diff options
Diffstat (limited to '1075-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 1075-0.txt | 4953 |
1 files changed, 4953 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/1075-0.txt b/1075-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..929a47f --- /dev/null +++ b/1075-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4953 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Strength of the Strong, by Jack London + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Strength of the Strong + + +Author: Jack London + + + +Release Date: February 21, 2013 [eBook #1075] +[This file was first posted on October 17, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STRENGTH OF THE STRONG*** + + +Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + THE STRENGTH + OF THE STRONG + + + * * * * * + + BY + JACK LONDON + + AUTHOR OF “THE VALLEY OF THE MOON” + “JERRY OF THE ISLANDS,” ETC. + + * * * * * + + MILLS & BOON, LIMITED + 49 RUPERT STREET + LONDON, W.1 + + * * * * * + + _Published 1919_ + + * * * * * + + _Copyright in the United States of America by_ + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +THE STRENGTH OF THE STRONG 11 +SOUTH OF THE SLOT 34 +THE UNPARALLELED INVASION 60 +THE ENEMY OF ALL THE WORLD 81 +THE DREAM OF DEBS 104 +THE SEA-FARMER 134 +SAMUEL 161 + + + + +THE STRENGTH OF THE STRONG + + + _Parables don’t lie_, _but liars will parable_. + + —_Lip-King_. + +OLD Long-Beard paused in his narrative, licked his greasy fingers, and +wiped them on his naked sides where his one piece of ragged bearskin +failed to cover him. Crouched around him, on their hams, were three +young men, his grandsons, Deer-Runner, Yellow-Head, and +Afraid-of-the-Dark. In appearance they were much the same. Skins of +wild animals partly covered them. They were lean and meagre of build, +narrow-hipped and crooked-legged, and at the same time deep-chested, with +heavy arms and enormous hands. There was much hair on their chests and +shoulders, and on the outsides of their arms and legs. Their heads were +matted with uncut hair, long locks of which often strayed before their +eyes, beady and black and glittering like the eyes of birds. They were +narrow between the eyes and broad between the cheeks, while their lower +jaws were projecting and massive. + +It was a night of clear starlight, and below them, stretching away +remotely, lay range on range of forest-covered hills. In the distance +the heavens were red from the glow of a volcano. At their backs yawned +the black mouth of a cave, out of which, from time to time, blew draughty +gusts of wind. Immediately in front of them blazed a fire. At one side, +partly devoured, lay the carcass of a bear, with about it, at a +respectable distance, several large dogs, shaggy and wolf-like. Beside +each man lay his bow and arrows and a huge club. In the cave-mouth a +number of rude spears leaned against the rock. + +“So that was how we moved from the cave to the tree,” old Long-Beard +spoke up. + +They laughed boisterously, like big children, at recollection of a +previous story his words called up. Long-Beard laughed, too, the +five-inch bodkin of bone, thrust midway through the cartilage of his +nose, leaping and dancing and adding to his ferocious appearance. He did +not exactly say the words recorded, but he made animal-like sounds with +his mouth that meant the same thing. + +“And that is the first I remember of the Sea Valley,” Long-Beard went on. +“We were a very foolish crowd. We did not know the secret of strength. +For, behold, each family lived by itself, and took care of itself. There +were thirty families, but we got no strength from one another. We were +in fear of each other all the time. No one ever paid visits. In the top +of our tree we built a grass house, and on the platform outside was a +pile of rocks, which were for the heads of any that might chance to try +to visit us. Also, we had our spears and arrows. We never walked under +the trees of the other families, either. My brother did, once, under old +Boo-oogh’s tree, and he got his head broken and that was the end of him. + +“Old Boo-oogh was very strong. It was said he could pull a grown man’s +head right off. I never heard of him doing it, because no man would give +him a chance. Father wouldn’t. One day, when father was down on the +beach, Boo-oogh took after mother. She couldn’t run fast, for the day +before she had got her leg clawed by a bear when she was up on the +mountain gathering berries. So Boo-oogh caught her and carried her up +into his tree. Father never got her back. He was afraid. Old Boo-oogh +made faces at him. + +“But father did not mind. Strong-Arm was another strong man. He was one +of the best fishermen. But one day, climbing after sea-gull eggs, he had +a fall from the cliff. He was never strong after that. He coughed a +great deal, and his shoulders drew near to each other. So father took +Strong-Arm’s wife. When he came around and coughed under our tree, +father laughed at him and threw rocks at him. It was our way in those +days. We did not know how to add strength together and become strong.” + +“Would a brother take a brother’s wife?” Deer-Runner demanded. + +“Yes, if he had gone to live in another tree by himself.” + +“But we do not do such things now,” Afraid-of-the-Dark objected. + +“It is because I have taught your fathers better.” Long-Beard thrust his +hairy paw into the bear meat and drew out a handful of suet, which he +sucked with a meditative air. Again he wiped his hands on his naked +sides and went on. “What I am telling you happened in the long ago, +before we knew any better.” + +“You must have been fools not to know better,” was Deer-Runner’s comment, +Yellow-Head grunting approval. + +“So we were, but we became bigger fools, as you shall see. Still, we did +learn better, and this was the way of it. We Fish-Eaters had not learned +to add our strength until our strength was the strength of all of us. +But the Meat-Eaters, who lived across the divide in the Big Valley, stood +together, hunted together, fished together, and fought together. One day +they came into our valley. Each family of us got into its own cave and +tree. There were only ten Meat-Eaters, but they fought together, and we +fought, each family by itself.” + +Long-Beard counted long and perplexedly on his fingers. + +“There were sixty men of us,” was what he managed to say with fingers and +lips combined. “And we were very strong, only we did not know it. So we +watched the ten men attack Boo-oogh’s tree. He made a good fight, but he +had no chance. We looked on. When some of the Meat-Eaters tried to +climb the tree, Boo-oogh had to show himself in order to drop stones on +their heads, whereupon the other Meat-Eaters, who were waiting for that +very thing, shot him full of arrows. And that was the end of Boo-oogh. + +“Next, the Meat-Eaters got One-Eye and his family in his cave. They +built a fire in the mouth and smoked him out, like we smoked out the bear +there to-day. Then they went after Six-Fingers, up his tree, and, while +they were killing him and his grown son, the rest of us ran away. They +caught some of our women, and killed two old men who could not run fast +and several children. The women they carried away with them to the Big +Valley. + +“After that the rest of us crept back, and, somehow, perhaps because we +were in fear and felt the need for one another, we talked the thing over. +It was our first council—our first real council. And in that council we +formed our first tribe. For we had learned the lesson. Of the ten +Meat-Eaters, each man had had the strength of ten, for the ten had fought +as one man. They had added their strength together. But of the thirty +families and the sixty men of us, we had had the strength of but one man, +for each had fought alone. + +“It was a great talk we had, and it was hard talk, for we did not have +the words then as now with which to talk. The Bug made some of the words +long afterward, and so did others of us make words from time to time. +But in the end we agreed to add our strength together and to be as one +man when the Meat-Eaters came over the divide to steal our women. And +that was the tribe. + +“We set two men on the divide, one for the day and one for the night, to +watch if the Meat-Eaters came. These were the eyes of the tribe. Then, +also, day and night, there were to be ten men awake with their clubs and +spears and arrows in their hands, ready to fight. Before, when a man +went after fish, or clams, or gull-eggs, he carried his weapons with him, +and half the time he was getting food and half the time watching for fear +some other man would get him. Now that was all changed. The men went +out without their weapons and spent all their time getting food. +Likewise, when the women went into the mountains after roots and berries, +five of the ten men went with them to guard them. While all the time, +day and night, the eyes of the tribe watched from the top of the divide. + +“But troubles came. As usual, it was about the women. Men without wives +wanted other men’s wives, and there was much fighting between men, and +now and again one got his head smashed or a spear through his body. +While one of the watchers was on top of the divide, another man stole his +wife, and he came down to fight. Then the other watcher was in fear that +some one would take his wife, and he came down likewise. Also, there was +trouble among the ten men who carried always their weapons, and they +fought five against five, till some ran away down the coast and the +others ran after them. + +“So it was that the tribe was left without eyes or guards. We had not +the strength of sixty. We had no strength at all. So we held a council +and made our first laws. I was but a cub at the time, but I remember. +We said that, in order to be strong, we must not fight one another, and +we made a law that when a man killed another him would the tribe kill. +We made another law that whoso stole another man’s wife him would the +tribe kill. We said that whatever man had too great strength, and by +that strength hurt his brothers in the tribe, him would we kill that his +strength might hurt no more. For, if we let his strength hurt, the +brothers would become afraid and the tribe would fall apart, and we would +be as weak as when the Meat-Eaters first came upon us and killed +Boo-oogh. + +“Knuckle-Bone was a strong man, a very strong man, and he knew not law. +He knew only his own strength, and in the fullness thereof he went forth +and took the wife of Three-Clams. Three-Clams tried to fight, but +Knuckle-Bone clubbed out his brains. Yet had Knuckle-Bone forgotten that +all the men of us had added our strength to keep the law among us, and +him we killed, at the foot of his tree, and hung his body on a branch as +a warning that the law was stronger than any man. For we were the law, +all of us, and no man was greater than the law. + +“Then there were other troubles, for know, O Deer-Runner, and +Yellow-Head, and Afraid-of-the-Dark, that it is not easy to make a tribe. +There were many things, little things, that it was a great trouble to +call all the men together to have a council about. We were having +councils morning, noon, and night, and in the middle of the night. We +could find little time to go out and get food, because of the councils, +for there was always some little thing to be settled, such as naming two +new watchers to take the place of the old ones on the hill, or naming how +much food should fall to the share of the men who kept their weapons +always in their hands and got no food for themselves. + +“We stood in need of a chief man to do these things, who would be the +voice of the council, and who would account to the council for the things +he did. So we named Fith-Fith the chief man. He was a strong man, too, +and very cunning, and when he was angry he made noises just like that, +_fith-fith_, like a wild-cat. + +“The ten men who guarded the tribe were set to work making a wall of +stones across the narrow part of the valley. The women and large +children helped, as did other men, until the wall was strong. After +that, all the families came down out of their caves and trees and built +grass houses behind the shelter of the wall. These houses were large and +much better than the caves and trees, and everybody had a better time of +it because the men had added their strength together and become a tribe. +Because of the wall and the guards and the watchers, there was more time +to hunt and fish and pick roots and berries; there was more food, and +better food, and no one went hungry. And Three-Legs, so named because +his legs had been smashed when a boy and who walked with a +stick—Three-Legs got the seed of the wild corn and planted it in the +ground in the valley near his house. Also, he tried planting fat roots +and other things he found in the mountain valleys. + +“Because of the safety in the Sea Valley, which was because of the wall +and the watchers and the guards, and because there was food in plenty for +all without having to fight for it, many families came in from the coast +valleys on both sides and from the high back mountains where they had +lived more like wild animals than men. And it was not long before the +Sea Valley filled up, and in it were countless families. But, before +this happened, the land, which had been free to all and belonged to all, +was divided up. Three-Legs began it when he planted corn. But most of +us did not care about the land. We thought the marking of the boundaries +with fences of stone was a foolishness. We had plenty to eat, and what +more did we want? I remember that my father and I built stone fences for +Three-Legs and were given corn in return. + +“So only a few got all the land, and Three-Legs got most of it. Also, +others that had taken land gave it to the few that held on, being paid in +return with corn and fat roots, and bear-skins, and fishes which the +farmers got from the fishermen in exchange for corn. And, the first +thing we knew, all the land was gone. + +“It was about this time that Fith-Fith died and Dog-Tooth, his son, was +made chief. He demanded to be made chief anyway, because his father had +been chief before him. Also, he looked upon himself as a greater chief +than his father. He was a good chief at first, and worked hard, so that +the council had less and less to do. Then arose a new voice in the Sea +Valley. It was Twisted-Lip. We had never thought much of him, until he +began to talk with the spirits of the dead. Later we called him Big-Fat, +because he ate over-much, and did no work, and grew round and large. One +day Big-Fat told us that the secrets of the dead were his, and that he +was the voice of God. He became great friends with Dog-Tooth, who +commanded that we should build Big-Fat a grass house. And Big-Fat put +taboos all around this house and kept God inside. + +“More and more Dog-Tooth became greater than the council, and when the +council grumbled and said it would name a new chief, Big-Fat spoke with +the voice of God and said no. Also, Three-Legs and the others who held +the land stood behind Dog-Tooth. Moreover, the strongest man in the +council was Sea-Lion, and him the land-owners gave land to secretly, +along with many bearskins and baskets of corn. So Sea-Lion said that +Big-Fat’s voice was truly the voice of God and must be obeyed. And soon +afterward Sea-Lion was named the voice of Dog-Tooth and did most of his +talking for him. + +“Then there was Little-Belly, a little man, so thin in the middle that he +looked as if he had never had enough to eat. Inside the mouth of the +river, after the sand-bar had combed the strength of the breakers, he +built a big fish-trap. No man had ever seen or dreamed a fish-trap +before. He worked weeks on it, with his son and his wife, while the rest +of us laughed at their labours. But, when it was done, the first day he +caught more fish in it than could the whole tribe in a week, whereat +there was great rejoicing. There was only one other place in the river +for a fish-trap, but, when my father and I and a dozen other men started +to make a very large trap, the guards came from the big grass-house we +had built for Dog-Tooth. And the guards poked us with their spears and +told us begone, because Little-Belly was going to build a trap there +himself on the word of Sea-Lion, who was the voice of Dog-Tooth. + +“There was much grumbling, and my father called a council. But, when he +rose to speak, him the Sea-Lion thrust through the throat with a spear +and he died. And Dog-Tooth and Little-Belly, and Three-Legs and all that +held land said it was good. And Big-Fat said it was the will of God. +And after that all men were afraid to stand up in the council, and there +was no more council. + +“Another man, Pig-Jaw, began to keep goats. He had heard about it as +among the Meat-Eaters, and it was not long before he had many flocks. +Other men, who had no land and no fish-traps, and who else would have +gone hungry, were glad to work for Pig-Jaw, caring for his goats, +guarding them from wild dogs and tigers, and driving them to the feeding +pastures in the mountains. In return, Pig-Jaw gave them goat-meat to eat +and goat-skins to wear, and sometimes they traded the goat-meat for fish +and corn and fat roots. + +“It was this time that money came to be. Sea-Lion was the man who first +thought of it, and he talked it over with Dog-Tooth and Big-Fat. You +see, these three were the ones that got a share of everything in the Sea +Valley. One basket out of every three of corn was theirs, one fish out +of every three, one goat out of every three. In return, they fed the +guards and the watchers, and kept the rest for themselves. Sometimes, +when a big haul of fish was made they did not know what to do with all +their share. So Sea-Lion set the women to making money out of +shell—little round pieces, with a hole in each one, and all made smooth +and fine. These were strung on strings, and the strings were called +money. + +“Each string was of the value of thirty fish, or forty fish, but the +women, who made a string a day, were given two fish each. The fish came +out of the shares of Dog-Tooth, Big-Fat, and Sea-Lion, which they three +did not eat. So all the money belonged to them. Then they told +Three-Legs and the other land-owners that they would take their share of +corn and roots in money, Little-Belly that they would take their share of +fish in money, Pig-Jaw that they would take their share of goats and +cheese in money. Thus, a man who had nothing, worked for one who had, +and was paid in money. With this money he bought corn, and fish, and +meat, and cheese. And Three-Legs and all owners of things paid Dog-Tooth +and Sea-Lion and Big-Fat their share in money. And they paid the guards +and watchers in money, and the guards and watchers bought their food with +the money. And, because money was cheap, Dog-Tooth made many more men +into guards. And, because money was cheap to make, a number of men began +to make money out of shell themselves. But the guards stuck spears in +them and shot them full of arrows, because they were trying to break up +the tribe. It was bad to break up the tribe, for then the Meat-Eaters +would come over the divide and kill them all. + +“Big-Fat was the voice of God, but he took Broken-Rib and made him into a +priest, so that he became the voice of Big-Fat and did most of his +talking for him. And both had other men to be servants to them. So, +also, did Little-Belly and Three-Legs and Pig-Jaw have other men to lie +in the sun about their grass houses and carry messages for them and give +commands. And more and more were men taken away from work, so that those +that were left worked harder than ever before. It seemed that men +desired to do no work and strove to seek out other ways whereby men +should work for them. Crooked-Eyes found such a way. He made the first +fire-brew out of corn. And thereafter he worked no more, for he talked +secretly with Dog-Tooth and Big-Fat and the other masters, and it was +agreed that he should be the only one to make fire-brew. But +Crooked-Eyes did no work himself. Men made the brew for him, and he paid +them in money. Then he sold the fire-brew for money, and all men bought. +And many strings of money did he give Dog-Tooth and Sea-Lion and all of +them. + +“Big-Fat and Broken-Rib stood by Dog-Tooth when he took his second wife, +and his third wife. They said Dog-Tooth was different from other men and +second only to God that Big-Fat kept in his taboo house, and Dog-Tooth +said so, too, and wanted to know who were they to grumble about how many +wives he took. Dog-Tooth had a big canoe made, and, many more men he +took from work, who did nothing and lay in the sun, save only when +Dog-Tooth went in the canoe, when they paddled for him. And he made +Tiger-Face head man over all the guards, so that Tiger-Face became his +right arm, and when he did not like a man Tiger-Face killed that man for +him. And Tiger-Face, also, made another man to be his right arm, and to +give commands, and to kill for him. + +“But this was the strange thing: as the days went by we who were left +worked harder and harder, and yet did we get less and less to eat.” + +“But what of the goats and the corn and the fat roots and the fish-trap?” +spoke up Afraid-of-the-Dark, “what of all this? Was there not more food +to be gained by man’s work?” + +“It is so,” Long-Beard agreed. “Three men on the fish-trap got more fish +than the whole tribe before there was a fish-trap. But have I not said +we were fools? The more food we were able to get, the less food did we +have to eat.” + +“But was it not plain that the many men who did not work ate it all up?” +Yellow-Head demanded. + +Long-Beard nodded his head sadly. + +“Dog-Tooth’s dogs were stuffed with meat, and the men who lay in the sun +and did no work were rolling in fat, and, at the same time, there were +little children crying themselves to sleep with hunger biting them with +every wail.” + +Deer-Runner was spurred by the recital of famine to tear out a chunk of +bear-meat and broil it on a stick over the coals. This he devoured with +smacking lips, while Long-Beard went on: + +“When we grumbled Big-Fat arose, and with the voice of God said that God +had chosen the wise men to own the land and the goats and the fish-trap, +and the fire-brew, and that without these wise men we would all be +animals, as in the days when we lived in trees. + +“And there arose one who became a singer of songs for the king. Him they +called the Bug, because he was small and ungainly of face and limb and +excelled not in work or deed. He loved the fattest marrow bones, the +choicest fish, the milk warm from the goats, the first corn that was +ripe, and the snug place by the fire. And thus, becoming singer of songs +to the king, he found a way to do nothing and be fat. And when the +people grumbled more and more, and some threw stones at the king’s grass +house, the Bug sang a song of how good it was to be a Fish-Eater. In his +song he told that the Fish-Eaters were the chosen of God and the finest +men God had made. He sang of the Meat-Eaters as pigs and crows, and sang +how fine and good it was for the Fish-Eaters to fight and die doing God’s +work, which was the killing of Meat-Eaters. The words of his song were +like fire in us, and we clamoured to be led against the Meat-Eaters. And +we forgot that we were hungry, and why we had grumbled, and were glad to +be led by Tiger-Face over the divide, where we killed many Meat-Eaters +and were content. + +“But things were no better in the Sea Valley. The only way to get food +was to work for Three-Legs or Little-Belly or Pig-Jaw; for there was no +land that a man might plant with corn for himself. And often there were +more men than Three-Legs and the others had work for. So these men went +hungry, and so did their wives and children and their old mothers. +Tiger-Face said they could become guards if they wanted to, and many of +them did, and thereafter they did no work except to poke spears in the +men who did work and who grumbled at feeding so many idlers. + +“And when we grumbled, ever the Bug sang new songs. He said that +Three-Legs and Pig-Jaw and the rest were strong men, and that that was +why they had so much. He said that we should be glad to have strong men +with us, else would we perish of our own worthlessness and the +Meat-Eaters. Therefore, we should be glad to let such strong men have +all they could lay hands on. And Big-Fat and Pig-Jaw and Tiger-Face and +all the rest said it was true. + +“‘All right,’ said Long-Fang, ‘then will I, too, be a strong man.’ And +he got himself corn, and began to make fire-brew and sell it for strings +of money. And, when Crooked-Eyes complained, Long-Fang said that he was +himself a strong man, and that if Crooked-Eyes made any more noise he +would bash his brains out for him. Whereat Crooked-Eyes was afraid and +went and talked with Three-Legs and Pig-Jaw. And all three went and +talked to Dog-Tooth. And Dog-Tooth spoke to Sea-Lion, and Sea-Lion sent +a runner with a message to Tiger-Face. And Tiger-Face sent his guards, +who burned Long-Fang’s house along with the fire-brew he had made. Also, +they killed him and all his family. And Big-Fat said it was good, and +the Bug sang another song about how good it was to observe the law, and +what a fine land the Sea Valley was, and how every man who loved the Sea +Valley should go forth and kill the bad Meat-Eaters. And again his song +was as fire to us, and we forgot to grumble. + +“It was very strange. When Little-Belly caught too many fish, so that it +took a great many to sell for a little money, he threw many of the fish +back into the sea, so that more money would be paid for what was left. +And Three-Legs often let many large fields lie idle so as to get more +money for his corn. And the women, making so much money out of shell +that much money was needed to buy with, Dog-Tooth stopped the making of +money. And the women had no work, so they took the places of the men. I +worked on the fish-trap, getting a string of money every five days. But +my sister now did my work, getting a string of money for every ten days. +The women worked cheaper, and there was less food, and Tiger-Face said we +should become guards. Only I could not become a guard because I was lame +of one leg and Tiger-Face would not have me. And there were many like +me. We were broken men and only fit to beg for work or to take care of +the babies while the women worked.” + +Yellow-Head, too, was made hungry by the recital and broiled a piece of +bear-meat on the coals. + +“But why didn’t you rise up, all of you, and kill Three-Legs and Pig-Jaw +and Big-Fat and the rest and get enough to eat?” Afraid-in-the-Dark +demanded. + +“Because we could not understand,” Long-Beard answered. “There was too +much to think about, and, also, there were the guards sticking spears +into us, and Big-Fat talking about God, and the Bug singing new songs. +And when any man did think right, and said so, Tiger-Face and the guards +got him, and he was tied out to the rocks at low tide so that the rising +waters drowned him. + +“It was a strange thing—the money. It was like the Bug’s songs. It +seemed all right, but it wasn’t, and we were slow to understand. +Dog-Tooth began to gather the money in. He put it in a big pile, in a +grass house, with guards to watch it day and night. And the more money +he piled in the house the dearer money became, so that a man worked a +longer time for a string of money than before. Then, too, there was +always talk of war with the Meat-Eaters, and Dog-Tooth and Tiger-Face +filled many houses with corn, and dried fish, and smoked goat-meat, and +cheese. And with the food, piled there in mountains the people had not +enough to eat. But what did it matter? Whenever the people grumbled too +loudly the Bug sang a new song, and Big-Fat said it was God’s word that +we should kill Meat-Eaters, and Tiger-Face led us over the divide to kill +and be killed. I was not good enough to be a guard and lie fat in the +sun, but, when we made war, Tiger-Face was glad to take me along. And +when we had eaten, all the food stored in the houses we stopped fighting +and went back to work to pile up more food.” + +“Then were you all crazy,” commented Deer-Runner. + +“Then were we indeed all crazy,” Long-Beard agreed. “It was strange, all +of it. There was Split-Nose. He said everything was wrong. He said it +was true that we grew strong by adding our strength together. And he +said that, when we first formed the tribe, it was right that the men +whose strength hurt the tribe should be shorn of their strength—men who +bashed their brothers’ heads and stole their brothers’ wives. And now, +he said, the tribe was not getting stronger, but was getting weaker, +because there were men with another kind of strength that were hurting +the tribe—men who had the strength of the land, like Three-Legs; who had +the strength of the fish-trap, like Little-Belly; who had the strength of +all the goat-meat, like Pig-Jaw. The thing to do, Split-Nose said, was +to shear these men of their evil strength; to make them go to work, all +of them, and to let no man eat who did not work. + +“And the Bug sang another song about men like Split-Nose, who wanted to +go back, and live in trees. + +“Yet Split-Nose said no; that he did not want to go back, but ahead; that +they grew strong only as they added their strength together; and that, if +the Fish-Eaters would add their strength to the Meat-Eaters, there would +be no more fighting and no more watchers and no more guards, and that, +with all men working, there would be so much food that each man would +have to work not more than two hours a day. + +“Then the Bug sang again, and he sang that Split-Nose was lazy, and he +sang also the ‘Song of the Bees.’ It was a strange song, and those who +listened were made mad, as from the drinking of strong fire-brew. The +song was of a swarm of bees, and of a robber wasp who had come in to live +with the bees and who was stealing all their honey. The wasp was lazy +and told them there was no need to work; also, he told them to make +friends with the bears, who were not honey-stealers but only very good +friends. And the Bug sang in crooked words, so that those who listened +knew that the swarm was the Sea Valley tribe, that the bears were the +Meat-Eaters, and that the lazy wasp was Split-Nose. And when the Bug +sang that the bees listened to the wasp till the swarm was near to +perishing, the people growled and snarled, and when the Bug sang that at +last the good bees arose and stung the wasp to death, the people picked +up stones from the ground and stoned Split-Nose to death till there was +naught to be seen of him but the heap of stones they had flung on top of +him. And there were many poor people who worked long and hard and had +not enough to eat that helped throw the stones on Split-Nose. + +“And, after the death of Split-Nose, there was but one other man that +dared rise up and speak his mind, and that man was Hair-Face. ‘Where is +the strength of the strong?’ he asked. ‘We are the strong, all of us, +and we are stronger than Dog-Tooth and Tiger-Face and Three-Legs and +Pig-Jaw and all the rest who do nothing and eat much and weaken us by the +hurt of their strength which is bad strength. Men who are slaves are not +strong. If the man who first found the virtue and use of fire had used +his strength we would have been his slaves, as we are the slaves to-day +of Little-Belly, who found the virtue and use of the fish-trap; and of +the men who found the virtue and use of the land, and the goats, and the +fire-brew. Before, we lived in trees, my brothers, and no man was safe. +But we fight no more with one another. We have added our strength +together. Then let us fight no more with the Meat-Eaters. Let us add +our strength and their strength together. Then will we be indeed strong. +And then we will go out together, the Fish-Eaters and the Meat-Eaters, +and we will kill the tigers and the lions and the wolves and the wild +dogs, and we will pasture our goats on all the hill-sides and plant our +corn and fat roots in all the high mountain valleys. In that day we will +be so strong that all the wild animals will flee before us and perish. +And nothing will withstand us, for the strength of each man will be the +strength of all men in the world.’ + +“So said Hair-Face, and they killed him, because, they said, he was a +wild man and wanted to go back and live in a tree. It was very strange. +Whenever a man arose and wanted to go forward all those that stood still +said he went backward and should be killed. And the poor people helped +stone him, and were fools. We were all fools, except those who were fat +and did no work. The fools were called wise, and the wise were stoned. +Men who worked did not get enough to eat, and the men who did not work +ate too much. + +“And the tribe went on losing strength. The children were weak and +sickly. And, because we ate not enough, strange sicknesses came among us +and we died like flies. And then the Meat-Eaters came upon us. We had +followed Tiger-Face too often over the divide and killed them. And now +they came to repay in blood. We were too weak and sick to man the big +wall. And they killed us, all of us, except some of the women, which +they took away with them. The Bug and I escaped, and I hid in the +wildest places, and became a hunter of meat and went hungry no more. I +stole a wife from the Meat-Eaters, and went to live in the caves of the +high mountains where they could not find me. And we had three sons, and +each son stole a wife from the Meat-Eaters. And the rest you know, for +are you not the sons of my sons?” + +“But the Bug?” queried Deer-Runner. “What became of him?” + +“He went to live with the Meat-Eaters and to be a singer of songs to the +king. He is an old man now, but he sings the same old songs; and, when a +man rises up to go forward, he sings that that man is walking backward to +live in a tree.” + +Long-Beard dipped into the bear-carcass and sucked with toothless gums at +a fist of suet. + +“Some day,” he said, wiping his hands on his sides, “all the fools will +be dead and then all live men will go forward. The strength of the +strong will be theirs, and they will add their strength together, so +that, of all the men in the world, not one will fight with another. +There will be no guards nor watchers on the walls. And all the hunting +animals will be killed, and, as Hair-Face said, all the hill-sides will +be pastured with goats and all the high mountain valleys will be planted +with corn and fat roots. And all men will be brothers, and no man will +lie idle in the sun and be fed by his fellows. And all that will come to +pass in the time when the fools are dead, and when there will be no more +singers to stand still and sing the ‘Song of the Bees.’ Bees are not +men.” + + + + +SOUTH OF THE SLOT + + +OLD San Francisco, which is the San Francisco of only the other day, the +day before the Earthquake, was divided midway by the Slot. The Slot was +an iron crack that ran along the centre of Market Street, and from the +Slot arose the burr of the ceaseless, endless cable that was hitched at +will to the cars it dragged up and down. In truth, there were two slots, +but in the quick grammar of the West time was saved by calling them, and +much more that they stood for, “The Slot.” North of the Slot were the +theatres, hotels, and shopping district, the banks and the staid, +respectable business houses. South of the Slot were the factories, +slums, laundries, machine-shops, boiler works, and the abodes of the +working class. + +The Slot was the metaphor that expressed the class cleavage of Society, +and no man crossed this metaphor, back and forth, more successfully than +Freddie Drummond. He made a practice of living in both worlds, and in +both worlds he lived signally well. Freddie Drummond was a professor in +the Sociology Department of the University of California, and it was as a +professor of sociology that he first crossed over the Slot, lived for six +mouths in the great labour-ghetto, and wrote _The Unskilled Labourer_—a +book that was hailed everywhere as an able contribution to the literature +of progress, and as a splendid reply to the literature of discontent. +Politically and economically it was nothing if not orthodox. Presidents +of great railway systems bought whole editions of it to give to their +employees. The Manufacturers’ Association alone distributed fifty +thousand copies of it. In a way, it was almost as immoral as the +far-famed and notorious _Message to Garcia_, while in its pernicious +preachment of thrift and content it ran _Mr. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch_ +a close second. + +At first, Freddie Drummond found it monstrously difficult to get along +among the working people. He was not used to their ways, and they +certainly were not used to his. They were suspicious. He had no +antecedents. He could talk of no previous jobs. His hands were soft. +His extraordinary politeness was ominous. His first idea of the rôle he +would play was that of a free and independent American who chose to work +with his hands and no explanations given. But it wouldn’t do, as he +quickly discovered. At the beginning they accepted him, very +provisionally, as a freak. A little later, as he began to know his way +about better, he insensibly drifted into the rôle that would work—namely, +he was a man who had seen better days, very much better days, but who was +down on his luck, though, to be sure, only temporarily. + +He learned many things, and generalized much and often erroneously, all +of which can be found in the pages of _The Unskilled Labourer_. He saved +himself, however, after the sane and conservative manner of his kind, by +labelling his generalizations as “tentative.” One of his first +experiences was in the great Wilmax Cannery, where he was put on +piece-work making small packing cases. A box factory supplied the parts, +and all Freddie Drummond had to do was to fit the parts into a form and +drive in the wire nails with a light hammer. + +It was not skilled labour, but it was piece-work. The ordinary labourers +in the cannery got a dollar and a half per day. Freddie Drummond found +the other men on the same job with him jogging along and earning a dollar +and seventy-five cents a day. By the third day he was able to earn the +same. But he was ambitious. He did not care to jog along and, being +unusually able and fit, on the fourth day earned two dollars. + +The next day, having keyed himself up to an exhausting high-tension, he +earned two dollars and a half. His fellow workers favoured him with +scowls and black looks, and made remarks, slangily witty and which he did +not understand, about sucking up to the boss and pace-making and holding +her down, when the rains set in. He was astonished at their malingering +on piece-work, generalized about the inherent laziness of the unskilled +labourer, and proceeded next day to hammer out three dollars’ worth of +boxes. + +And that night, coming out of the cannery, he was interviewed by his +fellow workmen, who were very angry and incoherently slangy. He failed +to comprehend the motive behind their action. The action itself was +strenuous. When he refused to ease down his pace and bleated about +freedom of contract, independent Americanism, and the dignity of toil, +they proceeded to spoil his pace-making ability. It was a fierce battle, +for Drummond was a large man and an athlete, but the crowd finally jumped +on his ribs, walked on his face, and stamped on his fingers, so that it +was only after lying in bed for a week that he was able to get up and +look for another job. All of which is duly narrated in that first book +of his, in the chapter entitled “The Tyranny of Labour.” + +A little later, in another department of the Wilmax Cannery, lumping as a +fruit-distributor among the women, he essayed to carry two boxes of fruit +at a time, and was promptly reproached by the other fruit-lumpers. It +was palpable malingering; but he was there, he decided, not to change +conditions, but to observe. So he lumped one box thereafter, and so well +did he study the art of shirking that he wrote a special chapter on it, +with the last several paragraphs devoted to tentative generalizations. + +In those six months he worked at many jobs and developed into a very good +imitation of a genuine worker. He was a natural linguist, and he kept +notebooks, making a scientific study of the workers’ slang or argot, +until he could talk quite intelligibly. This language also enabled him +more intimately to follow their mental processes, and thereby to gather +much data for a projected chapter in some future book which he planned to +entitle _Synthesis of Working-Class Psychology_. + +Before he arose to the surface from that first plunge into the underworld +he discovered that he was a good actor and demonstrated the plasticity of +his nature. He was himself astonished at his own fluidity. Once having +mastered the language and conquered numerous fastidious qualms, he found +that he could flow into any nook of working-class life and fit it so +snugly as to feel comfortably at home. As he said, in the preface to his +second book, _The Toiler_, he endeavoured really to know the working +people, and the only possible way to achieve this was to work beside +them, eat their food, sleep in their beds, be amused with their +amusements, think their thoughts, and feel their feeling. + +He was not a deep thinker. He had no faith in new theories. All his +norms and criteria were conventional. His Thesis on the French +Revolution was noteworthy in college annals, not merely for its +painstaking and voluminous accuracy, but for the fact that it was the +dryest, deadest, most formal, and most orthodox screed ever written on +the subject. He was a very reserved man, and his natural inhibition was +large in quantity and steel-like in quality. He had but few friends. He +was too undemonstrative, too frigid. He had no vices, nor had any one +ever discovered any temptations. Tobacco he detested, beer he abhorred, +and he was never known to drink anything stronger than an occasional +light wine at dinner. + +When a freshman he had been baptized “Ice-Box” by his warmer-blooded +fellows. As a member of the faculty he was known as “Cold-Storage.” He +had but one grief, and that was “Freddie.” He had earned it when he +played full-back in the ‘Varsity eleven, and his formal soul had never +succeeded in living it down. “Freddie” he would ever be, except +officially, and through nightmare vistas he looked into a future when his +world would speak of him as “Old Freddie.” + +For he was very young to be a doctor of sociology, only twenty-seven, and +he looked younger. In appearance and atmosphere he was a strapping big +college man, smooth-faced and easy-mannered, clean and simple and +wholesome, with a known record of being a splendid athlete and an implied +vast possession of cold culture of the inhibited sort. He never talked +shop out of class and committee rooms, except later on, when his books +showered him with distasteful public notice and he yielded to the extent +of reading occasional papers before certain literary and economic +societies. + +He did everything right—too right; and in dress and comportment was +inevitably correct. Not that he was a dandy. Far from it. He was a +college man, in dress and carriage as like as a pea to the type that of +late years is being so generously turned out of our institutions of +higher learning. His handshake was satisfyingly strong and stiff. His +blue eyes were coldly blue and convincingly sincere. His voice, firm and +masculine, clean and crisp of enunciation, was pleasant to the ear. The +one drawback to Freddie Drummond was his inhibition. He never unbent. +In his football days, the higher the tension of the game, the cooler he +grew. He was noted as a boxer, but he was regarded as an automaton, with +the inhuman precision of a machine judging distance and timing blows, +guarding, blocking, and stalling. He was rarely punished himself, while +he rarely punished an opponent. He was too clever and too controlled to +permit himself to put a pound more weight into a punch than he intended. +With him it was a matter of exercise. It kept him fit. + +As time went by, Freddie Drummond found himself more frequently crossing +the Slot and losing himself in South of Market. His summer and winter +holidays were spent there, and, whether it was a week or a week-end, he +found the time spent there to be valuable and enjoyable. And there was +so much material to be gathered. His third book, _Mass and Master_, +became a text-book in the American universities; and almost before he +knew it, he was at work on a fourth one, _The Fallacy of the +Inefficient_. + +Somewhere in his make-up there was a strange twist or quirk. Perhaps it +was a recoil from his environment and training, or from the tempered seed +of his ancestors, who had been book-men generation preceding generation; +but at any rate, he found enjoyment in being down in the working-class +world. In his own world he was “Cold-Storage,” but down below he was +“Big” Bill Totts, who could drink and smoke, and slang and fight, and be +an all-round favourite. Everybody liked Bill, and more than one working +girl made love to him. At first he had been merely a good actor, but as +time went on, simulation became second nature. He no longer played a +part, and he loved sausages, sausages and bacon, than which, in his own +proper sphere, there was nothing more loathsome in the way of food. + +From doing the thing for the need’s sake, he came to doing the thing for +the thing’s sake. He found himself regretting as the time drew near for +him to go back to his lecture-room and his inhibition. And he often +found himself waiting with anticipation for the dreamy time to pass when +he could cross the Slot and cut loose and play the devil. He was not +wicked, but as “Big” Bill Totts he did a myriad things that Freddie +Drummond would never have been permitted to do. Moreover, Freddie +Drummond never would have wanted to do them. That was the strangest part +of his discovery. Freddie Drummond and Bill Totts were two totally +different creatures. The desires and tastes and impulses of each ran +counter to the other’s. Bill Totts could shirk at a job with clear +conscience, while Freddie Drummond condemned shirking as vicious, +criminal, and un-American, and devoted whole chapters to condemnation of +the vice. Freddie Drummond did not care for dancing, but Bill Totts +never missed the nights at the various dancing clubs, such as The +Magnolia, The Western Star, and The Elite; while he won a massive silver +cup, standing thirty inches high, for being the best-sustained character +at the Butchers and Meat Workers’ annual grand masked ball. And Bill +Totts liked the girls and the girls liked him, while Freddie Drummond +enjoyed playing the ascetic in this particular, was open in his +opposition to equal suffrage, and cynically bitter in his secret +condemnation of coeducation. + +Freddie Drummond changed his manners with his dress, and without effort. +When he entered the obscure little room used for his transformation +scenes, he carried himself just a bit too stiffly. He was too erect, his +shoulders were an inch too far back, while his face was grave, almost +harsh, and practically expressionless. But when he emerged in Bill +Totts’ clothes he was another creature. Bill Totts did not slouch, but +somehow his whole form limbered up and became graceful. The very sound +of the voice was changed, and the laugh was loud and hearty, while loose +speech and an occasional oath were as a matter of course on his lips. +Also, Bill Totts was a trifle inclined to late hours, and at times, in +saloons, to be good-naturedly bellicose with other workmen. Then, too, +at Sunday picnics or when coming home from the show, either arm betrayed +a practised familiarity in stealing around girls’ waists, while he +displayed a wit keen and delightful in the flirtatious badinage that was +expected of a good fellow in his class. + +So thoroughly was Bill Totts himself, so thoroughly a workman, a genuine +denizen of South of the Slot, that he was as class-conscious as the +average of his kind, and his hatred for a scab even exceeded that of the +average loyal union man. During the Water Front Strike, Freddie Drummond +was somehow able to stand apart from the unique combination, and, coldly +critical, watch Bill Totts hilariously slug scab longshoremen. For Bill +Totts was a dues-paying member of the Longshoremen Union and had a right +to be indignant with the usurpers of his job. “Big” Bill Totts was so +very big, and so very able, that it was “Big” Bill to the front when +trouble was brewing. From acting outraged feelings, Freddie Drummond, in +the rôle of his other self, came to experience genuine outrage, and it +was only when he returned to the classic atmosphere of the university +that he was able, sanely and conservatively, to generalize upon his +underworld experiences and put them down on paper as a trained +sociologist should. That Bill Totts lacked the perspective to raise him +above class-consciousness Freddie Drummond clearly saw. But Bill Totts +could not see it. When he saw a scab taking his job away, he saw red at +the same time, and little else did he see. It was Freddie Drummond, +irreproachably clothed and comported, seated at his study desk or facing +his class in _Sociology_ 17, who saw Bill Totts, and all around Bill +Totts, and all around the whole scab and union-labour problem and its +relation to the economic welfare of the United States in the struggle for +the world market. Bill Totts really wasn’t able to see beyond the next +meal and the prize-fight the following night at the Gaiety Athletic Club. + +It was while gathering material for _Women and Work_ that Freddie +received his first warning of the danger he was in. He was too +successful at living in both worlds. This strange dualism he had +developed was after all very unstable, and, as he sat in his study and +meditated, he saw that it could not endure. It was really a transition +stage, and if he persisted he saw that he would inevitably have to drop +one world or the other. He could not continue in both. And as he looked +at the row of volumes that graced the upper shelf of his revolving +book-case, his volumes, beginning with his Thesis and ending with _Women +and Work_, he decided that that was the world he would hold to and stick +by. Bill Totts had served his purpose, but he had become a too dangerous +accomplice. Bill Totts would have to cease. + +Freddie Drummond’s fright was due to Mary Condon, President of the +International Glove Workers’ Union No. 974. He had seen her, first, from +the spectators’ gallery, at the annual convention of the Northwest +Federation of Labour, and he had seen her through Bill Totts’ eyes, and +that individual had been most favourably impressed by her. She was not +Freddie Drummond’s sort at all. What if she were a royal-bodied woman, +graceful and sinewy as a panther, with amazing black eyes that could fill +with fire or laughter-love, as the mood might dictate? He detested women +with a too exuberant vitality and a lack of . . . well, of inhibition. +Freddie Drummond accepted the doctrine of evolution because it was quite +universally accepted by college men, and he flatly believed that man had +climbed up the ladder of life out of the weltering muck and mess of lower +and monstrous organic things. But he was a trifle ashamed of this +genealogy, and preferred not to think of it. Wherefore, probably, he +practised his iron inhibition and preached it to others, and preferred +women of his own type, who could shake free of this bestial and +regrettable ancestral line and by discipline and control emphasize the +wideness of the gulf that separated them from what their dim forbears had +been. + +Bill Totts had none of these considerations. He had liked Mary Condon +from the moment his eyes first rested on her in the convention hall, and +he had made it a point, then and there, to find out who she was. The +next time he met her, and quite by accident, was when he was driving an +express waggon for Pat Morrissey. It was in a lodging-house in Mission +Street, where he had been called to take a trunk into storage. The +landlady’s daughter had called him and led him to the little bedroom, the +occupant of which, a glove-maker, had just been removed to hospital. But +Bill did not know this. He stooped, up-ended the trunk, which was a +large one, got it on his shoulder, and struggled to his feet with his +back toward the open door. At that moment he heard a woman’s voice. + +“Belong to the union?” was the question asked. + +“Aw, what’s it to you?” he retorted. “Run along now, an’ git outa my +way. I wanta turn round.” + +The next he know, big as he was, he was whirled half around and sent +reeling backward, the trunk overbalancing him, till he fetched up with a +crash against the wall. He started to swear, but at the same instant +found himself looking into Mary Condon’s flashing, angry eyes. + +“Of course I b’long to the union,” he said. “I was only kiddin’ you.” + +“Where’s your card?” she demanded in businesslike tones. + +“In my pocket. But I can’t git it out now. This trunk’s too damn heavy. +Come on down to the waggon an’ I’ll show it to you.” + +“Put that trunk down,” was the command. + +“What for? I got a card, I’m tellin’ you.” + +“Put it down, that’s all. No scab’s going to handle that trunk. You +ought to be ashamed of yourself, you big coward, scabbing on honest men. +Why don’t you join the union and be a man?” + +Mary Condon’s colour had left her face, and it was apparent that she was +in a rage. + +“To think of a big man like you turning traitor to his class. I suppose +you’re aching to join the militia for a chance to shoot down union +drivers the next strike. You may belong to the militia already, for that +matter. You’re the sort—” + +“Hold on, now, that’s too much!” Bill dropped the trunk to the floor +with a bang, straightened up, and thrust his hand into his inside coat +pocket. “I told you I was only kiddin’. There, look at that.” + +It was a union card properly enough. + +“All right, take it along,” Mary Condon said. “And the next time don’t +kid.” + +Her face relaxed as she noticed the ease with which he got the big trunk +to his shoulder, and her eyes glowed as they glanced over the graceful +massiveness of the man. But Bill did not see that. He was too busy with +the trunk. + +The next time he saw Mary Condon was during the Laundry Strike. The +Laundry Workers, but recently organized, were green at the business, and +had petitioned Mary Condon to engineer the strike. Freddie Drummond had +had an inkling of what was coming, and had sent Bill Totts to join the +union and investigate. Bill’s job was in the wash-room, and the men had +been called out first, that morning, in order to stiffen the courage of +the girls; and Bill chanced to be near the door to the mangle-room when +Mary Condon started to enter. The superintendent, who was both large and +stout, barred her way. He wasn’t going to have his girls called out, and +he’d teach her a lesson to mind her own business. And as Mary tried to +squeeze past him he thrust her back with a fat hand on her shoulder. She +glanced around and saw Bill. + +“Here you, Mr. Totts,” she called. “Lend a hand. I want to get in.” + +Bill experienced a startle of warm surprise. She had remembered his name +from his union card. The next moment the superintendent had been plucked +from the doorway raving about rights under the law, and the girls were +deserting their machines. During the rest of that short and successful +strike, Bill constituted himself Mary Condon’s henchman and messenger, +and when it was over returned to the University to be Freddie Drummond +and to wonder what Bill Totts could see in such a woman. + +Freddie Drummond was entirely safe, but Bill had fallen in love. There +was no getting away from the fact of it, and it was this fact that had +given Freddie Drummond his warning. Well, he had done his work, and his +adventures could cease. There was no need for him to cross the Slot +again. All but the last three chapters of his latest, _Labour Tactics +and Strategy_, was finished, and he had sufficient material on hand +adequately to supply those chapters. + +Another conclusion he arrived at, was that in order to sheet-anchor +himself as Freddie Drummond, closer ties and relations in his own social +nook were necessary. It was time that he was married, anyway, and he was +fully aware that if Freddie Drummond didn’t get married, Bill Totts +assuredly would, and the complications were too awful to contemplate. +And so, enters Catherine Van Vorst. She was a college woman herself, and +her father, the one wealthy member of the faculty, was the head of the +Philosophy Department as well. It would be a wise marriage from every +standpoint, Freddie Drummond concluded when the engagement was +consummated and announced. In appearance cold and reserved, aristocratic +and wholesomely conservative, Catherine Van Vorst, though warm in her +way, possessed an inhibition equal to Drummond’s. + +All seemed well with him, but Freddie Drummond could not quite shake off +the call of the underworld, the lure of the free and open, of the +unhampered, irresponsible life South of the Slot. As the time of his +marriage approached, he felt that he had indeed sowed wild oats, and he +felt, moreover, what a good thing it would be if he could have but one +wild fling more, play the good fellow and the wastrel one last time, ere +he settled down to grey lecture-rooms and sober matrimony. And, further +to tempt him, the very last chapter of _Labour Tactics and Strategy_ +remained unwritten for lack of a trifle more of essential data which he +had neglected to gather. + +So Freddie Drummond went down for the last time as Bill Totts, got his +data, and, unfortunately, encountered Mary Condon. Once more installed +in his study, it was not a pleasant thing to look back upon. It made his +warning doubly imperative. Bill Totts had behaved abominably. Not only +had he met Mary Condon at the Central Labour Council, but he had stopped +at a chop-house with her, on the way home, and treated her to oysters. +And before they parted at her door, his arms had been about her, and he +had kissed her on the lips and kissed her repeatedly. And her last words +in his ear, words uttered softly with a catchy sob in the throat that was +nothing more nor less than a love cry, were “Bill . . . dear, dear Bill.” + +Freddie Drummond shuddered at the recollection. He saw the pit yawning +for him. He was not by nature a polygamist, and he was appalled at the +possibilities of the situation. It would have to be put an end to, and +it would end in one only of two ways: either he must become wholly Bill +Totts and be married to Mary Condon, or he must remain wholly Freddie +Drummond and be married to Catherine Van Vorst. Otherwise, his conduct +would be beneath contempt and horrible. + +In the several months that followed, San Francisco was torn with labour +strife. The unions and the employers’ associations had locked horns with +a determination that looked as if they intended to settle the matter, one +way or the other, for all time. But Freddie Drummond corrected proofs, +lectured classes, and did not budge. He devoted himself to Catherine Van +Vorst, and day by day found more to respect and admire in her—nay, even +to love in her. The Street Car Strike tempted him, but not so severely +as he would have expected; and the great Meat Strike came on and left him +cold. The ghost of Bill Totts had been successfully laid, and Freddie +Drummond with rejuvenescent zeal tackled a brochure, long-planned, on the +topic of “diminishing returns.” + +The wedding was two weeks off, when, one afternoon, in San Francisco, +Catherine Van Vorst picked him up and whisked him away to see a Boys’ +Club, recently instituted by the settlement workers in whom she was +interested. It was her brother’s machine, but they were alone with the +exception of the chauffeur. At the junction with Kearny Street, Market +and Geary Streets intersect like the sides of a sharp-angled letter “V.” +They, in the auto, were coming down Market with the intention of +negotiating the sharp apex and going up Geary. But they did not know +what was coming down Geary, timed by fate to meet them at the apex. +While aware from the papers that the Meat Strike was on and that it was +an exceedingly bitter one, all thought of it at that moment was farthest +from Freddie Drummond’s mind. Was he not seated beside Catherine? And +besides, he was carefully expositing to her his views on settlement +work—views that Bill Totts’ adventures had played a part in formulating. + +Coming down Geary Street were six meat waggons. Beside each scab driver +sat a policeman. Front and rear, and along each side of this procession, +marched a protecting escort of one hundred police. Behind the police +rearguard, at a respectful distance, was an orderly but vociferous mob, +several blocks in length, that congested the street from sidewalk to +sidewalk. The Beef Trust was making an effort to supply the hotels, and, +incidentally, to begin the breaking of the strike. The St. Francis had +already been supplied, at a cost of many broken windows and broken heads, +and the expedition was marching to the relief of the Palace Hotel. + +All unwitting, Drummond sat beside Catherine, talking settlement work, as +the auto, honking methodically and dodging traffic, swung in a wide curve +to get around the apex. A big coal waggon, loaded with lump coal and +drawn by four huge horses, just debouching from Kearny Street as though +to turn down Market, blocked their way. The driver of the waggon seemed +undecided, and the chauffeur, running slow but disregarding some shouted +warning from the crossing policemen, swerved the auto to the left, +violating the traffic rules, in order to pass in front of the waggon. + +At that moment Freddie Drummond discontinued his conversation. Nor did +he resume it again, for the situation was developing with the rapidity of +a transformation scene. He heard the roar of the mob at the rear, and +caught a glimpse of the helmeted police and the lurching meat waggons. +At the same moment, laying on his whip, and standing up to his task, the +coal driver rushed horses and waggon squarely in front of the advancing +procession, pulled the horses up sharply, and put on the big brake. Then +he made his lines fast to the brake-handle and sat down with the air of +one who had stopped to stay. The auto had been brought to a stop, too, +by his big panting leaders which had jammed against it. + +Before the chauffeur could back clear, an old Irishman, driving a rickety +express waggon and lashing his one horse to a gallop, had locked wheels +with the auto. Drummond recognized both horse and waggon, for he had +driven them often himself. The Irishman was Pat Morrissey. On the other +side a brewery waggon was locking with the coal waggon, and an east-bound +Kearny Street car, wildly clanging its gong, the motorman shouting +defiance at the crossing policeman, was dashing forward to complete the +blockade. And waggon after waggon was locking and blocking and adding to +the confusion. The meat waggons halted. The police were trapped. The +roar at the rear increased as the mob came on to the attack, while the +vanguard of the police charged the obstructing waggons. + +“We’re in for it,” Drummond remarked coolly to Catherine. + +“Yes,” she nodded, with equal coolness. “What savages they are.” + +His admiration for her doubled on itself. She was indeed his sort. He +would have been satisfied with her even if she had screamed, and clung to +him, but this—this was magnificent. She sat in that storm centre as +calmly as if it had been no more than a block of carriages at the opera. + +The police were struggling to clear a passage. The driver of the coal +waggon, a big man in shirt sleeves, lighted a pipe and sat smoking. He +glanced down complacently at a captain of police who was raving and +cursing at him, and his only acknowledgment was a shrug of the shoulders. +From the rear arose the rat-rat-tat of clubs on heads and a pandemonium +of cursing, yelling, and shouting. A violent accession of noise +proclaimed that the mob had broken through and was dragging a scab from a +waggon. The police captain reinforced from his vanguard, and the mob at +the rear was repelled. Meanwhile, window after window in the high office +building on the right had been opened, and the class-conscious clerks +were raining a shower of office furniture down on the heads of police and +scabs. Waste-baskets, ink-bottles, paper-weights, type-writers—anything +and everything that came to hand was filling the air. + +A policeman, under orders from his captain, clambered to the lofty seat +of the coal waggon to arrest the driver. And the driver, rising +leisurely and peacefully to meet him, suddenly crumpled him in his arms +and threw him down on top of the captain. The driver was a young giant, +and when he climbed on his load and poised a lump of coal in both hands, +a policeman, who was just scaling the waggon from the side, let go and +dropped back to earth. The captain ordered half-a-dozen of his men to +take the waggon. The teamster, scrambling over the load from side to +side, beat them down with huge lumps of coal. + +The crowd on the sidewalks and the teamsters on the locked waggons roared +encouragement and their own delight. The motorman, smashing helmets with +his controller bar, was beaten into insensibility and dragged from his +platform. The captain of police, beside himself at the repulse of his +men, led the next assault on the coal waggon. A score of police were +swarming up the tall-sided fortress. But the teamster multiplied +himself. At times there were six or eight policemen rolling on the +pavement and under the waggon. Engaged in repulsing an attack on the +rear end of his fortress, the teamster turned about to see the captain +just in the act of stepping on to the seat from the front end. He was +still in the air and in most unstable equilibrium, when the teamster +hurled a thirty-pound lump of coal. It caught the captain fairly on the +chest, and he went over backward, striking on a wheeler’s back, tumbling +on to the ground, and jamming against the rear wheel of the auto. + +Catherine thought he was dead, but he picked himself up and charged back. +She reached out her gloved hand and patted the flank of the snorting, +quivering horse. But Drummond did not notice the action. He had eyes +for nothing save the battle of the coal waggon, while somewhere in his +complicated psychology, one Bill Totts was heaving and straining in an +effort to come to life. Drummond believed in law and order and the +maintenance of the established, but this riotous savage within him would +have none of it. Then, if ever, did Freddie Drummond call upon his iron +inhibition to save him. But it is written that the house divided against +itself must fall. And Freddie Drummond found that he had divided all the +will and force of him with Bill Totts, and between them the entity that +constituted the pair of them was being wrenched in twain. + +Freddie Drummond sat in the auto, quite composed, alongside Catherine Van +Vorst; but looking out of Freddie Drummond’s eyes was Bill Totts, and +somewhere behind those eyes, battling for the control of their mutual +body, were Freddie Drummond the sane and conservative sociologist, and +Bill Totts, the class-conscious and bellicose union working man. It was +Bill Totts, looking out of those eyes, who saw the inevitable end of the +battle on the coal waggon. He saw a policeman gain the top of the load, +a second, and a third. They lurched clumsily on the loose footing, but +their long riot-clubs were out and swinging. One blow caught the +teamster on the head. A second he dodged, receiving it on the shoulder. +For him the game was plainly up. He dashed in suddenly, clutched two +policemen in his arms, and hurled himself a prisoner to the pavement, his +hold never relaxing on his two captors. + +Catherine Van Vorst was sick and faint at sight of the blood and brutal +fighting. But her qualms were vanquished by the sensational and most +unexpected happening that followed. The man beside her emitted an +unearthly and uncultured yell and rose to his feet. She saw him spring +over the front seat, leap to the broad rump of the wheeler, and from +there gain the waggon. His onslaught was like a whirlwind. Before the +bewildered officer on the load could guess the errand of this +conventionally clad but excited-seeming gentleman, he was the recipient +of a punch that arched him back through the air to the pavement. A kick +in the face led an ascending policeman to follow his example. A rush of +three more gained the top and locked with Bill Totts in a gigantic +clinch, during which his scalp was opened up by a club, and coat, vest, +and half his starched shirt were torn from him. But the three policemen +were flung far and wide, and Bill Totts, raining down lumps of coal, held +the fort. + +The captain led gallantly to the attack, but was bowled over by a chunk +of coal that burst on his head in black baptism. The need of the police +was to break the blockade in front before the mob could break in at the +rear, and Bill Totts’ need was to hold the waggon till the mob did break +through. So the battle of the coal went on. + +The crowd had recognized its champion. “Big” Bill, as usual, had come to +the front, and Catherine Van Vorst was bewildered by the cries of “Bill! +O you Bill!” that arose on every hand. Pat Morrissey, on his waggon +seat, was jumping and screaming in an ecstasy, “Eat ’em, Bill! Eat ’em! +Eat ’em alive!” From the sidewalk she heard a woman’s voice cry out, +“Look out, Bill—front end!” Bill took the warning and with well-directed +coal cleared the front end of the waggon of assailants. Catherine Van +Vorst turned her head and saw on the curb of the sidewalk a woman with +vivid colouring and flashing black eyes who was staring with all her soul +at the man who had been Freddie Drummond a few minutes before. + +The windows of the office building became vociferous with applause. A +fresh shower of office chairs and filing cabinets descended. The mob had +broken through on one side the line of waggons, and was advancing, each +segregated policeman the centre of a fighting group. The scabs were torn +from their seats, the traces of the horses cut, and the frightened +animals put in flight. Many policemen crawled under the coal waggon for +safety, while the loose horses, with here and there a policeman on their +backs or struggling at their heads to hold them, surged across the +sidewalk opposite the jam and broke into Market Street. + +Catherine Van Vorst heard the woman’s voice calling in warning. She was +back on the curb again, and crying out— + +“Beat it, Bill! Now’s your time! Beat it!” + +The police for the moment had been swept away. Bill Totts leaped to the +pavement and made his way to the woman on the sidewalk. Catherine Van +Vorst saw her throw her arms around him and kiss him on the lips; and +Catherine Van Vorst watched him curiously as he went on down the +sidewalk, one arm around the woman, both talking and laughing, and he +with a volubility and abandon she could never have dreamed possible. + +The police were back again and clearing the jam while waiting for +reinforcements and new drivers and horses. The mob had done its work and +was scattering, and Catherine Van Vorst, still watching, could see the +man she had known as Freddie Drummond. He towered a head above the +crowd. His arm was still about the woman. And she in the motor-car, +watching, saw the pair cross Market Street, cross the Slot, and disappear +down Third Street into the labour ghetto. + + * * * * * + +In the years that followed no more lectures were given in the University +of California by one Freddie Drummond, and no more books on economics and +the labour question appeared over the name of Frederick A. Drummond. On +the other hand there arose a new labour leader, William Totts by name. +He it was who married Mary Condon, President of the International Glove +Workers’ Union No. 974; and he it was who called the notorious Cooks and +Waiters’ Strike, which, before its successful termination, brought out +with it scores of other unions, among which, of the more remotely allied, +were the Chicken Pickers and the Undertakers. + + + + +THE UNPARALLELED INVASION + + +IT was in the year 1976 that the trouble between the world and China +reached its culmination. It was because of this that the celebration of +the Second Centennial of American Liberty was deferred. Many other plans +of the nations of the earth were twisted and tangled and postponed for +the same reason. The world awoke rather abruptly to its danger; but for +over seventy years, unperceived, affairs had been shaping toward this +very end. + +The year 1904 logically marks the beginning of the development that, +seventy years later, was to bring consternation to the whole world. The +Japanese-Russian War took place in 1904, and the historians of the time +gravely noted it down that that event marked the entrance of Japan into +the comity of nations. What it really did mark was the awakening of +China. This awakening, long expected, had finally been given up. The +Western nations had tried to arouse China, and they had failed. Out of +their native optimism and race-egotism they had therefore concluded that +the task was impossible, that China would never awaken. + +What they had failed to take into account was this: _that between them +and China was no common psychological speech_. Their thought-processes +were radically dissimilar. There was no intimate vocabulary. The +Western mind penetrated the Chinese mind but a short distance when it +found itself in a fathomless maze. The Chinese mind penetrated the +Western mind an equally short distance when it fetched up against a +blank, incomprehensible wall. It was all a matter of language. There +was no way to communicate Western ideas to the Chinese mind. China +remained asleep. The material achievement and progress of the West was a +closed book to her; nor could the West open the book. Back and deep down +on the tie-ribs of consciousness, in the mind, say, of the +English-speaking race, was a capacity to thrill to short, Saxon words; +back and deep down on the tie-ribs of consciousness of the Chinese mind +was a capacity to thrill to its own hieroglyphics; but the Chinese mind +could not thrill to short, Saxon words; nor could the English-speaking +mind thrill to hieroglyphics. The fabrics of their minds were woven from +totally different stuffs. They were mental aliens. And so it was that +Western material achievement and progress made no dent on the rounded +sleep of China. + +Came Japan and her victory over Russia in 1904. Now the Japanese race +was the freak and paradox among Eastern peoples. In some strange way +Japan was receptive to all the West had to offer. Japan swiftly +assimilated the Western ideas, and digested them, and so capably applied +them that she suddenly burst forth, full-panoplied, a world-power. There +is no explaining this peculiar openness of Japan to the alien culture of +the West. As well might be explained any biological sport in the animal +kingdom. + +Having decisively thrashed the great Russian Empire, Japan promptly set +about dreaming a colossal dream of empire for herself. Korea she had +made into a granary and a colony; treaty privileges and vulpine diplomacy +gave her the monopoly of Manchuria. But Japan was not satisfied. She +turned her eyes upon China. There lay a vast territory, and in that +territory were the hugest deposits in the world of iron and coal—the +backbone of industrial civilization. Given natural resources, the other +great factor in industry is labour. In that territory was a population +of 400,000,000 souls—one quarter of the then total population of the +earth. Furthermore, the Chinese were excellent workers, while their +fatalistic philosophy (or religion) and their stolid nervous organization +constituted them splendid soldiers—if they were properly managed. +Needless to say, Japan was prepared to furnish that management. + +But best of all, from the standpoint of Japan, the Chinese was a kindred +race. The baffling enigma of the Chinese character to the West was no +baffling enigma to the Japanese. The Japanese understood as we could +never school ourselves or hope to understand. Their mental processes +were the same. The Japanese thought with the same thought-symbols as did +the Chinese, and they thought in the same peculiar grooves. Into the +Chinese mind the Japanese went on where we were balked by the obstacle of +incomprehension. They took the turning which we could not perceive, +twisted around the obstacle, and were out of sight in the ramifications +of the Chinese mind where we could not follow. They were brothers. Long +ago one had borrowed the other’s written language, and, untold +generations before that, they had diverged from the common Mongol stock. +There had been changes, differentiations brought about by diverse +conditions and infusions of other blood; but down at the bottom of their +beings, twisted into the fibres of them, was a heritage in common, a +sameness in kind that time had not obliterated. + +And so Japan took upon herself the management of China. In the years +immediately following the war with Russia, her agents swarmed over the +Chinese Empire. A thousand miles beyond the last mission station toiled +her engineers and spies, clad as coolies, under the guise of itinerant +merchants or proselytizing Buddhist priests, noting down the horse-power +of every waterfall, the likely sites for factories, the heights of +mountains and passes, the strategic advantages and weaknesses, the wealth +of the farming valleys, the number of bullocks in a district or the +number of labourers that could be collected by forced levies. Never was +there such a census, and it could have been taken by no other people than +the dogged, patient, patriotic Japanese. + +But in a short time secrecy was thrown to the winds. Japan’s officers +reorganized the Chinese army; her drill sergeants made the mediæval +warriors over into twentieth century soldiers, accustomed to all the +modern machinery of war and with a higher average of marksmanship than +the soldiers of any Western nation. The engineers of Japan deepened and +widened the intricate system of canals, built factories and foundries, +netted the empire with telegraphs and telephones, and inaugurated the era +of railroad-building. It was these same protagonists of +machine-civilization that discovered the great oil deposits of Chunsan, +the iron mountains of Whang-Sing, the copper ranges of Chinchi, and they +sank the gas wells of Wow-Wee, that most marvellous reservoir of natural +gas in all the world. + +In China’s councils of empire were the Japanese emissaries. In the ears +of the statesmen whispered the Japanese statesmen. The political +reconstruction of the Empire was due to them. They evicted the scholar +class, which was violently reactionary, and put into office progressive +officials. And in every town and city of the Empire newspapers were +started. Of course, Japanese editors ran the policy of these papers, +which policy they got direct from Tokio. It was these papers that +educated and made progressive the great mass of the population. + +China was at last awake. Where the West had failed, Japan succeeded. +She had transmuted Western culture and achievement into terms that were +intelligible to the Chinese understanding. Japan herself, when she so +suddenly awakened, had astounded the world. But at the time she was only +forty millions strong. China’s awakening, with her four hundred millions +and the scientific advance of the world, was frightfully astounding. She +was the colossus of the nations, and swiftly her voice was heard in no +uncertain tones in the affairs and councils of the nations. Japan egged +her on, and the proud Western peoples listened with respectful ears. + +China’s swift and remarkable rise was due, perhaps more than to anything +else, to the superlative quality of her labour. The Chinese was the +perfect type of industry. He had always been that. For sheer ability to +work no worker in the world could compare with him. Work was the breath +of his nostrils. It was to him what wandering and fighting in far lands +and spiritual adventure had been to other peoples. Liberty, to him, +epitomized itself in access to the means of toil. To till the soil and +labour interminably was all he asked of life and the powers that be. And +the awakening of China had given its vast population not merely free and +unlimited access to the means of toil, but access to the highest and most +scientific machine-means of toil. + +China rejuvenescent! It was but a step to China rampant. She discovered +a new pride in herself and a will of her own. She began to chafe under +the guidance of Japan, but she did not chafe long. On Japan’s advice, in +the beginning, she had expelled from the Empire all Western missionaries, +engineers, drill sergeants, merchants, and teachers. She now began to +expel the similar representatives of Japan. The latter’s advisory +statesmen were showered with honours and decorations, and sent home. The +West had awakened Japan, and, as Japan had then requited the West, Japan +was not requited by China. Japan was thanked for her kindly aid and +flung out bag and baggage by her gigantic protégé. The Western nations +chuckled. Japan’s rainbow dream had gone glimmering. She grew angry. +China laughed at her. The blood and the swords of the Samurai would out, +and Japan rashly went to war. This occurred in 1922, and in seven bloody +months Manchuria, Korea, and Formosa were taken away from her and she was +hurled back, bankrupt, to stifle in her tiny, crowded islands. Exit +Japan from the world drama. Thereafter she devoted herself to art, and +her task became to please the world greatly with her creations of wonder +and beauty. + +Contrary to expectation, China did not prove warlike. She had no +Napoleonic dream, and was content to devote herself to the arts of peace. +After a time of disquiet, the idea was accepted that China was to be +feared, not in war, but in commerce. It will be seen that the real +danger was not apprehended. China went on consummating her +machine-civilization. Instead of a large standing army, she developed an +immensely larger and splendidly efficient militia. Her navy was so small +that it was the laughing stock of the world; nor did she attempt to +strengthen her navy. The treaty ports of the world were never entered by +her visiting battleships. + +The real danger lay in the fecundity of her loins, and it was in 1970 +that the first cry of alarm was raised. For some time all territories +adjacent to China had been grumbling at Chinese immigration; but now it +suddenly came home to the world that China’s population was 500,000,000. +She had increased by a hundred millions since her awakening. Burchaldter +called attention to the fact that there were more Chinese in existence +than white-skinned people. He performed a simple sum in arithmetic. He +added together the populations of the United States, Canada, New Zealand, +Australia, South Africa, England, France, Germany, Italy, Austria, +European Russia, and all Scandinavia. The result was 495,000,000. And +the population of China overtopped this tremendous total by 5,000,000. +Burchaldter’s figures went round the world, and the world shivered. + +For many centuries China’s population had been constant. Her territory +had been saturated with population; that is to say, her territory, with +the primitive method of production, had supported the maximum limit of +population. But when she awoke and inaugurated the machine-civilization, +her productive power had been enormously increased. Thus, on the same +territory, she was able to support a far larger population. At once the +birth rate began to rise and the death rate to fall. Before, when +population pressed against the means of subsistence, the excess +population had been swept away by famine. But now, thanks to the +machine-civilization, China’s means of subsistence had been enormously +extended, and there were no famines; her population followed on the heels +of the increase in the means of subsistence. + +During this time of transition and development of power, China had +entertained no dreams of conquest. The Chinese was not an imperial race. +It was industrious, thrifty, and peace-loving. War was looked upon as an +unpleasant but necessary task that at times must be performed. And so, +while the Western races had squabbled and fought, and world-adventured +against one another, China had calmly gone on working at her machines and +growing. Now she was spilling over the boundaries of her Empire—that was +all, just spilling over into the adjacent territories with all the +certainty and terrifying slow momentum of a glacier. + +Following upon the alarm raised by Burchaldter’s figures, in 1970 France +made a long-threatened stand. French Indo-China had been overrun, filled +up, by Chinese immigrants. France called a halt. The Chinese wave +flowed on. France assembled a force of a hundred thousand on the +boundary between her unfortunate colony and China, and China sent down an +army of militia-soldiers a million strong. Behind came the wives and +sons and daughters and relatives, with their personal household luggage, +in a second army. The French force was brushed aside like a fly. The +Chinese militia-soldiers, along with their families, over five millions +all told, coolly took possession of French Indo-China and settled down to +stay for a few thousand years. + +Outraged France was in arms. She hurled fleet after fleet against the +coast of China, and nearly bankrupted herself by the effort. China had +no navy. She withdrew like a turtle into her shell. For a year the +French fleets blockaded the coast and bombarded exposed towns and +villages. China did not mind. She did not depend upon the rest of the +world for anything. She calmly kept out of range of the French guns and +went on working. France wept and wailed, wrung her impotent hands and +appealed to the dumfounded nations. Then she landed a punitive +expedition to march to Peking. It was two hundred and fifty thousand +strong, and it was the flower of France. It landed without opposition +and marched into the interior. And that was the last ever seen of it. +The line of communication was snapped on the second day. Not a survivor +came back to tell what had happened. It had been swallowed up in China’s +cavernous maw, that was all. + +In the five years that followed, China’s expansion, in all land +directions, went on apace. Siam was made part of the Empire, and, in +spite of all that England could do, Burma and the Malay Peninsula were +overrun; while all along the long south boundary of Siberia, Russia was +pressed severely by China’s advancing hordes. The process was simple. +First came the Chinese immigration (or, rather, it was already there, +having come there slowly and insidiously during the previous years). +Next came the clash of arms and the brushing away of all opposition by a +monster army of militia-soldiers, followed by their families and +household baggage. And finally came their settling down as colonists in +the conquered territory. Never was there so strange and effective a +method of world conquest. + +Napal and Bhutan were overrun, and the whole northern boundary of India +pressed against by this fearful tide of life. To the west, Bokhara, and, +even to the south and west, Afghanistan, were swallowed up. Persia, +Turkestan, and all Central Asia felt the pressure of the flood. It was +at this time that Burchaldter revised his figures. He had been mistaken. +China’s population must be seven hundred millions, eight hundred +millions, nobody knew how many millions, but at any rate it would soon be +a billion. There were two Chinese for every white-skinned human in the +world, Burchaldter announced, and the world trembled. China’s increase +must have begun immediately, in 1904. It was remembered that since that +date there had not been a single famine. At 5,000,000 a year increase, +her total increase in the intervening seventy years must be 350,000,000. +But who was to know? It might be more. Who was to know anything of this +strange new menace of the twentieth century—China, old China, +rejuvenescent, fruitful, and militant! + +The Convention of 1975 was called at Philadelphia. All the Western +nations, and some few of the Eastern, were represented. Nothing was +accomplished. There was talk of all countries putting bounties on +children to increase the birth rate, but it was laughed to scorn by the +arithmeticians, who pointed out that China was too far in the lead in +that direction. No feasible way of coping with China was suggested. +China was appealed to and threatened by the United Powers, and that was +all the Convention of Philadelphia came to; and the Convention and the +Powers were laughed at by China. Li Tang Fwung, the power behind the +Dragon Throne, deigned to reply. + +“What does China care for the comity of nations?” said Li Tang Fwung. +“We are the most ancient, honourable, and royal of races. We have our +own destiny to accomplish. It is unpleasant that our destiny does not +tally with the destiny of the rest of the world, but what would you? You +have talked windily about the royal races and the heritage of the earth, +and we can only reply that that remains to be seen. You cannot invade +us. Never mind about your navies. Don’t shout. We know our navy is +small. You see we use it for police purposes. We do not care for the +sea. Our strength is in our population, which will soon be a billion. +Thanks to you, we are equipped with all modern war-machinery. Send your +navies. We will not notice them. Send your punitive expeditions, but +first remember France. To land half a million soldiers on our shores +would strain the resources of any of you. And our thousand millions +would swallow them down in a mouthful. Send a million; send five +millions, and we will swallow them down just as readily. Pouf! A mere +nothing, a meagre morsel. Destroy, as you have threatened, you United +States, the ten million coolies we have forced upon your shores—why, the +amount scarcely equals half of our excess birth rate for a year.” + +So spoke Li Tang Fwung. The world was nonplussed, helpless, terrified. +Truly had he spoken. There was no combating China’s amazing birth rate. +If her population was a billion, and was increasing twenty millions a +year, in twenty-five years it would be a billion and a half—equal to the +total population of the world in 1904. And nothing could be done. There +was no way to dam up the over-spilling monstrous flood of life. War was +futile. China laughed at a blockade of her coasts. She welcomed +invasion. In her capacious maw was room for all the hosts of earth that +could be hurled at her. And in the meantime her flood of yellow life +poured out and on over Asia. China laughed and read in their magazines +the learned lucubrations of the distracted Western scholars. + +But there was one scholar China failed to reckon on—Jacobus Laningdale. +Not that he was a scholar, except in the widest sense. Primarily, +Jacobus Laningdale was a scientist, and, up to that time, a very obscure +scientist, a professor employed in the laboratories of the Health Office +of New York City. Jacobus Laningdale’s head was very like any other +head, but in that head was evolved an idea. Also, in that head was the +wisdom to keep that idea secret. He did not write an article for the +magazines. Instead, he asked for a vacation. On September 19, 1975, he +arrived in Washington. It was evening, but he proceeded straight to the +White House, for he had already arranged an audience with the President. +He was closeted with President Moyer for three hours. What passed +between them was not learned by the rest of the world until long after; +in fact, at that time the world was not interested in Jacobus Laningdale. +Next day the President called in his Cabinet. Jacobus Laningdale was +present. The proceedings were kept secret. But that very afternoon +Rufus Cowdery, Secretary of State, left Washington, and early the +following morning sailed for England. The secret that he carried began +to spread, but it spread only among the heads of Governments. Possibly +half-a-dozen men in a nation were entrusted with the idea that had formed +in Jacobus Laningdale’s head. Following the spread of the secret, sprang +up great activity in all the dockyards, arsenals, and navy-yards. The +people of France and Austria became suspicious, but so sincere were their +Governments’ calls for confidence that they acquiesced in the unknown +project that was afoot. + +This was the time of the Great Truce. All countries pledged themselves +solemnly not to go to war with any other country. The first definite +action was the gradual mobilization of the armies of Russia, Germany, +Austria, Italy, Greece, and Turkey. Then began the eastward movement. +All railroads into Asia were glutted with troop trains. China was the +objective, that was all that was known. A little later began the great +sea movement. Expeditions of warships were launched from all countries. +Fleet followed fleet, and all proceeded to the coast of China. The +nations cleaned out their navy-yards. They sent their revenue cutters +and dispatch boats and lighthouse tenders, and they sent their last +antiquated cruisers and battleships. Not content with this, they +impressed the merchant marine. The statistics show that 58,640 merchant +steamers, equipped with searchlights and rapid-fire guns, were despatched +by the various nations to China. + +And China smiled and waited. On her land side, along her boundaries, +were millions of the warriors of Europe. She mobilized five times as +many millions of her militia and awaited the invasion. On her sea coasts +she did the same. But China was puzzled. After all this enormous +preparation, there was no invasion. She could not understand. Along the +great Siberian frontier all was quiet. Along her coasts the towns and +villages were not even shelled. Never, in the history of the world, had +there been so mighty a gathering of war fleets. The fleets of all the +world were there, and day and night millions of tons of battleships +ploughed the brine of her coasts, and nothing happened. Nothing was +attempted. Did they think to make her emerge from her shell? China +smiled. Did they think to tire her out, or starve her out? China smiled +again. + +But on May 1, 1976, had the reader been in the imperial city of Peking, +with its then population of eleven millions, he would have witnessed a +curious sight. He would have seen the streets filled with the chattering +yellow populace, every queued head tilted back, every slant eye turned +skyward. And high up in the blue he would have beheld a tiny dot of +black, which, because of its orderly evolutions, he would have identified +as an airship. From this airship, as it curved its flight back and forth +over the city, fell missiles—strange, harmless missiles, tubes of fragile +glass that shattered into thousands of fragments on the streets and +house-tops. But there was nothing deadly about these tubes of glass. +Nothing happened. There were no explosions. It is true, three Chinese +were killed by the tubes dropping on their heads from so enormous a +height; but what were three Chinese against an excess birth rate of +twenty millions? One tube struck perpendicularly in a fish-pond in a +garden and was not broken. It was dragged ashore by the master of the +house. He did not dare to open it, but, accompanied by his friends, and +surrounded by an ever-increasing crowd, he carried the mysterious tube to +the magistrate of the district. The latter was a brave man. With all +eyes upon him, he shattered the tube with a blow from his brass-bowled +pipe. Nothing happened. Of those who were very near, one or two thought +they saw some mosquitoes fly out. That was all. The crowd set up a +great laugh and dispersed. + +As Peking was bombarded by glass tubes, so was all China. The tiny +airships, dispatched from the warships, contained but two men each, and +over all cities, towns, and villages they wheeled and curved, one man +directing the ship, the other man throwing over the glass tubes. + +Had the reader again been in Peking, six weeks later, he would have +looked in vain for the eleven million inhabitants. Some few of them he +would have found, a few hundred thousand, perhaps, their carcasses +festering in the houses and in the deserted streets, and piled high on +the abandoned death-waggons. But for the rest he would have had to seek +along the highways and byways of the Empire. And not all would he have +found fleeing from plague-stricken Peking, for behind them, by hundreds +of thousands of unburied corpses by the wayside, he could have marked +their flight. And as it was with Peking, so it was with all the cities, +towns, and villages of the Empire. The plague smote them all. Nor was +it one plague, nor two plagues; it was a score of plagues. Every +virulent form of infectious death stalked through the land. Too late the +Chinese government apprehended the meaning of the colossal preparations, +the marshalling of the world-hosts, the flights of the tin airships, and +the rain of the tubes of glass. The proclamations of the government were +vain. They could not stop the eleven million plague-stricken wretches, +fleeing from the one city of Peking to spread disease through all the +land. The physicians and health officers died at their posts; and death, +the all-conqueror, rode over the decrees of the Emperor and Li Tang +Fwung. It rode over them as well, for Li Tang Fwung died in the second +week, and the Emperor, hidden away in the Summer Palace, died in the +fourth week. + +Had there been one plague, China might have coped with it. But from a +score of plagues no creature was immune. The man who escaped smallpox +went down before scarlet fever. The man who was immune to yellow fever +was carried away by cholera; and if he were immune to that, too, the +Black Death, which was the bubonic plague, swept him away. For it was +these bacteria, and germs, and microbes, and bacilli, cultured in the +laboratories of the West, that had come down upon China in the rain of +glass. + +All organization vanished. The government crumbled away. Decrees and +proclamations were useless when the men who made them and signed them one +moment were dead the next. Nor could the maddened millions, spurred on +to flight by death, pause to heed anything. They fled from the cities to +infect the country, and wherever they fled they carried the plagues with +them. The hot summer was on—Jacobus Laningdale had selected the time +shrewdly—and the plague festered everywhere. Much is conjectured of what +occurred, and much has been learned from the stories of the few +survivors. The wretched creatures stormed across the Empire in +many-millioned flight. The vast armies China had collected on her +frontiers melted away. The farms were ravaged for food, and no more +crops were planted, while the crops already in were left unattended and +never came to harvest. The most remarkable thing, perhaps, was the +flights. Many millions engaged in them, charging to the bounds of the +Empire to be met and turned back by the gigantic armies of the West. The +slaughter of the mad hosts on the boundaries was stupendous. Time and +again the guarding line was drawn back twenty or thirty miles to escape +the contagion of the multitudinous dead. + +Once the plague broke through and seized upon the German and Austrian +soldiers who were guarding the borders of Turkestan. Preparations had +been made for such a happening, and though sixty thousand soldiers of +Europe were carried off, the international corps of physicians isolated +the contagion and dammed it back. It was during this struggle that it +was suggested that a new plague-germ had originated, that in some way or +other a sort of hybridization between plague-germs had taken place, +producing a new and frightfully virulent germ. First suspected by +Vomberg, who became infected with it and died, it was later isolated and +studied by Stevens, Hazenfelt, Norman, and Landers. + +Such was the unparalleled invasion of China. For that billion of people +there was no hope. Pent in their vast and festering charnel-house, all +organization and cohesion lost, they could do naught but die. They could +not escape. As they were flung back from their land frontiers, so were +they flung back from the sea. Seventy-five thousand vessels patrolled +the coasts. By day their smoking funnels dimmed the sea-rim, and by +night their flashing searchlights ploughed the dark and harrowed it for +the tiniest escaping junk. The attempts of the immense fleets of junks +were pitiful. Not one ever got by the guarding sea-hounds. Modern +war-machinery held back the disorganized mass of China, while the plagues +did the work. + +But old War was made a thing of laughter. Naught remained to him but +patrol duty. China had laughed at war, and war she was getting, but it +was ultra-modern war, twentieth century war, the war of the scientist and +the laboratory, the war of Jacobus Laningdale. Hundred-ton guns were +toys compared with the micro-organic projectiles hurled from the +laboratories, the messengers of death, the destroying angels that stalked +through the empire of a billion souls. + +During all the summer and fall of 1976 China was an inferno. There was +no eluding the microscopic projectiles that sought out the remotest +hiding-places. The hundreds of millions of dead remained unburied and +the germs multiplied themselves, and, toward the last, millions died +daily of starvation. Besides, starvation weakened the victims and +destroyed their natural defences against the plagues. Cannibalism, +murder, and madness reigned. And so perished China. + +Not until the following February, in the coldest weather, were the first +expeditions made. These expeditions were small, composed of scientists +and bodies of troops; but they entered China from every side. In spite +of the most elaborate precautions against infection, numbers of soldiers +and a few of the physicians were stricken. But the exploration went +bravely on. They found China devastated, a howling wilderness through +which wandered bands of wild dogs and desperate bandits who had survived. +All survivors were put to death wherever found. And then began the great +task, the sanitation of China. Five years and hundreds of millions of +treasure were consumed, and then the world moved in—not in zones, as was +the idea of Baron Albrecht, but heterogeneously, according to the +democratic American programme. It was a vast and happy intermingling of +nationalities that settled down in China in 1982 and the years that +followed—a tremendous and successful experiment in cross-fertilization. +We know to-day the splendid mechanical, intellectual, and art output that +followed. + +It was in 1987, the Great Truce having been dissolved, that the ancient +quarrel between France and Germany over Alsace-Lorraine recrudesced. The +war-cloud grew dark and threatening in April, and on April 17 the +Convention of Copenhagen was called. The representatives of the nations +of the world, being present, all nations solemnly pledged themselves +never to use against one another the laboratory methods of warfare they +had employed in the invasion of China. + +—Excerpt from Walt Mervin’s “_Certain Essays in History_.” + + + + +THE ENEMY OF ALL THE WORLD + + +IT was Silas Bannerman who finally ran down that scientific wizard and +arch-enemy of mankind, Emil Gluck. Gluck’s confession, before he went to +the electric chair, threw much light upon the series of mysterious +events, many apparently unrelated, that so perturbed the world between +the years 1933 and 1941. It was not until that remarkable document was +made public that the world dreamed of there being any connection between +the assassination of the King and Queen of Portugal and the murders of +the New York City police officers. While the deeds of Emil Gluck were +all that was abominable, we cannot but feel, to a certain extent, pity +for the unfortunate, malformed, and maltreated genius. This side of his +story has never been told before, and from his confession and from the +great mass of evidence and the documents and records of the time we are +able to construct a fairly accurate portrait of him, and to discern the +factors and pressures that moulded him into the human monster he became +and that drove him onward and downward along the fearful path he trod. + +Emil Gluck was born in Syracuse, New York, in 1895. His father, Josephus +Gluck, was a special policeman and night watchman, who, in the year 1900, +died suddenly of pneumonia. The mother, a pretty, fragile creature, who, +before her marriage, had been a milliner, grieved herself to death over +the loss of her husband. This sensitiveness of the mother was the +heritage that in the boy became morbid and horrible. + +In 1901, the boy, Emil, then six years of age, went to live with his +aunt, Mrs. Ann Bartell. She was his mother’s sister, but in her breast +was no kindly feeling for the sensitive, shrinking boy. Ann Bartell was +a vain, shallow, and heartless woman. Also, she was cursed with poverty +and burdened with a husband who was a lazy, erratic ne’er-do-well. Young +Emil Gluck was not wanted, and Ann Bartell could be trusted to impress +this fact sufficiently upon him. As an illustration of the treatment he +received in that early, formative period, the following instance is +given. + +When he had been living in the Bartell home a little more than a year, he +broke his leg. He sustained the injury through playing on the forbidden +roof—as all boys have done and will continue to do to the end of time. +The leg was broken in two places between the knee and thigh. Emil, +helped by his frightened playmates, managed to drag himself to the front +sidewalk, where he fainted. The children of the neighbourhood were +afraid of the hard-featured shrew who presided over the Bartell house; +but, summoning their resolution, they rang the bell and told Ann Bartell +of the accident. She did not even look at the little lad who lay +stricken on the sidewalk, but slammed the door and went back to her +wash-tub. The time passed. A drizzle came on, and Emil Gluck, out of +his faint, lay sobbing in the rain. The leg should have been set +immediately. As it was, the inflammation rose rapidly and made a nasty +case of it. At the end of two hours, the indignant women of the +neighbourhood protested to Ann Bartell. This time she came out and +looked at the lad. Also she kicked him in the side as he lay helpless at +her feet, and she hysterically disowned him. He was not her child, she +said, and recommended that the ambulance be called to take him to the +city receiving hospital. Then she went back into the house. + +It was a woman, Elizabeth Shepstone, who came along, learned the +situation, and had the boy placed on a shutter. It was she who called +the doctor, and who, brushing aside Ann Bartell, had the boy carried into +the house. When the doctor arrived, Ann Bartell promptly warned him that +she would not pay him for his services. For two months the little Emil +lay in bed, the first month on his back without once being turned over; +and he lay neglected and alone, save for the occasional visits of the +unremunerated and over-worked physician. He had no toys, nothing with +which to beguile the long and tedious hours. No kind word was spoken to +him, no soothing hand laid upon his brow, no single touch or act of +loving tenderness—naught but the reproaches and harshness of Ann Bartell, +and the continually reiterated information that he was not wanted. And +it can well be understood, in such environment, how there was generated +in the lonely, neglected boy much of the bitterness and hostility for his +kind that later was to express itself in deeds so frightful as to terrify +the world. + +It would seem strange that, from the hands of Ann Bartell, Emil Gluck +should have received a college education; but the explanation is simple. +Her ne’er-do-well husband, deserting her, made a strike in the Nevada +goldfields, and returned to her a many-times millionaire. Ann Bartell +hated the boy, and immediately she sent him to the Farristown Academy, a +hundred miles away. Shy and sensitive, a lonely and misunderstood little +soul, he was more lonely than ever at Farristown. He never came home, at +vacation, and holidays, as the other boys did. Instead, he wandered +about the deserted buildings and grounds, befriended and misunderstood by +the servants and gardeners, reading much, it is remembered, spending his +days in the fields or before the fire-place with his nose poked always in +the pages of some book. It was at this time that he over-used his eyes +and was compelled to take up the wearing of glasses, which same were so +prominent in the photographs of him published in the newspapers in 1941. + +He was a remarkable student. Application such as his would have taken +him far; but he did not need application. A glance at a text meant +mastery for him. The result was that he did an immense amount of +collateral reading and acquired more in half a year than did the average +student in half-a-dozen years. In 1909, barely fourteen years of age, he +was ready—“more than ready” the headmaster of the academy said—to enter +Yale or Harvard. His juvenility prevented him from entering those +universities, and so, in 1909, we find him a freshman at historic Bowdoin +College. In 1913 he graduated with highest honours, and immediately +afterward followed Professor Bradlough to Berkeley, California. The one +friend that Emil Gluck discovered in all his life was Professor +Bradlough. The latter’s weak lungs had led him to exchange Maine for +California, the removal being facilitated by the offer of a professorship +in the State University. Throughout the year 1914, Emil Gluck resided in +Berkeley and took special scientific courses. Toward the end of that +year two deaths changed his prospects and his relations with life. The +death of Professor Bradlough took from him the one friend he was ever to +know, and the death of Ann Bartell left him penniless. Hating the +unfortunate lad to the last, she cut him off with one hundred dollars. + +The following year, at twenty years of age, Emil Gluck was enrolled as an +instructor of chemistry in the University of California. Here the years +passed quietly; he faithfully performed the drudgery that brought him his +salary, and, a student always, he took half-a-dozen degrees. He was, +among other things, a Doctor of Sociology, of Philosophy, and of Science, +though he was known to the world, in later days, only as Professor Gluck. + +He was twenty-seven years old when he first sprang into prominence in the +newspapers through the publication of his book, _Sex and Progress_. The +book remains to-day a milestone in the history and philosophy of +marriage. It is a heavy tome of over seven hundred pages, painfully +careful and accurate, and startlingly original. It was a book for +scientists, and not one calculated to make a stir. But Gluck, in the +last chapter, using barely three lines for it, mentioned the hypothetical +desirability of trial marriages. At once the newspapers seized these +three lines, “played them up yellow,” as the slang was in those days, and +set the whole world laughing at Emil Gluck, the bespectacled young +professor of twenty-seven. Photographers snapped him, he was besieged by +reporters, women’s clubs throughout the land passed resolutions +condemning him and his immoral theories; and on the floor of the +California Assembly, while discussing the state appropriation to the +University, a motion demanding the expulsion of Gluck was made under +threat of withholding the appropriation—of course, none of his +persecutors had read the book; the twisted newspaper version of only +three lines of it was enough for them. Here began Emil Gluck’s hatred +for newspaper men. By them his serious and intrinsically valuable work +of six years had been made a laughing-stock and a notoriety. To his +dying day, and to their everlasting regret, he never forgave them. + +It was the newspapers that were responsible for the next disaster that +befell him. For the five years following the publication of his book he +had remained silent, and silence for a lonely man is not good. One can +conjecture sympathetically the awful solitude of Emil Gluck in that +populous University; for he was without friends and without sympathy. +His only recourse was books, and he went on reading and studying +enormously. But in 1927 he accepted an invitation to appear before the +Human Interest Society of Emeryville. He did not trust himself to speak, +and as we write we have before us a copy of his learned paper. It is +sober, scholarly, and scientific, and, it must also be added, +conservative. But in one place he dealt with, and I quote his words, +“the industrial and social revolution that is taking place in society.” +A reporter present seized upon the word “revolution,” divorced it from +the text, and wrote a garbled account that made Emil Gluck appear an +anarchist. At once, “Professor Gluck, anarchist,” flamed over the wires +and was appropriately “featured” in all the newspapers in the land. + +He had attempted to reply to the previous newspaper attack, but now he +remained silent. Bitterness had already corroded his soul. The +University faculty appealed to him to defend himself, but he sullenly +declined, even refusing to enter in defence a copy of his paper to save +himself from expulsion. He refused to resign, and was discharged from +the University faculty. It must be added that political pressure had +been put upon the University Regents and the President. + +Persecuted, maligned, and misunderstood, the forlorn and lonely man made +no attempt at retaliation. All his life he had been sinned against, and +all his life he had sinned against no one. But his cup of bitterness was +not yet full to overflowing. Having lost his position, and being without +any income, he had to find work. His first place was at the Union Iron +Works, in San Francisco, where he proved a most able draughtsman. It was +here that he obtained his firsthand knowledge of battleships and their +construction. But the reporters discovered him and featured him in his +new vocation. He immediately resigned and found another place; but after +the reporters had driven him away from half-a-dozen positions, he steeled +himself to brazen out the newspaper persecution. This occurred when he +started his electroplating establishment—in Oakland, on Telegraph Avenue. +It was a small shop, employing three men and two boys. Gluck himself +worked long hours. Night after night, as Policeman Carew testified on +the stand, he did not leave the shop till one and two in the morning. It +was during this period that he perfected the improved ignition device for +gas-engines, the royalties from which ultimately made him wealthy. + +He started his electroplating establishment early in the spring of 1928, +and it was in the same year that he formed the disastrous love attachment +for Irene Tackley. Now it is not to be imagined that an extraordinary +creature such as Emil Gluck could be any other than an extraordinary +lover. In addition to his genius, his loneliness, and his morbidness, it +must be taken into consideration that he knew nothing about women. +Whatever tides of desire flooded his being, he was unschooled in the +conventional expression of them; while his excessive timidity was bound +to make his love-making unusual. Irene Tackley was a rather pretty young +woman, but shallow and light-headed. At the time she worked in a small +candy store across the street from Gluck’s shop. He used to come in and +drink ice-cream sodas and lemon-squashes, and stare at her. It seems the +girl did not care for him, and merely played with him. He was “queer,” +she said; and at another time she called him a crank when describing how +he sat at the counter and peered at her through his spectacles, blushing +and stammering when she took notice of him, and often leaving the shop in +precipitate confusion. + +Gluck made her the most amazing presents—a silver tea-service, a diamond +ring, a set of furs, opera-glasses, a ponderous _History of the World_ in +many volumes, and a motor-cycle all silver-plated in his own shop. +Enters now the girl’s lover, putting his foot down, showing great anger, +compelling her to return Gluck’s strange assortment of presents. This +man, William Sherbourne, was a gross and stolid creature, a heavy-jawed +man of the working class who had become a successful building-contractor +in a small way. Gluck did not understand. He tried to get an +explanation, attempting to speak with the girl when she went home from +work in the evening. She complained to Sherbourne, and one night he gave +Gluck a beating. It was a very severe beating, for it is on the records +of the Red Cross Emergency Hospital that Gluck was treated there that +night and was unable to leave the hospital for a week. + +Still Gluck did not understand. He continued to seek an explanation from +the girl. In fear of Sherbourne, he applied to the Chief of Police for +permission to carry a revolver, which permission was refused, the +newspapers as usual playing it up sensationally. Then came the murder of +Irene Tackley, six days before her contemplated marriage with Sherbourne. +It was on a Saturday night. She had worked late in the candy store, +departing after eleven o’clock with her week’s wages in her purse. She +rode on a San Pablo Avenue surface car to Thirty-fourth Street, where she +alighted and started to walk the three blocks to her home. That was the +last seen of her alive. Next morning she was found, strangled, in a +vacant lot. + +Emil Gluck was immediately arrested. Nothing that he could do could save +him. He was convicted, not merely on circumstantial evidence, but on +evidence “cooked up” by the Oakland police. There is no discussion but +that a large portion of the evidence was manufactured. The testimony of +Captain Shehan was the sheerest perjury, it being proved long afterward +that on the night in question he had not only not been in the vicinity of +the murder, but that he had been out of the city in a resort on the San +Leandro Road. The unfortunate Gluck received life imprisonment in San +Quentin, while the newspapers and the public held that it was a +miscarriage of justice—that the death penalty should have been visited +upon him. + +Gluck entered San Quentin prison on April 17, 1929. He was then +thirty-four years of age. And for three years and a half, much of the +time in solitary confinement, he was left to meditate upon the injustice +of man. It was during that period that his bitterness corroded home and +he became a hater of all his kind. Three other things he did during the +same period: he wrote his famous treatise, _Human Morals_, his remarkable +brochure, _The Criminal Sane_, and he worked out his awful and monstrous +scheme of revenge. It was an episode that had occurred in his +electroplating establishment that suggested to him his unique weapon of +revenge. As stated in his confession, he worked every detail out +theoretically during his imprisonment, and was able, on his release, +immediately to embark on his career of vengeance. + +His release was sensational. Also it was miserably and criminally +delayed by the soulless legal red tape then in vogue. On the night of +February 1, 1932, Tim Haswell, a hold-up man, was shot during an +attempted robbery by a citizen of Piedmont Heights. Tim Haswell lingered +three days, during which time he not only confessed to the murder of +Irene Tackley, but furnished conclusive proofs of the same. Bert +Danniker, a convict dying of consumption in Folsom Prison, was implicated +as accessory, and his confession followed. It is inconceivable to us of +to-day—the bungling, dilatory processes of justice a generation ago. +Emil Gluck was proved in February to be an innocent man, yet he was not +released until the following October. For eight months, a greatly +wronged man, he was compelled to undergo his unmerited punishment. This +was not conducive to sweetness and light, and we can well imagine how he +ate his soul with bitterness during those dreary eight months. + +He came back to the world in the fall of 1932, as usual a “feature” topic +in all the newspapers. The papers, instead of expressing heartfelt +regret, continued their old sensational persecution. One paper did +more—the _San Francisco Intelligencer_. John Hartwell, its editor, +elaborated an ingenious theory that got around the confessions of the two +criminals and went to show that Gluck was responsible, after all, for the +murder of Irene Tackley. Hartwell died. And Sherbourne died too, while +Policeman Phillipps was shot in the leg and discharged from the Oakland +police force. + +The murder of Hartwell was long a mystery. He was alone in his editorial +office at the time. The reports of the revolver were heard by the office +boy, who rushed in to find Hartwell expiring in his chair. What puzzled +the police was the fact, not merely that he had been shot with his own +revolver, but that the revolver had been exploded in the drawer of his +desk. The bullets had torn through the front of the drawer and entered +his body. The police scouted the theory of suicide, murder was dismissed +as absurd, and the blame was thrown upon the Eureka Smokeless Cartridge +Company. Spontaneous explosion was the police explanation, and the +chemists of the cartridge company were well bullied at the inquest. But +what the police did not know was that across the street, in the Mercer +Building, Room 633, rented by Emil Gluck, had been occupied by Emil Gluck +at the very moment Hartwell’s revolver so mysteriously exploded. + +At the time, no connection was made between Hartwell’s death and the +death of William Sherbourne. Sherbourne had continued to live in the +home he had built for Irene Tackley, and one morning in January, 1933, he +was found dead. Suicide was the verdict of the coroner’s inquest, for he +had been shot by his own revolver. The curious thing that happened that +night was the shooting of Policeman Phillipps on the sidewalk in front of +Sherbourne’s house. The policeman crawled to a police telephone on the +corner and rang up for an ambulance. He claimed that some one had shot +him from behind in the leg. The leg in question was so badly shattered +by three ’38 calibre bullets that amputation was necessary. But when the +police discovered that the damage had been done by his own revolver, a +great laugh went up, and he was charged with having been drunk. In spite +of his denial of having touched a drop, and of his persistent assertion +that the revolver had been in his hip pocket and that he had not laid a +finger to it, he was discharged from the force. Emil Gluck’s confession, +six years later, cleared the unfortunate policeman of disgrace, and he is +alive to-day and in good health, the recipient of a handsome pension from +the city. + +Emil Gluck, having disposed of his immediate enemies, now sought a wider +field, though his enmity for newspaper men and for the police remained +always active. The royalties on his ignition device for gasolene-engines +had mounted up while he lay in prison, and year by year the earning power +of his invention increased. He was independent, able to travel wherever +he willed over the earth and to glut his monstrous appetite for revenge. +He had become a monomaniac and an anarchist—not a philosophic anarchist, +merely, but a violent anarchist. Perhaps the word is misused, and he is +better described as a nihilist, or an annihilist. It is known that he +affiliated with none of the groups of terrorists. He operated wholly +alone, but he created a thousandfold more terror and achieved a +thousandfold more destruction than all the terrorist groups added +together. + +He signalized his departure from California by blowing up Fort Mason. In +his confession he spoke of it as a little experiment—he was merely trying +his hand. For eight years he wandered over the earth, a mysterious +terror, destroying property to the tune of hundreds of millions of +dollars, and destroying countless lives. One good result of his awful +deeds was the destruction he wrought among the terrorists themselves. +Every time he did anything the terrorists in the vicinity were gathered +in by the police dragnet, and many of them were executed. Seventeen were +executed at Rome alone, following the assassination of the Italian King. + +Perhaps the most world-amazing achievement of his was the assassination +of the King and Queen of Portugal. It was their wedding day. All +possible precautions had been taken against the terrorists, and the way +from the cathedral, through Lisbon’s streets, was double-banked with +troops, while a squad of two hundred mounted troopers surrounded the +carriage. Suddenly the amazing thing happened. The automatic rifles of +the troopers began to go off, as well as the rifles, in the immediate +vicinity, of the double-banked infantry. In the excitement the muzzles +of the exploding rifles were turned in all directions. The slaughter was +terrible—horses, troops, spectators, and the King and Queen, were riddled +with bullets. To complicate the affair, in different parts of the crowd +behind the foot-soldiers, two terrorists had bombs explode on their +persons. These bombs they had intended to throw if they got the +opportunity. But who was to know this? The frightful havoc wrought by +the bursting bombs but added to the confusion; it was considered part of +the general attack. + +One puzzling thing that could not be explained away was the conduct of +the troopers with their exploding rifles. It seemed impossible that they +should be in the plot, yet there were the hundreds their flying bullets +had slain, including the King and Queen. On the other hand, more +baffling than ever was the fact that seventy per cent. of the troopers +themselves had been killed or wounded. Some explained this on the ground +that the loyal foot-soldiers, witnessing the attack on the royal +carriage, had opened fire on the traitors. Yet not one bit of evidence +to verify this could be drawn from the survivors, though many were put to +the torture. They contended stubbornly that they had not discharged +their rifles at all, but that their rifles had discharged themselves. +They were laughed at by the chemists, who held that, while it was just +barely probable that a single cartridge, charged with the new smokeless +powder, might spontaneously explode, it was beyond all probability and +possibility for all the cartridges in a given area, so charged, +spontaneously to explode. And so, in the end, no explanation of the +amazing occurrence was reached. The general opinion of the rest of the +world was that the whole affair was a blind panic of the feverish Latins, +precipitated, it was true, by the bursting of two terrorist bombs; and in +this connection was recalled the laughable encounter of long years before +between the Russian fleet and the English fishing boats. + +And Emil Gluck chuckled and went his way. He knew. But how was the +world to know? He had stumbled upon the secret in his old electroplating +shop on Telegraph Avenue in the city of Oakland. It happened, at that +time, that a wireless telegraph station was established by the Thurston +Power Company close to his shop. In a short time his electroplating vat +was put out of order. The vat-wiring had many bad joints, and, on +investigation, Gluck discovered minute welds at the joints in the wiring. +These, by lowering the resistance, had caused an excessive current to +pass through the solution, “boiling” it and spoiling the work. But what +had caused the welds? was the question in Gluck’s mind. His reasoning +was simple. Before the establishment of the wireless station, the vat +had worked well. Not until after the establishment of the wireless +station had the vat been ruined. Therefore the wireless station had been +the cause. But how? He quickly answered the question. If an electric +discharge was capable of operating a coherer across three thousand miles +of ocean, then, certainly, the electric discharges from the wireless +station four hundred feet away could produce coherer effects on the bad +joints in the vat-wiring. + +Gluck thought no more about it at the time. He merely re-wired his vat +and went on electroplating. But afterwards, in prison, he remembered the +incident, and like a flash there came into his mind the full significance +of it. He saw in it the silent, secret weapon with which to revenge +himself on the world. His great discovery, which died with him, was +control over the direction and scope of the electric discharge. At the +time, this was the unsolved problem of wireless telegraphy—as it still is +to-day—but Emil Gluck, in his prison cell, mastered it. And, when he was +released, he applied it. It was fairly simple, given the directing power +that was his, to introduce a spark into the powder-magazines of a fort, a +battleship, or a revolver. And not alone could he thus explode powder at +a distance, but he could ignite conflagrations. The great Boston fire +was started by him—quite by accident, however, as he stated in his +confession, adding that it was a pleasing accident and that he had never +had any reason to regret it. + +It was Emil Gluck that caused the terrible German-American War, with the +loss of 800,000 lives and the consumption of almost incalculable +treasure. It will be remembered that in 1939, because of the Pickard +incident, strained relations existed between the two countries. Germany, +though aggrieved, was not anxious for war, and, as a peace token, sent +the Crown Prince and seven battleships on a friendly visit to the United +States. On the night of February 15, the seven warships lay at anchor in +the Hudson opposite New York City. And on that night Emil Gluck, alone, +with all his apparatus on board, was out in a launch. This launch, it +was afterwards proved, was bought by him from the Ross Turner Company, +while much of the apparatus he used that night had been purchased from +the Columbia Electric Works. But this was not known at the time. All +that was known was that the seven battleships blew up, one after another, +at regular four-minute intervals. Ninety per cent. of the crews and +officers, along with the Crown Prince, perished. Many years before, the +American battleship _Maine_ had been blown up in the harbour of Havana, +and war with Spain had immediately followed—though there has always +existed a reasonable doubt as to whether the explosion was due to +conspiracy or accident. But accident could not explain the blowing up of +the seven battleships on the Hudson at four-minute intervals. Germany +believed that it had been done by a submarine, and immediately declared +war. It was six months after Gluck’s confession that she returned the +Philippines and Hawaii to the United States. + +In the meanwhile Emil Gluck, the malevolent wizard and arch-hater, +travelled his whirlwind path of destruction. He left no traces. +Scientifically thorough, he always cleaned up after himself. His method +was to rent a room or a house, and secretly to install his +apparatus—which apparatus, by the way, he so perfected and simplified +that it occupied little space. After he had accomplished his purpose he +carefully removed the apparatus. He bade fair to live out a long life of +horrible crime. + +The epidemic of shooting of New York City policemen was a remarkable +affair. It became one of the horror mysteries of the time. In two short +weeks over a hundred policemen were shot in the legs by their own +revolvers. Inspector Jones did not solve the mystery, but it was his +idea that finally outwitted Gluck. On his recommendation the policemen +ceased carrying revolvers, and no more accidental shootings occurred. + +It was in the early spring of 1940 that Gluck destroyed the Mare Island +navy-yard. From a room in Vallejo he sent his electric discharges across +the Vallejo Straits to Mare Island. He first played his flashes on the +battleship _Maryland_. She lay at the dock of one of the mine-magazines. +On her forward deck, on a huge temporary platform of timbers, were +disposed over a hundred mines. These mines were for the defence of the +Golden Gate. Any one of these mines was capable of destroying a dozen +battleships, and there were over a hundred mines. The destruction was +terrific, but it was only Gluck’s overture. He played his flashes down +the Mare Island shore, blowing up five torpedo boats, the torpedo +station, and the great magazine at the eastern end of the island. +Returning westward again, and scooping in occasional isolated magazines +on the high ground back from the shore, he blew up three cruisers and the +battleships _Oregon_, _Delaware_, _New Hampshire_, and _Florida_—the +latter had just gone into dry-dock, and the magnificent dry-dock was +destroyed along with her. + +It was a frightful catastrophe, and a shiver of horror passed through the +land. But it was nothing to what was to follow. In the late fall of +that year Emil Gluck made a clean sweep of the Atlantic seaboard from +Maine to Florida. Nothing escaped. Forts, mines, coast defences of all +sorts, torpedo stations, magazines—everything went up. Three months +afterward, in midwinter, he smote the north shore of the Mediterranean +from Gibraltar to Greece in the same stupefying manner. A wail went up +from the nations. It was clear that human agency was behind all this +destruction, and it was equally clear, through Emil Gluck’s impartiality, +that the destruction was not the work of any particular nation. One +thing was patent, namely, that whoever was the human behind it all, that +human was a menace to the world. No nation was safe. There was no +defence against this unknown and all-powerful foe. Warfare was +futile—nay, not merely futile but itself the very essence of the peril. +For a twelve-month the manufacture of powder ceased, and all soldiers and +sailors were withdrawn from all fortifications and war vessels. And even +a world-disarmament was seriously considered at the Convention of the +Powers, held at The Hague at that time. + +And then Silas Bannerman, a secret service agent of the United States, +leaped into world-fame by arresting Emil Gluck. At first Bannerman was +laughed at, but he had prepared his case well, and in a few weeks the +most sceptical were convinced of Emil Gluck’s guilt. The one thing, +however, that Silas Bannerman never succeeded in explaining, even to his +own satisfaction, was how first he came to connect Gluck with the +atrocious crimes. It is true, Bannerman was in Vallejo, on secret +government business, at the time of the destruction of Mare Island; and +it is true that on the streets of Vallejo Emil Gluck was pointed out to +him as a queer crank; but no impression was made at the time. It was not +until afterward, when on a vacation in the Rocky Mountains and when +reading the first published reports of the destruction along the Atlantic +Coast, that suddenly Bannerman thought of Emil Gluck. And on the instant +there flashed into his mind the connection between Gluck and the +destruction. It was only an hypothesis, but it was sufficient. The +great thing was the conception of the hypothesis, in itself an act of +unconscious cerebration—a thing as unaccountable as the flashing, for +instance, into Newton’s mind of the principle of gravitation. + +The rest was easy. Where was Gluck at the time of the destruction along +the Atlantic sea-board? was the question that formed in Bannerman’s mind. +By his own request he was put upon the case. In no time he ascertained +that Gluck had himself been up and down the Atlantic Coast in the late +fall of 1940. Also he ascertained that Gluck had been in New York City +during the epidemic of the shooting of police officers. Where was Gluck +now? was Bannerman’s next query. And, as if in answer, came the +wholesale destruction along the Mediterranean. Gluck had sailed for +Europe a month before—Bannerman knew that. It was not necessary for +Bannerman to go to Europe. By means of cable messages and the +co-operation of the European secret services, he traced Gluck’s course +along the Mediterranean and found that in every instance it coincided +with the blowing up of coast defences and ships. Also, he learned that +Gluck had just sailed on the Green Star liner _Plutonic_ for the United +States. + +The case was complete in Bannerman’s mind, though in the interval of +waiting he worked up the details. In this he was ably assisted by George +Brown, an operator employed by the Wood’s System of Wireless Telegraphy. +When the _Plutonic_ arrived off Sandy Hook she was boarded by Bannerman +from a Government tug, and Emil Gluck was made a prisoner. The trial and +the confession followed. In the confession Gluck professed regret only +for one thing, namely, that he had taken his time. As he said, had he +dreamed that he was ever to be discovered he would have worked more +rapidly and accomplished a thousand times the destruction he did. His +secret died with him, though it is now known that the French Government +managed to get access to him and offered him a billion francs for his +invention wherewith he was able to direct and closely to confine electric +discharges. “What!” was Gluck’s reply—“to sell to you that which would +enable you to enslave and maltreat suffering Humanity?” And though the +war departments of the nations have continued to experiment in their +secret laboratories, they have so far failed to light upon the slightest +trace of the secret. Emil Gluck was executed on December 4, 1941, and so +died, at the age of forty-six, one of the world’s most unfortunate +geniuses, a man of tremendous intellect, but whose mighty powers, instead +of making toward good, were so twisted and warped that he became the most +amazing of criminals. + +—Culled from Mr. A. G. Burnside’s “Eccentricitics of Crime,” by kind +permission of the publishers, Messrs. Holiday and Whitsund. + + + + +THE DREAM OF DEBS + + +I AWOKE fully an hour before my customary time. This in itself was +remarkable, and I lay very wide awake, pondering over it. Something was +the matter, something was wrong—I knew not what. I was oppressed by a +premonition of something terrible that had happened or was about to +happen. But what was it? I strove to orient myself. I remembered that +at the time of the Great Earthquake of 1906 many claimed they awakened +some moments before the first shock and that during these moments they +experienced strange feelings of dread. Was San Francisco again to be +visited by earthquake? + +I lay for a full minute, numbly expectant, but there occurred no reeling +of walls nor shock and grind of falling masonry. All was quiet. That +was it! The silence! No wonder I had been perturbed. The hum of the +great live city was strangely absent. The surface cars passed along my +street, at that time of day, on an average of one every three minutes; +but in the ten succeeding minutes not a car passed. Perhaps it was a +street-railway strike, was my thought; or perhaps there had been an +accident and the power was shut off. But no, the silence was too +profound. I heard no jar and rattle of waggon wheels, nor stamp of +iron-shod hoofs straining up the steep cobble-stones. + +Pressing the push-button beside my bed, I strove to hear the sound of the +bell, though I well knew it was impossible for the sound to rise three +stories to me even if the bell did ring. It rang all right, for a few +minutes later Brown entered with the tray and morning paper. Though his +features were impassive as ever, I noted a startled, apprehensive light +in his eyes. I noted, also, that there was no cream on the tray. + +“The Creamery did not deliver this morning,” he explained; “nor did the +bakery.” + +I glanced again at the tray. There were no fresh French rolls—only +slices of stale graham bread from yesterday, the most detestable of bread +so far as I was concerned. + +“Nothing was delivered this morning, sir,” Brown started to explain +apologetically; but I interrupted him. + +“The paper?” + +“Yes, sir, it was delivered, but it was the only thing, and it is the +last time, too. There won’t be any paper to-morrow. The paper says so. +Can I send out and get you some condensed milk?” + +I shook my head, accepted the coffee black, and spread open the paper. +The headlines explained everything—explained too much, in fact, for the +lengths of pessimism to which the journal went were ridiculous. A +general strike, it said, had been called all over the United States; and +most foreboding anxieties were expressed concerning the provisioning of +the great cities. + +I read on hastily, skimming much and remembering much of labour troubles +in the past. For a generation the general strike had been the dream of +organized labour, which dream had arisen originally in the mind of Debs, +one of the great labour leaders of thirty years before. I recollected +that in my young college-settlement days I had even written an article on +the subject for one of the magazines and that I had entitled it “The +Dream of Debs.” And I must confess that I had treated the idea very +cavalierly and academically as a dream and nothing more. Time and the +world had rolled on, Gompers was gone, the American Federation of Labour +was gone, and gone was Debs with all his wild revolutionary ideas; but +the dream had persisted, and here it was at last realized in fact. But I +laughed, as I read, at the journal’s gloomy outlook. I knew better. I +had seen organized labour worsted in too many conflicts. It would be a +matter only of days when the thing would be settled. This was a national +strike, and it wouldn’t take the Government long to break it. + +I threw the paper down and proceeded to dress. It would certainly be +interesting to be out in the streets of San Francisco when not a wheel +was turning and the whole city was taking an enforced vacation. + +“I beg your pardon, sir,” Brown said, as he handed me my cigar-case, “but +Mr. Harmmed has asked to see you before you go out.” + +“Send him in right away,” I answered. + +Harmmed was the butler. When he entered I could see he was labouring +under controlled excitement. He came at once to the point. + +“What shall I do, sir? There will be needed provisions, and the delivery +drivers are on strike. And the electricity is shut off—I guess they’re +on strike, too.” + +“Are the shops open?” I asked. + +“Only the small ones, sir. The retail clerks are out, and the big ones +can’t open; but the owners and their families are running the little ones +themselves.” + +“Then take the machine,” I said, “and go the rounds and make your +purchases. Buy plenty of everything you need or may need. Get a box of +candles—no, get half-a-dozen boxes. And, when you’re done, tell Harrison +to bring the machine around to the club for me—not later than eleven.” + +Harmmed shook his head gravely. “Mr. Harrison has struck along with the +Chauffeurs’ Union, and I don’t know how to run the machine myself.” + +“Oh, ho, he has, has he?” said I. “Well, when next Mister Harrison happens +around you tell him that he can look elsewhere for a position.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“You don’t happen to belong to a Butlers’ Union, do you, Harmmed?” + +“No, sir,” was the answer. “And even if I did I’d not desert my employer +in a crisis like this. No, sir, I would—” + +“All right, thank you,” I said. “Now you get ready to accompany me. +I’ll run the machine myself, and we’ll lay in a stock of provisions to +stand a siege.” + +It was a beautiful first of May, even as May days go. The sky was +cloudless, there was no wind, and the air was warm—almost balmy. Many +autos were out, but the owners were driving them themselves. The streets +were crowded but quiet. The working class, dressed in its Sunday best, +was out taking the air and observing the effects of the strike. It was +all so unusual, and withal so peaceful, that I found myself enjoying it. +My nerves were tingling with mild excitement. It was a sort of placid +adventure. I passed Miss Chickering. She was at the helm of her little +runabout. She swung around and came after me, catching me at the corner. + +“Oh, Mr. Corf!”’ she hailed. “Do you know where I can buy candles? I’ve +been to a dozen shops, and they’re all sold out. It’s dreadfully awful, +isn’t it?” + +But her sparkling eyes gave the lie to her words. Like the rest of us, +she was enjoying it hugely. Quite an adventure it was, getting those +candles. It was not until we went across the city and down into the +working-class quarter south of Market Street that we found small corner +groceries that had not yet sold out. Miss Chickering thought one box was +sufficient, but I persuaded her into taking four. My car was large, and +I laid in a dozen boxes. There was no telling what delays might arise in +the settlement of the strike. Also, I filled the car with sacks of +flour, baking-powder, tinned goods, and all the ordinary necessaries of +life suggested by Harmmed, who fussed around and clucked over the +purchases like an anxious old hen. + +The remarkable thing, that first day of the strike, was that no one +really apprehended anything serious. The announcement of organized +labour in the morning papers that it was prepared to stay out a month or +three months was laughed at. And yet that very first day we might have +guessed as much from the fact that the working class took practically no +part in the great rush to buy provisions. Of course not. For weeks and +months, craftily and secretly, the whole working class had been laying in +private stocks of provisions. That was why we were permitted to go down +and buy out the little groceries in the working-class neighbourhoods. + +It was not until I arrived at the club that afternoon that I began to +feel the first alarm. Everything was in confusion. There were no olives +for the cocktails, and the service was by hitches and jerks. Most of the +men were angry, and all were worried. A babel of voices greeted me as I +entered. General Folsom, nursing his capacious paunch in a window-seat +in the smoking-room was defending himself against half-a-dozen excited +gentlemen who were demanding that he should do something. + +“What can I do more than I have done?” he was saying. “There are no +orders from Washington. If you gentlemen will get a wire through I’ll do +anything I am commanded to do. But I don’t see what can be done. The +first thing I did this morning, as soon as I learned of the strike, was +to order in the troops from the Presidio—three thousand of them. They’re +guarding the banks, the Mint, the post office, and all the public +buildings. There is no disorder whatever. The strikers are keeping the +peace perfectly. You can’t expect me to shoot them down as they walk +along the streets with wives and children all in their best bib and +tucker.” + +“I’d like to know what’s happening on Wall Street,” I heard Jimmy Wombold +say as I passed along. I could imagine his anxiety, for I knew that he +was deep in the big Consolidated-Western deal. + +“Say, Corf,” Atkinson bustled up to me, “is your machine running?” + +“Yes,” I answered, “but what’s the matter with your own?” + +“Broken down, and the garages are all closed. And my wife’s somewhere +around Truckee, I think, stalled on the overland. Can’t get a wire to +her for love or money. She should have arrived this evening. She may be +starving. Lend me your machine.” + +“Can’t get it across the bay,” Halstead spoke up. “The ferries aren’t +running. But I tell you what you can do. There’s Rollinson—oh, +Rollinson, come here a moment. Atkinson wants to get a machine across +the bay. His wife is stuck on the overland at Truckee. Can’t you bring +the _Lurlette_ across from Tiburon and carry the machine over for him?” + +The _Lurlette_ was a two-hundred-ton, ocean-going schooner-yacht. + +Rollinson shook his head. “You couldn’t get a longshoreman to land the +machine on board, even if I could get the _Lurlette_ over, which I can’t, +for the crew are members of the Coast Seamen’s Union, and they’re on +strike along with the rest.” + +“But my wife may be starving,” I could hear Atkinson wailing as I moved +on. + +At the other end of the smoking-room I ran into a group of men bunched +excitedly and angrily around Bertie Messener. And Bertie was stirring +them up and prodding them in his cool, cynical way. Bertie didn’t care +about the strike. He didn’t care much about anything. He was blasé—at +least in all the clean things of life; the nasty things had no attraction +for him. He was worth twenty millions, all of it in safe investments, +and he had never done a tap of productive work in his life—inherited it +all from his father and two uncles. He had been everywhere, seen +everything, and done everything but get married, and this last in the +face of the grim and determined attack of a few hundred ambitious mammas. +For years he had been the greatest catch, and as yet he had avoided being +caught. He was disgracefully eligible. On top of his wealth he was +young, handsome, and, as I said before, clean. He was a great athlete, a +young blond god that did everything perfectly and admirably with the +solitary exception of matrimony. And he didn’t care about anything, had +no ambitions, no passions, no desire to do the very things he did so much +better than other men. + +“This is sedition!” one man in the group was crying. Another called it +revolt and revolution, and another called it anarchy. + +“I can’t see it,” Bertie said. “I have been out in the streets all +morning. Perfect order reigns. I never saw a more law-abiding populace. +There’s no use calling it names. It’s not any of those things. It’s +just what it claims to be, a general strike, and it’s your turn to play, +gentlemen.” + +“And we’ll play all right!” cried Garfield, one of the traction +millionaires. “We’ll show this dirt where its place is—the beasts! Wait +till the Government takes a hand.” + +“But where is the Government?” Bertie interposed. “It might as well be +at the bottom of the sea so far as you’re concerned. You don’t know +what’s happening at Washington. You don’t know whether you’ve got a +Government or not.” + +“Don’t you worry about that,” Garfield blurted out. + +“I assure you I’m not worrying,” Bertie smiled languidly. “But it seems +to me it’s what you fellows are doing. Look in the glass, Garfield.” + +Garfield did not look, but had he looked he would have seen a very +excited gentleman with rumpled, iron-grey hair, a flushed face, mouth +sullen and vindictive, and eyes wildly gleaming. + +“It’s not right, I tell you,” little Hanover said; and from his tone I +was sure that he had already said it a number of times. + +“Now that’s going too far, Hanover,” Bertie replied. “You fellows make +me tired. You’re all open-shop men. You’ve eroded my eardrums with your +endless gabble for the open shop and the right of a man to work. You’ve +harangued along those lines for years. Labour is doing nothing wrong in +going out on this general strike. It is violating no law of God nor man. +Don’t you talk, Hanover. You’ve been ringing the changes too long on the +God-given right to work . . . or not to work; you can’t escape the +corollary. It’s a dirty little sordid scrap, that’s all the whole thing +is. You’ve got labour down and gouged it, and now labour’s got you down +and is gouging you, that’s all, and you’re squealing.” + +Every man in the group broke out in indignant denials that labour had +ever been gouged. + +“No, sir!” Garfield was shouting. “We’ve done the best for labour. +Instead of gouging it, we’ve given it a chance to live. We’ve made work +for it. Where would labour be if it hadn’t been for us?” + +“A whole lot better off,” Bertie sneered. “You’ve got labour down and +gouged it every time you got a chance, and you went out of your way to +make chances.” + +“No! No!” were the cries. + +“There was the teamsters’ strike, right here in San Francisco,” Bertie +went on imperturbably. “The Employers’ Association precipitated that +strike. You know that. And you know I know it, too, for I’ve sat in +these very rooms and heard the inside talk and news of the fight. First +you precipitated the strike, then you bought the Mayor and the Chief of +Police and broke the strike. A pretty spectacle, you philanthropists +getting the teamsters down and gouging them. + +“Hold on, I’m not through with you. It’s only last year that the labour +ticket of Colorado elected a governor. He was never seated. You know +why. You know how your brother philanthropists and capitalists of +Colorado worked it. It was a case of getting labour down and gouging it. +You kept the president of the South-western Amalgamated Association of +Miners in jail for three years on trumped-up murder charges, and with him +out of the way you broke up the association. That was gouging labour, +you’ll admit. The third time the graduated income tax was declared +unconstitutional was a gouge. So was the eight-hour Bill you killed in +the last Congress. + +“And of all unmitigated immoral gouges, your destruction of the +closed-shop principle was the limit. You know how it was done. You +bought out Farburg, the last president of the old American Federation of +Labour. He was your creature—or the creature of all the trusts and +employers’ associations, which is the same thing. You precipitated the +big closed-shop strike. Farburg betrayed that strike. You won, and the +old American Federation of Labour crumbled to pieces. You fellows +destroyed it, and by so doing undid yourselves; for right on top of it +began the organization of the I.L.W.—the biggest and solidest +organization of labour the United States has ever seen, and you are +responsible for its existence and for the present general strike. You +smashed all the old federations and drove labour into the I.L.W., and the +I.L.W. called the general strike—still fighting for the closed shop. And +then you have the effrontery to stand here face to face and tell me that +you never got labour down and gouged it. Bah!” + +This time there were no denials. Garfield broke out in self-defence— + +“We’ve done nothing we were not compelled to do, if we were to win.” + +“I’m not saying anything about that,” Bertie answered. “What I am +complaining about is your squealing now that you’re getting a taste of +your own medicine. How many strikes have you won by starving labour into +submission? Well, labour’s worked out a scheme whereby to starve you +into submission. It wants the closed shop, and, if it can get it by +starving you, why, starve you shall.” + +“I notice that you have profited in the past by those very labour gouges +you mention,” insinuated Brentwood, one of the wiliest and most astute of +our corporation lawyers. “The receiver is as bad as the thief,” he +sneered. “You had no hand in the gouging, but you took your whack out of +the gouge.” + +“That is quite beside the question, Brentwood,” Bertie drawled. “You’re +as bad as Hanover, intruding the moral element. I haven’t said that +anything is right or wrong. It’s all a rotten game, I know; and my sole +kick is that you fellows are squealing now that you’re down and labour’s +taking a gouge out of you. Of course I’ve taken the profits from the +gouging and, thanks to you, gentlemen, without having personally to do +the dirty work. You did that for me—oh, believe me, not because I am +more virtuous than you, but because my good father and his various +brothers left me a lot of money with which to pay for the dirty work.” + +“If you mean to insinuate—” Brentwood began hotly. + +“Hold on, don’t get all-ruffled up,” Bertie interposed insolently. +“There’s no use in playing hypocrites in this thieves’ den. The high and +lofty is all right for the newspapers, boys’ clubs, and Sunday +schools—that’s part of the game; but for heaven’s sake don’t let’s play +it on one another. You know, and you know that I know just what jobbery +was done in the building trades’ strike last fall, who put up the money, +who did the work, and who profited by it.” (Brentwood flushed darkly.) +“But we are all tarred with the same brush, and the best thing for us to +do is to leave morality out of it. Again I repeat, play the game, play +it to the last finish, but for goodness’ sake don’t squeal when you get +hurt.” + +When I left the group Bertie was off on a new tack tormenting them with +the more serious aspects of the situation, pointing out the shortage of +supplies that was already making itself felt, and asking them what they +were going to do about it. A little later I met him in the cloak-room, +leaving, and gave him a lift home in my machine. + +“It’s a great stroke, this general strike,” he said, as we bowled along +through the crowded but orderly streets. “It’s a smashing body-blow. +Labour caught us napping and struck at our weakest place, the stomach. +I’m going to get out of San Francisco, Corf. Take my advice and get out, +too. Head for the country, anywhere. You’ll have more chance. Buy up a +stock of supplies and get into a tent or a cabin somewhere. Soon +there’ll be nothing but starvation in this city for such as we.” + +How correct Bertie Messener was I never dreamed. I decided that he was +an alarmist. As for myself, I was content to remain and watch the fun. +After I dropped him, instead of going directly home, I went on in a hunt +for more food. To my surprise, I learned that the small groceries where +I had bought in the morning were sold out. I extended my search to the +Potrero, and by good luck managed to pick up another box of candles, two +sacks of wheat flour, ten pounds of graham flour (which would do for the +servants), a case of tinned corn, and two cases of tinned tomatoes. It +did look as though there was going to be at least a temporary food +shortage, and I hugged myself over the goodly stock of provisions I had +laid in. + +The next morning I had my coffee in bed as usual, and, more than the +cream, I missed the daily paper. It was this absence of knowledge of +what was going on in the world that I found the chief hardship. Down at +the club there was little news. Rider had crossed from Oakland in his +launch, and Halstead had been down to San Jose and back in his machine. +They reported the same conditions in those places as in San Francisco. +Everything was tied up by the strike. All grocery stocks had been bought +out by the upper classes. And perfect order reigned. But what was +happening over the rest of the country—in Chicago? New York? +Washington? Most probably the same things that were happening with us, +we concluded; but the fact that we did not know with absolute surety was +irritating. + +General Folsom had a bit of news. An attempt had been made to place army +telegraphers in the telegraph offices, but the wires had been cut in +every direction. This was, so far, the one unlawful act committed by +labour, and that it was a concerted act he was fully convinced. He had +communicated by wireless with the army post at Benicia, the telegraph +lines were even then being patrolled by soldiers all the way to +Sacramento. Once, for one short instant, they had got the Sacramento +call, then the wires, somewhere, were cut again. General Folsom reasoned +that similar attempts to open communication were being made by the +authorities all the way across the continent, but he was non-committal as +to whether or not he thought the attempt would succeed. What worried him +was the wire-cutting; he could not but believe that it was an important +part of the deep-laid labour conspiracy. Also, he regretted that the +Government had not long since established its projected chain of wireless +stations. + +The days came and went, and for a while it was a humdrum time. Nothing +happened. The edge of excitement had become blunted. The streets were +not so crowded. The working class did not come uptown any more to see +how we were taking the strike. And there were not so many automobiles +running around. The repair-shops and garages were closed, and whenever a +machine broke down it went out of commission. The clutch on mine broke, +and neither love nor money could get it repaired. Like the rest, I was +now walking. San Francisco lay dead, and we did not know what was +happening over the rest of the country. But from the very fact that we +did not know we could conclude only that the rest of the country lay as +dead as San Francisco. From time to time the city was placarded with the +proclamations of organized labour—these had been printed months before, +and evidenced how thoroughly the I.L.W. had prepared for the strike. +Every detail had been worked out long in advance. No violence had +occurred as yet, with the exception of the shooting of a few wire-cutters +by the soldiers, but the people of the slums were starving and growing +ominously restless. + +The business men, the millionaires, and the professional class held +meetings and passed resolutions, but there was no way of making the +proclamations public. They could not even get them printed. One result +of these meetings, however, was that General Folsom was persuaded into +taking military possession of the wholesale houses and of all the flour, +grain, and food warehouses. It was high time, for suffering was becoming +acute in the homes of the rich, and bread-lines were necessary. I knew +that my servants were beginning to draw long faces, and it was +amazing—the hole they made in my stock of provisions. In fact, as I +afterward surmised, each servant was stealing from me and secreting a +private stock of provisions for himself. + +But with the formation of the bread-lines came new troubles. There was +only so much of a food reserve in San Francisco, and at the best it could +not last long. Organized labour, we knew, had its private supplies; +nevertheless, the whole working class joined the bread-lines. As a +result, the provisions General Folsom had taken possession of diminished +with perilous rapidity. How were the soldiers to distinguish between a +shabby middle-class man, a member of the I.L.W., or a slum dweller? The +first and the last had to be fed, but the soldiers did not know all the +I.L.W. men in the city, much less the wives and sons and daughters of the +I.L.W. men. The employers helping, a few of the known union men were +flung out of the bread-lines; but that amounted to nothing. To make +matters worse, the Government tugs that had been hauling food from the +army depots on Mare Island to Angel Island found no more food to haul. +The soldiers now received their rations from the confiscated provisions, +and they received them first. + +The beginning of the end was in sight. Violence was beginning to show +its face. Law and order were passing away, and passing away, I must +confess, among the slum people and the upper classes. Organized labour +still maintained perfect order. It could well afford to—it had plenty to +eat. I remember the afternoon at the club when I caught Halstead and +Brentwood whispering in a corner. They took me in on the venture. +Brentwood’s machine was still in running order, and they were going out +cow-stealing. Halstead had a long butcher knife and a cleaver. We went +out to the outskirts of the city. Here and there were cows grazing, but +always they were guarded by their owners. We pursued our quest, +following along the fringe of the city to the east, and on the hills near +Hunter’s Point we came upon a cow guarded by a little girl. There was +also a young calf with the cow. We wasted no time on preliminaries. The +little girl ran away screaming, while we slaughtered the cow. I omit the +details, for they are not nice—we were unaccustomed to such work, and we +bungled it. + +But in the midst of it, working with the haste of fear, we heard cries, +and we saw a number of men running toward us. We abandoned the spoils +and took to our heels. To our surprise we were not pursued. Looking +back, we saw the men hurriedly cutting up the cow. They had been on the +same lay as ourselves. We argued that there was plenty for all, and ran +back. The scene that followed beggars description. We fought and +squabbled over the division like savages. Brentwood, I remember, was a +perfect brute, snarling and snapping and threatening that murder would be +done if we did not get our proper share. + +And we were getting our share when there occurred a new irruption on the +scene. This time it was the dreaded peace officers of the I.L.W. The +little girl had brought them. They were armed with whips and clubs, and +there were a score of them. The little girl danced up and down in anger, +the tears streaming down her cheeks, crying: “Give it to ’em! Give it to +’em! That guy with the specs—he did it! Mash his face for him! Mash +his face!” That guy with the specs was I, and I got my face mashed, too, +though I had the presence of mind to take off my glasses at the first. +My! but we did receive a trouncing as we scattered in all directions. +Brentwood, Halstead, and I fled away for the machine. Brentwood’s nose +was bleeding, while Halstead’s cheek was cut across with the scarlet +slash of a black-snake whip. + +And, lo, when the pursuit ceased and we had gained the machine, there, +hiding behind it, was the frightened calf. Brentwood warned us to be +cautious, and crept up on it like a wolf or tiger. Knife and cleaver had +been left behind, but Brentwood still had his hands, and over and over on +the ground he rolled with the poor little calf as he throttled it. We +threw the carcass into the machine, covered it over with a robe, and +started for home. But our misfortunes had only begun. We blew out a +tyre. There was no way of fixing it, and twilight was coming on. We +abandoned the machine, Brentwood pulling and staggering along in advance, +the calf, covered by the robe, slung across his shoulders. We took turn +about carrying that calf, and it nearly killed us. Also, we lost our +way. And then, after hours of wandering and toil, we encountered a gang +of hoodlums. They were not I.L.W. men, and I guess they were as hungry +as we. At any rate, they got the calf and we got the thrashing. +Brentwood raged like a madman the rest of the way home, and he looked +like one, with his torn clothes, swollen nose, and blackened eyes. + +There wasn’t any more cow-stealing after that. General Folsom sent his +troopers out and confiscated all the cows, and his troopers, aided by the +militia, ate most of the meat. General Folsom was not to be blamed; it +was his duty to maintain law and order, and he maintained it by means of +the soldiers, wherefore he was compelled to feed them first of all. + +It was about this time that the great panic occurred. The wealthy +classes precipitated the flight, and then the slum people caught the +contagion and stampeded wildly out of the city. General Folsom was +pleased. It was estimated that at least 200,000 had deserted San +Francisco, and by that much was his food problem solved. Well do I +remember that day. In the morning I had eaten a crust of bread. Half of +the afternoon I had stood in the bread-line; and after dark I returned +home, tired and miserable, carrying a quart of rice and a slice of bacon. +Brown met me at the door. His face was worn and terrified. All the +servants had fled, he informed me. He alone remained. I was touched by +his faithfulness and, when I learned that he had eaten nothing all day, I +divided my food with him. We cooked half the rice and half the bacon, +sharing it equally and reserving the other half for morning. I went to +bed with my hunger, and tossed restlessly all night. In the morning I +found Brown had deserted me, and, greater misfortune still, he had stolen +what remained of the rice and bacon. + +It was a gloomy handful of men that came together at the club that +morning. There was no service at all. The last servant was gone. I +noticed, too, that the silver was gone, and I learned where it had gone. +The servants had not taken it, for the reason, I presume, that the club +members got to it first. Their method of disposing of it was simple. +Down south of Market Street, in the dwellings of the I.L.W., the +housewives had given square meals in exchange for it. I went back to my +house. Yes, my silver was gone—all but a massive pitcher. This I +wrapped up and carried down south of Market Street. + +I felt better after the meal, and returned to the club to learn if there +was anything new in the situation. Hanover, Collins, and Dakon were just +leaving. There was no one inside, they told me, and they invited me to +come along with them. They were leaving the city, they said, on Dakon’s +horses, and there was a spare one for me. Dakon had four magnificent +carriage horses that he wanted to save, and General Folsom had given him +the tip that next morning all the horses that remained in the city were +to be confiscated for food. There were not many horses left, for tens of +thousands of them had been turned loose into the country when the hay and +grain gave out during the first days. Birdall, I remember, who had great +draying interests, had turned loose three hundred dray horses. At an +average value of five hundred dollars, this had amounted to $150,000. He +had hoped, at first, to recover most of the horses after the strike was +over, but in the end he never recovered one of them. They were all eaten +by the people that fled from San Francisco. For that matter, the killing +of the army mules and horses for food had already begun. + +Fortunately for Dakon, he had had a plentiful supply of hay and grain +stored in his stable. We managed to raise four saddles, and we found the +animals in good condition and spirited, withal unused to being ridden. I +remembered the San Francisco of the great earthquake as we rode through +the streets, but this San Francisco was vastly more pitiable. No +cataclysm of nature had caused this, but, rather, the tyranny of the +labour unions. We rode down past Union Square and through the theatre, +hotel, and shopping districts. The streets were deserted. Here and +there stood automobiles, abandoned where they had broken down or when the +gasolene had given out. There was no sign of life, save for the +occasional policemen and the soldiers guarding the banks and public +buildings. Once we came upon an I.L.W. man pasting up the latest +proclamation. We stopped to read. “We have maintained an orderly +strike,” it ran; “and we shall maintain order to the end. The end will +come when our demands are satisfied, and our demands will be satisfied +when we have starved our employers into submission, as we ourselves in +the past have often been starved into submission.” + +“Messener’s very words,” Collins said. “And I, for one, am ready to +submit, only they won’t give me a chance to submit. I haven’t had a full +meal in an age. I wonder what horse-meat tastes like?” + +We stopped to read another proclamation: “When we think our employers are +ready to submit we shall open up the telegraphs and place the employers’ +associations of the United States in communication. But only messages +relating to peace terms shall be permitted over the wires.” + +We rode on, crossed Market Street, and a little later were passing +through the working-class district. Here the streets were not deserted. +Leaning over the gates or standing in groups were the I.L.W. men. Happy, +well-fed children were playing games, and stout housewives sat on the +front steps gossiping. One and all cast amused glances at us. Little +children ran after us, crying: “Hey, mister, ain’t you hungry?” And one +woman, nursing a child at her breast, called to Dakon: “Say, Fatty, I’ll +give you a meal for your skate—ham and potatoes, currant jelly, white +bread, canned butter, and two cups of coffee.” + +“Have you noticed, the last few days,” Hanover remarked to me, “that +there’s not been a stray dog in the streets?” + +I had noticed, but I had not thought about it before. It was high time +to leave the unfortunate city. We at last managed to connect with the +San Bruno Road, along which we headed south. I had a country place near +Menlo, and it was our objective. But soon we began to discover that the +country was worse off and far more dangerous than the city. There the +soldiers and the I.L.W. kept order; but the country had been turned over +to anarchy. Two hundred thousand people had fled from San Francisco, and +we had countless evidences that their flight had been like that of an +army of locusts. + +They had swept everything clean. There had been robbery and fighting. +Here and there we passed bodies by the roadside and saw the blackened +ruins of farm-houses. The fences were down, and the crops had been +trampled by the feet of a multitude. All the vegetable patches had been +rooted up by the famished hordes. All the chickens and farm animals had +been slaughtered. This was true of all the main roads that led out of +San Francisco. Here and there, away from the roads, farmers had held +their own with shotguns and revolvers, and were still holding their own. +They warned us away and refused to parley with us. And all the +destruction and violence had been done by the slum-dwellers and the upper +classes. The I.L.W. men, with plentiful food supplies, remained quietly +in their homes in the cities. + +Early in the ride we received concrete proof of how desperate was the +situation. To the right of us we heard cries and rifle-shots. Bullets +whistled dangerously near. There was a crashing in the underbrush; then +a magnificent black truck-horse broke across the road in front of us and +was gone. We had barely time to notice that he was bleeding and lame. +He was followed by three soldiers. The chase went on among the trees on +the left. We could hear the soldiers calling to one another. A fourth +soldier limped out upon the road from the right, sat down on a boulder, +and mopped the sweat from his face. + +“Militia,” Dakon whispered. “Deserters.” + +The man grinned up at us and asked for a match. In reply to Dakon’s +“What’s the word?” he informed us that the militiamen were deserting. +“No grub,” he explained. “They’re feedin’ it all to the regulars.” We +also learned from him that the military prisoners had been released from +Alcatraz Island because they could no longer be fed. + +I shall never forget the next sight we encountered. We came upon it +abruptly around a turn of the road. Overhead arched the trees. The +sunshine was filtering down through the branches. Butterflies were +fluttering by, and from the fields came the song of larks. And there it +stood, a powerful touring car. About it and in it lay a number of +corpses. It told its own tale. Its occupants, fleeing from the city, +had been attacked and dragged down by a gang of slum dwellers—hoodlums. +The thing had occurred within twenty-four hours. Freshly opened meat and +fruit tins explained the reason for the attack. Dakon examined the +bodies. + +“I thought so,” he reported. “I’ve ridden in that car. It was +Perriton—the whole family. We’ve got to watch out for ourselves from now +on.” + +“But we have no food with which to invite attack,” I objected. + +Dakon pointed to the horse I rode, and I understood. + +Early in the day Dakon’s horse had cast a shoe. The delicate hoof had +split, and by noon the animal was limping. Dakon refused to ride it +farther, and refused to desert it. So, on his solicitation, we went on. +He would lead the horse and join us at my place. That was the last we +saw of him; nor did we ever learn his end. + +By one o’clock we arrived at the town of Menlo, or, rather, at the site +of Menlo, for it was in ruins. Corpses lay everywhere. The business +part of the town, as well as part of the residences, had been gutted by +fire. Here and there a residence still held out; but there was no +getting near them. When we approached too closely we were fired upon. +We met a woman who was poking about in the smoking ruins of her cottage. +The first attack, she told us had been on the stores, and as she talked +we could picture that raging, roaring, hungry mob flinging itself on the +handful of townspeople. Millionaires and paupers had fought side by side +for the food, and then fought with one another after they got it. The +town of Palo Alto and Stanford University had been sacked in similar +fashion, we learned. Ahead of us lay a desolate, wasted land; and we +thought we were wise in turning off to my place. It lay three miles to +the west, snuggling among the first rolling swells of the foothills. + +But as we rode along we saw that the devastation was not confined to the +main roads. The van of the flight had kept to the roads, sacking the +small towns as it went; while those that followed had scattered out and +swept the whole countryside like a great broom. My place was built of +concrete, masonry, and tiles, and so had escaped being burned, but it was +gutted clean. We found the gardener’s body in the windmill, littered +around with empty shot-gun shells. He had put up a good fight. But no +trace could we find of the two Italian labourers, nor of the house-keeper +and her husband. Not a live thing remained. The calves, the colts, all +the fancy poultry and thoroughbred stock, everything, was gone. The +kitchen and the fireplaces, where the mob had cooked, were a mess, while +many camp-fires outside bore witness to the large number that had fed and +spent the night. What they had not eaten they had carried away. There +was not a bite for us. + +We spent the rest of the night vainly waiting for Dakon, and in the +morning, with our revolvers, fought off half-a-dozen marauders. Then we +killed one of Dakon’s horses, hiding for the future what meat we did not +immediately eat. In the afternoon Collins went out for a walk, but +failed to return. This was the last straw to Hanover. He was for flight +there and then, and I had great difficulty in persuading him to wait for +daylight. As for myself, I was convinced that the end of the general +strike was near, and I was resolved to return to San Francisco. So, in +the morning, we parted company, Hanover heading south, fifty pounds of +horse-meat strapped to his saddle, while I, similarly loaded, headed +north. Little Hanover pulled through all right, and to the end of his +life he will persist, I know, in boring everybody with the narrative of +his subsequent adventures. + +I got as far as Belmont, on the main road back, when I was robbed of my +horse-meat by three militiamen. There was no change in the situation, +they said, except that it was going from bad to worse. The I.L.W. had +plenty of provisions hidden away and could last out for months. I +managed to get as far as Baden, when my horse was taken away from me by a +dozen men. Two of them were San Francisco policemen, and the remainder +were regular soldiers. This was ominous. The situation was certainly +extreme when the regulars were beginning to desert. When I continued my +way on foot, they already had the fire started, and the last of Dakon’s +horses lay slaughtered on the ground. + +As luck would have it, I sprained my ankle, and succeeded in getting no +farther than South San Francisco. I lay there that night in an +out-house, shivering with the cold and at the same time burning with +fever. Two days I lay there, too sick to move, and on the third, reeling +and giddy, supporting myself on an extemporized crutch, I tottered on +toward San Francisco. I was weak as well, for it was the third day since +food had passed my lips. It was a day of nightmare and torment. As in a +dream I passed hundreds of regular soldiers drifting along in the +opposite direction, and many policemen, with their families, organized in +large groups for mutual protection. + +As I entered the city I remembered the workman’s house at which I had +traded the silver pitcher, and in that direction my hunger drove me. +Twilight was falling when I came to the place. I passed around by the +alleyway and crawled up the black steps, on which I collapsed. I managed +to reach out with the crutch and knock on the door. Then I must have +fainted, for I came to in the kitchen, my face wet with water, and whisky +being poured down my throat. I choked and spluttered and tried to talk. +I began saying something about not having any more silver pitchers, but +that I would make it up to them afterward if they would only give me +something to eat. But the housewife interrupted me. + +“Why, you poor man,” she said, “haven’t you heard? The strike was called +off this afternoon. Of course we’ll give you something to eat.” + +She bustled around, opening a tin of breakfast bacon and preparing to fry +it. + +“Let me have some now, please,” I begged; and I ate the raw bacon on a +slice of bread, while her husband explained that the demands of the +I.L.W. had been granted. The wires had been opened up in the early +afternoon, and everywhere the employers’ associations had given in. +There hadn’t been any employers left in San Francisco, but General Folsom +had spoken for them. The trains and steamers would start running in the +morning, and so would everything else just as soon as system could be +established. + +And that was the end of the general strike. I never want to see another +one. It was worse than a war. A general strike is a cruel and immoral +thing, and the brain of man should be capable of running industry in a +more rational way. Harrison is still my chauffeur. It was part of the +conditions of the I.L.W. that all of its members should be reinstated in +their old positions. Brown never came back, but the rest of the servants +are with me. I hadn’t the heart to discharge them—poor creatures, they +were pretty hard-pressed when they deserted with the food and silver. +And now I can’t discharge them. They have all been unionized by the +I.L.W. The tyranny of organized labour is getting beyond human +endurance. Something must be done. + + + + +THE SEA-FARMER + + +“THAT wull be the doctor’s launch,” said Captain MacElrath. + +The pilot grunted, while the skipper swept on with his glass from the +launch to the strip of beach and to Kingston beyond, and then slowly +across the entrance to Howth Head on the northern side. + +“The tide’s right, and we’ll have you docked in two hours,” the pilot +vouchsafed, with an effort at cheeriness. “Ring’s End Basin, is it?” + +This time the skipper grunted. + +“A dirty Dublin day.” + +Again the skipper grunted. He was weary with the night of wind in the +Irish Channel behind him, the unbroken hours of which he had spent on the +bridge. And he was weary with all the voyage behind him—two years and +four months between home port and home port, eight hundred and fifty days +by his log. + +“Proper wunter weather,” he answered, after a silence. “The town is +undistinct. Ut wull be rainun’ guid an’ hearty for the day.” + +Captain MacElrath was a small man, just comfortably able to peep over the +canvas dodger of the bridge. The pilot and third officer loomed above +him, as did the man at the wheel, a bulky German, deserted from a +warship, whom he had signed on in Rangoon. But his lack of inches made +Captain MacElrath a no less able man. At least so the Company reckoned, +and so would he have reckoned could he have had access to the carefully +and minutely compiled record of him filed away in the office archives. +But the Company had never given him a hint of its faith in him. It was +not the way of the Company, for the Company went on the principle of +never allowing an employee to think himself indispensable or even +exceedingly useful; wherefore, while quick to censure, it never praised. +What was Captain MacElrath, anyway, save a skipper, one skipper of the +eighty-odd skippers that commanded the Company’s eighty-odd freighters on +all the highways and byways of the sea? + +Beneath them, on the main deck, two Chinese stokers were carrying +breakfast for’ard across the rusty iron plates that told their own grim +story of weight and wash of sea. A sailor was taking down the life-line +that stretched from the forecastle, past the hatches and cargo-winches, +to the bridge-deck ladder. + +“A rough voyage,” suggested the pilot. + +“Aye, she was fair smokin’ ot times, but not thot I minded thot so much +as the lossin’ of time. I hate like onythun’ tull loss time.” + +So saying, Captain MacElrath turned and glanced aft, aloft and alow, and +the pilot, following his gaze, saw the mute but convincing explanation of +that loss of time. The smoke-stack, buff-coloured underneath, was white +with salt, while the whistle-pipe glittered crystalline in the random +sunlight that broke for the instant through a cloud-rift. The port +lifeboat was missing, its iron davits, twisted and wrenched, testifying +to the mightiness of the blow that had been struck the old _Tryapsic_. +The starboard davits were also empty. The shattered wreck of the +lifeboat they had held lay on the fiddley beside the smashed engine-room +skylight, which was covered by a tarpaulin. Below, to star-board, on the +bridge deck, the pilot saw the crushed mess-room door, roughly bulkheaded +against the pounding seas. Abreast of it, on the smokestack guys, and +being taken down by the bos’n and a sailor, hung the huge square of rope +netting which had failed to break those seas of their force. + +“Twice afore I mentioned thot door tull the owners,” said Captain +MacElrath. “But they said ut would do. There was bug seas thot time. +They was uncreditable bug. And thot buggest one dud the domage. Ut fair +carried away the door an’ laid ut flat on the mess table an’ smashed out +the chief’s room. He was a but sore about ut.” + +“It must ’a’ been a big un,” the pilot remarked sympathetically. + +“Aye, ut was thot. Thungs was lively for a but. Ut finished the mate. +He was on the brudge wuth me, an’ I told hum tull take a look tull the +wedges o’ number one hatch. She was takin’ watter freely an’ I was no +sure o’ number one. I dudna like the look o’ ut, an’ I was fuggerin’ +maybe tull heave to tull the marn, when she took ut over abaft the +brudge. My word, she was a bug one. We got a but of ut ourselves on the +brudge. I dudna miss the mate ot the first, what o’ routin’ out Chips +an’ bulkheadun’ thot door an’ stretchun’ the tarpaulin over the +sky-light. Then he was nowhere to be found. The men ot the wheel said +as he seen hum goin’ down the lodder just afore she hut us. We looked +for’ard, we looked tull hus room, aye looked tull the engine-room, an’ we +looked along aft on the lower deck, and there he was, on both sides the +cover to the steam-pipe runnun’ tull the after-wunches.” + +The pilot ejaculated an oath of amazement and horror. + +“Aye,” the skipper went on wearily, “an’ on both sides the steam-pipe uz +well. I tell ye he was in two pieces, splut clean uz a herrin’. The sea +must a-caught hum on the upper brudge deck, carried hum clean across the +fiddley, an’ banged hum head-on tull the pipe cover. It sheered through +hum like so much butter, down atween the eyes, an’ along the middle of +hum, so that one leg an’ arm was fast tull the one piece of hum, an’ one +leg an’ arm fast tull the other piece of hum. I tull ye ut was fair +grewsome. We putt hum together an’ rolled hum in canvas uz we pulled hum +out.” + +The pilot swore again. + +“Oh, ut wasna onythun’ tull greet about,” Captain MacElrath assured him. +“’Twas a guid ruddance. He was no a sailor, thot mate-fellow. He was +only fut for a pugsty, an’ a dom puir apology for thot same.” + +It is said that there are three kinds of Irish—Catholic, Protestant, and +North-of-Ireland—and that the North-of-Ireland Irishman is a transplanted +Scotchman. Captain MacElrath was a North-of-Ireland man, and, talking +for much of the world like a Scotchman, nothing aroused his ire quicker +than being mistaken for a Scotchman. Irish he stoutly was, and Irish he +stoutly abided, though it was with a faint lip-lift of scorn that he +mentioned mere South-of-Ireland men, or even Orange-men. Himself he was +Presbyterian, while in his own community five men were all that ever +mustered at a meeting in the Orange Men’s Hall. His community was the +Island McGill, where seven thousand of his kind lived in such amity and +sobriety that in the whole island there was but one policeman and never a +public-house at all. + +Captain MacElrath did not like the sea, and had never liked it. He wrung +his livelihood from it, and that was all the sea was, the place where he +worked, as the mill, the shop, and the counting-house were the places +where other men worked. Romance never sang to him her siren song, and +Adventure had never shouted in his sluggish blood. He lacked +imagination. The wonders of the deep were without significance to him. +Tornadoes, hurricanes, waterspouts, and tidal waves were so many +obstacles to the way of a ship on the sea and of a master on the +bridge—they were that to him, and nothing more. He had seen, and yet not +seen, the many marvels and wonders of far lands. Under his eyelids +burned the brazen glories of the tropic seas, or ached the bitter gales +of the North Atlantic or far South Pacific; but his memory of them was of +mess-room doors stove in, of decks awash and hatches threatened, of undue +coal consumption, of long passages, and of fresh paint-work spoiled by +unexpected squalls of rain. + +“I know my buzz’ness,” was the way he often put it, and beyond his +business was all that he did not know, all that he had seen with the +mortal eyes of him and yet that he never dreamed existed. That he knew +his business his owners were convinced, or at forty he would not have +held command of the _Tryapsic_, three thousand tons net register, with a +cargo capacity of nine thousand tons and valued at fifty-thousand pounds. + +He had taken up seafaring through no love of it, but because it had been +his destiny, because he had been the second son of his father instead of +the first. Island McGill was only so large, and the land could support +but a certain definite proportion of those that dwelt upon it. The +balance, and a large balance it was, was driven to the sea to seek its +bread. It had been so for generations. The eldest sons took the farms +from their fathers; to the other sons remained the sea and its +salt-ploughing. So it was that Donald MacElrath, farmer’s son and +farm-boy himself, had shifted from the soil he loved to the sea he hated +and which it was his destiny to farm. And farmed it he had, for twenty +years, shrewd, cool-headed, sober, industrious, and thrifty, rising from +ship’s boy and forecastle hand to mate and master of sailing-ships and +thence into steam, second officer, first, and master, from small command +to larger, and at last to the bridge of the old _Tryapsic_—old, to be +sure, but worth her fifty thousand pounds and still able to bear up in +all seas, and weather her nine thousand tons of freight. + +From the bridge of the _Tryapsic_, the high place he had gained in the +competition of men, he stared at Dublin harbour opening out, at the town +obscured by the dark sky of the dreary wind-driven day, and at the +tangled tracery of spars and rigging of the harbour shipping. Back from +twice around the world he was, and from interminable junketings up and +down on far stretches, home-coming to the wife he had not seen in +eight-and-twenty months, and to the child he had never seen and that was +already walking and talking. He saw the watch below of stokers and +trimmers bobbing out of the forecastle doors like rabbits from a warren +and making their way aft over the rusty deck to the mustering of the port +doctor. They were Chinese, with expressionless, Sphinx-like faces, and +they walked in peculiar shambling fashion, dragging their feet as if the +clumsy brogans were too heavy for their lean shanks. + +He saw them and he did not see them, as he passed his hand beneath his +visored cap and scratched reflectively his mop of sandy hair. For the +scene before him was but the background in his brain for the vision of +peace that was his—a vision that was his often during long nights on the +bridge when the old _Tryapsic_ wallowed on the vexed ocean floor, her +decks awash, her rigging thrumming in the gale gusts or snow squalls or +driving tropic rain. And the vision he saw was of farm and farm-house +and straw-thatched outbuildings, of children playing in the sun, and the +good wife at the door, of lowing kine, and clucking fowls, and the stamp +of horses in the stable, of his father’s farm next to him, with, beyond, +the woodless, rolling land and the hedged fields, neat and orderly, +extending to the crest of the smooth, soft hills. It was his vision and +his dream, his Romance and Adventure, the goal of all his effort, the +high reward for the salt-ploughing and the long, long furrows he ran up +and down the whole world around in his farming of the sea. + +In simple taste and homely inclination this much-travelled man was more +simple and homely than the veriest yokel. Seventy-one years his father +was, and had never slept a night out of his own bed in his own house on +Island McGill. That was the life ideal, so Captain MacElrath considered, +and he was prone to marvel that any man, not under compulsion, should +leave a farm to go to sea. To this much-travelled man the whole world +was as familiar as the village to the cobbler sitting in his shop. To +Captain MacElrath the world was a village. In his mind’s eye he saw its +streets a thousand leagues long, aye, and longer; turnings that doubled +earth’s stormiest headlands or were the way to quiet inland ponds; +cross-roads, taken one way, that led to flower-lands and summer seas, and +that led the other way to bitter, ceaseless gales and the perilous bergs +of the great west wind drift. And the cities, bright with lights, were +as shops on these long streets—shops where business was transacted, where +bunkers were replenished, cargoes taken or shifted, and orders received +from the owners in London town to go elsewhere and beyond, ever along the +long sea-lanes, seeking new cargoes here, carrying new cargoes there, +running freights wherever shillings and pence beckoned and underwriters +did not forbid. But it was all a weariness to contemplate, and, save +that he wrung from it his bread, it was without profit under the sun. + +The last good-bye to the wife had been at Cardiff, twenty-eight months +before, when he sailed for Valparaiso with coals—nine thousand tons and +down to his marks. From Valparaiso he had gone to Australia, light, a +matter of six thousand miles on end with a stormy passage and running +short of bunker coal. Coals again to Oregon, seven thousand miles, and +nigh as many more with general cargo for Japan and China. Thence to +Java, loading sugar for Marseilles, and back along the Mediterranean to +the Black Sea, and on to Baltimore, down to her marks with crome ore, +buffeted by hurricanes, short again of bunker coal and calling at Bermuda +to replenish. Then a time charter, Norfolk, Virginia, loading mysterious +contraband coal and sailing for South Africa under orders of the +mysterious German supercargo put on board by the charterers. On to +Madagascar, steaming four knots by the supercargo’s orders, and the +suspicion forming that the Russian fleet might want the coal. Confusion +and delays, long waits at sea, international complications, the whole +world excited over the old _Tryapsic_ and her cargo of contraband, and +then on to Japan and the naval port of Sassebo. Back to Australia, +another time charter and general merchandise picked up at Sydney, +Melbourne, and Adelaide, and carried on to Mauritius, Lourenço Marques, +Durban, Algoa Bay, and Cape Town. To Ceylon for orders, and from Ceylon +to Rangoon to load rice for Rio Janeiro. Thence to Buenos Aires and +loading maize for the United Kingdom or the Continent, stopping at St. +Vincent, to receive orders to proceed to Dublin. Two years and four +months, eight hundred and fifty days by the log, steaming up and down the +thousand-league-long sea-lanes and back again to Dublin town. And he was +well aweary. + +A little tug had laid hold of the _Tryapsic_, and with clang and clatter +and shouted command, with engines half-ahead, slow-speed, or half-astern, +the battered old sea-tramp was nudged and nosed and shouldered through +the dock-gates into Ring’s End Basin. Lines were flung ashore, fore and +aft, and a ’midship spring got out. Already a small group of the happy +shore-staying folk had clustered on the dock. + +“Ring off,” Captain MacElrath commanded in his slow thick voice; and the +third officer worked the lever of the engine-room telegraph. + +“Gangway out!” called the second officer; and when this was accomplished, +“That will do.” + +It was the last task of all, gangway out. “That will do” was the +dismissal. The voyage was ended, and the crew shambled eagerly forward +across the rusty decks to where their sea-bags were packed and ready for +the shore. The taste of the land was strong in the men’s mouths, and +strong it was in the skipper’s mouth as he muttered a gruff good day to +the departing pilot, and himself went down to his cabin. Up the gangway +were trooping the customs officers, the surveyor, the agent’s clerk, and +the stevedores. Quick work disposed of these and cleared his cabin, the +agent waiting to take him to the office. + +“Dud ye send word tull the wife?” had been his greeting to the clerk. + +“Yes, a telegram, as soon as you were reported.” + +“She’ll likely be comin’ down on the marnin’ train,” the skipper had +soliloquized, and gone inside to change his clothes and wash. + +He took a last glance about the room and at two photographs on the wall, +one of the wife the other of an infant—the child he had never seen. He +stepped out into the cabin, with its panelled walls of cedar and maple, +and with its long table that seated ten, and at which he had eaten by +himself through all the weary time. No laughter and clatter and wordy +argument of the mess-room had been his. He had eaten silently, almost +morosely, his silence emulated by the noiseless Asiatic who had served +him. It came to him suddenly, the overwhelming realization of the +loneliness of those two years and more. All his vexations and anxieties +had been his own. He had shared them with no one. His two young +officers were too young and flighty, the mate too stupid. There was no +consulting with them. One tenant had shared the cabin with him, that +tenant his responsibility. They had dined and supped together, walked +the bridge together, and together they had bedded. + +“Och!” he muttered to that grim companion, “I’m quit of you, an’ wull +quit . . . for a wee.” + +Ashore he passed the last of the seamen with their bags, and, at the +agent’s, with the usual delays, put through his ship business. When +asked out by them to drink he took milk and soda. + +“I am no teetotaler,” he explained; “but for the life o’ me I canna bide +beer or whusky.” + +In the early afternoon, when he finished paying off his crew, he hurried +to the private office where he had been told his wife was waiting. + +His eyes were for her first, though the temptation was great to have more +than a hurried glimpse of the child in the chair beside her. He held her +off from him after the long embrace, and looked into her face long and +steadily, drinking in every feature of it and wondering that he could +mark no changes of time. A warm man, his wife thought him, though had +the opinion of his officers been asked it would have been: a harsh man +and a bitter one. + +“Wull, Annie, how is ut wi’ ye?” he queried, and drew her to him again. + +And again he held her away from him, this wife of ten years and of whom +he knew so little. She was almost a stranger—more a stranger than his +Chinese steward, and certainly far more a stranger than his own officers +whom he had seen every day, day and day, for eight hundred and fifty +days. Married ten years, and in that time he had been with her nine +weeks—scarcely a honeymoon. Each time home had been a getting acquainted +again with her. It was the fate of the men who went out to the +salt-ploughing. Little they knew of their wives and less of their +children. There was his chief engineer—old, near-sighted MacPherson—who +told the story of returning home to be locked out of his house by his +four-year kiddie that never had laid eyes on him before. + +“An’ thus ’ull be the loddie,” the skipper said, reaching out a hesitant +hand to the child’s cheek. + +But the boy drew away from him, sheltering against the mother’s side. + +“Och!” she cried, “and he doesna know his own father.” + +“Nor I hum. Heaven knows I could no a-picked hum out of a crowd, though +he’ll be havin’ your nose I’m thunkun’.” + +“An’ your own eyes, Donald. Look ut them. He’s your own father, laddie. +Kiss hum like the little mon ye are.” + +But the child drew closer to her, his expression of fear and distrust +growing stronger, and when the father attempted to take him in his arms +he threatened to cry. + +The skipper straightened up, and to conceal the pang at his heart he drew +out his watch and looked at it. + +“Ut’s time to go, Annie,” he said. “Thot train ’ull be startun’.” + +He was silent on the train at first, divided between watching the wife +with the child going to sleep in her arms and looking out of the window +at the tilled fields and green unforested hills vague and indistinct in +the driving drizzle that had set in. They had the compartment to +themselves. When the boy slept she laid him out on the seat and wrapped +him warmly. And when the health of relatives and friends had been +inquired after, and the gossip of Island McGill narrated, along with the +weather and the price of land and crops, there was little left to talk +about save themselves, and Captain MacElrath took up the tale brought +home for the good wife from all his world’s-end wandering. But it was +not a tale of marvels he told, nor of beautiful flower-lands nor +mysterious Eastern cities. + +“What like is Java?” she asked once. + +“Full o’ fever. Half the crew down wuth ut an’ luttle work. Ut was +quinine an’ quinine the whole blessed time. Each marnun’ ’twas quinine +an’ gin for all hands on an empty stomach. An’ they who was no sick made +ut out to be hovun’ ut bad uz the rest.” + +Another time she asked about Newcastle. + +“Coals an’ coal-dust—thot’s all. No a nice sutty. I lost two Chinks +there, stokers the both of them. An’ the owners paid a fine tull the +Government of a hundred pounds each for them. ‘We regret tull note,’ +they wrut me—I got the letter tull Oregon—‘We regret tull note the loss +o’ two Chinese members o’ yer crew ot Newcastle, an’ we recommend greater +carefulness un the future.’ Greater carefulness! And I could no a-been +more careful. The Chinks hod forty-five pounds each comun’ tull them in +wages, an’ I was no a-thunkun’ they ’ud run. + +“But thot’s their way—‘we regret tull note,’ ‘we beg tull advise,’ ‘we +recommend,’ ‘we canna understand’—an’ the like o’ thot. Domned cargo +tank! An’ they would thunk I could drive her like a _Lucania_, an’ +wi’out burnun’ coals. There was thot propeller. I was after them a guid +while for ut. The old one was iron, thuck on the edges, an’ we couldna +make our speed. An’ the new one was bronze—nine hundred pounds ut cost, +an’ then wantun’ their returns out o’ ut, an’ me wuth a bod passage an’ +lossin’ time every day. ‘We regret tull note your long passage from +Voloparaiso tull Sydney wuth an average daily run o’ only one hundred an’ +suxty-seven. We hod expected better results wuth the new propeller. You +should a-made an average daily run o’ two hundred and suxteen.’ + +“An’ me on a wunter passage, blowin’ a luvin’ gale half the time, wuth +hurricane force in atweenwhiles, an’ hove to sux days, wuth engines +stopped an’ bunker coal runnun’ short, an’ me wuth a mate thot stupid he +could no pass a shup’s light ot night wi’out callun’ me tull the brudge. +I wrut an’ told ’em so. An’ then: ‘Our nautical adviser suggests you +kept too far south,’ an’ ‘We are lookun’ for better results from thot +propeller.’ Nautical adviser!—shore pilot! Ut was the regular latitude +for a wunter passage from Voloparaiso tull Sydney. + +“An’ when I come un tull Auckland short o’ coal, after lettun’ her druft +sux days wuth the fires out tull save the coal, an’ wuth only twenty tons +in my bunkers, I was thunkun’ o’ the lossin’ o’ time an’ the expense, an’ +tull save the owners I took her un an’ out wi’out pilotage. Pilotage was +no compulsory. An’ un Yokohama, who should I meet but Captun Robinson o’ +the _Dyapsic_. We got a-talkun’ about ports an’ places down +Australia-way, an’ first thing he says: ‘Speakun’ o’ Auckland—of course, +Captun, you was never un Auckland?’ ‘Yus,’ I says, ‘I was un there very +recent.’ ‘Oh, ho,’ he says, very angry-like, ‘so you was the smart Aleck +thot fetched me thot letter from the owners: “We note item of fufteen +pounds for pilotage ot Auckland. A shup o’ ours was un tull Auckland +recently an’ uncurred no such charge. We beg tull advise you thot we +conseeder thus pilotage an onnecessary expense which should no be +uncurred un the future.”’ + +“But dud they say a word tull me for the fufteen pounds I saved tull +them? No a word. They send a letter tull Captun Robinson for no savun’ +them the fufteen pounds, an’ tull me: ‘We note item of two guineas +doctor’s fee at Auckland for crew. Please explain thus onusual +expunditure.’ Ut was two o’ the Chinks. I was thunkun’ they hod +beri-beri, an’ thot was the why o’ sendun’ for the doctor. I buried the +two of them ot sea not a week after. But ut was: ‘Please explain thus +onusual expunditure,’ an’ tull Captun Robinson, ‘We beg tull advise you +thot we conseeder thus pilotage an onnecessary expense.’ + +“Dudna I cable them from Newcastle, tellun’ them the old tank was thot +foul she needed dry-dock? Seven months out o’ dry-dock, an’ the West +Coast the quickest place for foulun’ un the world. But freights was up, +an’ they hod a charter o’ coals for Portland. The _Arrata_, one o’ the +Woor Line, left port the same day uz us, bound for Portland, an’ the old +_Tryapsic_ makun’ sux knots, seven ot the best. An’ ut was ot Comox, +takun’ un bunker coal, I got the letter from the owners. The boss +humself hod signed ut, an’ ot the bottom he wrut un hus own hond: ‘The +_Arrata_ beat you by four an’ a half days. Am dusappointed.’ +Dusappointed! When I had cabled them from Newcastle. When she drydocked +ot Portland, there was whuskers on her a foot long, barnacles the size o’ +me fust, oysters like young sauce plates. Ut took them two days +afterward tull clean the dock o’ shells an’ muck. + +“An’ there was the motter o’ them fire-bars ot Newcastle. The firm +ashore made them heavier than the engineer’s speecifications, an’ then +forgot tull charge for the dufference. Ot the last moment, wuth me +ashore gettun’ me clearance, they come wuth the bill: ‘Tull error on +fire-bars, sux pounds.’ They’d been tull the shup an’ MacPherson hod +O.K.’d ut. I said ut was strange an’ would no pay. ‘Then you are +dootun’ the chief engineer,’ says they. ‘I’m no dootun’,’ says I, ‘but I +canna see my way tull sign. Come wuth me tull the shup. The launch wull +cost ye naught an’ ut ’ull brung ye back. An’ we wull see what +MacPherson says.’ + +“But they would no come. Ot Portland I got the bill un a letter. I took +no notice. Ot Hong-Kong I got a letter from the owners. The bill hod +been sent tull them. I wrut them from Java explainun’. At Marseilles +the owners wrut me: ‘Tull extra work un engine-room, sux pounds. The +engineer has O.K.’d ut, an’ you have no O.K.’d ut. Are you dootun’ the +engineer’s honesty?’ I wrut an’ told them I was no dootun’ his honesty; +thot the bill was for extra weight o’ fire-bars; an’ thot ut was O.K. +Dud they pay ut? They no dud. They must unvestigate. An’ some clerk un +the office took sick, an’ the bill was lost. An’ there was more letters. +I got letters from the owners an’ the firm—‘Tull error on fire-bars, sux +pounds’—ot Baltimore, ot Delagoa Bay, ot Moji, ot Rangoon, ot Rio, an’ ot +Montevuddio. Ut uz no settled yut. I tell ye, Annie, the owners are +hard tull please.” + +He communed with himself for a moment, and then muttered indignantly: +“Tull error on fire-bars, sux pounds.” + +“Hov ye heard of Jamie?” his wife asked in the pause. + +Captain MacElrath shook his head. + +“He was washed off the poop wuth three seamen.” + +“Whereabouts?” + +“Off the Horn. ’Twas on the _Thornsby_.” + +“They would be runnun’ homeward bound?” + +“Aye,” she nodded. “We only got the word three days gone. His wife is +greetin’ like tull die.” + +“A good lod, Jamie,” he commented, “but a stiff one ot carryun’ on. I +mind me when we was mates together un the _Albion_. An’ so Jamie’s gone.” + +Again a pause fell, to be broken by the wife. + +“An’ ye will no a-heard o’ the _Bankshire_? MacDougall lost her in +Magellan Straits. ’Twas only yesterday ut was in the paper.” + +“A cruel place, them Magellan Straits,” he said. “Dudna thot domned +mate-fellow nigh putt me ashore twice on the one passage through? He was +a eediot, a lunatuc. I wouldna have hum on the brudge a munut. Comun’ +tull Narrow Reach, thuck weather, wuth snow squalls, me un the +chart-room, dudna I guv hum the changed course? ‘South-east-by-east,’ I +told hum. ‘South-east-by-east, sir,’ says he. Fufteen munuts after I +comes on tull the brudge. ‘Funny,’ says thot mate-fellow, ‘I’m no +rememberun’ ony islands un the mouth o’ Narrow Reach. I took one look ot +the islands an’ yells, ‘Putt your wheel hard a-starboard,’ tull the mon +ot the wheel. An’ ye should a-seen the old _Tryapsic_ turnun’ the +sharpest circle she ever turned. I waited for the snow tull clear, an’ +there was Narrow Reach, nice uz ye please, tull the east’ard an’ the +islands un the mouth o’ False Bay tull the south’ard. ‘What course was +ye steerun’?’ I says tull the mon ot the wheel. ‘South-by-east, sir,’ +says he. I looked tull the mate-fellow. What could I say? I was thot +wroth I could a-kult hum. Four points dufference. Five munuts more an’ +the old _Tryapsic_ would a-been funushed. + +“An’ was ut no the same when we cleared the Straits tull the east’ard? +Four hours would a-seen us guid an’ clear. I was forty hours then on the +brudge. I guv the mate his course, an’ the bearun’ o’ the Askthar Light +astern. ‘Don’t let her bear more tull the north’ard than west-by-north,’ +I said tull hum, ’an’ ye wull be all right.’ An’ I went below an’ turned +un. But I couldna sleep for worryun’. After forty hours on the brudge, +what was four hours more? I thought. An’ for them four hours wull ye be +lettun’ the mate loss her on ye? ‘No,’ I says to myself. An’ wuth thot +I got up, hod a wash an’ a cup o’ coffee, an’ went tull the brudge. I +took one look ot the bearun’ o’ Askthar Light. ’Twas nor’west-by-west, +and the old _Tryapsic_ down on the shoals. He was a eediot, thot +mate-fellow. Ye could look overside an’ see the duscoloration of the +watter. ’Twas a close call for the old _Tryapsic_ I’m tellun’ ye. Twice +un thirty hours he’d a-hod her ashore uf ut hod no been for me.” + +Captain MacElrath fell to gazing at the sleeping child with mild wonder +in his small blue eyes, and his wife sought to divert him from his woes. + +“Ye remember Jummy MacCaul?” she asked. “Ye went tull school wuth hus +two boys. Old Jummy MacCaul thot hoz the farm beyond Doctor Haythorn’s +place.” + +“Oh, aye, an’ what o’ hum? Uz he dead?” + +“No, but he was after askun’ your father, when he sailed last time for +Voloparaiso, uf ye’d been there afore. An’ when your father says no, +then Jummy says, ‘An’ how wull he be knowun a’ tull find hus way?’ An’ +with thot your father says: ‘Verry sumple ut uz, Jummy. Supposun’ you +was goin’ tull the mainland tull a mon who luved un Belfast. Belfast uz +a bug sutty, Jummy, an’ how would ye be findun’ your way?’ ‘By way o’ me +tongue,’ says Jummy; ‘I’d be askun’ the folk I met.’ ‘I told ye ut was +sumple,’ says your father. ‘Ut’s the very same way my Donald finds the +road tull Voloparaiso. He asks every shup he meets upon the sea tull ot +last he meets wuth a shup thot’s been tull Voloparaiso, an’ the captun o’ +thot shup tells hum the way.’ An’ Jummy scratches hus head an’ says he +understands an’ thot ut’s a very sumple motter after all.” + +The skipper chuckled at the joke, and his tired blue eyes were merry for +the moment. + +“He was a thun chap, thot mate-fellow, oz thun oz you an’ me putt +together,” he remarked after a time, a slight twinkle in his eye of +appreciation of the bull. But the twinkle quickly disappeared and the +blue eyes took on a bleak and wintry look. “What dud he do ot +Voloparaiso but land sux hundred fathom o’ chain cable an’ take never a +receipt from the lighter-mon. I was gettun’ my clearance ot the time. +When we got tull sea, I found he hod no receipt for the cable. + +“‘An’ ye no took a receipt for ut?’ says I. + +“‘No,’ says he. ‘Wasna ut goin’ direct tull the agents?’ + +“‘How long ha’ ye been goin’ tull sea,’ says I, ‘not tull be knowin’ the +mate’s duty uz tull deluver no cargo wuthout receipt for same? An’ on +the West Coast ot thot. What’s tull stop the lighter-mon from stealun’ a +few lengths o’ ut?’ + +“An’ ut come out uz I said. Sux hundred went over the side, but +four hundred an’ ninety-five was all the agents received. The +lighter-mon swore ut was all he received from the mate—four hundred an’ +ninety-five fathom. I got a letter from the owners ot Portland. They no +blamed the mate for ut, but me, an’ me ashore ot the time on shup’s +buzz’ness. I could no be in the two places ot the one time. An’ the +letters from the owners an’ the agents uz still comun’ tull me. + +“Thot mate-fellow was no a proper sailor, an’ no a mon tull work for +owners. Dudna he want tull break me wuth the Board of Trade for bein’ +below my marks? He said as much tull the bos’n. An’ he told me tull my +face homeward bound thot I’d been half an inch under my marks. ’Twas at +Portland, loadun’ cargo un fresh watter an’ goin’ tull Comox tull load +bunker coal un salt watter. I tell ye, Annie, ut takes close fuggerin’, +an’ I _was_ half an inch under the load-line when the bunker coal was un. +But I’m no tellun’ any other body but you. An’ thot mate-fellow +untendun’ tull report me tull the Board o’ Trade, only for thot he saw +fut tull be sliced un two pieces on the steam-pipe cover. + +“He was a fool. After loadun’ ot Portland I hod tull take on suxty tons +o’ coal tull last me tull Comox. The charges for lighterun’ was heavy, +an’ no room ot the coal dock. A French barque was lyin’ alongside the +dock an’ I spoke tull the captun, askun’ hum what he would charge when +work for the day was done, tull haul clear for a couple o’ hours an’ let +me un. ‘Twenty dollars,’ said he. Ut was savun’ money on lighters tull +the owner, an’ I gave ut tull hum. An’ thot night, after dark, I hauled +un an’ took on the coal. Then I started tull go out un the stream an’ +drop anchor—under me own steam, of course. + +“We hod tull go out stern first, an’ somethun’ went wrong wuth the +reversun’ gear. Old MacPherson said he could work ut by hond, but very +slow ot thot. An’ I said ‘All right.’ We started. The pilot was on +board. The tide was ebbun’ stuffly, an’ right abreast an’ a but below +was a shup lyin’ wuth a lighter on each side. I saw the shup’s ridun’ +lights, but never a light on the lighters. Ut was close quarters to +shuft a bug vessel onder steam, wuth MacPherson workun’ the reversun’ +gear by hond. We hod to come close down upon the shup afore I could go +ahead an’ clear o’ the shups on the dock-ends. An’ we struck the lighter +stern-on, just uz I rung tull MacPherson half ahead. + +“‘What was thot?’ says the pilot, when we struck the lighter. + +“‘I dunna know,’ says I, ‘an’ I’m wonderun’.’ + +“The pilot was no keen, ye see, tull hus job. I went on tull a guid +place an’ dropped anchor, an’ ut would all a-been well but for thot +domned eediot mate. + +“‘We smashed thot lighter,’ says he, comun’ up the lodder tull the +brudge—an’ the pilot stondun’ there wuth his ears cocked tull hear. + +“‘What lighter?’ says I. + +“‘Thot lighter alongside the shup,’ says the mate. + +“‘I dudna see no lighter,’ says I, and wuth thot I steps on hus fut guid +an’ hard. + +“After the pilot was gone I says tull the mate: ‘Uf you dunna know +onythun’, old mon, for Heaven’s sake keep your mouth shut.’ + +“‘But ye dud smash thot lighter, dudn’t ye?’ says he. + +“‘Uf we dud,’ says I, ‘ut’s no your buzz’ness tull be tellun’ the +pilot—though, mind ye, I’m no admuttun’ there was ony lighter.’ + +“An’ next marnun’, just uz I’m after dressun’, the steward says, ‘A mon +tull see ye, sir.’ ‘Fetch hum un,’ says I. An’ un he come. ‘Sut down,’ +says I. An’ he sot down. + +“He was the owner of the lighter, an’ when he hod told hus story, I says, +‘I dudna see ony lighter.’ + +“‘What, mon?’ says he. ‘No see a two-hundred-ton lighter, bug oz a +house, alongside thot shup?’ + +“‘I was goin’ by the shup’s lights,’ says I, ‘an’ I dudna touch the shup, +thot I know.’ + +“‘But ye dud touch the lighter,’ says he. ‘Ye smashed her. There’s a +thousand dollars’ domage done, an’ I’ll see ye pay for ut.’ + +“‘Look here, muster,’ says I, ‘when I’m shuftun’ a shup ot night I follow +the law, an’ the law dustunctly says I must regulate me actions by the +lights o’ the shuppun’. Your lighter never hod no ridun’ light, nor dud +I look for ony lighter wuthout lights tull show ut.’ + +“‘The mate says—’ he beguns. + +“‘Domn the mate,’ says I. ‘Dud your lighter hov a ridun’ light?’ + +“‘No, ut dud not,’ says he, ‘but ut was a clear night wuth the moon +a-showun’.’ + +“‘Ye seem tull know your buzz’ness,’ says I. ‘But let me tell ye thot I +know my buzz’ness uz well, an’ thot I’m no a-lookun’ for lighters wuthout +lights. Uf ye thunk ye hov a case, go ahead. The steward will show ye +out. Guid day.’ + +“An’ thot was the end o’ ut. But ut wull show ye what a puir fellow thot +mate was. I call ut a blessun’ for all masters thot he was sliced un two +on thot steam-pipe cover. He had a pull un the office an’ thot was the +why he was kept on.” + +“The Wekley farm wull soon be for sale, so the agents be tellun’ me,” his +wife remarked, slyly watching what effect her announcement would have +upon him. + +His eyes flashed eagerly on the instant, and he straightened up as might +a man about to engage in some agreeable task. It was the farm of his +vision, adjoining his father’s, and her own people farmed not a mile +away. + +“We wull be buyun’ ut,” he said, “though we wull be no tellun’ a soul of +ut ontul ut’s bought an’ the money paid down. I’ve savun’ consuderable +these days, though pickun’s uz no what they used to be, an’ we hov a tidy +nest-egg laid by. I wull see the father an’ hove the money ready tull +hus hond, so uf I’m ot sea he can buy whenever the land offers.” + +He rubbed the frosted moisture from the inside of the window and peered +out at the pouring rain, through which he could discern nothing. + +“When I was a young men I used tull be afeard thot the owners would guv +me the sack. Stull afeard I am of the sack. But once thot farm is mine +I wull no be afeard ony longer. Ut’s a puir job thus sea-farmun’. Me +managin’ un all seas an’ weather an’ perils o’ the deep a shup worth +fufty thousand pounds, wuth cargoes ot times worth fufty thousand more—a +hundred thousand pounds, half a million dollars uz the Yankees say, an’ +me wuth all the responsubility gettun’ a screw o’ twenty pounds a month. +What mon ashore, managin’ a buz’ness worth a hundred thousand pounds wull +be gettun’ uz small a screw uz twenty pounds? An’ wuth such masters uz a +captun serves—the owners, the underwriters, an’ the Board o’ Trade, all +pullun’ an wantun’ dufferent thungs—the owners wantun’ quick passages an’ +domn the rusk, the underwriters wantun’ safe passages an’ domn the delay, +an’ the Board o’ Trade wantun’ cautious passages an’ caution always +meanun’ delay. Three dufferent masters, an’ all three able an’ wullun’ +to break ye uf ye don’t serve their dufferent wushes.” + +He felt the train slackening speed, and peered again through the misty +window. He stood up, buttoned his overcoat, turned up the collar, and +awkwardly gathered the child, still asleep, in his arms. + +“I wull see the father,” he said, “an’ hov the money ready tull hus hond +so uf I’m ot sea when the land offers he wull no muss the chance tull +buy. An’ then the owners can guv me the sack uz soon uz they like. Ut +will be all night un, an’ I wull be wuth you, Annie, an’ the sea can go +tull hell.” + +Happiness was in both their faces at the prospect, and for a moment both +saw the same vision of peace. Annie leaned toward him, and as the train +stopped they kissed each other across the sleeping child. + + + + +SAMUEL + + +MARGARET HENAN would have been a striking figure under any circumstances, +but never more so than when I first chanced upon her, a sack of grain of +fully a hundredweight on her shoulder, as she walked with sure though +tottering stride from the cart-tail to the stable, pausing for an instant +to gather strength at the foot of the steep steps that led to the +grain-bin. There were four of these steps, and she went up them, a step +at a time, slowly, unwaveringly, and with so dogged certitude that it +never entered my mind that her strength could fail her and let that +hundred-weight sack fall from the lean and withered frame that wellnigh +doubled under it. For she was patently an old woman, and it was her age +that made me linger by the cart and watch. + +Six times she went between the cart and the stable, each time with a full +sack on her back, and beyond passing the time of day with me she took no +notice of my presence. Then, the cart empty, she fumbled for matches and +lighted a short clay pipe, pressing down the burning surface of the +tobacco with a calloused and apparently nerveless thumb. The hands were +noteworthy. They were large-knuckled, sinewy and malformed by labour, +rimed with callouses, the nails blunt and broken, and with here and there +cuts and bruises, healed and healing, such as are common to the hands of +hard-working men. On the back were huge, upstanding veins, eloquent of +age and toil. Looking at them, it was hard to believe that they were the +hands of the woman who had once been the belle of Island McGill. This +last, of course, I learned later. At the time I knew neither her history +nor her identity. + +She wore heavy man’s brogans. Her legs were stockingless, and I had +noticed when she walked that her bare feet were thrust into the crinkly, +iron-like shoes that sloshed about her lean ankles at every step. Her +figure, shapeless and waistless, was garbed in a rough man’s shirt and in +a ragged flannel petticoat that had once been red. But it was her face, +wrinkled, withered and weather-beaten, surrounded by an aureole of +unkempt and straggling wisps of greyish hair, that caught and held me. +Neither drifted hair nor serried wrinkles could hide the splendid dome of +a forehead, high and broad without verging in the slightest on the +abnormal. + +The sunken cheeks and pinched nose told little of the quality of the life +that flickered behind those clear blue eyes of hers. Despite the minutiæ +of wrinkle-work that somehow failed to weazen them, her eyes were clear +as a girl’s—clear, out-looking, and far-seeing, and with an open and +unblinking steadfastness of gaze that was disconcerting. The remarkable +thing was the distance between them. It is a lucky man or woman who has +the width of an eye between, but with Margaret Henan the width between +her eyes was fully that of an eye and a half. Yet so symmetrically +moulded was her face that this remarkable feature produced no uncanny +effect, and, for that matter, would have escaped the casual observer’s +notice. The mouth, shapeless and toothless, with down-turned corners and +lips dry and parchment-like, nevertheless lacked the muscular slackness +so usual with age. The lips might have been those of a mummy, save for +that impression of rigid firmness they gave. Not that they were +atrophied. On the contrary, they seemed tense and set with a muscular +and spiritual determination. There, and in the eyes, was the secret of +the certitude with which she carried the heavy sacks up the steep steps, +with never a false step or overbalance, and emptied them in the +grain-bin. + +“You are an old woman to be working like this,” I ventured. + +She looked at me with that strange, unblinking gaze, and she thought and +spoke with the slow deliberateness that characterized everything about +her, as if well aware of an eternity that was hers and in which there was +no need for haste. Again I was impressed by the enormous certitude of +her. In this eternity that seemed so indubitably hers, there was time +and to spare for safe-footing and stable equilibrium—for certitude, in +short. No more in her spiritual life than in carrying the hundredweights +of grain was there a possibility of a misstep or an overbalancing. The +feeling produced in me was uncanny. Here was a human soul that, save for +the most glimmering of contacts, was beyond the humanness of me. And the +more I learned of Margaret Henan in the weeks that followed the more +mysteriously remote she became. She was as alien as a far-journeyer from +some other star, and no hint could she nor all the countryside give me of +what forms of living, what heats of feeling, or rules of philosophic +contemplation actuated her in all that she had been and was. + +“I wull be suvunty-two come Guid Friday a fortnight,” she said in reply +to my question. + +“But you are an old woman to be doing this man’s work, and a strong man’s +work at that,” I insisted. + +Again she seemed to immerse herself in that atmosphere of contemplative +eternity, and so strangely did it affect me that I should not have been +surprised to have awaked a century or so later and found her just +beginning to enunciate her reply— + +“The work hoz tull be done, an’ I am beholden tull no one.” + +“But have you no children, no family, relations?” + +“Oh, aye, a-plenty o’ them, but they no see fut tull be helpun’ me.” + +She drew out her pipe for a moment, then added, with a nod of her head +toward the house, “I luv’ wuth meself.” + +I glanced at the house, straw-thatched and commodious, at the large +stable, and at the large array of fields I knew must belong with the +place. + +“It is a big bit of land for you to farm by yourself.” + +“Oh, aye, a bug but, suvunty acres. Ut kept me old mon buzzy, along wuth +a son an’ a hired mon, tull say naught o’ extra honds un the harvest an’ +a maid-servant un the house.” + +She clambered into the cart, gathered the reins in her hands, and quizzed +me with her keen, shrewd eyes. + +“Belike ye hail from over the watter—Ameruky, I’m meanun’?” + +“Yes, I’m a Yankee,” I answered. + +“Ye wull no be findun’ mony Island McGill folk stoppun’ un Ameruky?” + +“No; I don’t remember ever meeting one, in the States.” + +She nodded her head. + +“They are home-luvun’ bodies, though I wull no be sayin’ they are no +fair-travelled. Yet they come home ot the last, them oz are no lost ot +sea or kult by fevers an’ such-like un foreign parts.” + +“Then your sons will have gone to sea and come home again?” I queried. + +“Oh, aye, all savun’ Samuel oz was drownded.” + +At the mention of Samuel I could have sworn to a strange light in her +eyes, and it seemed to me, as by some telepathic flash, that I divined in +her a tremendous wistfulness, an immense yearning. It seemed to me that +here was the key to her inscrutableness, the clue that if followed +properly would make all her strangeness plain. It came to me that here +was a contact and that for the moment I was glimpsing into the soul of +her. The question was tickling on my tongue, but she forestalled me. + +She _tchk’d_ to the horse, and with a “Guid day tull you, sir,” drove +off. + + * * * * * + +A simple, homely people are the folk of Island McGill, and I doubt if a +more sober, thrifty, and industrious folk is to be found in all the +world. Meeting them abroad—and to meet them abroad one must meet them on +the sea, for a hybrid seafaring and farmer breed are they—one would never +take them to be Irish. Irish they claim to be, speaking of the North of +Ireland with pride and sneering at their Scottish brothers; yet Scotch +they undoubtedly are, transplanted Scotch of long ago, it is true, but +none the less Scotch, with a thousand traits, to say nothing of their +tricks of speech and woolly utterance, which nothing less than their +Scotch clannishness could have preserved to this late day. + +A narrow loch, scarcely half a mile wide, separates Island McGill from +the mainland of Ireland; and, once across this loch, one finds himself in +an entirely different country. The Scotch impression is strong, and the +people, to commence with, are Presbyterians. When it is considered that +there is no public-house in all the island and that seven thousand souls +dwell therein, some idea may be gained of the temperateness of the +community. Wedded to old ways, public opinion and the ministers are +powerful influences, while fathers and mothers are revered and obeyed as +in few other places in this modern world. Courting lasts never later +than ten at night, and no girl walks out with her young man without her +parents’ knowledge and consent. + +The young men go down to the sea and sow their wild oats in the wicked +ports, returning periodically, between voyages, to live the old intensive +morality, to court till ten o’clock, to sit under the minister each +Sunday, and to listen at home to the same stern precepts that the elders +preached to them from the time they were laddies. Much they learned of +women in the ends of the earth, these seafaring sons, yet a canny wisdom +was theirs and they never brought wives home with them. The one solitary +exception to this had been the schoolmaster, who had been guilty of +bringing a wife from half a mile the other side of the loch. For this he +had never been forgiven, and he rested under a cloud for the remainder of +his days. At his death the wife went back across the loch to her own +people, and the blot on the escutcheon of Island McGill was erased. In +the end the sailor-men married girls of their own homeland and settled +down to become exemplars of all the virtues for which the island was +noted. + +Island McGill was without a history. She boasted none of the events that +go to make history. There had never been any wearing of the green, any +Fenian conspiracies, any land disturbances. There had been but one +eviction, and that purely technical—a test case, and on advice of the +tenant’s lawyer. So Island McGill was without annals. History had +passed her by. She paid her taxes, acknowledged her crowned rulers, and +left the world alone; all she asked in return was that the world should +leave her alone. The world was composed of two parts—Island McGill and +the rest of it. And whatever was not Island McGill was outlandish and +barbarian; and well she knew, for did not her seafaring sons bring home +report of that world and its ungodly ways? + + * * * * * + +It was from the skipper of a Glasgow tramp, as passenger from Colombo to +Rangoon, that I had first learned of the existence of Island McGill; and +it was from him that I had carried the letter that gave me entrance to +the house of Mrs. Ross, widow of a master mariner, with a daughter living +with her and with two sons, master mariners themselves and out upon the +sea. Mrs. Ross did not take in boarders, and it was Captain Ross’s +letter alone that had enabled me to get from her bed and board. In the +evening, after my encounter with Margaret Henan, I questioned Mrs. Ross, +and I knew on the instant that I had in truth stumbled upon mystery. + +Like all Island McGill folk, as I was soon to discover, Mrs. Ross was at +first averse to discussing Margaret Henan at all. Yet it was from her I +learned that evening that Margaret Henan had once been one of the island +belles. Herself the daughter of a well-to-do farmer, she had married +Thomas Henan, equally well-to-do. Beyond the usual housewife’s tasks she +had never been accustomed to work. Unlike many of the island women, she +had never lent a hand in the fields. + +“But what of her children?” I asked. + +“Two o’ the sons, Jamie an’ Timothy uz married an’ be goun’ tull sea. +Thot bug house close tull the post office uz Jamie’s. The daughters thot +ha’ no married be luvun’ wuth them as dud marry. An’ the rest be dead.” + +“The Samuels,” Clara interpolated, with what I suspected was a giggle. + +She was Mrs. Ross’s daughter, a strapping young woman with handsome +features and remarkably handsome black eyes. + +“’Tuz naught to be smuckerun’ ot,” her mother reproved her. + +“The Samuels?” I intervened. “I don’t understand.” + +“Her four sons thot died.” + +“And were they all named Samuel?” + +“Aye.” + +“Strange,” I commented in the lagging silence. + +“Very strange,” Mrs. Ross affirmed, proceeding stolidly with the knitting +of the woollen singlet on her knees—one of the countless under-garments +that she interminably knitted for her skipper sons. + +“And it was only the Samuels that died?” I queried, in further attempt. + +“The others luved,” was the answer. “A fine fomuly—no finer on the +island. No better lods ever sailed out of Island McGill. The munuster +held them up oz models tull pottern after. Nor was ever a whusper +breathed again’ the girls.” + +“But why is she left alone now in her old age?” I persisted. “Why don’t +her own flesh and blood look after her? Why does she live alone? Don’t +they ever go to see her or care for her?” + +“Never a one un twenty years an’ more now. She fetched ut on tull +herself. She drove them from the house just oz she drove old Tom Henan, +thot was her husband, tull hus death.” + +“Drink?” I ventured. + +Mrs. Ross shook her head scornfully, as if drink was a weakness beneath +the weakest of Island McGill. + +A long pause followed, during which Mrs. Ross knitted stolidly on, only +nodding permission when Clara’s young man, mate on one of the Shire Line +sailing ships, came to walk out with her. I studied the half-dozen +ostrich eggs, hanging in the corner against the wall like a cluster of +some monstrous fruit. On each shell were painted precipitous and +impossible seas through which full-rigged ships foamed with a lack of +perspective only equalled by their sharp technical perfection. On the +mantelpiece stood two large pearl shells, obviously a pair, intricately +carved by the patient hands of New Caledonian convicts. In the centre of +the mantel was a stuffed bird-of-paradise, while about the room were +scattered gorgeous shells from the southern seas, delicate sprays of +coral sprouting from barnacled _pi-pi_ shells and cased in glass, +assegais from South Africa, stone axes from New Guinea, huge Alaskan +tobacco-pouches beaded with heraldic totem designs, a boomerang from +Australia, divers ships in glass bottles, a cannibal _kai-kai_ bowl from +the Marquesas, and fragile cabinets from China and the Indies and inlaid +with mother-of-pearl and precious woods. + +I gazed at this varied trove brought home by sailor sons, and pondered +the mystery of Margaret Henan, who had driven her husband to his death +and been forsaken by all her kin. It was not the drink. Then what was +it?—some shocking cruelty? some amazing infidelity? or some fearful, +old-world peasant-crime? + +I broached my theories, but to all Mrs. Ross shook her head. + +“Ut was no thot,” she said. “Margaret was a guid wife an’ a guid mother, +an’ I doubt she would harm a fly. She brought up her fomuly God-fearin’ +an’ decent-minded. Her trouble was thot she took lunatic—turned eediot.” + +Mrs. Ross tapped significantly on her forehead to indicate a state of +addlement. + +“But I talked with her this afternoon,” I objected, “and I found her a +sensible woman—remarkably bright for one of her years.” + +“Aye, an’ I’m grantun’ all thot you say,” she went on calmly. “But I am +no referrun’ tull thot. I am referrun’ tull her wucked-headed an’ +vucious stubbornness. No more stubborn woman ever luv’d than Margaret +Henan. Ut was all on account o’ Samuel, which was the name o’ her +youngest an’ they do say her favourut brother—hum oz died by hus own hond +all through the munuster’s mustake un no registerun’ the new church ot +Dublin. Ut was a lesson thot the name was musfortunate, but she would no +take ut, an’ there was talk when she called her first child Samuel—hum +thot died o’ the croup. An’ wuth thot what does she do but call the next +one Samuel, an’ hum only three when he fell un tull the tub o’ hot watter +an’ was plain cooked tull death. Ut all come, I tell you, o’ her +wucked-headed an’ foolush stubbornness. For a Samuel she must hov; an’ +ut was the death of the four of her sons. After the first, dudna her own +mother go down un the dirt tull her feet, a-beggun’ an’ pleadun’ wuth her +no tull name her next one Samuel? But she was no tull be turned from her +purpose. Margaret Henan was always set on her ways, an’ never more so +thon on thot name Samuel. + +“She was fair lunatuc on Samuel. Dudna her neighbours’ an’ all kuth an’ +kun savun’ them thot luv’d un the house wuth her, get up an’ walk out ot +the christenun’ of the second—hum thot was cooked? Thot they dud, an’ ot +the very moment the munuster asked what would the bairn’s name be. +‘Samuel,’ says she; an’ wuth thot they got up an’ walked out an’ left the +house. An’ ot the door dudna her Aunt Fannie, her mother’s suster, turn +an’ say loud for all tull hear: ‘What for wull she be wantun’ tull murder +the wee thing?’ The munuster heard fine, an’ dudna like ut, but, oz he +told my Larry afterward, what could he do? Ut was the woman’s wush, an’ +there was no law again’ a mother callun’ her child accordun’ tull her +wush. + +“An’ then was there no the third Samuel? An’ when he was lost ot sea off +the Cape, dudna she break all laws o’ nature tull hov a fourth? She was +forty-seven, I’m tellun’ ye, an’ she hod a child ot forty-seven. Thunk +on ut! Ot forty-seven! Ut was fair scand’lous.” + + * * * * * + +From Clara, next morning, I got the tale of Margaret Henan’s favourite +brother; and from here and there, in the week that followed, I pieced +together the tragedy of Margaret Henan. Samuel Dundee had been the +youngest of Margaret’s four brothers, and, as Clara told me, she had +well-nigh worshipped him. He was going to sea at the time, skipper of +one of the sailing ships of the Bank Line, when he married Agnes Hewitt. +She was described as a slender wisp of a girl, delicately featured and +with a nervous organization of the supersensitive order. Theirs had been +the first marriage in the “new” church, and after a two-weeks’ honeymoon +Samuel had kissed his bride good-bye and sailed in command of the +_Loughbank_, a big four-masted barque. + +And it was because of the “new” church that the minister’s blunder +occurred. Nor was it the blunder of the minister alone, as one of the +elders later explained; for it was equally the blunder of the whole +Presbytery of Coughleen, which included fifteen churches on Island McGill +and the mainland. The old church, beyond repair, had been torn down and +the new one built on the original foundation. Looking upon the +foundation-stones as similar to a ship’s keel, it never entered the +minister’s nor the Presbytery’s head that the new church was legally any +other than the old church. + +“An’ three couples was married the first week un the new church,” Clara +said. “First of all, Samuel Dundee an’ Agnes Hewitt; the next day Albert +Mahan an’ Minnie Duncan; an’ by the week-end Eddie Troy and Flo +Mackintosh—all sailor-men, an’ un sux weeks’ time the last of them back +tull their ships an’ awa’, an’ no one o’ them dreamin’ of the wuckedness +they’d been ot.” + +The Imp of the Perverse must have chuckled at the situation. All things +favoured. The marriages had taken place in the first week of May, and it +was not till three months later that the minister, as required by law, +made his quarterly report to the civil authorities in Dublin. Promptly +came back the announcement that his church had no legal existence, not +being registered according to the law’s demands. This was overcome by +prompt registration; but the marriages were not to be so easily remedied. +The three sailor husbands were away, and their wives, in short, were not +their wives. + +“But the munuster was no for alarmin’ the bodies,” said Clara. “He kept +hus council an’ bided hus time, waitun’ for the lods tull be back from +sea. Oz luck would have ut, he was away across the island tull a +christenun’ when Albert Mahan arrives home onexpected, hus shup just +docked ot Dublin. Ut’s nine o’clock ot night when the munuster, un hus +sluppers an’ dressun’-gown, gets the news. Up he jumps an’ calls for +horse an’ saddle, an’ awa’ he goes like the wund for Albert Mahan’s. +Albert uz just goun’ tull bed an’ hoz one shoe off when the munuster +arrives. + +“‘Come wuth me, the pair o’ ye,’ says he, breathless-like. ‘What for, +an’ me dead weary an’ goun’ tull bed?’ says Albert. ‘Yull be lawful +married,’ says the munuster. Albert looks black an’ says, ‘Now, +munuster, ye wull be jokun’,’ but tull humself, oz I’ve heard hum tell +mony a time, he uz wonderun’ thot the munuster should a-took tull whusky +ot hus time o’ life. + +“’We be no married?’ says Minnie. He shook his head. ‘An’ I om no +Mussus Mahan?’ ‘No,’ says he, ‘ye are no Mussus Mahan. Ye are plain +Muss Duncan.’ ‘But ye married ’us yoursel’,’ says she. ‘I dud an’ I +dudna,’ says he. An’ wuth thot he tells them the whole upshot, an’ +Albert puts on hus shoe, an’ they go wuth the munuster an’ are married +proper an’ lawful, an’ oz Albert Mahan says afterward mony’s the time, +‘’Tus no every mon thot hoz two weddun’ nights on Island McGill.’” + +Six months later Eddie Troy came home and was promptly remarried. But +Samuel Dundee was away on a three-years’ voyage and his ship fell +overdue. Further to complicate the situation, a baby boy, past two years +old, was waiting for him in the arms of his wife. The months passed, and +the wife grew thin with worrying. “Ut’s no meself I’m thunkun’ on,” she +is reported to have said many times, “but ut’s the puir fatherless bairn. +Uf aught happened tull Samuel where wull the bairn stond?” + +Lloyd’s posted the _Loughbank_ as missing, and the owners ceased the +monthly remittance of Samuel’s half-pay to his wife. It was the question +of the child’s legitimacy that preyed on her mind, and, when all hope of +Samuel’s return was abandoned, she drowned herself and the child in the +loch. And here enters the greater tragedy. The _Loughbank_ was not +lost. By a series of sea disasters and delays too interminable to +relate, she had made one of those long, unsighted passages such as occur +once or twice in half a century. How the Imp must have held both his +sides! Back from the sea came Samuel, and when they broke the news to +him something else broke somewhere in his heart or head. Next morning +they found him where he had tried to kill himself across the grave of his +wife and child. Never in the history of Island McGill was there so +fearful a death-bed. He spat in the minister’s face and reviled him, and +died blaspheming so terribly that those that tended on him did so with +averted gaze and trembling hands. + +And, in the face of all this, Margaret Henan named her first child +Samuel. + + * * * * * + +How account for the woman’s stubbornness? Or was it a morbid obsession +that demanded a child of hers should be named Samuel? Her third child +was a girl, named after herself, and the fourth was a boy again. Despite +the strokes of fate that had already bereft her, and despite the loss of +friends and relatives, she persisted in her resolve to name the child +after her brother. She was shunned at church by those who had grown up +with her. Her mother, after a final appeal, left her house with the +warning that if the child were so named she would never speak to her +again. And though the old lady lived thirty-odd years longer she kept +her word. The minister agreed to christen the child any name but Samuel, +and every other minister on Island McGill refused to christen it by the +name she had chosen. There was talk on the part of Margaret Henan of +going to law at the time, but in the end she carried the child to Belfast +and there had it christened Samuel. + +And then nothing happened. The whole island was confuted. The boy grew +and prospered. The schoolmaster never ceased averring that it was the +brightest lad he had ever seen. Samuel had a splendid constitution, a +tremendous grip on life. To everybody’s amazement he escaped the usual +run of childish afflictions. Measles, whooping-cough and mumps knew him +not. He was armour-clad against germs, immune to all disease. Headaches +and earaches were things unknown. “Never so much oz a boil or a pumple,” +as one of the old bodies told me, ever marred his healthy skin. He broke +school records in scholarship and athletics, and whipped every boy of his +size or years on Island McGill. + +It was a triumph for Margaret Henan. This paragon was hers, and it bore +the cherished name. With the one exception of her mother, friends and +relatives drifted back and acknowledged that they had been mistaken; +though there were old crones who still abided by their opinion and who +shook their heads ominously over their cups of tea. The boy was too +wonderful to last. There was no escaping the curse of the name his +mother had wickedly laid upon him. The young generation joined Margaret +Henan in laughing at them, but the old crones continued to shake their +heads. + +Other children followed. Margaret Henan’s fifth was a boy, whom she +called Jamie, and in rapid succession followed three girls, Alice, Sara, +and Nora, the boy Timothy, and two more girls, Florence and Katie. Katie +was the last and eleventh, and Margaret Henan, at thirty-five, ceased +from her exertions. She had done well by Island McGill and the Queen. +Nine healthy children were hers. All prospered. It seemed her ill-luck +had shot its bolt with the deaths of her first two. Nine lived, and one +of them was named Samuel. + +Jamie elected to follow the sea, though it was not so much a matter of +election as compulsion, for the eldest sons on Island McGill remained on +the land, while all other sons went to the salt-ploughing. Timothy +followed Jamie, and by the time the latter had got his first command, a +steamer in the Bay trade out of Cardiff, Timothy was mate of a big +sailing ship. Samuel, however, did not take kindly to the soil. The +farmer’s life had no attraction for him. His brothers went to sea, not +out of desire, but because it was the only way for them to gain their +bread; and he, who had no need to go, envied them when, returned from far +voyages, they sat by the kitchen fire, and told their bold tales of the +wonderlands beyond the sea-rim. + +Samuel became a teacher, much to his father’s disgust, and even took +extra certificates, going to Belfast for his examinations. When the old +master retired, Samuel took over his school. Secretly, however, he +studied navigation, and it was Margaret’s delight when he sat by the +kitchen fire, and, despite their master’s tickets, tangled up his +brothers in the theoretics of their profession. Tom Henan alone was +outraged when Samuel, school teacher, gentleman, and heir to the Henan +farm, shipped to sea before the mast. Margaret had an abiding faith in +her son’s star, and whatever he did she was sure was for the best. Like +everything else connected with his glorious personality, there had never +been known so swift a rise as in the case of Samuel. Barely with two +years’ sea experience before the mast, he was taken from the forecastle +and made a provisional second mate. This occurred in a fever port on the +West Coast, and the committee of skippers that examined him agreed that +he knew more of the science of navigation than they had remembered or +forgotten. Two years later he sailed from Liverpool, mate of the _Starry +Grace_, with both master’s and extra-master’s tickets in his possession. +And then it happened—the thing the old crones had been shaking their +heads over for years. + +It was told me by Gavin McNab, bos’n of the _Starry Grace_ at the time, +himself an Island McGill man. + +“Wull do I remember ut,” he said. “We was runnin’ our Eastun’ down, an’ +makun’ heavy weather of ut. Oz fine a sailor-mon oz ever walked was +Samuel Henan. I remember the look of hum wull thot last marnun’, +a-watch-un’ them bug seas curlun’ up astern, an’ a-watchun’ the old girl +an’ seeun’ how she took them—the skupper down below an’ drunkun’ for +days. Ut was ot seven thot Henan brought her up on tull the wund, not +darun’ tull run longer on thot fearful sea. Ot eight, after havun’ +breakfast, he turns un, an’ a half hour after up comes the skupper, +bleary-eyed an’ shaky an’ holdun’ on tull the companion. Ut was fair +smokun’, I om tellun’ ye, an’ there he stood, blunkun’ an’ noddun’ an’ +talkun’ tull humsel’. ‘Keep off,’ says he ot last tull the mon ot the +wheel. ‘My God!’ says the second mate, standun’ beside hum. The skupper +never looks tull hum ot all, but keeps on mutterun” an’ jabberun’ tull +humsel’. All of a suddent-like he straightens up an’ throws hus head +back, an’ says: ‘Put your wheel over, me mon—now domn ye! Are ye deef +thot ye’ll no be hearun’ me?’ + +“Ut was a drunken mon’s luck, for the _Starry Grace_ wore off afore thot +God-Almighty gale wuthout shuppun’ a bucket o’ watter, the second mate +shoutun’ orders an’ the crew jumpun’ like mod. An’ wuth thot the skupper +nods contented-like tull humself an’ goes below after more whusky. Ut +was plain murder o’ the lives o’ all of us, for ut was no the time for +the buggest shup afloat tull be runnun’. Run? Never hov I seen the +like! Ut was beyond all thunkun’, an’ me goun’ tull sea, boy an’ men, +for forty year. I tell you ut was fair awesome. + +“The face o’ the second mate was white oz death, an’ he stood ut alone +for half an hour, when ut was too much for hum an’ he went below an’ +called Samuel an’ the third. Aye, a fine sailor-mon thot Samuel, but ut +was too much for hum. He looked an’ studied, and looked an’ studied, but +he could no see hus way. He durst na heave tull. She would ha’ been +sweeput o’ all honds an’ stucks an’ everythung afore she could a-fetched +up. There was naught tull do but keep on runnun’. An’ uf ut worsened we +were lost ony way, for soon or late that overtakun’ sea was sure tull +sweep us clear over poop an’ all. + +“Dud I say ut was a God-Almighty gale? Ut was worse nor thot. The devil +himself must ha’ hod a hond un the brewun’ o’ ut, ut was thot fearsome. +I ha’ looked on some sights, but I om no carun’ tull look on the like o’ +thot again. No mon dared tull be un hus bunk. No, nor no mon on the +decks. All honds of us stood on top the house an’ held on an’ watched. +The three mates was on the poop, with two men ot the wheel, an’ the only +mon below was thot whusky-blighted captain snorun’ drunk. + +“An’ then I see ut comun’, a mile away, risun’ above all the waves like +an island un the sea—the buggest wave ever I looked upon. The three +mates stood tulgether an’ watched ut comun’, a-prayun’ like we thot she +would no break un passun’ us. But ut was no tull be. Ot the last, when +she rose up like a mountain, curlun’ above the stern an’ blottun’ out the +sky, the mates scattered, the second an’ third runnun’ for the +mizzen-shrouds an’ climbun’ up, but the first runnun’ tull the wheel tull +lend a hond. He was a brave men, thot Samuel Henan. He run straight un +tull the face o’ thot father o’ all waves, no thunkun’ on humself but +thunkun’ only o’ the shup. The two men was lashed tull the wheel, but he +would be ready tull hond un the case they was kult. An’ then she took +ut. We on the house could no see the poop for the thousand tons o’ +watter thot hod hut ut. Thot wave cleaned them out, took everythung +along wuth ut—the two mates, climbun’ up the mizzen-ruggun’, Samuel Henan +runnun’ tull the wheel, the two men ot the wheel, aye, an’ the wheel +utself. We never saw aught o’ them, for she broached tull what o’ the +wheel goun’, an’ two men o’ us was drownded off the house, no tull +mention the carpenter thot we pucked up ot the break o’ the poop wuth +every bone o’ hus body broke tull he was like so much jelly.” + +And here enters the marvel of it, the miraculous wonder of that woman’s +heroic spirit. Margaret Henan was forty-seven when the news came home of +the loss of Samuel; and it was not long after that the unbelievable +rumour went around Island McGill. I say unbelievable. Island McGill +would not believe. Doctor Hall pooh-pooh’d it. Everybody laughed at it +as a good joke. They traced back the gossip to Sara Dack, servant to the +Henans’, and who alone lived with Margaret and her husband. But Sara +Dack persisted in her assertion and was called a low-mouthed liar. One +or two dared question Tom Henan himself, but beyond black looks and +curses for their presumption they elicited nothing from him. + +The rumour died down, and the island fell to discussing in all its +ramifications the loss of the _Grenoble_ in the China seas, with all her +officers and half her crew born and married on Island McGill. But the +rumour would not stay down. Sara Dack was louder in her assertions, the +looks Tom Henan cast about him were blacker than ever, and Dr. Hall, +after a visit to the Henan house, no longer pooh-pooh’d. Then Island +McGill sat up, and there was a tremendous wagging of tongues. It was +unnatural and ungodly. The like had never been heard. And when, as time +passed, the truth of Sara Dack’s utterances was manifest, the island folk +decided, like the bos’n of the _Starry Grace_, that only the devil could +have had a hand in so untoward a happening. And the infatuated woman, so +Sara Dack reported, insisted that it would be a boy. “Eleven bairns ha’ +I borne,” she said; “sux o’ them lossies an’ five o’ them loddies. An’ +sunce there be balance un all thungs, so wull there be balance wuth me. +Sux o’ one an’ half a dozen o’ the other—there uz the balance, an’ oz +sure oz the sun rises un the marnun’, thot sure wull ut be a boy.” + +And boy it was, and a prodigy. Dr. Hall raved about its unblemished +perfection and massive strength, and wrote a brochure on it for the +Dublin Medical Society as the most interesting case of the sort in his +long career. When Sara Dack gave the babe’s unbelievable weight, Island +McGill refused to believe and once again called her liar. But when +Doctor Hall attested that he had himself weighed it and seen it tip that +very notch, Island McGill held its breath and accepted whatever report +Sara Dack made of the infant’s progress or appetite. And once again +Margaret Henan carried a babe to Belfast and had it christened Samuel. + + * * * * * + +“Oz good oz gold ut was,” said Sara Dack to me. + +Sara, at the time I met her, was a buxom, phlegmatic spinster of sixty, +equipped with an experience so tragic and unusual that though her tongue +ran on for decades its output would still be of imperishable interest to +her cronies. + +“Oz good oz good,” said Sara Dack. “Ut never fretted. Sut ut down un +the sun by the hour an’ never a sound ut would make oz long oz ut was no +hungered! An’ thot strong! The grup o’ uts honds was like a mon’s. I +mind me, when ut was but hours old, ut grupped me so mighty thot I +fetched a scream I was thot frightened. Ut was the punk o’ health. Ut +slept an’ ate, an’ grew. Ut never bothered. Never a night’s sleep ut +lost tull no one, nor ever a munut’s, an’ thot wuth cuttin’ uts teeth an’ +all. An’ Margaret would dandle ut on her knee an’ ask was there ever so +fine a loddie un the three Kungdoms. + +“The way ut grew! Ut was un keepun’ wuth the way ut ate. Ot a year ut +was the size o’ a bairn of two. Ut was slow tull walk an’ talk. +Exceptun’ for gurgly noises un uts throat an’ for creepun’ on all fours, +ut dudna monage much un the walkun’ an’ talkun’ line. But thot was tull +be expected from the way ut grew. Ut all went tull growun’ strong an’ +healthy. An’ even old Tom Henan cheered up ot the might of ut an’ said +was there ever the like o’ ut un the three Kungdoms. Ut was Doctor Hall +thot first suspicioned, I mind me well, though ut was luttle I dreamt +what he was up tull ot the time. I seehum holdun’ thungs’ un fronto’ +luttle Sammy’s eyes, an’ a-makun’ noises, loud an’ soft, an’ far an’ +near, un luttle Sammy’s ears. An’ then I see Doctor Hall go away, +wrunklun’ hus eyebrows an’ shakun’ hus head like the bairn was ailun’. +But he was no ailun’, oz I could swear tull, me a-seeun’ hum eat an’ +grow. But Doctor Hall no said a word tull Margaret an’ I was no for +guessun’ the why he was sore puzzled. + +“I mind me when luttle Sammy first spoke. He was two years old an’ the +size of a child o five, though he could no monage the walkun’ yet but +went around on all fours, happy an’ contented-like an’ makun’ no trouble +oz long oz he was fed promptly, which was onusual often. I was hangun’ +the wash on the line ot the time when out he comes, on all fours, hus bug +head waggun’ tull an’ fro an’ blunkun’ un the sun. An’ then, suddent, he +talked. I was thot took a-back I near died o’ fright, an’ fine I knew ut +then, the shakun’ o’ Doctor Hall’s head. Talked? Never a bairn on +Island McGill talked so loud an’ tull such purpose. There was no +mustakun’ ut. I stood there all tremblun’ an’ shakun’. Little Sammy was +brayun’. I tell you, sir, he was brayun’ like an ass—just like +thot,—loud an’ long an’ cheerful tull ut seemed hus lungs ud crack. + +“He was a eediot—a great, awful, monster eediot. Ut was after he talked +thot Doctor Hall told Margaret, but she would no believe. Ut would all +come right, she said. Ut was growun’ too fast for aught else. Guv ut +time, said she, an’ we would see. But old Tom Henan knew, an’ he never +held up hus head again. He could no abide the thung, an’ would no brung +humsel’ tull touch ut, though I om no denyun’ he was fair fascinated by +ut. Mony the time, I see hum watchun’ of ut around a corner, lookun’ ot +ut tull hus eyes fair bulged wuth the horror; an’ when ut brayed old Tom +ud stuck hus fungers tull hus ears an’ look thot miserable I could +a-puttied hum. + +“An’ bray ut could! Ut was the only thung ut could do besides eat an’ +grow. Whenever ut was hungry ut brayed, an’ there was no stoppun’ ut +save wuth food. An’ always of a marnun’, when first ut crawled tull the +kutchen-door an’ blunked out ot the sun, ut brayed. An’ ut was brayun’ +that brought about uts end. + +“I mind me well. Ut was three years old an’ oz bug oz a led o’ ten. Old +Tom hed been goun’ from bed tull worse, ploughun’ up an’ down the fields +an’ talkun’ an’ mutterun’ tull humself. On the marnun’ o’ the day I mind +me, he was suttun’ on the bench outside the kutchen, a-futtun’ the handle +tull a puck-axe. Unbeknown, the monster eediot crawled tull the door an’ +brayed after hus fashion ot the sun. I see old Tom start up an’ look. +An’ there was the monster eediot, waggun’ uts bug head an’ blunkun’ an’ +brayun’ like the great bug ass ut was. Ut was too much for Tom. +Somethun’ went wrong wuth hum suddent-like. He jumped tull hus feet an’ +fetched the puck-handle down on the monster eediot’s head. An’ he hut ut +again an’ again like ut was a mod dog an’ hum afeard o’ ut. An’ he went +straight tull the stable an’ hung humsel’ tull a rafter. An’ I was no +for stoppun’ on after such-like, an’ I went tull stay along wuth me +suster thot was married tull John Martin an’ comfortable-off.” + + * * * * * + +I sat on the bench by the kitchen door and regarded Margaret Henan, while +with her callous thumb she pressed down the live fire of her pipe and +gazed out across the twilight-sombred fields. It was the very bench Tom +Henan had sat upon that last sanguinary day of life. And Margaret sat in +the doorway where the monster, blinking at the sun, had so often wagged +its head and brayed. We had been talking for an hour, she with that slow +certitude of eternity that so befitted her; and, for the life of me, I +could lay no finger on the motives that ran through the tangled warp and +woof of her. Was she a martyr to Truth? Did she have it in her to +worship at so abstract a shrine? Had she conceived Abstract Truth to be +the one high goal of human endeavour on that day of long ago when she +named her first-born Samuel? Or was hers the stubborn obstinacy of the +ox? the fixity of purpose of the balky horse? the stolidity of the +self-willed peasant-mind? Was it whim or fancy?—the one streak of lunacy +in what was otherwise an eminently rational mind? Or, reverting, was +hers the spirit of a Bruno? Was she convinced of the intellectual +rightness of the stand she had taken? Was hers a steady, enlightened +opposition to superstition? or—and a subtler thought—was she mastered by +some vaster, profounder superstition, a fetish-worship of which the Alpha +and the Omega was the cryptic _Samuel_? + +“Wull ye be tellun’ me,” she said, “thot uf the second Samuel hod been +named Larry thot he would no hov fell un the hot watter an’ drownded? +Atween you an’ me, sir, an’ ye are untellugent-lookun’ tull the eye, +would the name hov made ut onyways dufferent? Would the washun’ no be +done thot day uf he hod been Larry or Michael? Would hot watter no be +hot, an’ would hot watter no burn uf he hod hod ony other name but +Samuel?” + +I acknowledged the justice of her contention, and she went on. + +“Do a wee but of a name change the plans o’ God? Do the world run by hut +or muss, an’ be God a weak, shully-shallyun’ creature thot ud alter the +fate an’ destiny o’ thungs because the worm Margaret Henan seen fut tull +name her bairn Samuel? There be my son Jamie. He wull no sign a +Rooshan-Funn un hus crew because o’ believun’ thot Rooshan-Funns do be +monajun’ the wunds an’ hov the makun’ o’ bod weather. Wull you be +thunkun’ so? Wull you be thunkun’ thot God thot makes the wunds tull +blow wull bend Hus head from on high tull lussen tull the word o’ a +greasy Rooshan-Funn un some dirty shup’s fo’c’sle?” + +I said no, certainly not; but she was not to be set aside from pressing +home the point of her argument. + +“Then wull you be thunkun’ thot God thot directs the stars un their +courses, an’ tull whose mighty foot the world uz but a footstool, wull +you be thunkun’ thot He wull take a spite again’ Margaret Henan an’ send +a bug wave off the Cape tull wash her son un tull eternity, all because +she was for namun’ hum Samuel?” + +“But why Samuel?” I asked. + +“An’ thot I dinna know. I wantud ut so.” + +“But _why_ did you want it so?” + +“An’ uz ut me thot would be answerun’ a such-like question? Be there ony +mon luvun’ or dead thot can answer? Who can tell the _why_ o’ like? My +Jamie was fair daft on buttermilk, he would drunk ut tull, oz he said +humself, hus back teeth was awash. But my Tumothy could no abide +buttermilk. I like tull lussen tull the thunder growlun’ an’ roarun’, +an’ rampajun’. My Katie could no abide the noise of ut, but must scream +an’ flutter an’ go runnun’ for the mudmost o’ a feather-bed. Never yet +hov I heard the answer tull the _why_ o’ like, God alone hoz thot answer. +You an’ me be mortal an’ we canna know. Enough for us tull know what we +like an’ what we duslike. I _like_—thot uz the first word an’ the last. +An’ behind thot like no men can go an’ find the _why_ o’ ut. I _like_ +Samuel, an’ I like ut well. Ut uz a sweet name, an’ there be a rollun’ +wonder un the sound o’ ut thot passes onderstandun’.” + +The twilight deepened, and in the silence I gazed upon that splendid dome +of a forehead which time could not mar, at the width between the eyes, +and at the eyes themselves—clear, out-looking, and wide-seeing. She rose +to her feet with an air of dismissing me, saying— + +“Ut wull be a dark walk home, an’ there wull be more thon a sprunkle o’ +wet un the sky.” + +“Have you any regrets, Margaret Henan?” I asked, suddenly and without +forethought. + +She studied me a moment. + +“Aye, thot I no ha’ borne another son.” + +“And you would . . .?” I faltered. + +“Aye, thot I would,” she answered. “Ut would ha’ been hus name.” + +I went down the dark road between the hawthorn hedges puzzling over the +why of like, repeating _Samuel_ to myself and aloud and listening to the +rolling wonder in its sound that had charmed her soul and led her life in +tragic places. _Samuel_! There was a rolling wonder in the sound. Aye, +there was! + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STRENGTH OF THE STRONG*** + + +******* This file should be named 1075-0.txt or 1075-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/7/1075 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |