he brought his cheerless presence to the Barrys'. "Poor fellow!" sighed Mrs. Barry after he had gone. "He takes his thumps hard." One day as he walked about the streets he met Petersen, and with the Swede was a stocky, red-faced, red-necked man wearing a red necktie whose brilliance came to a focus in a great diamond pin. Petersen had continued to call frequently after nightly attendance had become unnecessary. Two weeks before Tom had gleaned from him by hard questioning that the monthly rent of twelve dollars was overdue, the landlord was raging, there was nothing with which to pay, and also nothing in the house to eat. The next day Tom had drawn fifteen dollars from his little bank account, and held it by him to give to Petersen when he next called. But he had not come again. Now on seeing him Tom's first feeling was of guilt that he had not carried the needed money to Petersen's home. The stocky man, when he saw the two were friends, withdrew himself to the curb and began to clean his nails with his pocket knife. "How are you, Petersen?" Tom asked. "I'm purty good," Petersen returned, glancing restlessly at the stocky man. "You don't need a little money, do you?" Tom queried anxiously. "No. I'm vorkin'." He again looked restlessly at his manicuring friend. "You don't say! That's good. What at?" Petersen's restlessness became painful. "At de docks." Tom saw plainly that Petersen was anxious to get away, so he said good-by and walked on, puzzled by the Swede's strange manner, by his rather unusual companion, and puzzled also as to how his work as longshoreman permitted him to roam the streets in the middle of the afternoon. When Tom met friends in his restless wanderings and stopped to talk to them, the subject was usually the injustice he had suffered or the situation regarding the strike. Up to the day of the Avon explosion the union as a whole had been satisfied with the strike's progress. That event, of course, had weakened the strikers' cause before the public. But the promptness with which the union was credited to have renounced the instigator of the outrage partially restored the ironworkers to their position. They were completely restored three days after the explosion, when Mr. Baxter, smarting under his recent loss and not being able to retaliate directly upon Foley, permitted himself to be induced by a newspaper to express his sentiments upon labor unions. The interview was an elaboration of the views which are already partly known to the reader. By reason of the rights which naturally belong to property, he said, by reason of capital's greatly superior intelligence, it was the privilege of capital, nay even its duty, to arrange the uttermost detail of its affairs without any consultation whatever with labor, whose views were always selfish and necessarily always unintelligent. The high assumption of superiority in Mr. Baxter's interview, its paternalistic, even monarchical, character, did not appeal to his more democratic and less capitalized readers, and they drew nearer in sympathy to the men he was fighting. As the last days of May passed one by one, Tom's predictions to Ruth began to have their fulfillment. By the first of June a great part of the building in the city was practically at a standstill; the other building trades had caught up with the ironworkers on many of the jobs, and so had to lay down their tools. The contractors in these trades were all checked more or less in their work. Their daily loss quickly overcame their natural sympathy with the iron contractors and Mr. Baxter was beset by them. "We haven't any trouble with our men," ran the gist of their complaint. "Why should we be losing money just because you and your men can't agree? For God's sake, settle it up so we can get to work!" Owners of buildings in process of construction, with big sums tied up in them, began to grow frantic. Their agreements with the contractors placed upon the latter a heavy fine for every day the completion of the buildings was delayed beyond the specified time; but the contracts contained a "strike clause" which exempted the bosses from penalties for delays caused by strikes. And so the loss incurred by the present delay fell solely upon the owners. "Settle this up somehow," they were constantly demanding of Mr. Baxter. "You've delayed my building a month. There's a month's interest on my money, and my natural profits for a month, both gone to blazes!" To all of these Mr. Baxter's answer was in substance the same: "The day the union gives up, on that day the strike is settled." And this he said with unchangeable resolution showing through his voice. The bosses and owners went away cursing and looking hopelessly upon an immediate future whose only view to them was a desert of loss. But Mr. Baxter did not have in his heart the same steely decision he had in his manner. Events had not taken just the course he had foreseen. The division in the union, on which he had counted for its fall, had been mended by the subsidence of Tom. The union's resources were almost exhausted, true, but it was receiving some financial assistance from its national organization, and its fighting spirit was as strong as ever. If the aid of the national organization continued to be given, and if the spirit of the men remained high, Mr. Baxter realized that the union could hold out indefinitely. The attempt to replace the strikers by non-union men had been a failure; Mr. Driscoll and himself were the only contractors who still maintained the expensive farce of keeping a few scabs at work. And despite his surface indifference to it, the pressure of the owners of buildings and of the bosses in other trades had a little effect upon Mr. Baxter, and more than a little upon some other members of the Executive Committee. A few of the employers were already eager to yield to the strikers' demand, preferring decreased profits to a long period of none at all; but when Mr. Isaacs attempted to voice the sentiments of these gentlemen in a meeting of the Executive Committee, a look from Mr. Baxter's steady gray eyes was enough to close him up disconcerted. So Buck Foley was not without a foundation in fact for his hopeful words when he said in his report to the union at the first meeting in June: "The only way we can lose this strike, boys, is to give it away." Which remark might be said, by one speaking from the vantage of later events, to have been a bit of unconscious prophecy. Chapter XXIII THE TRIUMPH OF BUSINESS SENSE Mr. Baxter had to withstand pressure from still another source--from himself. His business sense, as had owners and contractors, demanded of him an immediate settlement of the strike. In its frequent debates with him it was its habit to argue by repeating the list of evils begotten by the strike, placing its emphasis on his losses that promised to continue for months to come. Unlike most reformers and other critics of the _status quo_, Mr. Baxter's business sense was not merely destructive; it offered a practicable plan for betterment--a plan that guaranteed victory over the strikers and required only the sacrifice of his pride. But Mr. Baxter's pride refused to be sacrificed. His business sense had suggested the plan shortly after the union had voted to strike. He would have adopted the plan immediately, as the obvious procedure in the situation, had it not been for the break with Foley. But the break had come, and his pride could not forget that last visit of Foley to his private office; it had demanded that the walking delegate be humiliated--utterly crushed. His business sense, from the other side, had argued the folly of allowing mere emotion to stand in the way of victory and the profitable resumption of work. Outraged pride had been the stronger during April and May, but as the possibility of its satisfaction had grown less and less as May had dragged by, the pressure of his business sense had become greater and greater. And the Avon explosion had given business sense a further chance to greaten. "Try the plan at once," it had exhorted; "if you don't, Foley may do it again." However, for all the pressure of owners and contractors and of his business sense--owners and contractors urging any sort of settlement, so that it be a settlement, business sense urging its own private plan--in the early days of June Mr. Baxter continued to present the same appearance of wall-like firmness. But his firmness was that of a dam that can sustain a pressure of one hundred, and is bearing a pressure of ninety-nine with its habitual show of eternal fixedness. Mr. Baxter had to withstand pressure from yet another source--from his wife. When he had told her in early May that the strike was not going to be settled as quickly as he had first thought, and had asked her to practice such temporary economy as she could, she had acquiesced graciously but with an aching heart; and instead of going to Europe as she had intended, she and her daughter had run up to Tuxedo, where with two maids, carriage, and coachman, they were managing to make both ends meet on three hundred dollars a week. But when the first days of June had come, and no prospect of settlement, she began to think with swelling anxiety of the Newport season. "Why can't this thing be settled right off?" she said to her husband who had run up Friday evening--the Friday after the Wednesday Foley had assured the union of certain victory--to stay with her over Saturday and Sunday. And she acquainted him with her besetting fears. Only another unit of pressure was needed to overturn the wall of Mr. Baxter's resistance, and the stress of his wife's words was many times the force required. During his two days at Tuxedo Mr. Baxter sat much of the time apart in quiet thought. Mrs. Baxter was too considerate a wife to repeat to him her anxieties, or to harass him with pleas and questions, but just before he left early Monday morning for the city she could not refrain from saying: "You will try, won't you, dear, to end the strike soon?" "Yes, dear." She beamed upon him. "How soon?" "It will last about three more weeks." She fell on his neck with a happy cry, and kissed him. She asked him to explain, but his business sense had told him it would be better if she did not know the plan, and his love had given him the same counsel; so he merely answered, "I am certain the union will give up," and plead his haste to catch his train as excuse for saying nothing more. That afternoon a regular meeting of the Executive Committee took place in Mr. Baxter's office. It was not a very cheerful quintet that sat about the cherry table: Isaacs, in his heart ready to abandon the fight; Bobbs, Murphy, and Driscoll, determined to win, but with no more speedy plan than to continue the siege; and Baxter, cold and polite as usual, and about as inspiring as a frozen thought. There was nothing in the early part of the meeting to put enthusiasm into the committee. First of all, Mr. Baxter read a letter from the Civic Federation, asking the committee if it would be willing to meet again, in the interest of a settlement, with the strikers' committee. "Why not?" said Isaacs, trying to subdue his eagerness to a business-like calm. "We've got nothing to lose by it." "And nothing to gain!" snorted Driscoll. "Tell the Civic Federation, not on its life," advised Murphy. "And tell 'em to cut their letters out. We're gettin' tired o' their eternal buttin' in." Baxter gave Murphy a chilly glance. "We'll consider that settled then," he said quietly. In his own mind, however, he had assigned the offer of the Civic Federation to a definite use. There were several routine reports on the condition of the strike; and the members of the committee had a chance to propose new plans. Baxter was not ready to offer his--he hung back from broaching it; and the others had none. "Nothin' to do but set still and starve 'em out," said Murphy, and no one contradicted him. At the previous meeting, when pride was still regnant within him, Mr. Baxter had announced that he had put detectives on the Avon case with the hope of gaining evidence that would convict Foley of complicity in the explosion. Since then the detectives had reported that though morally certain of Foley's direct responsibility they could find not one bit of legal evidence against him. Furthermore, business sense had whispered Mr. Baxter that it would be better to let the matter drop, for if brought to trial Foley might, in a fit of recklessness, make some undesirable disclosures. So, for his own reasons, Mr. Baxter had thus far guarded the Avon explosion from the committee's talk. But at length Mr. Driscoll, restless at the dead subjects they were discussing, avoided his guard and asked: "Anything new in the Avon business?" "Nothing. My detectives have failed to find any proof at all of Mr. Foley's guilt." "Arrest him anyhow," said Driscoll. "If we can convict him, why the back of the strike's broken." "There's no use arresting a man unless you can convict him." "Take the risk! You're losing your nerve, Baxter." Baxter flushed the least trifle at Driscoll's words, but he did not retort. His eyes ran over the faces of the four with barely perceptible hesitancy. He felt this to be his opening, but the plan of his business sense was a subject difficult and delicate to handle. "I have a better use for Mr. Foley," he said steadily. "Yes?" cried the others, and leaned toward him. When Baxter said this much, they knew he had a vast deal more to say. "If we could convict him I'd be in favor of his arrest. But if we try, we'll fail; and that will be a triumph for the union. So to arrest him is bad policy." "Go on," said Murphy. "Whatever we may say to the public, we know among ourselves this strike is nowhere near its end. It may last all summer--the entire building season." The four men nodded. Baxter now spoke with apparent effort. "Why not make use of Foley and win it in three weeks?" "How?" asked Driscoll suspiciously. "How?" asked the others eagerly. "I suppose most of you have been held up by Foley?" There were four affirmative answers. "You know he's for sale?" "I've been forced to buy him!" said Driscoll. Baxter went on more easily, and with the smoothness of a book. "We have all found ourselves, I suppose, compelled to take measures in the interests of peace or the uninterrupted continuance of business that were repugnant to us. What I am going to suggest is a thing I would rather not have to do; but we are face to face with two evils, and this is the lesser. "You will bear me out, of course, when I say the demands of the union are without the bounds of reason. We can't afford to grant the demands; and yet the fight against the union may use up the whole building season. We'll lose a year's profits, and the men will lose a year's wages, and in the end we'll win. Since we are certain to win, anyhow, it seems to me that any plan that will enable us to win at once, and save our profits and the men's wages, is justifiable." "Of course," said three of the men. "What do you mean?" Driscoll asked guardedly. "Many a rebellion has been quelled by satisfying the leader." "Oh, come right out with what you mean," demanded Driscoll. "The quickest way of settling the strike, and the cheapest, for both us and the union, is to--well, see that Foley is satisfied." Driscoll sprang to his feet, his chair tumbling on its back, and his fist came down upon the table. "I thought you were driving at that! By God, I'm getting sick of this whole dirty underhand way of doing business. I'd get out if I had a half-way decent offer. The union is in the wrong. Of course it is! But I want to fight 'em on the square--in the open. I don't want to win by bribing a traitor!" "It's a case where it would be wrong not to bribe--if you want to use so harsh a word," said Baxter, his face tinged the least bit with red. "It is either to satisfy Mr. Foley or to lose a summer's work and have the men and their families suffer from the loss of a summer's wages. It's a choice between evils. I'll leave to the gentlemen here, which is the greater." "Oh, give your conscience a snooze, Driscoll!" growled Murphy. "I think Baxter's reasoning is good," said Bobbs. Isaacs corroborated him with a nod. "It's smooth reasoning, but it's rotten!--as rotten as hell!" He glared about on the four men. "Are you all in for Baxter's plan?" "We haven't heard it all yet," said Bobbs. "You've heard enough to guess the rest," snorted Driscoll. "I think it's worth tryin'," said Murphy. "Why, yes," said Bobbs. "We can do no less than that," said Isaacs. "Then you'll try it without me!" Driscoll shouted. "I resign from this committee, and resign quick!" He grabbed his hat from Baxter's desk and stamped toward the door. Mr. Baxter's smooth voice stopped him as his hand was on the knob. "Even if you do withdraw, of course you'll keep secret what we have proposed." Driscoll gulped for a moment before he could speak; his face deepened its purplish red, and his eyes snapped and snapped. "Damn you, Baxter, what sort d'you think I am!" he exploded. "Of course!" He opened the door, there was a furious slam, and he was gone. The four men looked at each other questioningly. Baxter broke the silence. "A good fellow," he said with a touch of pity. "But his ideas are too inelastic for the business world." "He ought to be runnin' a girls' boardin' school," commented Murphy. "Perhaps it's just as well he withdrew," said Baxter. "I take it we're pretty much of one mind." "Anything to settle the strike--that's me," said Murphy. "Come on now, Baxter; give us the whole plan. Just handin' a roll over to Foley ain't goin' to settle it. That'd do if it was his strike. But it ain't. It's the union's--about three thousand men. How are you goin' to bring the union around?" "The money brings Foley around; Foley brings the union around. It's very simple." "As simple as two and two makes seven," growled Murphy. "Give us the whole thing." Baxter outlined his entire plan, as he expected it to work out. "That sounds good," said Bobbs. "But are you certain we can buy Foley off?" "Sure thing," replied Murphy, answering for Baxter. "If we offer him enough." "How much do you think it'll take?" asked Isaacs. Baxter named a figure. "So much as that!" cried Isaacs. "That isn't very much, coming from the Association," said Baxter. "You're losing as much in a week as your assessment would come to." "I suppose you want the whole Association to know all about this," remarked Murphy. "Only we four are to know anything." "How'll you get the Association to give you the money then?" Murphy followed up. "I can get the emergency fund increased. We have to give no account of that, you know." "You seem to have thought o' everything, Baxter," Murphy admitted. "I say we can't see Foley any too soon." Bobbs and Isaacs approved this judgment heartily. "I'll write him, then, to meet us here to-morrow afternoon. There's one more point now." He paused to hunt for a phrase. "Don't you think the suggestion should--ah--come from him?" The three men looked puzzled. "My mind don't make the jump," said Murphy. Baxter coughed. It was not very agreeable, this having to say things right out. "Don't you see? If we make the offer, it's--well, it's bribery. But if we can open the way a little bit, and lead him on to make the demand, why we're----" "Held up, o' course!" supplied Murphy admiringly. "Yes. In that case, if the negotiations with Foley come to nothing, or there is a break later, Foley can't make capital out of it, as he might in the first case. We're safe." "We couldn't help ourselves! We were held up!" Alderman Murphy could not restrain a joyous laugh, and he held out a red hairy hand. "Put 'er there, Baxter! There was a time when I classed you with the rest o' the reform bunch you stand with in politics--fit for nothin' but to wear white kid gloves and to tell people how good you are. But say, you're the smoothest article I've met yet!" Baxter, with hardly concealed reluctance, placed his soft slender hand in Murphy's oily paw. Chapter XXIV BUSINESS IS BUSINESS It had been hard for Baxter to broach his plan to the Executive Committee. The next step in the plan was far harder--to write the letter to Foley. His revolted pride upreared itself against this act, but his business sense forced him to go on with what he had begun. So he wrote the letter--not an easy task of itself, since the letter had to be so vague as to tell Foley nothing, and yet so luring as to secure his presence--and sent it to Foley's house by messenger. The next afternoon at a quarter past two the committee was again in Baxter's office. Foley had been asked to come at half-past. The fifteen minutes before his expected arrival they spent in rehearsing the plan, so soon to be put to its severest test. "I suppose you'll do all the talking, Baxter," said Bobbs. "Sure," answered Murphy. "It's his game. I don't like to give in that any man's better than me, but when it comes to fine work o' this kind we ain't one, two, three with Baxter." Baxter took the compliment with unchanged face. Foley was not on time. At two-forty he had not come, and that he would come at all began to be doubted. At two-fifty he had not arrived. At three none of the four really expected him. "Let's go," said Murphy. "He'd 'a' been here on time if he was comin' at all. I ain't goin' to waste my time waitin' on any walkin' delegate." "Perhaps there has been some mistake--perhaps he didn't get the letter," suggested Baxter. But his explanation did not satisfy himself; he had a growing fear that he had humiliated himself in vain, that Foley had got the letter and was laughing at him--a new humiliation greater even than the first. "But let's wait a few minutes longer; he may come yet," he went on; and after a little persuasion the three consented to remain half an hour longer. At quarter past three the office boy brought word that Foley was without. Baxter ordered that he be sent in, but before the boy could turn Foley walked through the open door, derby hat down over his eyes, hands in his trousers pockets. Baxter stood up, and the other three rose slowly after him. "Good-afternoon, gents," Foley said carelessly, his eyes running rapidly from face to face. "D'I keep youse waitin'?" "Only about an hour," growled Murphy. "Is that so, now? Sorry. I always take a nap after lunch, an' I overslep' myself." Foley's eyes had fixed upon Baxter's, and Baxter's returned their gaze. For several seconds the two stood looking at each other with expressionless faces, till the other three began to wonder. Then Baxter seemed to swallow something. "Won't you please be seated, Mr. Foley," he said. "Sure," said Foley in his first careless tone. The five sat down. Foley again coolly scanned the committee. "Well?" he said. The three looked at Baxter to open the conversation. He did not at once begin, and Foley took out his watch. "I can only give youse a few minutes, gents. I've got an engagement up town at four. So if there's anything doin', s'pose we don't waste no time in silent prayer." "We want to talk over the strike with you," began Baxter. "Really. If I'd known that now I'd 'a' brought the committee along." Murphy scowled at this naïveté. "We don't want to talk to your committee." "I'm nobody without the committee. The committee's runnin' the strike." "We merely desire to talk things over in a general way with you in your capacity as an individual," said Baxter quickly, to head off other remarks from Murphy. "A general talk? Huh! Youse talk two hours; result--youse've talked two hours." He slowly rose and took his hat, covering a yawn with a bony hand. "Interestin'. I'd like it if I had the time to spare. But I ain't. Well--so-long." "Hold on!" cried Baxter hastily. Foley turned. "We thought that possibly, as the result of our talk, we might be able to reach some compromise for the settlement of the strike." "If youse've got any plans, that's different." Foley resumed his chair, resting an elbow on the table. "But remember I've got another engagement, an' cut 'em short." There were five chairs in the room. Baxter had placed his own with its back to the window, and Foley's so that the full light fell straight in the walking delegate's face. His own face, in the shadow, was as though masked. Baxter had now immediately before him the task of opening the way for Foley to make the desired demand. "This strike has been going on over five weeks now," he began, watching the walking delegate's face for any expression significant that his words were having their effect. "You have been fixed in your position; we have been fixed in ours. Your union has lost about three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I won't say how much we've lost. We both seem to be as firmly fixed in our determination as ever. The strike may last all summer. The question is, do we both want to keep on losing money--indefinitely?" Foley did not take the opening. "That's the question," he said blandly. It was a few seconds before Baxter went on. "I judge that we do not. You have----" "Excuse me," said Foley, rising, "but I got weak eyes, an' this light hurts 'em. Suppose me an' youse changes chairs." He calmly stepped over to Baxter's side and waited. There was nothing for Baxter but to yield the seat, which he did. Foley sat down, tilted back against the window sill, and hooked his heels over a chair rung. "Your union has perhaps a million dollars at stake," Baxter continued at the same even pitch. "We have--a great deal, and the owners stand to lose heavily. If by talking an hour we can devise a plan by which this can be saved, it's worth while, is it not?" "Sure. Speakin' as an individual, I'm willin' to talk twice as long for half as much," Foley drawled. There was a silence. The three men, their elbows on the polished table, looked on as though spectators at a play. "I wonder if you have anything to propose?" asked Baxter guardedly. "Me? I come to use my ears, not my tongue." The two men watched each other narrowly. The advantage, if there could be advantage in the case of two faces under perfect control, was all with Foley. The contractor had caught no sign revealing whether his insinuative words were having effect. "But you perhaps have thought of some plan that is worth considering," he went on. Foley hesitated, for the first time. "Well--yes." "What is it?" "I----" He broke off, and seemed to listen with suspicion. Baxter's face quickened--the least trifle. The three men leaned further across the table, excitement tugging in their faces. "You are perfectly safe," Baxter assured him. "No one can hear." "The plan's dead simple. But mebbe it's occurred to youse." "Go on!" said Baxter. The men hardly breathed. "The quickest way o' settlin' the strike is for"--he paused--"youse bosses to give in." Baxter's face went a little pale. Something very like a snarl came from the spectators. Foley gave a prolonged chuckle. "If youse'll pay me for my time, I'm willin' to play tag in the dark so long's the coin lasts. But if youse ain't, come to business, or I'll go." "I don't understand," returned Baxter blankly. "Oh, tell the truth now an' then, Baxter. It sorter gives contrast to the other things youse say. Youse understand all right enough." Baxter continued his blank look. Foley laughed dryly. "Now why do youse keep up that little game with me, Baxter? But keep it up, if youse like it? It don't fool no one, so where's the harm. I see through youse all right, even if youse don't understand me." "Yes?" "Mebbe youse'd like to have me tell youse why youse sent for me?" There was no answer. "I'll tell then, since youse don't seem to want to. I only expect to live till I'm seventy-five, so I ain't got no time to waste on your way o' doin' business." Tilted at his ease against the window sill, he gave each of the four a slow glance from his sharp eyes. "Well, youse gents sent for me to see if I wouldn't offer to sell out the strike." This was hardly the manner in which the four had expected he would be led on to hold them up. There was a moment of suppressed disconcertment. Then Baxter remarked: "It seems to me that you are doing some very unwarranted guessing." "I may be wrong, sure." A sardonic grin showed through the shadow-mask on his face. "Well, what did youse want to talk to me about then?" Again there was a pause. The three twisted in uncomfortable suspense. Baxter had the control of a bronze. "Suppose that was our purpose?" he asked quietly. "What would you say?" "That's pretty fair; youse're gettin' out where there's daylight," Foley approved. "I'd say youse was wastin' time. It can't be done--even if anybody wanted it done." "Why?" "There's three thousand men in the union, an' every one o' them has a say in settlin' the strike. An' there's five men on the strike committee. I s'pose it's necessary to tell four such honest gents that a trick o' this sort's got to be turned on the quiet. Where's the chance for quiet? A committee might fool a union--yes. But there's the committee." Foley looked at his watch. "I've got to move if I keep that engagement." He stood up, and a malignant look came over his face. "I've give youse gents about the only sort of a reason youse're capable of appreciatin'--I couldn't if I wanted to. But there's another--I don't want to. The only way o' settlin' this strike is the one I said first, for youse bosses to give in. I've swore to beat youse out, an', by God, I'm goin' to do it!" Bobbs and Isaac blinked dazedly. Murphy rose with a savage look, but was sent to his chair by a glance from Baxter. Save for that glance, Foley's words would have made no more change on Baxter's face than had it indeed been of bronze. "When youse're ready to give in, gents, send for me, an' I'll come again. Till then, damn youse, good-by!" As his hand was on the knob Baxter's even voice reached him: "But suppose a man could fool the committee?" Foley turned slowly around. "What?" "Suppose a man could fool the committee?" "What youse drivin' at?" "Suppose a man could fool the committee?" Foley's eyes were of blazing intentness. "It can't be done." "I know of only one man who could do it." "Who?" "I think you can guess his name." Foley came slowly back to his chair, with a gaze that fairly clutched Baxter's face. "Don't youse fool with me!" he snarled. Baxter showed nothing of the angler's excitement who feels the fish on his hook. "Suppose a man could fool the committee? What would you say?" Foley held his eyes in piercing study on Baxter's face. "See here, are youse talkin' business?" he demanded. "Suppose I say I am." The shadow could not hide a wolf-like gleam of Foley's yellow teeth. "Then I might say, 'I'll listen.'" "Suppose a man could fool the committee," Baxter reiterated. "What would you say?" "S'pose I was to say, 'how'?" Baxter felt sure of his catch. Throwing cautious speech aside, he outlined the plan of his business sense, Foley watching him the while with unshifting gaze, elbows on knees, hands gripped. "Negotiations between your committee and ours might be resumed. You might be defiant for one or two meetings of the two committees. You might still be defiant in the meetings, but you might begin to drop a few words of doubt on the outside. They will spread, and have their effect. You can gradually grow a little weaker in your declarations at the meetings and a little stronger in your doubts expressed outside. Some things might happen, harmless in themselves, which would weaken the union's cause. Then you might begin to say that perhaps after all it would be better to go back to work on the old scale now, than to hold out with the possibility of having to go back at the old scale anyhow after having lost a summer's work. And so on. In three weeks, or even less, you would have the union in a mood to declare the strike off." Foley's gaze dropped to the rug, and the four waited his decision in straining suspense. The walking delegate's mind quickly ran over all the phases of this opportunity for a fortune. None of the four men present would tell of the transaction, since, if they did, they would be blackened by their own words. To the union and all outside persons it would seem nothing more than a lost strike. The prestige he would lose in the union would be only temporary; he could regain it in the course of time. Other walking delegates had lost strikes and kept their places as leaders. Even Baxter had begun to show signs of nervous strain when Foley raised his eyes and looked hesitatingly at the three men. Every man was one more mouth, so one more danger. "What is it?" asked Baxter. "I ain't used to doin' business with more'n one man." "Oh, we're all on the level," growled Murphy. "Come out with it." "Well, then, I say yes--with an 'if'." "And the 'if'?" queried Baxter. "If the price is right." "What do you think it should be?" Foley studied the men's faces from beneath lowered eyebrows. "Fifty thousand." This was the sum Baxter had mentioned the afternoon before. But Isaacs cried out, "What!" "That--or nothing!" "Half that's enough," declared Murphy. Foley sneered in Murphy's face. "As I happen to know, twenty-five thousand is just what youse got for workin' in the Board o' Aldermen for the Lincoln Avenue Traction Franchise. Good goods always comes higher." The alderman's red face paled to a pink. But Baxter cut in before he could retort. "We won't haggle over the amount, Mr. Foley. I think we can consider the sum you mention as agreed upon." Foley's yellow teeth gleamed again. He summed up his terms concisely: "Fifty thousand, then. Paid in advance. No checks. Cash only." "Pay you in advance!" snorted Murphy. "Well I rather guess not!" "Why?" "Well--we want somethin' for our money!" Foley's face grew dark. "See here, gents. We've done a little quiet business together, all of us. Now can any one o' youse say Buck Foley ever failed to keep his part o' the agreement?" The four had to vindicate his honor. But nevertheless, for their own reason, they seemed unwilling to pay now and trust that he would do the work; and Foley, for his reason, seemed unwilling to do the work and trust that they would pay. After much discussion a compromise was reached: the money was to be paid by Baxter in the morning of the day on which the union would vote upon the strike; the committee could then feel certain that Foley would press his measure through, for he would have gone too far to draw back; and Foley, if payment should not be made, could still balk the fulfillment of the plan. When this agreement had been reached Baxter was ready with another point. "I believe it would be wise if all our future dealings with Mr. Foley should be in the open, especially my dealings with him. If we were seen coming from an apparently secret meeting, and recognized--as we might be, for we are both known to many people--suspicions might be aroused and our plan defeated." The four gave approval to the suggestion. At five o'clock all was settled, and Foley rose to go. He looked irresolutely at Baxter for a moment, then said in a kind of grudging admiration: "I've never give youse credit, Baxter. I knew youse was the smoothest thing in the contractin' business, but I never guessed youse was this deep." For an instant Baxter had a fear that he would again have to shake a great hairy hand. But Foley's tribute did not pass beyond words. Chapter XXV IN WHICH FOLEY BOWS TO DEFEAT The minute after Foley had gone Mr. Baxter was talking over the telephone to the secretary of the Conciliation Committee of the Civic Federation. "We have considered your offer to try to bring our committee and the committee of the ironworkers together," he said. "We are willing to reopen negotiations with them." A letter would have been the proper and more dignified method of communication. But this was the quicker, and to Mr. Baxter a day was worth while. The secretary believed in the high mission of his committee, and was enthusiastic to make a record for it in the avoidance of strikes and assistance in their settlement. So he laid down the telephone receiver and called for a stenographer. Within twenty minutes a messenger left his office bearing a letter to Foley. When Foley got home, an hour after leaving Mr. Baxter's office, his wife handed him the letter. It read: MY DEAR MR. FOLEY: Mr. Baxter, speaking for the Executive Committee of the Iron Employers' Association, has signified their willingness to meet your committee and again discuss possible measures for the ending of the strike. Notwithstanding the barrenness of previous meetings I sincerely hope your committee will show the same willingness to resume negotiations. Permit me to urge upon your attention the extreme seriousness of the present situation: the union, the contractors, the owners, all losing money, the public discommoded by the delay in the completion of buildings; all these demand that your two committees get together and in a spirit of fairness reach some agreement whereby the present situation will be brought to an end. Our rooms are at the service of your two committees. As time is precious I have secured Mr. Baxter's consent, for his committee, to meet you here at half-past two to-morrow afternoon. I hope this will suit you. If not, a later date can be arranged. Though his appetite and dinner were both ready, Foley put on his hat and went to the home of Connelly. The secretary was just sitting down to his own dinner. "I just happened to be goin' by," said Foley, "an' I thought I'd run in an' show youse a letter I got to-day." He drew out the letter and handed it to Connelly. Foley chatted with Mrs. Connelly while the letter was being read, but all the time his eyes were watching its effect upon Connelly. When he saw the end had been reached, he remarked: "It don't amount to nothin'. I guess we might as well write 'em to go to hell." Connelly hesitated. It usually took more than a little courage to express a view contrary to Foley's. "I don't know," he said doubtfully. "Baxter knows how we stand. It strikes me if he offers to talk things over with us, that means he realizes he's licked an' is willin' to make concessions." "Um! Maybe youse're right." Encouraged by this admission Connelly went on: "It might be worth our while to meet 'em, anyhow. Suppose nothin' does come of it, what have we lost?" Foley looked half-convinced. "Well, mebbe our committee might as well talk the letter over." "Sure thing." "I suppose then we ought to get together to-night. If we get word to the other three boys, we've got to catch 'em at dinner. Can youse see to that?" Connelly looked regretfully at his untasted meal. "I guess I can." "All right. In your office then, say at eight." The five men were in the office on time, though Connelly, to make it, had to content himself with what he could swallow in a few minutes at a quick lunch counter. The office was a large, square room, a desk in one corner, a few chairs along the sides, a great cuspidor in the center; at the windows were lace curtains, and on one wall was a full-length mirror in a gilt frame--for on nights when Potomac Hall was let for weddings, receptions, and balls, Connelly's office had over its door, "Ladies' Dressing Room." The five men lit cigars, Foley's cigars, and drew chairs around the cuspidor, which forthwith began to bear the relation of hub to their frequent salivary spokes. "Connelly told youse about the letter from the Civic Federation, that's gettin' so stuck on runnin' God's business they'll soon have him chased off his job," Foley began. "But I guess I might as well read the letter to youse." "Take the offer, o' course!" declared Pete, when Foley had ended. "That's what I said," Connelly joined. Hogan and Brown, knowing how opposed Foley was to the proposition, said nothing. "We've wasted enough time on the bosses' committee," Foley objected. "No use talkin' to 'em again till we've put 'em down an' out." "The trouble with you, Foley, is, you like a fight so well you can't tell when you've licked your man," said Pete in an exasperated tone. "What's the use punchin' a man after he's give in?" "We've got 'em licked, or they'd never ask to talk things over," urged Connelly. Foley looked in scowling meditation at his cigar ash. Then he raised his eyes to Brown and Hogan. "What do youse think?" Thus directly questioned; they had to admit they stood with Pete and Connelly. "Oh, well, since we ain't workin', I suppose we won't be wastin' much if we do chin a bit with 'em," he conceded. But the four easily perceived that he merely yielded to their majority, did not agree. The next afternoon Foley and his committee were led by the secretary of the Conciliation Committee into one of the rooms of the Civic Federation's suite, where Mr. Baxter and his committee were already in waiting. The secretary expressed a hope that they arrive at an understanding, and withdrew in exultation over this example of the successful work his committee was doing. There was a new member on the employers' committee--Mr. Berman. Mr. Baxter, exercising the power vested in him to fill vacancies temporarily, had chosen Mr. Berman as Mr. Driscoll's successor for two reasons: his observations of Mr. Berman had made him certain the latter had elastic ideas; and, more important, for Mr. Driscoll's own partner to take the vacant place would quiet all suspicions as to the cause of Mr. Driscoll's unexpected resignation. Of the five, Bobbs and Isaacs were rather self-conscious; Murphy, who had had previous experience in similar situations, wore a large, blustering manner; Berman, for all his comparative inexperience, was most promisingly at his ease; and Baxter was the Baxter he was three hundred and sixty-five days in the year. The strikers' committee presented the confident front of expected victory. Foley, slipped far down in his chair, eyed the contractors with a sideling, insolent glance. "If this here's to be another o' them hot air festivals, like we attended in April an' May, say so now," he growled. "We ain't got no time for talkin' unless youse mean business." Connelly, whose chair was beside Foley's, leaned over anxiously. "Don't you think you're goin' at 'em pretty rough, Buck?" he whispered. "If you get 'em mad, they'll go right back to where they stood." "Oh, youse leave 'em to me," Foley returned knowingly. It would serve no purpose to give the details of this meeting. Mr. Baxter, ignoring Foley's insolence of manner, outlined in well-balanced sentences the reasons that made it imperative to both sides for the strike to be settled, and then went on to give anew the contractors' side of the questions at issue. Now and then Foley broke in with comments which were splenetic outbursts rather than effective rejoinders. When the meeting was over and his committee was out in the street, Foley shed his roughly defiant manner. "Boys," he said with quiet confidence, "we've got 'em beat to death." The next afternoon was occupied with a debate between Mr. Baxter and Foley upon their respective claims. Foley's tongue was as sharp as ever, but his fellow committeemen had to acknowledge to their secret hearts there was more of convincing substance in what Mr. Baxter said. They wondered somewhat at the sudden declension in the effectiveness of their leader's speech, which perhaps they would not have done had they been parties to a conference that morning at which Foley had pointed out to Mr. Baxter the vulnerable spots in the union's claims, and schooled him in the most telling replies to the statements he, Foley, intended making. After the meeting Foley again declared his certainty of winning, but there was a notable decrease of confidence in his voice. "Yes," said Connelly, without much spirit. "But Baxter, he puts up a good talk." "He seems to have facts to talk from," explained Brown. "So have we," said Foley. "Yes, but somehow at the meetin's his facts seem stronger," said Connelly. "Oh, what o' that," Foley returned encouragingly. "More'n once in poker I've seen a strong bluff win over a strong hand." The next meeting was a repetition of the second. Foley was keen in his wit, and insolently defiant; but Mr. Baxter got the better of every argument. The union's committee began to admit, each man to himself, that their position was weaker, and the contractors' much stronger, than they had thought. And so, day by day, Foley continued to undermine their confidence. So skillfully did he play his part, they never guessed that he was the insinuating cause of their failing courage; more, his constant encouragement made them ashamed to speak of their sinking spirit. But on the fifth day, at a consultation in Connelly's office, it came out. There had been an hour of talk, absolutely without a touch of enthusiasm, when Connelly, who had been looking around at the men's faces for some time, said with an effort: "On the level now, boys, d'you think we've got any chance o' winnin'?" Foley swore. "What's that?" he demanded. "Why o' course we're goin' to win!" But Connelly's words had their effect; the silence broken, the men spoke hesitatingly of the growing doubts they had been trying to hide. Foley stood up. "Boys, if youse're goin' to talk this kind o' rot, youse've got to talk it without me," he said, and went out. Foley gone, they spoke freely of their doubts; and they also talked of him. "D'you notice how the ring's all gone out o' his voice?" asked Brown. "I bet he ain't got no more confidence than any o' the rest of us," said Pete. "I bet so, too," agreed Connelly. "He talks big just to cheer us up. Then it's mighty hard for Buck to give up. He'll always fight to his last drop o' blood." The decline of the committee's enthusiasm had already begun to have a disquieting effect in the union. It now rapidly spread that the committee had little confidence of winning the strike, and that Foley, for all his encouraging words, believed at heart as did the rest of the committee. The first meeting of the union after the resumption of negotiations was a bitter one. The committee made a vague report, in which Foley did not join, that made apparent their fallen courage. Immediately questioning men were on their feet all over the hall, Tom among them. The committee, cornered by queries, had to admit publicly that it had no such confidence as it had had a week before. The reasons for this were demanded. No more definite reason could be given than that the bosses were stronger in their position than the union had believed. There were sneers and hot words for the four members who participated in the report. Cries went up for Foley, who had thus far kept out of the discussion; and one voice, answering the cries, shouted: "Oh, he's lost his nerve, too, the same as the others!" Foley was on his feet in an instant, looking over the excited crowd. "If any man here has heard me say I'm for givin' in, let him get up on his two feet!" No one stood up. "I guess youse all know I'm for fightin' as long's there's anything worth fightin' for," he declared, and sank back into his seat. But there had been no wrath in his eyes as he had looked over the crowd, and no ferocity in his words of vindication. The whisper ran about that it was true, he was losing his nerve. And if Foley, Foley the fighter, were losing confidence, then the situation must indeed be desperate. The courage of a large body of men, especially of one loosely organized, is the courage of its leaders. Now that it was known the committee's confidence was well-nigh gone, and guessed that Foley's was going, the courage of the men ebbed rapidly. It began to be said: "If there's no chance of winning the strike, why don't we settle it at once, and get back to work?" And the one who spoke loudest and most often in this strain was Johnson. Two days after the meeting Foley had a conference with Mr. Baxter, at which the other members of the union's committee were not present. And that same night there was another explosion in one of Mr. Baxter's buildings that chanced to be unguarded. The explosion was slight, and small damage was done, but a search discovered two charges of dynamite in the foundation, with fuses burned almost to the fulminating caps. If the dynamite did not explode, the newspapers did. The perpetrators of this second outrage, which only fate had prevented, should be hunted down and made such an example of as would be an eternal warning against like atrocities. The chief of police should apprehend the miscreants at whatever cost, and the district attorney should see that they had full justice--and perhaps a little more. The chief of police, for his part, declared he'd have the guilty parties if it took his every man to run them down. But his men searched, days passed, and the waiting cells remained empty. Mr. Baxter, interviewed, said it was obvious that the union was now determined to stop at nothing in its efforts to drive the contractors into submission. The union, at a special meeting, disclaimed any responsibility for the attempted outrage, and intimated that this was a scheme of the contractors themselves to blacken the union's character. When a reporter "conveyed this intelligence to Mr. Baxter, that gentleman only smiled." The chief result of this second explosion was that so much as remained to the union of public sympathy was lost in what time it took the public to read its morning paper. Had a feeling of confidence prevailed in the union, instead of one of growing doubt, this charge might have incited the union to resistance all the stouter. But the union, dispirited over the weakness of its cause, saw its cause had been yet further weakened, and its courage fled precipitately. Three days after the explosion there was another joint meeting of the two committees. At this Mr. Baxter, who had before been soft courtesy, was all ultimatum. The explosion had decided them. They would not be intimidated; they would not make a single concession. The union could return to work on the old terms, if it liked; if not, they would fight till there was nothing more to fight with, or for. Foley, with much bravado, gave ultimatum for ultimatum; but when his committee met, immediately after leaving the employers', to consider Mr. Baxter's proposition, he sat in gloomy silence, hardly heeding what was being said. As they talked they turned constantly to Foley's somber face, and looking at that face their words became more and more discouraged. Finally Pete asked of him: "Where d'you stand, Buck?" He came out of his reverie with a start. "I'm against givin' up," he said. "Somethin' may turn up yet." "What's the use holdin' on?" demanded Connelly. "We're bound to be licked in the end. Every day we hold out the men lose a day's pay." Foley glanced sadly about. "Is that what youse all think?" There were four affirmative answers. "Well, I ain't goin' to stand out----" He broke off, and his face fell forward into his palm, and he was silent for a long space. The four watched him in wordless sympathy. "Boys," he said, huskily, into his hand, "this's the first time Buck Foley's ever been licked." Chapter XXVI PETERSEN'S SIN The first news of the committee's failing confidence that reached Tom's ears he discredited as being one of the rumors that are always flying about when large powers are vested in a small body of men. That the strike could fail was too preposterous for his belief. But when the committee was forced to admit in open meeting that its courage was waning, Tom, astounded, had to accept what but yesterday he had discredited. He thought immediately of treachery on Foley's part, but in his hot remarks to the union he made no mention of his suspicions; he knew the boomerang quality of an accusation he could not prove. Later, when he went over the situation with cool brain, he saw that treachery was impossible. Granting even that Foley could be bought, there was the rest of the committee,--and Pete, on whose integrity he would have staked his own, was one of its members. And yet, for all that reason told him, a vague and large suspicion persisted in his mind. A few days after the meeting he had a talk with Pete, during which his suspicion got into words. "Has it occurred to you, Pete, that maybe Foley is up to some deep trick?" he asked. "You're away off, Tom!" was the answer, given with some heat. "I ain't missed a single committee meetin', an' I know just where Foley stands. It's the rest of us that're sorter peterin' out. Buck's the only one that's standin' out for not givin' in. Mebbe he's not above dumpin' us all if he had the chance. But he couldn't be crooked here even if he wanted to. We're too many watchin' him." All this Tom had said to himself before, but his saying it had not dispelled his suspicion, and no more did the saying of it now by Pete. The negotiations seemed all open and above board; he could not lay his finger on a single flaw in them. But yet the strike seemed to him to have been on too solid a basis to have thus collapsed without apparent cause. At the union meeting following the committee conference where Foley had yielded, a broken man, the advisability of abandoning the strike came up for discussion. Foley sat back in his chair, with overcast face, and refused to speak. But his words to the committee had gone round, and now his gloomy silence was more convincing in its discouragement than any speech could have been. Tom, whose mind could not give up the suspicion that there was trickery, even though he could not see it, had a despairing thought that if action could be staved off time might make the flaw apparent. He frantically opposed the desire of a portion of the members that the strike be given up that very evening. Their defeat was not difficult; the union was not yet ready for the step. It was decided that the matter should come up for a vote at the following meeting. While Tom was at breakfast the next morning there was a knock at the door. Maggie answered it, and he heard a thin yet resonant voice that he seemed to have heard before, inquire: "Is Mr. Keating in?" He stepped to the door. In the dim hallway he saw indistinctly a small, thin woman with a child in her arms. "Yes," he answered for himself. "Don't you remember me, Brother Keating?" she asked, with a glad note in her voice, shifting the child higher on her breast and holding out a hand. "Mrs. Petersen!" he cried. "Come right in." She entered, and Tom introduced her to Maggie, who drew a chair for her up beside the breakfast table. "Thank you, sister." She sank exhausted into the chair, and turned immediately on Tom. "Have you seen Nels lately?" she asked eagerly. "Not for more than two weeks." The excitement died out of her face; Tom now saw, by the light of the gas that had to be burned in the dining-room even at midday, that the face was drawn and that there were dark rings under the eyes. "Is anything wrong?" he asked. "He ain't been home for two nights," she returned tremulously. "I said to myself last night, if he don't come to-night I'll come over to see you early this morning. Mebbe you'd know something about him." "Not a thing." He wanted to lighten that wan face, so he gave the best cheer that he could. "But I guess nothing's wrong with him." "Yes, there is, or he'd never stay away like this," she returned quickly. Her voice sank with resignation. "I suppose all I can do is to pray." "And look," Tom added. "I'll look." She rose to go. Maggie pressed her to have breakfast, but she refused, a faint returning hope in her eyes. "Mebbe the Lord's brung him home while I've been here." A half minute after the door had closed upon her Tom opened it and hurried down the three flights of stairs. He caught her just going into the street. He fumbled awkwardly in his pocket. "Do you need anything?" "No. Bless you, Brother Keating. Nels left me plenty o' money. You know he works reg'lar on the docks." Two causes for Petersen's absence occurred as possible to Tom--arrest and death. He looked through the record of arrests for the last two days at police headquarters. Petersen's name was not there, and to give a false name would never have occurred to Petersen's slow mind. So Tom knew he was not in a cell. He visited the public morgues and followed attendants who turned back sheets from cold faces. But Petersen's face he did not see. The end of the day brought also the end of Tom's search. He now had three explanations for Petersen's absence: The Swede was dead, and his body unrecovered; he had wandered off in a fit of mental aberration; he had deserted his wife. The first he did not want to believe. The third, remembering the looks that had passed between the two the night he had visited their home, he could not believe. He clung to the second; and that was the only one he mentioned to Mrs. Petersen when he called in the evening to report. "He'll come to suddenly, and come back," he encouraged her. "That's the way with such cases." "You think so?" She brightened visibly. A fourth explanation flashed upon him. "Perhaps he got caught by accident on some boat he had been helping load, and got carried away." She brightened a little more at this. "Just so he's alive!" she cried. "He'll be certain to be back in a few days," Tom said positively. He left her greatly comforted by his words, though he himself did not half believe them. There was nothing more he could do toward discovering the missing man. It must be admitted that, during the next few days, he thought of Petersen much less frequently than was the due of such a friend as the Swede had proved. The affairs of the union held his mind exclusively. Opinion was turning overwhelmingly toward giving up the strike, and giving it up immediately. Wherever there was a man who still held out, there were three or four men pouring words upon him. "Foley may not be so honest as to hurt him, but he's a fighter from 'way back, an' if he thinks we ought to stop fightin' now, then we ought to 'a' stopped weeks ago"--such was the substance of the reasoning in bar-room and street that converted many a man to yielding. And also, Tom learned, a quick settlement was being urged at home. As long as the men had stood firm for the strike, the women had skimped at every point and supported that policy. But when they discovered that the men's courage was going, the women, who feel most the fierce economy of a strike, were for the straight resumption of work and income. Maggie, Tom knew, was beginning to look forward in silent eagerness to a settlement; he guessed that she hoped, the strike ended, he might go back to work untroubled by Foley. Tom undertook to stand out against the proposal of submission, but he might as well have tried to shoulder back a Fundy tide. Men remembered it was he who had so hotly urged them into a strike that thus far had cost them seven weeks' wages. "I suppose you'd have us lose seven more weeks' money," they sneered at him. They said other things, and stronger, for your ironworker has studied English in many places. Monday evening found Tom in a chair at one of the open windows of his sitting-room, staring out at nothing at all, hardly conscious of Maggie, who was reading, or of Ferdinand, who lay dozing on the couch. He was completely discouraged--at the uttermost end of things. He had searched his mind frantically for flaws in the negotiations and in Foley's conduct, flaws which, if followed up, clue by clue, would reveal Foley's suspected treachery. But he found none. There seemed nothing more he could do. The vote would come on Wednesday evening, and its result was as certain as if the count had already been made. And so he sat staring into the line of back yards with their rows and rows of lighted windows. His mind moved over the past five months. They had held nothing for him but failure and pain. He had fought for honor in the management of the union's affairs, staking his place in his trade on the result--and honor in the contest with dishonesty had gone down in defeat. He had urged the union to strike for better wages, and now the strike was on the eve of being lost. He would have to begin life over anew, and he did not know where he could begin. Moreover, he had lost all but a few friends; and he had lost all influence. This was what his fight for right had brought him, and in five months. And this was not the sum of the bitterness the five months had brought him--no, nor its greater part. He had learned how mighty real love can be--and how hopeless! He had been sitting so, dreaming darkly, for an hour or more when Maggie asked him if he had heard whether Petersen had come back. The question brought to his mind that he had neglected Mrs. Petersen for four days. He rose, conscience-smitten, told Maggie he would be back presently, and set forth for the tenement in which the Petersens had their home. He found Mrs. Petersen, her child asleep in her lap, reading the Bible. She appeared to be even slighter and paler than when he had last seen her, but her spirit seemed to burn even higher through the lessened obscuration of her thinning flesh. No, Petersen had not yet come back. "But I fetched my trouble to God in prayer," she said. "An' He helped me, glory to His name! He told me Nels is comin' back." Tom had nothing to give to one so fired by hope, and he slipped away as soon as he could and returned home. On entering his flat, his eyes going straight through the dining-room into the sitting-room, he saw Maggie gazing in uncomfortable silence at a man--a lean, brown man, with knobby face, and wing-like mustache, who sat with bony hands in his lap and eyes fastened on his knees. Tom crossed the dining-room with long strides. Maggie, glad of the chance to escape, passed into the bedroom. "Petersen!" he cried. "Where on earth've you been?" Petersen rose with a glad light in his face and grasped the hand Tom offered. Immediately he disengaged his hand to slip it into a trousers pocket. Tom now noted that Petersen's face was slightly discolored,--dim yellows, and greens, and blues--and that his left thumb was brown, as though stained with arnica. "I come to pay vot I loan," Petersen mumbled. His hand came forth from the pocket grasping a roll of bills as big as his wrist. He unwrapped three tens and silently held them out. Tom, who had watched this action through with dumb amazement, now broke out: "Where d'you get all that money? Where've you been?" The three tens were still in Petersen's outstretched hand. "For vot you give de union, and vot you give me." "But where've you been?" Tom demanded, taking the money. Fear, shame, and contrition struggled for control of Petersen's face. But he answered doggedly: "I vorked at de docks." "You know that's not so, Petersen. You haven't been home for a week. And your wife's scared half to death." "Anna scared? Vy?" He started, and his brown face paled. "Why shouldn't she be?" Tom returned wrathfully. "You went off without a word to her, and not a word from you for a week! Now see here, Petersen, where've you been?" "Vorkin' at de docks," he repeated, but weakly. "And got that wad of money for it! Hardly." He pushed Petersen firmly back into his chair. "Now you've got to tell me all about it." All the dogged resistance faded from Petersen's manner, and he sat trembling, with face down. For a moment Tom was in consternation lest he break into tears. But he controlled himself and in shame told his story, aided by questions from Tom. Tom heard him without comment, breathing rapidly and gulping at parts of the brokenly-told story. When the account was ended Tom gripped Petersen's hand. "You're all right, Petersen!" he said huskily. Tears trickled down from Petersen's eyes, and his simple face twitched with remorse. Tom fell into thought. He understood Petersen's fear to face his wife. He, too, was uncertain how Mrs. Petersen, in her religious fervor, would regard what Petersen had done. He had to tell her, of course, since Petersen had shown he could not. But how should he tell her--how, so that the woman, and not the religious enthusiast, would be reached? Presently Tom handed Petersen his hat, and picked up his own. "Come on," he said; and to Maggie he called through the bedroom door: "I'll be back in an hour." As they passed through the tunnel Tom, who had slipped his hand through Petersen's arm for guidance, felt the Swede begin to tremble; and it was so across the little stone-paved court, with the square of stars above, and up the nervous stairway, whose February odors had been multiplied by the June warmth. Before his own door Petersen held back. Tom understood. "Wait here for me, then," he said, and knocked upon the door. "Who's there?" an eager voice questioned. "Keating." When she answered, the eagerness in the voice had turned to disappointment. "All right, Brother Keating. In just a minute." Tom heard the sounds of rapid dressing, and then a hand upon the knob. Petersen shrank back into the darkness of a corner. The door opened. "Come in, Brother Keating," she said, not quite able to hide her surprise at this second visit in one evening. A coal oil lamp on the kitchen table revealed the utter barrenness and the utter cleanness--so far as unmonied effort could make clean those scaling walls and that foot-hollowed floor--which he had seen on his first visit five months before. He was hardly within the door when her quick eyes caught the strain in his manner. One thin hand seized his arm excitedly. "What is it, brother? Have you heard from Nels?" "Ye-es," Tom admitted hesitatingly. He had not planned to begin the story so. "And he's alive? Quick! He's alive?" "Yes." She sank into a chair, clasped both hands over her heart, and turned her eyes upward. "Praise the Lord! I thank Thee, Lord! I knew Thou wouldst keep him." Immediately her wide, burning eyes were back on Tom. "Where is he?" "He's been very wicked," said Tom, shaking his head sadly, and lowering himself into the only other chair. "So wicked he's afraid you can never forgive him. And I don't see how you can. He's afraid to come home." "God forgives everything to the penitent, an' I try to follow after God," she said, trembling. A sickening fear was on her face. "Tell me, brother! What's he done? Don't try to spare me! God will help me to bear it. Not--not--murder?" "No. He's fallen in another way," Tom returned, with the sad shake of his head again. "Shall I tell you all?" "All, brother! An' quickly!" She leaned toward him, hands gripped in the lap of her calico wrapper, with such a staring, fearing attention as seemed to stand out from her gray face and be of itself a separate presence. "I'll have to tell you some things you know already, and know better than I do," Tom said, watching to see how his words worked upon her. "After Petersen got in the union he held a job for two weeks. Then Foley knocked him out, and then came the strike. It's been eleven weeks since he earned a cent at his trade. The money he'd made in the two weeks he worked soon gave out. He tried to find work and couldn't. Days passed, and weeks. They had little to eat at home. I guess they had a pretty hard time of it. He----" "We did, brother!" "He saw his wife and kid falling off--getting weaker and weaker," Tom went on, not heeding the interruption. "He got desperate; he couldn't see 'em starve. Now the devil always has temptation ready for a desperate man. About four weeks ago when his wife was so weak she could hardly move, and there wasn't a bite in the house, the devil tempted Petersen. He happened to meet a man who had been his partner in his old wicked days, his manager when he was a prize fighter. The manager said it was too bad Petersen had left the ring; he was arranging a heavy-weight bout to come off before a swell athletic club in Philadelphia, a nice purse for the loser and a big fat one for the winner. They walked along the street together for awhile, and all the time the devil was tempting Petersen, saying to him: 'Go in and fight--this once. It's right for a man to do anything rather than let his wife and kid starve.' But Petersen held out, getting weaker all the time, though. Then the devil said to him: 'He's a pretty poor sort of a man that loves his promise not to fight more than he loves his wife and kid.' Petersen fell. He decided to commit the sin." Tom paused an instant, then added in a hard voice: "But because a man loves his wife so much he's willing to do anything for her, that don't excuse the sin, does it?" "Go on!" she entreated, leaning yet further toward him. "Well, he said to the manager he'd fight. They settled it, and the man advanced some money. Petersen went into training. But he was afraid to tell us what an awful thing he was doing,--doing because he didn't want his wife to starve,--and so he told us he was working at the docks. So it was for three weeks, and his wife and kid had things to eat. The fight came off last Wednesday night----" "And who won? Who?" "Well--Petersen." "Yes! Of course!" she cried, exultation for the moment possessing her face. "He is a terrible fighter! He----" She broke off and bowed her head with sudden shame; when it came up the next instant she wore again the tense look that seemed the focus of her being. Tom had gone right on. "It was a hard fight. He was up against a fast hard hitter. But he fought better than he ever did before. I suppose he was thinking of his wife and kid. He won, and got the big purse. But after the fight was over, he didn't dare come home. His face was so bruised his wife would have known he'd been fighting,--and he knew it would break her heart for her to know he'd been at it again. And so he thought he'd stay away till his face got well. She needn't ever have the pain then of knowing how he'd sinned. He never even thought how worried she'd be at not hearing from him. So he stayed away till his face got well, almost--till to-night. Then he came back, and slipped up to his door. He wanted to come in, but he was still afraid. He listened at the door. His wife was praying for him, and one thing he heard was, she asked God to keep him wherever he was from wrong-doing. He knew then he'd have to tell her all about it, and he knew how terrible his sin would seem to her. He knew she could never forgive him. So he slipped down the stairs, and went away. Of course he was right about what his wife would think," Tom drove himself on with implacable voice. "I didn't come here to plead for him. I don't blame you. It was a terrible sin, a sin----" She rose tremblingly from her chair, and raised a thin authoritative hand. "Stop right there, brother!" she cried, her voice sob-broken. "It wasn't a sin. It--it was glorious!" Tom sprang toward the door. "Petersen!" he shouted. He flung it open, and the next instant dragged Petersen, shrinking and eager, fearful, shamefaced, and yet glowing, into the room. "Oh, Nels!" She rushed into his arms, and their mighty length tightened about the frail body. "It--was--glorious--Nels! It----" But Tom heard no more. He closed the door and groped down the shivering stairway. Chapter XXVII THE THOUSANDTH CHANCE Mr. Driscoll was the chairman of the building committee of a little independent church whose membership was inclined to regard him somewhat dubiously, notwithstanding the open liking of the pastor. The church was planning a new home, and of late the committee had been holding frequent meetings. In the afternoon of this same Monday there had been a session of the committee; and on leaving the pastor's study Mr. Driscoll had hurried to his office, but Ruth, whom he had pressed into service as the committee's secretary, had stopped to perform a number of errands. When she reached the office she walked through the open hall door--the weather was warm, so it had been wide all day--over the noiseless rug to her desk, and began to remove her hat. Voices came to her from Mr. Driscoll's room, Mr. Driscoll's voice and Mr. Berman's; but their first few sentences, on business matters, passed her ears unheeded, like the thousand noises of the street. But presently, after a little pause, Mr. Berman remarked upon a new topic: "Well, it's the same as settled that the strike will be over in two days." Almost unconsciously Ruth's ears began to take in the words, though she continued tearing the sheets of stamps, one of her purchases, into strips, preparatory to putting them away. "Another case in which right prevails," said Mr. Driscoll, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "Why, yes. We are altogether in the right." "And so we win." Silence. Then, abruptly, and with more sarcasm: "But how much are we paying Foley?" Ruth started, as when amid the street's thousand noises one's own name is called out. She gazed intently at the door, which was slightly ajar. Silence. "What? You know that?" "Why do you suppose I left the committee?" "I believed what you said, that you were tired of it." "Um! So they never told you. Since you're a member of the committee I'm breaking no pledge in telling you where I stand. I left when they proposed buying Foley----" Mr. Berman made a hushing sound. "Nobody'll hear. Miss Arnold's out. Besides, I wouldn't mind much if somebody did hear, and give the whole scheme away. How you men can stand for it is more than I know." "Oh, it's all right," Mr. Berman returned easily. The talk went on, but Ruth listened for no more. She hastily pinned on her hat, passed quietly into the hall, and caught a descending elevator. After a walk about the block she came back to the office and moved around with all the legitimate noise she could make. Mr. Driscoll's door softly closed. In a few minutes Mr. Berman came out and, door knob in hand, regarded her a moment as she sat at her desk making a pretense of being at work. Then he crossed the room with a rare masculine grace and bent above her. "Miss Arnold," he said. Ruth rarely took dictation from Mr. Berman, but she now reached for her note-book in instinctive defense against conversation. "Some work for me?" She did not look up. "Something for you to make a note of, but no work," he returned in his low, well-modulated voice that had seemed to her the very vocalization of gentlemanliness. "I remember the promise you made me give--during business hours, only business. But I have been looking for a chance all day to break it. I want to remind you again that the six months are up to-morrow night." "Yes. My answer will be ready." He waited for her to say something more, but she did not; and he passed on to his own room. Ruth had two revelations to ponder; but it was to the sudden insight she had been given into the real cause of the contractors' approaching victory that she gave her first thought, and not to the sudden insight into the character of Mr. Berman. From the first minute there was no doubt as to what she should do, and yet there was a long debate in her mind. If she were to give Tom the bare fact that had been revealed to her, and, using it as a clue, he were to uncover the whole plan, there would come a disgraceful exposure involving her uncle, her employers, and, to a degree, all the steel contractors. And another sentiment threw its influence against disclosing her information: her natural shrinking from opening communication with Tom; and mixed with this was a remnant of her resentment that he had treated her so. She had instinctively placed him beside Mr. Berman, and had been compelled to admit with pain: "Mr. Berman would never have done it." But her sense of right was of itself enough to have forced her to make the one proper use of the information chance had given her; and besides this sense of right there was her love, ready for any sacrifice. So she covertly scribbled the following note to Tom: MY DEAR MR. KEATING: Are you sure Mr. Foley is not playing the union false? RUTH ARNOLD. He is. With curious femininity she had, at the last moment, tried to compromise, suggesting enough by her question to furnish a clue to Tom, and yet saying so little that she could tell herself she had really not betrayed her friends; and then, in two words, she had impulsively flung him all her knowledge. The note written, she thought of the second revelation; of the Mr. Berman she had really liked so well for his æsthetic taste, for his irreproachable gentlemanliness, for all the things Tom was not. "Oh, it's all right," he had said easily. And she placed him beside Tom, and admitted with pain-adulterated happiness: "Mr. Keating would never have done that." When her work for the day was over she hurried to the postoffice in Park Row and dropped the letter into the slot marked "Special Delivery." And when Tom came back from his second call at the Petersen home Maggie was awaiting him with it. At sight of the handwriting on the envelope the color left his face. He tore open the envelope with an eagerness he tried to conceal in an assumed carelessness, and read the score of words. When he looked up from the note, Maggie's eyes were fastened on his face. A special delivery letter had never come to their home before. "What is it?" she asked. "Just a note about the strike," he answered, and put the letter into his pocket. The explanation did not satisfy Maggie, but, as it was far past their bedtime, she turned slowly and went into the bedroom. "I'm not coming to bed for a little while," he called to her. The next minute he was lost in the excitement begotten by the letter. It was true, then, what he had suspected. Ruth, he knew, would never have written the note unless she had been certain. His head filled with a turmoil of thoughts--every third one about Ruth; but these he tried to force aside, for he was face to face with a crisis and needed all his brain. And some of his thoughts were appalling ones that the union was so perilously near its betrayal; and some were exultant, that he was right after all. But amid this mental turmoil one thought, larger than any of the others, with wild steadfastness held the central place of his brain: there was a chance that, even yet, he could circumvent Foley and save the union--that, fallen as low as he was, he might yet triumph. But by what plan? He was more certain than ever of Foley's guilt, but he could not base a denunciation of Foley upon mere certitude, unsupported by a single fact. He had to have facts. And how to get them? One wild plan after another acted itself out as a play in his excited brain, in which he had such theatric parts as descending accusingly upon Mr. Baxter and demanding a confession, or cunningly trapping Foley into an admission of the truth, or gaining it at point of pistol. As the hours passed his brain quieted somewhat, and he more quickly saw the absurdity of schemes of this sort. But he could find no practicable plan, and a frantic fear began to possess him: the meeting was less than two days off, and as yet he saw no effective way of balking the sale of the strike. He sat with head on the table, he lay on the couch, he softly paced the floor; and when the coming day sent its first dingy light into the back yards and into the little sitting-room he was still without a feasible scheme. A little later he turned down the gas and went into the street. He came back after two hours, still lacking a plan, but quieter and with better control of his mind. "I suppose you settled the strike last night?" said Maggie, who was preparing breakfast. "I can hardly say I did," he returned abstractedly. She did not immediately follow up her query, but in a few minutes she came into the sitting-room where Tom sat. Determination had marked her face with hard lines. "You're planning something," she began. "And it's about the strike. It was that letter that kept you up all night. Now you're scheming to put off settling the strike, ain't you?" "Well,--suppose I am?" he asked quietly. He avoided her eyes, and looked across at the opposite windows that framed instant-long pictures of hurrying women. "I know you are. I've been doing some thinking, too, while you were out this morning, and it was an easy guess for me to know that when you thought all night you weren't thinking about anything else except how you could put off ending up the strike." One thing that his love for Ruth had shown Tom was that mental companionship could, and should, exist between man and wife; and one phase of his gentleness with Maggie was that latterly he had striven to talk to her of such matters as formerly he had spoken of only out of his own home. "Yes, you're right; I am thinking what you say," he began, knowing he could trust her with his precious information. "But you don't understand, Maggie. I am thinking how I can defeat settling the strike because I know Foley is selling the union out." Incredulity smoothed out a few of Maggie's hard lines. "You can prove it?" "I am going to try to get the facts." "How?" "I don't know," he had to admit, after a pause. She gave a little laugh, and the hard lines came back. "Another crazy plan. You lose the best job you ever had. You try to beat Foley out as walking delegate, and get beat. You start a strike; it's the same as lost. You push yourself into that Avon business--and you're only out on bail, and we'll never live down the disgrace. You've ruined us, and disgraced us, and yet you ain't satisfied. Here you are with another scheme. And what are you going on? Just a guess, nothing else, that Foley's selling out!" Tom took it all in silence. "Now you listen to me!" Her voice was fiercely mandatory, yet it lacked something of its old-time harshness; Tom's gentleness had begun to rouse its like in her. "Everything you've tried lately has been a failure. You know that. Now don't make us any worse off than we are--and you will if you try another fool scheme. For God's sake, let the strike be settled and get back to work!" "I suppose you think you're right, Maggie. But--you don't understand," he returned helplessly. "Yes, I do understand," she said grimly. "And I not only think I'm right, but I know I'm right. Who's been right every time?" Tom did not answer her question, and after looking down on him a minute longer, she said, "You remember what I've just told you," and returned to the preparation of breakfast. As soon as he had eaten Tom escaped into the street and made for the little park that had once been a burying-ground. Here his mind set to work again. It was more orderly now, and soon he was proceeding systematically in his search for a plan by the method of elimination. Plan after plan was discarded as the morning hurried by, till he at length had this left as the only possibility, to follow Baxter and Foley every minute during this day and the next. But straightway he saw the impossibility of this only possible plan: he and any of his friends were too well known by Foley to be able to shadow him, even had they the experience to fit them for such work. A few minutes later, however, this impossibility was gone. He could hire detectives. He turned the plan over in his mind. There was, perhaps, but one chance in a thousand the detectives would discover anything--perhaps hardly that. But this fight was his fight for life, and this one chance was his last chance. At noon a private detective agency had in its safe Petersen's thirty dollars and a check for the greater part of Tom's balance at the bank. Chapter XXVIII THE EXPOSURE Tom's arrangement with the detective agency was that Baxter and Foley were to be watched day and night, and that he was to have as frequent reports as it was possible to give. Just before six o'clock that same afternoon he called at the office for his first report. It was ready--a minute account of the movements of the two men between one and five. There was absolutely nothing in it of value to him, except that its apparent completeness was a guarantee that if anything was to be found the men on the case would find it. Never before in Tom's life had there been as many hours between an evening and a morning. He dared not lessen his suspense and the hours by discussing his present move with friends; they could not help him, and, if he told them, there was the possibility that some word might slip to Foley which would rouse suspicion and destroy the thousandth chance. But at length morning came, and at ten o'clock Tom was at the detective agency. Again there was a minute report, the sum of whose worth to him was--nothing. He went into the street and walked, fear and suspense mounting higher and higher. In ten hours the union would meet to decide, and as yet he had no bit of evidence. At twelve o'clock he was at the office again. There was nothing for him. Eight more hours. At two o'clock, dizzy and shaking from suspense, he came into the office for the third time that day. A report was waiting. He glanced it through, then trying to speak calmly, said to the manager: "Send anything else to my house." Tom had said to himself that he had one chance in a thousand. But this was a miscalculation. His chance had been better than that, and had been made so by Mr. Baxter's shrewd arrangement for his dealings with Foley, based upon his theory that one of the surest ways of avoiding suspicion is to do naturally and openly the thing you would conceal. Mr. Baxter's theory overlooked the possibility that suspicion might already be roused and on watch. Tom did not look at the sheet of paper in the hallway or in the street; with three thousand union men in the street, all of whom knew him, one was likely to pounce upon him at any minute and gain his secret prematurely. With elation hammering against his ribs, he hurried through a cross street toward the little park, which in the last five months had come to be his study. The sheet of paper was buttoned tightly in his coat, but all the time his brain was reading a few jerky phrases in the detail-packed report. In the park, and on a bench having the seclusion of a corner, he drew the report from his pocket and read it eagerly, several times. Here was as much as he had hoped for--evidence that what he had suspected was true. With the few relevant facts of the report as a basis he began to reconstruct the secret proceedings of the last three weeks. At each step he tested conjectures till he found the only one that perfectly fitted all the known circumstances. Progress from the known backward to the unknown was not difficult, and by five o'clock the reconstruction was complete. He then began to lay his plans for the evening. Tom preferred not to face Maggie, with her demands certain to be repeated, so he had his dinner in a restaurant whose only virtue was its cheapness. At half past seven he arrived at Potomac Hall, looking as much his usual self as he could. He passed with short nods the groups of men who stood before the building--some of whom had once been his supporters, but who now nodded negligently--and entered the big bar-room. There were perhaps a hundred men here, all talking loudly; but comparatively few were drinking or smoking--money was too scarce. He paused an instant just within the door and glanced about. The men he looked for were not there, and he started rapidly across the room. "Hello, Keating! How's your strike?" called one of the crowd, a man whom, two months before, he himself had convinced a strike should be made. "Eat-'Em-Up Keating, who don't know when he's had enough!" shouted another, with a jeer. "Three cheers for Keating!" cried a third, and led off with a groan. The three groans were given heartily, and at their end the men broke into laughter. Tom burned at these crude insults, but kept straight on his way. There were also friends in the crowd,--a few. When the laughter died down one cried out: "What's the matter with Keating?" The set answer came, "He's all right!"--but very weak. It was followed by an outburst of groans and hisses. As Tom was almost at the door the stub of a cigar struck smartly beneath his ear, and the warm ashes slipped down inside his collar. There was another explosion of laughter. Tom whirled about, and with one blow sent to the floor the man who had thrown the cigar. The laugh broke off, and in the sudden quiet Tom passed out of the bar-room and joined the stream of members going up the broad stairway and entering the hall. The hall was more than half filled with men--some sitting patiently in their chairs, some standing with one foot on chair seats, some standing in the aisles and leaning against the walls, all discussing the same subject, the abandonment of the strike. The general mood of the men was one of bitter eagerness, as it was also the mood of the men below, for all their coarse jesting,--the bitterness of admitted defeat, the eagerness to be back at their work without more delay. Tom glanced around, and immediately he saw Petersen coming toward him, his lean brown face glowing. "Hello, Petersen. I was looking for you," he said in a whisper when the Swede had gained his side. "I want you by me to-night." "Yah." Petersen's manner announced that he wanted to speak, and Tom now remembered, what he had forgotten in his two days' absorption, the circumstances under which he had last seen the Swede. "How are things at home?" he asked. "Ve be goin' to move. A better house." After this bit of loquacity Petersen smiled blissfully--and said no more. Tom told Petersen to join him later, and then hurried over to Barry and Jackson, whom he saw talking with a couple other of his friends in the front of the hall. "Boys, I want to tell you something in a minute," he whispered. "Where's Pete?" "The committee's havin' a meetin' in Connelly's office," answered Barry. Tom hurried to Connelly's office and knocked. "Come in," a voice called, and he opened the door. The five men were just leaving their chairs. "Hello, Pete. Can I see you as soon's you're through?" Tom asked. "Sure. Right now." Connelly improved the opportunity by offering Tom some advice, emphasized in the customary manner, and ended with the request: "Now for God's sake, keep your wind-hole plugged up to-night!" Tom did not reply, but as he was starting away with Pete he heard Foley say to the secretary: "Youse can't blame him, Connelly. Some o' the rest of us know it ain't so easy to give up a fight." Tom found Barry, Petersen and the three others waiting, and with them was Johnson, who having noticed Tom whispering to them had carelessly joined the group during his absence. "If you fellows'll step back here I'll finish that little thing I was telling," he said, and led the way to a rear corner, a dozen yards away from the nearest group. When he turned to face the six, he found there were seven. Johnson had followed. Tom hesitated. He did not care to speak before Johnson; he had always held that person in light esteem because of his variable opinions. And he did not care to ask Johnson to leave; that course might beget a scene which in turn would beget suspicion. It would be better to speak before him, and then see that he remained with the group. "Don't show the least surprise while I'm talking; act like it was nothing at all," he began in a whisper. And then he told them in a few sentences what he had discovered, and what he planned to do. They stared at him in astonishment. "Don't look like that or you'll give away that we've got a scheme up our sleeves," he warned them. "Now I want you fellows to stand by me. There may be trouble. Come on, let's get our seats. The meeting will open pretty soon." He had already picked out a spot, at the front end on the right side, the corner formed by the wall and the grand piano. He now led the way toward this. Half-way up the aisle he chanced to look behind him. There were only six men. Johnson was gone. "Take the seats up there," he whispered, and hurried out of the hall, with a fear that Johnson at that minute might be revealing what he had heard to Foley. But when he reached the head of the stairway he saw at its foot Foley, Hogan, and Brown starting slowly up. With sudden relief he turned back and joined his party. A little later Connelly mounted the platform and gave a few preliminary raps on his table, and Johnson was forgotten. The men standing about the hall found seats. Word was sent to the members loitering below that the meeting was beginning, and they came up in a straggling body, two hundred strong. Every chair was filled; men had to stand in the aisles, and along the walls, and in the rear where there were no seats. It was the largest gathering of the union there had been in three years. Tom noted this, and was glad. All the windows were open, but yet the hall was suffocatingly close. Hundreds of cigars were momently making it closer, and giving the upper stratum of the room's atmosphere more and more the appearance of a solid. Few coats were on; they hung over the arms of those standing, and lay in the laps of those who sat. Connelly, putting down his gavel, took off his collar and tie and laid them on his table, an example that was given the approval of general imitation. Everywhere faces were being mopped. Connelly rapped again, and stood waiting till quiet had spread among the fifteen hundred men. "I guess you all know what we're here for," he began. "If there's no objection I guess we can drop the regular order o' business and get right to the strike." There was a general cry of "consent." "Very well. Then first we'll hear from the strike committee." Foley, as chairman of the strike committee, should have spoken for it; but the committee, being aware of the severe humiliation he was suffering, and to save him what public pain it could, had sympathetically decided that some other member should deliver its report. And Foley, with his cunning that extended even to the smallest details, had suggested Pete, and Pete had been selected. Pete now rose, and with hands on Tom's shoulders, calmly spoke what the committee had ordered. The committee's report was that it had nothing new to report. After carefully considering every circumstance it saw no possible way of winning the strike. It strongly advised the union to yield at once, as further fighting meant only further loss of wages. Pete was hardly back in his seat when it was moved and seconded that the union give up the strike. A great stamping and cries of "That's right!" "Give it up!" "Let's get back to work!" joined to give the motion a tremendous uproar of approval. "You have heard the motion," said Connelly. "Any remarks?" Men sprang up in all parts of the crowd, and for over an hour there were brief speeches, every one in favor of yielding. In substance they were the same: "Since the strike's lost, let's get back to work and not lose any more wages." Every speaker was applauded with hand-clapping, stamps, and shouts; an enthusiasm for retreat had seized the crowd. Foley was called for, but did not respond. Other speakers did, however, and the enthusiasm developed to the spirit of a panic. Through speeches, shouts, and stamping Tom sat quietly, biding his time. Several of the speakers made bitter flings at the leadership that had involved them in this disastrous strike. Finally one man, spurred to abandon by applause, ended his hoarse invective by moving the expulsion of the members who had led the union into the present predicament. So far Foley had sat with face down, without a word, in obvious dejection. But when this last speaker was through he rose slowly to his feet. At sight of him an eager quiet possessed the meeting. "I can't say's I blame youse very much for what youse've said," he began, in a voice that was almost humble, looking toward the man who had just sat down. "I helped get the union into the strike, yes, an' I want youse boys"--his eyes moved over the crowd--"to give me all the blame that's comin' to me." A pause. "But I ain't the only one. I didn't do as much to bring on the strike as some others." His glance rested on Tom. "The fact is, I really didn't go in for the strike till I saw all o' youse seemed to be in for it. Then o' course I did, for I'm always with youse. An' I fought hard, so long's there was a chance. Mebbe there's a few"--another glance at Tom--"that'd like to have us keep on fightin'--an' starve. Blame me all youse want to, boys--but Buck Foley don't want none o' youse to starve." He sank slowly back into his chair. "You did your best, Buck!" a voice shouted, and a roar of cheers went up. To those near him he seemed to brighten somewhat at this encouragement. "Three cheers for Keating!" cried the man who had raised this shout in the bar-room, springing to his feet. And again he led off with three groans, which the crowd swelled to a volume matching the cheers for Foley. Connelly, in deference to his office, pounded with his gavel and called for silence--but weakly. Tom flushed and his jaw tightened, but he kept his seat. The crowd began once more to demand Foley's views on the question before the house. He shook his head at Connelly, as he had repeatedly done before. But the meeting would not accept his negative. They added the clapping of hands and the stamping of feet to their cries. Foley came up a second time, with most obvious reluctance. "I feel sorter like the man that was run over by a train an' had his tongue cut out," he began, making what the union saw was a hard effort to smile. "I don't feel like sayin' much. "It seems to me that everything worth sayin' has been said already," he went on in his previous humble, almost apologetic, tone. "What I've got to say I'll say in the shadow of a minute. I size up the whole thing like this: We went into this strike thinkin' we'd win, an' because we needed more money. An' boys, we ought to have it! But we made a mistake somewhere. I guess youse've found out that in a fight it ain't always the man that's right that wins. It's the strongest man. The same in a strike. We're right, and we've fought our best, but the other fellows are settin' on our chests. I guess our mistake was, we wasn't as strong when we went into the fight as we thought we was. "Now the question, as I see it, is: Do we want to keep the other fellow on our chests, we all fagged out, with him mebbe punchin' our faces whenever he feels like it?--keep us there till we're done up forever? Or do we want to give in an' say we've had enough? He'll let us up, we'll take a rest, we'll get back our wind an' strength, an' when we're good an' ready, why, another fight, an' better luck! I know which is my style, an' from what youse boys've said here to-night, I can make a pretty good guess as to what's your style." He paused for a moment, and when he began again his voice was lower and there was a deep sadness in it that he could not hide. "Boys, this is the hardest hour o' my life. I ain't very used to losin' fights. I think youse can count in a couple o' days all the fights I lost for youse. [A cry, "Never a one, Buck!"] An' it comes mighty hard for me to begin to lose now. If I was to do what I want to do, I'd say, 'Let's never give in.' But I know what's best for the union, boys ... an' so I lose my first strike." He sank back into his seat, and his head fell forward upon his breast. There was a moment of sympathetic silence, then an outburst of shouts: "It ain't your fault!" "You've done your best!" "You take your lickin' like a man!" But these individual shouts were straightway lost in cries of "Foley!" "Foley!" and in a mighty cheer that thundered through the hall. Next to a game fighter men admire a game loser. This was Tom's moment. He had been waiting till Foley should place himself on record before the entire union. He now stood up and raised his right hand to gain Connelly's attention. "Mr. Chairman!" he called. "Question!" "Question!" shouted the crowd, few even noticing that Tom was claiming right of speech. "Mr. Chairman!" Tom cried again. Connelly's attention was caught, and for an instant he looked irresolutely at Tom. The crowd, following their president's eyes, saw Tom and broke into a great hiss. "D'you want any more speeches?" Connelly put to the union. "No!" "No!" "Question!" "Question!" "All in favor of the motion----" The desperate strait demanded an eminence to speak from, but the way to the platform was blocked. Tom vaulted to the top of the grand piano, and his eyes blazed down upon the crowd. "You shall listen to me!" he shouted, breaking in on Connelly. His right arm pointed across the hall to where Foley was bowed in humiliation. "Buck Foley has sold you out!" In the great din his voice did not carry more than a dozen rows, but upon those rows silence fell suddenly. "What was that?" men just behind asked excitedly, their eyes on Tom standing on the piano, his arm stretched toward Foley. A tide of explanation moved backward, and the din sank before it. Tom shouted again: "Buck Foley has sold you out!" This time his words reached the farthest man in the hall. There was an instant of stupefied quiet. Then Foley himself stood up. He seemed to have paled a shade, but there was not a quaver in his voice when he spoke. "This's a nice little stage play our friend's made up for the last minute. He's been fightin' a settlement right along, an' this is his last trick to get youse to put it off. He's sorter like a blind friend o' mine who went fishin' one day. He got turned with his back to the river, an' he fished all day in the grass. I think Keating's got turned in the wrong direction, too." A few in the crowd laughed waveringly; some began to talk excitedly; but most looked silently at Tom, still stunned by his blow-like declaration. Tom paid no attention to Foley's words. "Fifty thousand dollars was what he got!" he said in his loudest voice. For the moment it was as if those fifteen hundred men had been struck dumb and helpless. Again it was Foley who broke the silence. He reared his long body above the bewildered crowd and spoke easily. "If youse boys don't see through that lie youse're blind. If I was runnin' the strike alone an' wanted to sell it out, what Keating's said might be possible. But I ain't runnin' it. A committee is--five men. Now how d'youse suppose I could sell out with four men watchin' me--an' one o' them a friend o' Keating?" He did not wait for a response from his audience. He turned to Connelly and went on with a provoked air: "Mr. Chairman, youse know, an' the rest o' the committee knows, that it was youse who suggested we give up the strike. An' youse know I held out again' givin' in. Now ain't we had enough o' Keating's wind? S'pose youse put the question." What Foley had said was convincing; and, even at this instant, Tom himself could but admire the self-control, the air of provoked forbearance, with which he said it. The quiet, easy speech had given the crowd time to recover. As Foley sat down there was a sudden tumult of voices, and then loud cries of "Question!" "Question!" "Order, Mr. Chairman! I demand the right to speak!" Tom cried. "No one wants to hear you, and the question's called for." Tom turned to the crowd. "It's for you to say whether you'll hear me or----" "Out of order!" shouted Connelly. "I've got facts, men! Facts! Will it hurt you to hear me? You can vote as you please, then!" "Question!" went up a roar, and immediately after it a greater and increasing roar of "Keating!" "Keating!" Connelly could but yield. He pounded for order, then nodded at Tom. "Well, go on." Tom realized the theatricality of his position on the piano, but he also realized its advantage, and did not get down. He waited a moment to gain control of his mind, and his eyes moved over the rows and rows of faces that gleamed dully from sweat and excitement through the haze of smoke. What he had to say first was pure conjecture, but he spoke with the convincing decision of the man who has guessed at nothing. "You've heard the other men speak. All I ask of you is to hear me out the same way. And I have something far more important to say than anything that's been said here to-night. I am going to tell you the story of the most scoundrelly trick that was ever played on a trade union. For the union has been sold out, and Buck Foley lies when he says it has not, and he knows he lies!" Every man was listening intently. Tom went on: "About three weeks ago, just when negotiations were opened again, Foley arranged with the bosses to sell out the strike. Fifty thousand dollars was the price. The bosses were to make a million or more out of the deal, Foley was to make fifty thousand, and we boys were to pay for it all! Foley's work was to fool the committee, make them lose confidence in the strike, and they of course would make the union lose confidence and we'd give up. That was his job, and for it he was to have fifty thousand dollars. "Well, he was the man for the job. He worked the committee, and worked it so slick it never knew it was being worked. He even made the committee think it was urging him to give up the strike. How he did it, it's beyond me or any other honest man even to guess. No one could have done it but Foley. He's the smoothest crook that ever happened. I give you that credit, Buck Foley. You're the smoothest crook that ever happened!" Foley had come to his feet with a look that was more of a glaring scowl than anything else: eyebrows drawn down shaggily, a gully between them--nose drawn up and nostrils flaring--jaws clenched--the whole face clenched. "Mr. President, are youse goin' to let that man go on with his lies?" he broke in fiercely. The crowd roused from its tension. "Go on, Keating! Go on!" "If he goes on with them lies, I for one ain't goin' to stay to listen to 'em!" Foley grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and started to edge through to the aisle. "If you leave, Buck Foley, it's the same as a confession of guilt!" shouted Tom. "Stay here and defend yourself like a man, if you can!" "Against youse?" He laughed a dry cackling laugh, and his returning self-mastery smoothed out his face. And then his inherent bravado showed itself. On reaching the aisle, instead of turning toward the door, he turned toward the platform and seated himself on its edge, directing a look of insouciant calm upon the men. "Whatever lies there are, are all yours, Buck Foley," Tom went on. He looked again at the crowd, bending toward him in attention. "The trick worked. How well is shown by our being on the point of voting to give up the strike. Little by little our confidence was destroyed by doubt, and little by little Foley got nearer to his money--till to-day came. I'm speaking facts now, boys. I've got evidence for everything I'm going to tell you. I know every move Foley's made in the last thirty-six hours. "Well, this morning,--I'll only give the big facts, facts that count,--this morning he went to get the price of us--fifty thousand dollars. Where do you suppose he met Baxter? In some hotel, or some secret place? Not much. Cunning! That word don't do justice to Foley. He met Baxter in Baxter's own office!--and with the door open! Could anything be more in harmony with the smooth scheme by which he fooled the committee? He left the door wide open, so everyone outside could hear that nothing crooked was going on. He swore at Baxter. He called him every sort of name because he would not make us any concession. After a minute or two he came out, still swearing mad. His coat was buttoned up--tight. It was unbuttoned when he went in. And the people that heard thought what an awful calling-down Baxter had got. "Foley went first to the Independence Bank. He left seventeen thousand there. At the Jackson Bank he left fifteen thousand, and at the Third National eighteen thousand. Fifty thousand dollars, boys--his price for selling us out! And he comes here to-night and pretends to be broken-hearted. 'This is the hardest hour of my life,' he says; 'and so I lose my first strike.' Broken-hearted!--with fifty thousand put in the bank in one day!" There was a tense immobility through all the crowd, and a profound stillness, quickly broken by Foley before anyone else could forestall him. There was a chance that Tom's words had not caught hold--his thousandth chance. "If that fool is through ravin', better put the motion, Connelly," he remarked the instant Tom ended, in an even tone that reached the farthest edge of the hall. No one looking at him at this instant, still sitting on the edge of the platform, would have guessed his show of calmness was calling from him the supreme effort of his life. Voices buzzed, then there rose a dull roar of anger. It had been Foley's last chance, and he had lost. He threw off his control, and leaped to his feet, his face twisted with vengeful rage. He tossed his hat and coat on the platform, and without a word made a rush through the men toward Tom. "Let him through, boys!" Tom shouted, and sprang from the piano. Petersen stepped quickly to his side, but Tom pushed him away and waited in burning eagerness in the little open space. And the crowd, still dazed by the revelations of the last scene, looked fascinated upon this new one. But at this moment an interruption came from the rear of the hall. "Letter for Foley!" shouted a voice. "Letter for Foley!" Foley paused in his rush, and turned his livid face toward the cry. The sergeant-at-arms was pushing his way through the center aisle, repeating his shout, his right hand holding an envelope aloft. He gained Foley's side and laid the letter in the walking delegate's hand. "Messenger just brought it! Very important!" he cried. Foley glared at Tom, looked at the letter, hesitated, then ripped open the envelope with a bony forefinger. The crowd looked on, hardly breathing, while he read. Chapter XXIX IN WHICH MR. BAXTER SHOWS HIMSELF A MAN OF RESOURCES It was just eight o'clock when Johnson gave three excited raps with the heavy iron knocker on the door of Mr. Baxter's house in Madison Avenue. A personage in purple evening clothes drew the door wide open, but on seeing the sartorial character of the caller he filled the doorway with his own immaculate figure. "Is Mr. Baxter at home?" asked Johnson eagerly. "He is just going out," the other condescended to reply. That should have been enough to dispose of this common fellow. But Johnson kept his place. "I want to see him, for just a minute. Tell him my name. He'll see me. It's Johnson." The personage considered a space, then disappeared to search for Mr. Baxter; first showing his discretion by closing the door--with Johnson outside of it. He quickly reappeared and led Johnson across a hall that was as large as Johnson's flat, up a broad stairway, and through a wide doorway into the library, where he left him, standing, to gain what he could from sight of the rows and rows of leather-backed volumes. Almost at once Mr. Baxter entered, dressed in a dinner coat. "You have something to tell me?" he asked quickly. "Yes." "This way." Mr. Baxter led Johnson into a smaller room, opening upon the library, furnished with little else besides a flat-top walnut desk, a telephone, and a typewriter on a low table. Here Mr. Baxter sometimes attended to his correspondence, with the assistance of a stenographer sent from the office, when he did not feel like going downtown; and in here, when the mood was on him, he sometimes slipped to write bits of verse, a few of which he had published in magazines under a pseudonym. Mr. Baxter closed the door, took the chair at the desk and waved Johnson to the stenographer's. "I have only a minute. What is it?" For all his previous calls on Mr. Baxter, this refined presence made Johnson dumb with embarrassment. He would have been more at his ease had he had the comfort of fumbling his hat, but the purple personage had gingerly taken his battered derby from him at the door. "Well?" said Mr. Baxter, a bit impatiently. Johnson found his voice and rapidly told of Tom's discovery, as he had heard it from Tom twenty minutes before, and of the exposure that was going to be made that evening. At first Mr. Baxter seemed to start; the hand on the desk did certainly tighten. But that was all. "Did Mr. Keating say, in this story he proposes to tell, whether we offered Mr. Foley money to sell out, or whether Mr. Foley demanded it?" he asked, when Johnson had ended. "He didn't say. He didn't seem to know." Mr. Baxter did not speak for a little while; then he said, with a quiet carelessness: "What you have told me is of no great importance, though it probably seems so to you. It might, however, have been of great value. So I want to say to you that I thoroughly appreciate the promptness with which you have brought me this intelligence. If I can still depend upon your faithfulness, and your secrecy----" Mr. Baxter paused. "Always," said Johnson eagerly. "And your secrecy--" this with a slight emphasis, the gray eyes looking right through Johnson; "you can count upon an early token of appreciation, in excess of what regularly comes to you." "You've always found you could count on me, ain't you?" "Yes." "And you always can!" Mr. Baxter touched a button beneath his desk. "Have Mitchell show Mr. Johnson out," he said to the maid who answered the ring. "Do you know where Mrs. Baxter is?" "In her room, sir." Johnson bowed awkwardly, and backed away after the maid. "Good-night," Mr. Baxter said shortly, and followed the two out. He crossed the library with the intention of going to the room of his wife, who had come to town to be with him during the crisis of the expected victory, but he met her in the hall ready to go out. "My dear, some important business has just come up," he said. "I'm afraid there's nothing for me to do but to attend to it to-night." "That's too bad! I don't care for myself, for it's only one of those stupid musical comedies. I only cared to go because I thought it would help you through the suspense of the evening." After the exchange of a few more words he kissed her and she went quietly back to her room. He watched her a moment, wondering if she would bear herself with such calm grace if she knew what awaited him in to-morrow's papers. He passed quickly back into the little office, and locked the door behind him. Then the composure he had worn before Johnson and his wife swiftly vanished; and he sat at the desk with interlocked hands, facing the most critical situation of his life. There was no doubting what Johnson had told him. When to-morrow's papers appeared with their certain stories--first page, big headlines--of how he and other members of the Executive Committee, all gentlemen of reputation, had bribed a walking delegate, and a notoriously corrupt walking delegate, to sell out the Iron Workers' strike--the members of the committee would be dishonored forever, and he dishonored more than all. And his wife, how could she bear this? How could he explain to her, who believed him nothing but honor, once this story was out? He forced these sickening thoughts from his brain. He had no time for them. Disgrace must be avoided, if possible, and every minute was of honor's consequence. He strained his mind upon the crisis. The strike was now nothing; of first importance, of only importance, was how to escape disgrace. It was the peculiar quality of Mr. Baxter's trained mind that he saw, with almost instant directness, the best chance in a business situation. Two days before it had taken Tom from eleven to eleven, twelve hours, to see his only chance. Mr. Baxter now saw his only chance in less than twelve minutes. His only chance was to forestall exposure, by being the first to tell the story publicly. He saw his course clearly--to rush straight to the District Attorney, to tell a story almost identical with Tom's, and that varied from the facts on only two points. First of these two points, the District Attorney was to be told that Foley had come to them demanding fifty thousand dollars as the price of settlement. Second, that they had seen in this demand a chance to get the hands of the law upon this notorious walking delegate; that they had gone into the plan with the sole purpose of gaining evidence against him and bringing him to justice; that they had been able to secure a strong case of extortion against him, and now demanded his arrest. This same story was to go to the newspapers before they could possibly get Tom's. The committee would then appear to the world in no worse light than having stooped to the use of somewhat doubtful means to rid themselves and the union of a piratical blackmailer. Mr. Baxter glanced at his watch. It was half-past eight. He stepped to the telephone, found the number of the home telephone of the District Attorney, and rang him up. He was in, luckily, and soon had the receiver at his ear. Could Mr. Baxter see him in half an hour on a matter of importance--of great public importance? Mr. Baxter could. He next rang up Mr. Murphy, who had been with him in his office that morning when the money had been handed to Foley. Mr. Murphy was also at home, and answered the telephone himself. Could Mr. Baxter meet him in fifteen minutes in the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria? Very important. Mr. Murphy could. As he left the telephone it struck him that while the committee must seemingly make every effort to secure Foley's arrest, it would be far better for them if Foley escaped. If arrested, he would naturally turn upon them and tell his side of the affair. Nobody would believe him, for he was one against five, but all the same he could start a most unpleasant story. One instant the danger flashed upon Mr. Baxter. The next instant his plan for its avoidance was ready. He seated himself at the typewriter, drew off its black sole-leather case, ran in a sheet of plain white paper, and, picking at the keys, slowly wrote a message to Foley. That finished, he ran in a plain envelope, which he addressed to Foley at Potomac Hall. This letter he would leave at the nearest messenger office. Five minutes later Mr. Baxter, in a business suit, passed calmly through his front door, opened for him by the purple personage, and out into the street. Chapter XXX THE LAST OF BUCK FOLEY The letter which Foley read, while the union looked on, hardly breathing, was as follows: All is over. The District Attorney will be told to-night you held them up, forcing them to give you the amount you received. They have all the evidence; you have none. Their hands are clean. Against you it is a perfect case of extortion. Though the note was unsigned, Foley knew instantly from whom it came. The contractors, then, were going to try to clear themselves, and he was to be made the scapegoat. He was to be arrested; perhaps at once. Foley had thought over his situation before, its possibilities and its dangers. His mind worked quickly now. If he came to trial, they had the witnesses as the note said--and he had none. As they would be able to make it out, it would be a plain case of extortion against him. He could not escape conviction, and conviction meant years in Sing Sing. Truly, all was over. He saw his only chance in an instant--to escape. The reading of the note, and this train of thought, used less than a minute. Foley crushed the sheet of paper and envelope into a ball and thrust them into a trousers pocket, and looked up with the determination to try his only chance. His eyes fell upon what in the tense absorption of the minute he had almost forgotten--fifteen hundred men staring at him with fixed waiting faces, and one man staring at him with clenched fists in vengeful readiness. At sight of Tom his decision to escape was swept out of him by an overmastering fury. He rushed toward Tom through the alleyway the men had automatically opened at Tom's command. But Petersen stepped quickly out, a couple of paces ahead of Tom, to meet him. "Out o' the way, youse!" he snarled. But Petersen did not get out of the way, and before Tom could interfere to save the fight for himself, Foley struck out savagely. Petersen gave back a blow, just one, the blow that had gained the fight for him a week ago. Foley went to the floor, and lay there. This flash of action released the crowd from the spell that held them. They were roused from statues to a mob. "Kill him! Kill him!" someone shouted, and instantly the single cry swelled to a tremendous roar. Had it not been for Tom, Foley would have come to his end then and there. The fifteen hundred men started forward, crushing through aisles, upsetting the folding chairs and tramping over their collapsed frames, pushing and tearing at each other to get to where Foley lay. Tom saw that in an instant the front of that vindictive mob would be stamping the limp body of the walking delegate into pulp. He sprang to Foley's side, seized him by his collar and dragged him forward into the space between the piano and the end wall, so that the heavy instrument was a breastwork against the union's fury. "Here Petersen, Pete, the rest of you!" he cried. The little group that had stood round him during the meeting rushed forward. "In there!" He pushed them, as a guard, into the gap before Foley's body. Then he faced about. The fore of that great tumult of wrath was already pressing upon him and the little guard, and the men behind were fighting forward over chairs, over each other, swearing and crying for Foley's death. "Stop!" shouted Tom. Connelly, stricken with helplessness, completely lost, pounded weakly with his gavel. "Kill him!" roared the mob. "Kill the traitor!" "Disgrace the union by murder?" Tom shouted. "Kill him?--what punishment is that? Nothing at all! Let the law give him justice!" The cries from the rear of the hall still went up, but the half dozen men who had crowded, and been crowded, upon the little guard now drew back, and Tom thought his words were having their effect. But a quick glance over his shoulder showed him Petersen, in fighting posture--and he knew why the front men had hesitated; and also showed him Foley leaning dizzily against the piano. The hesitation on the part of the front rank lasted for but an instant. They were swept forward by the hundreds behind them, and Foley's line of defenders was crushed against the wall. It was all up with Foley, Tom thought; this onslaught would be the last of him. And as his own body went against the wall under the mob's terrific pressure, he had a gasping wish that he had not interfered two minutes before. The breath was all out of him, he thought his ribs were going to crack, he was growing faint and dizzy--when the pressure suddenly released and the furious uproar hushed almost to stillness. He regained his balance and his breath and glanced dazedly about. There, calmly standing on the piano and leaning against the wall, was Foley, his left hand in his trousers pocket, his right uplifted to command attention. "Boys, I feel it sorter embarrassin' to interrupt your little entertainment like this," he began blandly, but breathing very heavily. "But I suppose I won't have many more chances to make speeches before youse, an' I want to make about a remark an' a half. What's past--well, youse know. But what I got to say about the future is all on the level. Go in an' beat the contractors! Youse can beat 'em. An' beat 'em like hell!" He paused, and gave an almost imperceptible glance toward an open window a few feet away, and moved a step nearer it. A look of baiting defiance came over his face, and he went on: "As for youse fellows. The whole crowd o' youse just tried to do me up--a thousand or two again' one. I fooled the whole bunch o' youse once. An' I can lick the whole bunch o' youse, too!--one at a time. But not just now!" With his last word he sprang across to the sill of the open window, five feet away. Tom had noted Foley's glance and his edging toward the window, and guessing that Foley contemplated some new move, he had held himself in readiness for anything. He sprang after Foley, thinking the walking delegate meant to leap to his death on the stone-paved court below, and threw his arms about the other's knees. In the instant of embracing he noticed a fire-escape landing across the narrow court, an easy jump--and he knew that Foley had had no thought of death. As Tom jerked Foley from the window sill he tripped over a chair and fell backward to the floor, the walking delegate's body upon him. Foley was on his feet in an instant, but Tom lay where he was with the breath knocked out of him. He dimly heard the union break again into cries; feet trampled him; he felt a keen shooting pain. Then he was conscious that some force was turning the edge of the mob from its path; then he was lifted up and placed at the window out of which he had just dragged Foley; and then, Petersen's arm supporting him, he stood weakly on one foot holding to the sill. For an instant he had a glimpse of Foley, on the platform, his back to the wall. During the minute Tom had been on the floor a group of Foley's roughs, moved by some strange reawakening of loyalty, had rushed to his aid, but they had gone down; and now Foley stood alone, behind a table, sneering at the crowd. "Come on!" he shouted, with something between a snarl and a laugh, shaking his clenched fist. "Come on, one at a time, an' I'll do up every one o' youse!" The next instant he went down, and at the spot where he sank the crowd swayed and writhed as the vortex of a whirlpool. Tom, sickened, turned his eyes away. Turned them to see three policemen and two men in plain clothes with badges on their lapels enter the hall, stand an instant taking in the scene, and then with drawn clubs plunge forward into the crowd. The cry of "Police!" swept from the rear to the front of the hall. "We're after Foley!" shouted the foremost officer, a huge fellow with a huge voice, by way of explanation. "Get out o' the way!" The last cry he repeated at every step. The crowd pressed to either side, and the five men shouldered slowly toward the vortex of the whirlpool. At length they gained this fiercely swaying tangle of men. "If youse kill that man, we'll arrest every one o' youse for murder!" boomed the voice of the big policeman. The vortex became suddenly less violent. The five officers pulled man after man back, and reached Foley's body. He was lying on his side, almost against the wall, eyes closed, mouth slightly gaping. He did not move. "Too late!" said the big policeman. "He's dead!" His words ran back through the crowd which had so lusted for this very event. Stillness fell upon it. The big policeman stooped and gently turned the long figure over and placed his hand above the heart. The inner circle of the crowd looked on, waiting. After a moment the policeman's head nodded. "Beatin'?" asked one of the plain clothes men. "Yes. But mighty weak." "I'll be all right in a minute," said a faint voice. The big policeman started and glanced at Foley's face. The eyes were open, and looking at him. "I s'pose youse're from Baxter?" the faint voice continued. "From the District Attorney." "Yes." A whimsical lightness appeared in the voice. "I been waitin' for youse. Lucky youse come when youse did. A few minutes later an' youse might not 'a' found me still waitin'." He placed his hands beside him and weakly tried to rise, but fell back with a little groan. The big policeman and another officer helped him to his feet. The big policeman tried to keep an arm round him for support, but Foley pushed it away and leaned against the wall, where he stood a moment gazing down on the hundreds of faces. His shirt was ripped open at the neck and down to the waist; one sleeve was almost torn off; his vest was open and hung in two halves from the back of his neck; coat he had not had on. His face was beginning to swell, his lips were bloody, and there was a dripping cut on his forehead. One of the plain clothes men drew out a pair of handcuffs. "Youse needn't put them on me," Foley said. "I'll go with youse. Anyhow----" He glanced down at his right hand. It was swollen, and was turning purple. The plain clothes man hesitated. "Oh, he can't give us no trouble," said the big policeman. The handcuffs were pocketed. "I'm ready," said Foley. It was arranged that two of the uniformed men were to lead the way out, the big policeman was to come next with Foley, and the two plain clothes men were to be the rearguard. The big policeman placed an arm round Foley's waist. "I better give youse a lift," he said. "Oh, I ain't that weak!" returned Foley. "Come on." He started off steadily. Certainly he had regained strength in the last few minutes. As the six men started a passage opened before them. The little group of roughs who had come to Foley's defense a few minutes before now fell in behind. Half-way to the door Foley stopped, and addressed the crowd at large: "Where's Keating?" "Up by the piano," came the answer. "Take me to him for a minute, won't youse?" he asked of his guard. They consulted, then turned back. Again a passage opened and they marched to where Tom sat, very pale, leaning against the piano. The crowd pressed up, eager to get a glimpse of these two enemies, now face to face for the last time. "Look out, Tom!" a voice warned, as Foley, with the policeman at his side, stepped forth from his guard. "Oh, our fight's all over," said Foley. He paused and gazed steadily down at Tom. None of those looking on could have said there was any softness in his face, yet few had ever before seen so little harshness there. "I don't know of a man that, an hour ago, I'd 'a' rather put out o' business than youse, Keating," he at length said quietly. "I don't love youse now. But the real article is scarce, an' when I meet it--well, I like to shake hands." He held out his left hand. Tom looked hesitantly up into the face of the man who had brought him to fortune's lowest ebb--and who was now yet lower himself. Then he laid his left hand in Foley's left. Suddenly Foley leaned over and whispered in Tom's ear. Then he straightened up. "Luck with youse!" he said shortly and turned to his guards. "Come on." Again the crowd made way. Foley marched through the passage, his head erect, meeting every gaze unshrinkingly. The greater part of the crowd looked on silently at the passing of their old leader, now torn and bruised and bleeding, but as defiant as in his best days. A few laughed and jeered and flung toward him contemptuous words, but Foley heeded them not, marching steadily on, looking into every face. At the door he paused, and with a lean, blood-trickled smile of mockery, and of an indefinite something else--perhaps regret?--gazed back for a moment on the men he had led for seven years. Then he called out, "So-long, boys!" and waved his left hand with an air that was both jaunty and sardonic. He turned about, and wiping the red drops from his face with his bare left hand, passed out of Potomac Hall. Just behind him and his guard came the little group of roughs, slipping covert glances among themselves. And behind them the rest of the union fell in; and the head of the procession led down the broad stairway and forth into the street. Then, without warning, there was a charge of the roughs. The five officers were in an instant overwhelmed--tripped, or overpowered and hurled to the pavement--and the roughs swept on. The men behind rushed forward, and without any such purpose entangled the policemen among their numbers. It was a minute or more before the five officers were free and had their bearings, and could begin pursuit and search. But Buck Foley was not to be found. Chapter XXXI TOM'S LEVEE It was seven o'clock the next morning. Tom lay propped up on the couch in his sitting-room, his foot on a pillow, waiting for Maggie to come back with the morning papers. A minute before he had asked Ferdinand to run down and get them for him, but Maggie, who just then had been starting out for a loaf of bread, had said shortly to the boy that she would get them herself. When Maggie had opened the door the night before, while Petersen was clumsily trying to fit Tom's key into the keyhole, the sight of Tom standing against the wall on one foot, his clothes in disorder, had been to her imagination a full explanation of what had happened. Her face had hardened and she had flung up her clenched hands in fierce helplessness. "Oh, my God! So you've been at Foley again!" she had burst out. "More trouble! My God, my God! I can't stand it any longer!" She would have gone on, but the presence of a third person had suddenly checked her. She had stood unmoving in the doorway, her eyes flashing, her breast rising and falling. For an instant Tom, remembering a former declaration, had expected her to close the door in his face, but with a gesture of infinite, rageful despair she had stepped back from the door without a word, and Petersen had supported him to the couch. Almost immediately a doctor had appeared, for whom Tom and Petersen had left a message on their way home; and by the time the doctor and Petersen had gone, leaving Tom in bed, her fury had solidified into that obdurate, resentful silence which was the characteristic second stage of her wrath. Her injustice had roused Tom's antagonism, and thus far not a word had passed between them. The nearest newsstand was only a dozen steps from the tenement's door, but minute after minute passed and still Maggie did not return. After a quarter hour's waiting Tom heard the hall door open and close, and then Maggie came into the sitting-room. He was startled at the change fifteen minutes had made in her expression. The look of set hardness was gone; the face was white and drawn, almost staring. She dropped the papers on a chair beside the couch. The top one, crumpled, explained the length of her absence and her altered look. Tom's heart began to beat wildly; she knew it then! She paused beside him, and with his eyes down-turned he waited for her to speak. Seconds passed. He could see her hands straining, and hear her deep breath coming and going. Suddenly she turned about abruptly and went into the kitchen. Tom looked wonderingly after her a moment; then his eyes were caught by a black line half across the top of the crumpled paper: "Contractors Trap Foley." He seized the paper and his eyes took in the rest of the headline at a glance. "Arrested, But Makes Spectacular Escape"; a dozen words about the contractors' plan; and then at the very end, in smallest display type: "Also Exposed in Union." He quickly glanced through the headlines of the other papers. In substance they were the same. Utterly astounded, he raced through the several accounts of Foley's exposure. They were practically alike. They told of Mr. Baxter's visit to the District Attorney, and then recited the events of the past three weeks just as Mr. Baxter had given them to the official prosecutor: How Foley had tried to hold the Executive Committee up for fifty thousand dollars; how the committee had seen in his demand a chance to get him into the hands of the law, and so rid labor and capital of a common enemy; how, after much deliberation, they had decided to make the attempt; how the sham negotiations had proceeded; how yesterday, to make the evidence perfect, Foley had been given the fifty thousand dollars he had demanded as the price of settlement--altogether a most complete and plausible story. "A perfect case," the District Attorney had called it. Tom's part in the affair was told in a couple of paragraphs under a subhead. One of the papers had managed to get in a hurried editorial on Mr. Baxter's story. "Perhaps their way of trapping Foley smacks strongly of gum-shoe detective methods," the editorial concluded; "but their end, the exposure of a notorious labor brigand, will in the mind of the public entirely justify their means. They have earned the right to be called public benefactors." Such in tone was the whole editorial. It was a prophecy of the editorial praise that was to be heaped upon the contractors in the afternoon papers and those of the next morning. Tom flung the papers from him in sickened, bewildered wrath. He had expected a personal triumph before the public. He felt there was something wrong; he felt Mr. Baxter had robbed him of his glory, just as Foley had robbed him of his strike. But in the first dazedness of his disappointment he could not understand. He hardly touched the breakfast Maggie had quietly put upon the chair while he had been reading, but sank back and, his eyes on the ceiling with its circle of clustered grapes, began to go over the situation. At the end of a few minutes he was interrupted by Ferdinand, whom Maggie had sent in with a letter that had just been delivered by a messenger. Tom took it mechanically, then eagerly tore open the envelope. The letter was from the detective agency, and its greater part was the report of the observations made the previous evening by the detectives detailed to watch Mr. Baxter. Tom read it through repeatedly. It brought Foley's whispered words flashing back upon him: "I give it to youse for what it's worth; Baxter started this trick." He began slowly to understand. But before he had fully mastered the situation there was a loud knock at the hall door. Maggie opened it, and Tom heard a hearty voice sound out: "Good-mornin', Mrs. Keating. How's your husband?" "You'll find him in the front room, Mrs. Barry," Maggie answered. "All of you go right in." There was the sound of several feet, and then Mrs. Barry came in and after her Barry and Pete. "Say, Tom, I'm just tickled to death!" she cried, with a smile of ruddy delight. She held out a stubby, pillowy hand and shook Tom's till her black straw hat, that the two preceding summers had done their best to turn brown, was bobbing over one ear. "Every rib I've got is laughin'. How're you feelin'?" "First rate, except for my ankle. How're you, boys?" He shook hands with Barry and Pete. "Well, you want to lay still as a bed-slat for a week or two. A sprain ain't nothin' to monkey with, I tell you what. Mrs. Keating, you see't your husband keeps still." "Yes," said Maggie, setting chairs for the three about the couch, and herself slipping into one at the couch's foot. Mrs. Barry sank back, breathing heavily, and wiped her moist face. "I said to the men this mornin' that I'd give 'em their breakfast, but I wouldn't wash a dish till I'd been over to see you. Tom, you've come out on top, all right! An' nobody's gladder'n me. Unless, o' course, your wife." Maggie gave a little nod, and her hands clasped each other in her lap. "It's easy to guess how proud you must be o' your man!" Mrs. Barry's red face beamed with sympathetic exultation. Maggie gulped; her strained lips parted: "Of course I'm proud." "I wish you could 'a' heard the boys last night, Tom," cried Pete. "Are they for you? Well, I should say! You'll be made walkin' delegate at the very next meetin', sure." "Well, I'd like to know what else they could do?" Mrs. Barry demanded indignantly. "With him havin' fought an' sacrificed as he has for 'em!" "He can have anything he wants now. Tokens of appreciation? They'll be givin' you a gold watch an' chain for every pocket." "But what'll they think after they've read the papers?" asked Tom. "I saw how the bosses' fairy story goes. But the boys ain't kids, an' they ain't goin' to swallow all that down. They'll think about the same as me, an' I think them bosses ain't such holy guys as they say they are. I think there was somethin' else we don't know nothin' about, or else the bosses'd 'a' gone right through with the game. An' the boys'll not give credit to a boss when they can give credit to a union man. You can bet your false teeth on that. Anyhow, Tom, you could fall a big bunch o' miles an' still be in heaven." "Now, the strike, Tom; what d'you think about the strike?" Mrs. Barry asked. Before Tom could answer there was another knock. Maggie slipped away and ushered in Petersen, who hung back abashed at this gathering. "Hello, Petersen," Tom called out. "Come in. How are you?" Petersen advanced into the room, took a chair and sat holding his derby hat on his knees with both hands. "I be purty good,--oh, yah," he answered, smiling happily. "I be movin' to-day." "Where?" Tom asked. "But you haven't met Mrs. Barry, have you?" "Glad to know you, Mr. Petersen." Mrs. Barry held out her hand, and Petersen, without getting up, took it in his great embarrassed fist. She turned quickly about on Tom. "What d'you think about the strike?" she repeated. "Yes, what about it?" echoed Barry and Pete. "We're going to win it," Tom answered, with quiet confidence. "You think so?" "I do. We're going to win--certain!" "If you do, we women'll all take turns kissin' your shoes." "You'll be, all in a jump, the biggest labor leader in New York City!" cried Pete. "What, to put Buck Foley out o' business, an' to win a strike after the union had give it up!" Within Tom responded to this by a wild exultation, but he maintained an outward calm. "Don't lay it on so thick, Pete." He stole a glance at Maggie. She was very pale. Her eyes, coming up from her lap, met his. She rose abruptly. "I must see to my work," she said, and hurried into the kitchen. Tom's eyes came back to his friends. "Have you boys heard anything about Foley?" "He ain't been caught yet," answered Pete. "He'll never be," Tom declared. Then after a moment's thought he went on with conviction: "Boys, if Foley had had a fair start and had been honest, he'd have been the biggest thing that ever happened in the labor world." Their loyalty prompted the others to take strong exception to this. "No, I wouldn't have been in his class," Tom said decidedly, and led the talk to the probabilities of the next few days. They chatted on for half an hour longer, then all four departed. Pete, however, turned at the door and came back. "I almost forgot, Tom. There was something else. O' course you didn't hear about Johnson. You know there's been someone in the union--more'n one, I bet--that's been keepin' the bosses posted on all we do. Well, Johnson got himself outside o' more'n a few last night, an' began to get in some lively jaw-work. The boys got on from what he said that he'd been doin' the spy business for a long time--that he'd seen Baxter just before the meetin'. Well, a few things happened right then an' there. I won't tell you what, but I got an idea Johnson sorter thinks this ain't just the health resort for his kind o' disease." Tom said nothing. Here was confirmation of, and addition to, one sentence in the detectives' report. Pete had been gone hardly more than a minute when he was back for the third time. "Say, Tom, guess where Petersen's movin'?" he called out from the dining-room door. "I never can." "On the floor above! A wagon load o' new furniture just pulled up down in front. I met Petersen an' his wife comin' in. Petersen was carryin' a bran' new baby carriage." Pete's news had immediate corroboration. As he was going out Tom heard a thin voice ask, "Is Mr. Keating in?" and heard Maggie answer, "Go right through the next door;" and there was Mrs. Petersen, her child in her arms, coming radiantly toward him. "Bless you, brother!" she said. "I've heard all about your glorious victory. I could hardly wait to come over an' tell you how glad I am. I'd 'a' come with Nels, but I wasn't ready an' he had to hurry here to be ready to look after the furniture when it come. I'm so glad! But things had to come out that way. The Lord never lets sin prevail!--praise His name!" "Won't you sit down, Mrs. Petersen?" Tom said, in some embarrassment, relinquishing the slight hand she had given him. "I can't stop a minute, we're so busy. You must come up an' see us. I pray God'll prosper you in your new work, an' make you a power for right. Good-by." As she passed through the dining-room Tom heard her thin vibrant voice sound out again: "You ought to be the proudest an' happiest woman in America, Mrs. Keating." There was no answer, and Tom heard the door close. In a few minutes Maggie came in and stood leaning against the back of one of the chairs. "Tom," she said; and her voice was forced and unnatural. Tom knew that the scene he had been expecting so long was now at hand. "Yes," he answered, in a kind of triumphant dread. She did not speak at once, but stood looking down on him, her throat pulsing, her face puckered in its effort to be immobile. "Well, it was about time something of this sort was happening. You know what I've had to put up with in the last five months. I suppose you think I ought to beg your pardon. But you know what I said, I said because I thought it was to our interest to do that. And you know if we'd done what I said we'd never have seen the hard times we have." "I suppose not," Tom admitted, with a dull sinking of his heart. She stood looking down on him for a moment longer, then turned abruptly about and went into the kitchen. These five sentences were her only verbal acknowledgment that she had been wrong, and her only verbal apology. She felt much more than this--grudgingly, she was proud that he had succeeded, she was proud that others praised him, she was pleased at the prospect of better times--but more than this she could not bend to admit. While Tom lay on the couch reasoning himself into a fuller and fuller understanding of Mr. Baxter's part in last night's events, out in the kitchen Maggie's resentment over having been proved wrong was slowly disappearing under the genial influence of thoughts of the better days ahead. Her mind ran with eagerness over the many things that could be done with the thirty-five dollars a week Tom would get as walking delegate--new dresses, better than she had ever had before; new things for the house; a better table. And she thought of the social elevation Tom's new importance in the union would give her. She forgot her bitterness. She became satisfied; then exultant; then, unconsciously, she began humming. Presently her new pride had an unexpected gratification. In the midst of her dreams there was a rapping at the hall door. Opening it she found before her a man she had seen only once--Tom had pointed him out to her one Sunday when they had walked on Fifth Avenue--but she recognized him immediately. "Is Mr. Keating at home?" the man asked. "Yes." Maggie, awed and embarrassed, led the way into the sitting-room. "Mr. Keating," said the man, in a quiet, even voice. "Mr. Baxter!" Tom ejaculated. "I saw in the papers this morning that you were hurt. Thank you very much, Mrs. Keating." He closed the door after Maggie had withdrawn, as though paying her a courtesy by the act, and sat down in the chair she had pushed beside the couch for him. "Your injury is not serious, I hope." Tom regarded the contractor with open amazement. "No," he managed to say. "It will keep me in the house for a while, though." "I thought so, and that's why I came. I saw from the papers that you would doubtless be the next leader of the union. As you know, it is highly important to both sides that we come to an agreement about the strike as early as possible. It seemed to me desirable that you and I have a chat first and arrange for a meeting of our respective committees. And since I knew you could not come to see me, I have come to see you." Mr. Baxter delivered these prepared sentences smoothly, showing his white teeth in a slight smile. This was the most plausible reason his brain had been able to lay hold of to explain his coming. And come he must, for he had a terrifying dread that Tom knew the facts he was trying to keep from the public. It had taxed his ingenuity frightfully that morning to make an explanation to his wife that would clear himself. If Tom did know, and were to speak--there would be public disgrace, and no explaining to his wife. Tom's control came back to him, and he was filled with a sudden exultant sense of mastery over this keen, powerful man. "It is of course desirable that we settle the strike as soon as possible," he agreed calmly, not revealing that he recognized Mr. Baxter's explanation to be a fraud. "It certainly will be a relief to us to deal with a man of integrity. I think we have both had not very agreeable experiences with one whose strong point was not his honor." "Yes." There was that in Mr. Baxter's manner which was very near frank cordiality. "Has it not occurred to you as somewhat remarkable, Mr. Keating, that both of us, acting independently, have been working to expose Mr. Foley?" Tom had never had the patience necessary to beat long about the bush. He was master, and he swept Mr. Baxter's method aside. "The sad feature of both our efforts," he said calmly, but with fierce joy, "has been that we have failed, so far, to expose the chief villain." The corners of Mr. Baxter's mouth twitched the least trifle, but when he spoke he showed the proper surprise. "Have we, indeed! Whom do you mean?" Tom looked him straight in the eyes. "I wonder if you'd care to know what I think of you?" "That's an unusual question. But--it might be interesting." "I think you are an infernal hypocrite!--and a villain to boot!" "What?" Mr. Baxter sprang to his feet, trying to look angry and amazed. "Sit down, Mr. Baxter," Tom said quietly. "That don't work with me. I'm on to you. We got Foley, but you're the man we've failed to expose--so far." Mr. Baxter resumed his chair, and for an instant looked with piercing steadiness at Tom's square face. "What do you know?--think you know?" "I'll tell you, be glad to, for I want you to know I'm thoroughly on to you. You suggested this scheme to Foley, and it wasn't a scheme to catch Foley, but to cheat the union." And Tom went on to outline the parts of the story Mr. Baxter had withheld from the newspapers. "That sounds very interesting, Mr. Keating," Mr. Baxter said, his lips trembling back from his teeth. "But even supposing that were true, it isn't evidence." "I didn't say it was--though part of it is. But suppose I gave to the papers what I've said to you? Suppose I made this point: if Baxter had really intended to trap Foley, wouldn't he have had him arrested the minute after the money had been turned over, so that he would have stood in no danger of losing the money, and so Foley would have been caught with the goods on? And suppose I presented these facts: Mr. Baxter had tickets bought for 'The Maid of Mexico,' and was on the point of leaving for the theater with his wife when a union man, his spy, who had learned of my plan to expose the scheme, came to his house and told him I was on to the game and was going to expose it. Mr. Baxter suddenly decides not to go to the theater, and rushes off to the District Attorney with his story of having trapped Foley. Suppose I said these things to the papers--they'd be glad to get 'em, for it's as good a story as the one this morning--what'd people be saying about you to-morrow? They'd say this: Up to the time he heard from his spy Baxter had no idea of going to the District Attorney. He was in the game for all it was worth, and only went to the District Attorney when he saw it was his only chance to save himself. They'd size you up for what you are--a briber and a liar!" A faint tinge of color showed in Mr. Baxter's white cheeks. "I see you're a grafter, too!" he said, yielding to an uncontrollable desire to strike back. "Well--what's _your_ price?" Tom sat bolt upright and glared at the contractor. "Damn you!" he burst out. "If it wasn't for this ankle, I'd kick you out of the room, and down to the street, a kick to every step! Now you get out of here!--and quick!" "I'm always glad to leave the presence of a blackmailer, my dear sir." Mr. Baxter turned with a bow and went out. Tom, in a fury, swung his feet off the couch and started to rise, only to sink back with a groan. At the door of the flat Mr. Baxter thought of the morrow, of what the public would say, of what his wife would say. He came back, closed the door, and stood looking steadily down on Tom. "Well--what are you going to do about it?" "Give it to the papers, that's what!" "Suppose you do, and suppose a few persons believe it. Suppose, even, people say what you think they will. What then? You will have given your--ah--your information away, and how much better off are you for it?" "Blackmailer, did you call me!" Mr. Baxter did not heed the exclamation, but continued to look steadily downward, waiting. A little while before Tom had been thinking vaguely of the possible use he could make of his power over Mr. Baxter. With lowered gaze, he now thought clearly, rapidly. The moral element of the situation did not appeal to him as strongly at that moment as did the practical. If he exposed Mr. Baxter it would bring himself great credit and prominence, but what material benefit would that exposure bring the union? Very little. Would it be right then for him, the actual head of the union, to use an advantage for his self-glorification that could be turned to the profit of the whole union? After a minute Tom looked up. "No, I shall not give this to the newspapers. I'm going to use it otherwise--as a lever to get from you bosses what belongs to us. I hate to dirty my hands by using such means; but in fighting men of your sort we've got to take every advantage we get. If I had a thief by the throat I'd hardly let go so we could fight fair. I wouldn't be doing the square thing by the union if I refused to use an advantage of this sort." He paused an instant and looked squarely into Mr. Baxter's eyes. "Yes, I have a price, and here it is. We're going to win this strike. You understand?" "I think I do." "Well?" "You are very modest in your demands,"--sarcastically. Tom did not heed the remark. Mr. Baxter half closed his eyes and thought a moment. "What guarantee have I of your silence?" "My word." "Nothing else?" "Nothing else." Mr. Baxter was again silent for a thoughtful moment. "Well?" Tom demanded. Mr. Baxter's face gave a faint suggestion that a struggle was going on within. Then his little smile came out, and he said: "Permit me to be the first to congratulate you, Mr. Keating, on having won the strike." Chapter XXXII THE THORN OF THE ROSE Shortly after lunch Mr. Driscoll called Ruth into his office. "Dr. Hall has just sent me word that he wants to meet the building committee on important business this afternoon, so if you'll get ready we'll start right off." A few minutes later the two were on a north-bound Broadway car. Presently Mr. Driscoll blinked his bulging eyes thoughtfully at his watch. "I want to run in and see Keating a minute sometime this afternoon," he remarked. "He's just been doing some great work, Miss Arnold. If we hurry we've got time to crowd it in now." A pudgy forefinger went up into the air. "Oh, conductor--let us off here!" Before Ruth had recovered the power to object they were out of the car and walking westward through a narrow cross street. Her first frantic impulse was to make some hurried excuse and turn back. She could not face him again!--and in his own home!--never! But a sudden fear restrained this impulse: to follow it might reveal to Mr. Driscoll the real state of affairs, or at least rouse his suspicions. She had to go; there was nothing else she could do. And so she walked on beside her employer, all her soul pulsing and throbbing. Soon a change began to work within her--the reassertion of her love. She would have avoided the meeting if she could, but now fate was forcing her into it. She abandoned herself to fate's irresistible arrangement. A wild, excruciating joy began to possess her. She was going to see him again! But in the last minute there came a choking revulsion of feeling. She could not go up--she could not face him. Her mind, as though it had been working all the time beneath her consciousness, presented her instantly with a natural plan of avoiding the meeting. She paused at the stoop of Tom's tenement. "I'll wait here till you come down, or walk about the block," she said. "All right; I'll be gone only a few minutes," returned the unobservant Mr. Driscoll. He mounted the stoop, but drew aside at the door to let a woman with a boy come out, then entered. Ruth's glance rested upon the woman and child, and she instinctively guessed who they were, and her conjecture was instantly made certain knowledge by a voice from a window addressing the woman as Mrs. Keating. She gripped the iron hand-rail and, swaying, stared at Maggie as she stood chatting on the top step. Her fixed eyes photographed the cheap beauty of Maggie's face, and her supreme insight, the gift of the moment, took the likeness of Maggie's soul. She gazed at Maggie with tense, white face, lips parted, hardly breathing, all wildness within, till Maggie started to turn from her neighbor. Then she herself turned about and walked dizzily away. In the meantime Mr. Driscoll had gained Tom's flat and was knocking on the door. When Maggie had gone out--the silent accusation of Tom's presence irked her so, she was glad to escape it for an hour or two--she had left the door unlocked that Tom might have no trouble in admitting possible callers. Mr. Driscoll entered in response to Tom's "Come in," and crossed heavily into the sitting-room. "Hello there! How are you?" he called out, taking Tom's hand in a hearty grasp. "Why, Mr. Driscoll!" Tom exclaimed, with a smile of pleasure. Mr. Driscoll sank with a gasp into a chair beside the couch. "Well, I suppose you think you're about everybody," he said with a genial glare. "Of course you think I ought to congratulate you. Well, I might as well, since that's one thing I came here for. I do congratulate you, and I mean it." He again grasped Tom's hand. "I've been thinking of the time, about five months ago, when you stood in my office and called me a coward and a few other nice things, and said you were going to put Foley out of business. I didn't think you could do it. But you have! You've done a mighty big thing." He checked himself, but his discretion was not strong enough to force him to complete silence, nor to keep a faint suggestion of mystery out of his manner. "And you deserve a lot more credit than you're getting. You've done a lot more than people think you have--than you yourself think you have. If you knew what I know----!" He nodded his head, with one eye closed. "There's some people I'd back any day to beat the devil. Well, well! And so you're to be walking delegate, hey? That's what I hear." "I understand the boys are talking about electing me." "Well, if you come around trying to graft off me, or calling strikes on my jobs, there'll be trouble--I tell you that." "I'll make you an exception. I'll not graft off you, and I'll let you work scabs and work 'em twenty-four hours a day, if you want to." "I know how!" Mr. Driscoll mopped his face again. "I came around here, Keating, to say about three things to you. I wanted to congratulate you, and that I've done. And I wanted to tell you the latest in the Avon affair. I heard just before I left the office that those thugs of Foley's, hearing that he'd skipped and left 'em in the lurch, had confessed that you didn't have a thing to do with the Avon explosion--that Foley'd put them up to it, and so on. It'll be in the papers this afternoon. Even if your case comes to trial, you'll be discharged in a minute. The other thing----" "Mr. Driscoll----" Tom began gratefully. Mr. Driscoll saw what was coming, and rushed on at full speed. "The other thing is this: I'm speaking serious now, and just as your father might, and it's for your own good, and nothing else. What I've got to say is, get out of the union. You're too good for it. A man's got to do the best he can for himself in this world; it's his duty to make a place for himself. And what are you doing for yourself in the union? Nothing. They've turned you down, and turned you down hard, in the last few months. It's all hip-hip-hurrah for you to-day, but they'll turn you down again just as soon as they get a chance. Mark what I say! Now here's the thing for you to do. You can get out of the union now with glory. Get out, and take the job I offered you five months ago. Or a better one, if you want it." "I can't tell you how much I thank you, Mr. Driscoll," said Tom. "But that's all been settled before. I can't." "Now you see here!"--and Mr. Driscoll leaned forward and with the help of a gesticulating fist launched into an emphatic presentation of "an old man's advice" on the subject of looking out for number one. While he had been talking Ruth had walked about the block in dazing pain, and now she had been brought back to the tenement door by the combined strength of love and duty. During the last two weeks she had often wished that she might speak a moment with Tom, to efface the impression she had given him on that tragic evening when they had been last together, that knowing him could mean to her only great pain. That she should tell him otherwise, that she should yield him the forgiveness she had withheld, had assumed to her the seriousness of a great debt she must discharge. The present was her best chance--perhaps she could see him for a moment alone. And so, duty justifying love, she entered the tenement and mounted the stairs. Tom's "Come in!" answered her knock. Clutching her self-control in both her hands, she entered. At sight of her Tom rose upon his elbow, then sank back, as pale as she, his fingers turned into his palms. "Mr. Keating," she said, with the slightest of bows, and lowered herself into a chair by the door. He could merely incline his head. "You got tired waiting, did you," said Mr. Driscoll, who had turned his short-sighted eyes about at her entrance. "I'll be through in just a minute." He looked back at Tom, and could but notice the latter's white, set face. "Why, what's the matter?" "I twisted my ankle a bit; it's nothing," Tom answered. Mr. Driscoll went on with his discourse, to ears that now heard not a word. Ruth glanced about the room. The high-colored sentimental pictures, the cheap showy furniture, the ornaments on the mantelpiece--all that she saw corroborated the revelation she had had of Maggie's character. Inspiration in neither wife nor home. Thus he had to live, who needed inspiration--whom inspiration and sympathy would help develop to a fitness for great ends. Thus he had to live!--dwarfed! She filled with frantic rebellion in his behalf. Surely it did not have to be so, always. Surely the home could be changed, the wife roused to sympathy--a little--at least a little!... There must be a way! Yes, yes; surely. There must be a way!... Later, somehow, she would find it.... In this moment of upheaving ideas and emotions she had the first vague stirring of a new purpose--the very earliest conception of the part she was to play in the future, the part of an unseen and unrecognized influence. She was brought out of her chaotic thoughts by Mr. Driscoll rising from his chair and saying: "There's no turning a fool from his folly, I suppose. Well, we'd better be going, Miss Arnold." She rose, too. Her eyes and Tom's met. He wondered, choking, if she would speak to him. "Good-by, Mr. Keating," she said--and that was all. "Good-by, Miss Arnold." With a great sinking, as though all were going from beneath him, he watched her go out ... heard the outer door close ... and lay exhausted, gazing wide-eyed at the door frame in which he had last seen her. A minute passed so, and then his eyes, falling, saw a pair of gray silk gloves on the table just before him. They were hers. He had risen upon his elbow with the purpose of getting to the table, by help of a chair back, and securing them, when he heard the hall door open gently and close. He sank back upon the couch. The next minute he saw her in the doorway again, pale and with a composure that was the balance between paroxysm and supreme repression. She paused there, one hand against the frame, and then walked up to the little table. "I came back for my gloves," she said, picking them up. "Yes," his lips whispered, his eyes fastened on her white face. But she did not go. She stood looking down upon him, one hand resting on the table, the other on a chair back. "I left my gloves on purpose; there is something I want to say to you," she said, with her tense calm. "You remember--when I saw you last--I practically said that knowing you could in the future mean nothing to me but pain. I do not feel so now. Knowing you has given me inspiration. There is nothing for me to forgive--but if it means anything to you ... I forgive you." Tom could only hold his eyes on her pale face. "And I want to congratulate you," she went on. "I know how another is getting the praise that belongs to you. I know how much more you deserve than is being given you." "Chance helped me much--at the end." "It is the man who is always striving that is ready for the chance when it comes," she returned. Tom, lying back, gazing fixedly up into her dark eyes, could not gather hold of a word. The gilded clock counted off several seconds. "Mr. Driscoll is waiting for me," she said, in a voice that was weaker and less forcedly steady. She had not changed her position all the time she had spoken. Her arms now dropped to her side, and she moved back ever so little. "I hope ... you'll be happy ... always," she said. "Yes ... and I hope you...." "Good-by." "Good-by." Their eyes held steadfastly to each other for a moment; she seemed to waver, and she caught the back of a chair; then she turned and went out.... For long he watched the door out of which she had gone; then, heedless of the pain, he rolled over and stared at one great poppy in the back of the couch. THE END TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Obvious typographical and printer errors have been corrected without comment. In addition to obvious errors, the following changes have been made: Page 26: "virture" changed to "virtue" in the phrase, "... had the virtue of being terse...." Page 53: The word "you" was added to the phrase, "How do you propose...." Page 178: "disppeared" changed to "disappeared" in the phrase, "... they had disappeared...." Page 209: "filliped" changed to "flipped" in the phrase, "... contemptuously flipped his half-smoked cigar...." Page 320: "tremenduous" changed to "tremendous" in the phrase, "... a tremendous uproar...." Other than the above, no effort has been made to standardize internal inconsistencies in spelling, capitalization, punctuation, grammar, etc. The author's usage is preserved as found in the original publication.