the friendly road-第20章

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e　sat　down　he　began　talking。　From　time　to　time　he　would　reach　out　for　another　sandwich　or　doughnut　or　pickle　（without　knowing　in　the　least　which　he　was　getting）；　and　when　that　was　gone　some　reflex　impulse　caused　him　to　reach　out　for　some　more。　When　the　last　crumb　of　our　lunch　had　disappeared　Bill　Hahn　still　reached　out。　His　hand　groped　absently　about；　and　coming　in　contact　with　no　more　doughnuts　or　pickles　he　withdrew　itand　did　not　know；　I　think；　that　the　meal　was　finished。　（Confidentially；　I　have　speculated　on　what　might　have　happened　if　the　supply　had　been　unlimited！）

But　that　was　Bill　Hahn。　Once　started　on　his　talk；　he　never　thought　of　food　or　clothing　or　shelter；　but　his　eyes　glowed；　his　face　lighted　up　with　a　strange　effulgence；　and　he　quite　lost　himself　upon　the　tide　of　his　own　oratory。　I　saw　him　afterward　by　a　flare…light　at　the　centre　of　a　great　crowd　of　men　and　womenbut　that　is　getting　ahead　of　my　story。

His　talk　bristled　with　such　words　as　〃capitalism；〃　〃proletariat；〃　〃class…consciousness〃and　he　spoke　with　fluency　of　〃economic　determinism〃　and　〃syndicalism。〃　It　was　quite　wonderful！　And　from　time　to　time；　he　would　bring　in　a　smashing　quotation　from　Aristotle；　Napoleon；　Karl　Marx；　or　Eugene　V。　Debs；　giving　them　all　equal　value；　and　he　cited　statistics！oh；　marvellous　statistics；　that　never　were　on　sea　or　land。

Once　he　was　so　swept　away　by　his　own　eloquence　that　he　sprang　to　his　feet　and；　raising　one　hand　high　above　his　head　（quite　unconscious　that　he　was　holding　up　a　dill　pickle）；　he　worked　through　one　of　his　most　thrilling　periods。

Yes；　I　laughed；　and　yet　there　was　so　brave　a　simplicity　about　this　odd；　absurd　little　man　that　what　I　laughed　at　was　only　his　outward　appearance　（and　that　he　himself　had　no　care　for）；　and　all　the　time　I　felt　a　growing　respect　and　admiration　for　him。　He　was　not　only　sincere；　but　he　was　genuinely　simplea　much　higher　virtue；　as　Fenelon　says。　For　while　sincere　people　do　not　aim　at　appearing　anything　but　what　they　are；　they　are　always　in　fear　of　passing　for　something　they　are　not。　They　are　forever　thinking　about　themselves；　weighing　all　their　words　and　thoughts　and　dwelling　upon　what　they　have　done；　in　the　fear　of　having　done　too　much　or　too　little；　whereas　simplicity；　as　Fenelon　says；　is　an　uprightness　of　soul　which　has　ceased　wholly　to　dwell　upon　itself　or　its　actions。　Thus　there　are　plenty　of　sincere　folk　in　the　world　but　few　who　are　simple。

Well；　the　longer　he　talked；　the　less　interested　I　was　in　what　he　said　and　the　more　fascinated　I　became　in　what　he　was。　I　felt　a　wistful　interest　in　him：　and　I　wanted　to　know　what　way　he　took　to　purge　himself　of　himself。　I　think　if　I　had　been　in　that　group　nineteen　hundred　years　ago；　which　surrounded　the　beggar　who　was　born　blind；　but　whose　anointed　eyes　now　looked　out　upon　glories　of　the　world；　I　should　have　been　among　the　questioners：

〃What　did　he　to　thee？　How　opened　he　thine　eyes？〃

I　tried　ineffectually　several　times　to　break　the　swift　current　of　his　oratory　and　finally　succeeded　（when　he　paused　a　moment　to　finish　off　a　bit　of　pie　crust）。

〃You　must　have　seen　some　hard　experiences　in　your　life；〃　I　said。

〃That　I　have；〃　responded　Bill　Hahn；　〃the　capitalistic　system〃

〃Did　you　ever　work　in　the　mills　yourself？〃　I　interrupted　hastily。

〃Boy　and　man；〃　said　Bill　Hahn；　〃I　worked　in　that　hell　for　thirty…two　yearsThe　class…conscious　proletariat　have　only　to　exert　themselves〃

〃And　your　wife；　did　she　work　tooand　your　sons　and　daughters？〃

A　spasm　of　pain　crossed　his　face。

〃My　daughter？〃　he　said。　〃They　killed　her　in　the　mills。〃

It　was　appallingthe　dead　level　of　the　tone　in　which　he　uttered　those　wordsthe　monotone　of　an　emotion　long　ago　burned　out；　and　yet　leaving　frightful　scars。

〃My　friend！〃　I　exclaimed；　and　I　could　not　help　laying　my　hand　on　his　arm。

I　had　the　feeling　I　often　have　with　troubled　childrenan　indescribable　pity　that　they　have　had　to　pass　through　the　valley　of　the　shadow；　and　I　not　there　to　take　them　by　the　hand。

〃And　was　thisyour　daughterwhat　brought　you　to　your　present　belief？〃

〃No；〃　said　he；　〃oh；　no。　I　was　a　Socialist；　as　you　might　say；　from　youth　up。　That　is；　I　called　myself　a　Socialist；　but；　comrade；　I've　learned　this　here　truth：　that　it　ain't　of　so　much　importance　that　you　possess　a　belief；　as　that　the　belief　possess　you。　Do　you　understand？〃

〃I　think；〃　said　I；　〃that　I　understand。〃

Well；　he　told　me　his　story；　mostly　in　a　curious；　dull；　detached　wayas　though　he　were　speaking　of　some　third　person　in　whom　he　felt　only　a　brotherly　interest；　but　from　time　to　time　some　incident　or　observation　would　flame　up　out　of　the　narrative；　like　the　opening　of　the　door　of　a　molten　pitso　that　the　glare　hurt　one！and　then　the　story　would　die　back　again　into　quiet　narrative。

Like　most　working　people　he　had　never　lived　in　the　twentieth　century　at　all。　He　was　still　in　the　feudal　age；　and　his　whole　life　had　been　a　blind　and　ceaseless　struggle　for　the　bare　necessaries　of　life；　broken　from　time　to　time　by　fierce　irregular　wars　called　strikes。　He　had　never　known　anything　of　a　real　self…governing　commonwealth；　and　such　progress　as　he　and　his　kind　had　made　was　never　the　result　of　their　citizenship；　of　their　powers　as　voters；　but　grew　out　of　the　explosive　and　ragged　upheavals；　of　their　own　half…organized　societies　and　unions。

It　was　against　the　〃black　people〃　he　said；　that　he　was　first　on　strike　back　in　the　early　nineties。　He　told　me　all　about　it；　how　he　had　been　working　in　the　mills　pretty　comfortablyhe　was　young　and　strong　then；　with　a　fine　growing　family　and　a　small　home　of　his　own。

〃It　was　as　pretty　a　place　as　you　would　want　to　see；〃　he　said；　〃we　grew　cabbages　and　onions　and　turnipseverything　grew　fine！in　the　garden　behind　the　house。〃

And　then　the　〃black　people〃　began　to　come　in；　little　by　little　at　first；　and　then　by　the　carload。　By　the　〃black　people〃　he　meant　the　people　from　Southern　Europe；　he　called　them　〃hordes〃〃hordes　and　hordes　of　'em〃Italians　mostly；　and　they　began　getting　into　the　mills　and　underbidding　for　the　jobs；　so　that　wages　slowly　went　down　and　at　the　same　time　the　machines　were　speeded　up。　It　seems　that　many　of　these　〃black　people〃　were　single　men　or　vigorous　young　married　people　with　only　themselves　to　support；　while　the　old　American　workers　were　men　with　families　and　little　homes　to　pay　for；　and　plenty　of　old　grandfathers　and　mothers；　to　say　nothing　of　babies；　depending　upon　them。

〃There　wasn't　a　living　for　a　decent　family　left；〃　he　said。

So　they　struckand　he　told　me　in　his　dull　monotone　of　the　long　bitterness　of　that　strike；　the　empty　cupboards；　the　approach　of　winter　with　no　coal　for　the　stoves　and　no　warm　clothing　for　the　children。　He　told　me　that　many　of　the　old　workers　began　to　leave　the　town　（some　bound　for　the　larger　cities；　some　for　the　Far　West）。

〃But；〃　said　he　with　a　sudden　outburst　of　emotion；　〃I　couldn't　leave。　I　had　the　woman　and　the　children！〃

And　presently　the　strike　collapsed；　and　the　workers　rushed　helter　skelter　back　to　the　mills　to　get　their　old　jobs。　〃Begging　like　whipped　dogs；〃　he　said　bitterly。

Many　of　them　found　their　places　taken　by　the　eager　〃black　people；〃　and　many　had　to　go　to　work　at　lower　wages　in　poorer　placespunished　for　the　fight　they　had　made。

But　he　got　along　somehow；　he　said〃the　woman　was　a　good　manager〃　until　one　day　he　had　the　misfortune　to　get　his　hand　caught　in　the　machinery。　It　was　a　place　which　should　have　been　protected　with　guards；　but　was　not。　He　was　laid　up　for　several　weeks；　and　the　company；　claiming　that　the　accident　was　due　to　his　own　stupidity　and　carelessness；　refused　even　to　pay　his　wages　while　he　was　idle。　Well；　the　family　had　to　live　somehow；　and　the　woman　and　the　daughter〃she　was　a　little　thing；〃　he　said；　〃and　frail〃the　woman　and　the　daughter　went　into　the　mill。　But　even　with　this　new　source　of　income　they　began　to　fall　behind。　Money　which　should　have　gone　toward　making　the　last　payments　on　their　home　（already　long　delayed　by　the　strike）　had　now　to　go　to　the　doctor　and　the　grocer。

〃We　had　to　live；〃　said　Bill　Hahn。

Again　and　again　he　used　this　same　phrase；　〃We　had　to　live！〃　as　a　sort　of　bedrock　explanation　for　all　the　woes　of　life。

After　a　time；　with　one　finger　gone　and　a　frightfully　scarred　handhe　held　it　up　for　me　to　seehe　went　back　into　the　mill。

〃But　it　kept　getting　worse　and　worse；〃　said　he；　〃and　finally　I　couldn't　stand　it　any　longer。〃

He　and　a　group　of　friends　got　together　secretly　and　tried　to　organize　a　union；　tried　to　get　the　workmen　together　to　improve　their　own　condition；　but　in　some　way　（〃they　had　spies　everywhere；〃　he　said）　the　manager　learned　of　the　attempt　and　one　morning　when　he　reported　at　the　mill　he　was　handed　a　slip　asking　him　to　call　for　his　wages；　that　his　help　was　no　longer　required。

〃I'd　been　with　that　one　company　for　twenty　years　and　four　months；〃　he　said　bitterly；　〃I'd　helped　in　my　small　way　to　build　it　up；　make　it　a　big　concern　payin'　28　per　cent。　dividends　every　year；　I'd　given　part　of　my　right　hand　in　doin'　itand　they　threw　me　out　like　an　old　shoe。〃

He　said　he　would　have　pulled　up　and　gone　away；　but　he　still　had　the　little　home　and　the　garden；　and　his　wife　and　daughter　were　still　at　work；　so　he　hung　on　grimly；　trying　to　get　some　other　job。　〃But　what　good　is　a　man　for　any　other　sort　of　work；〃　he　said；　〃when　he　has　been　trained　to　the　mills　for　thirty…two　years！〃

It　was　not　very　long　after　that　when　the　〃great　strike〃　beganindeed；　it　grew　out　of　the　organization　which　he　had　tried　to　launchedand　Bill　Hahn　threw　himself　into　it　with　all　his　strength。　He　was　one　of　the　leaders。　I　shall　not　attempt　to　repeat　here　his　description　of　the　bitter　struggle；　the　coming　of　the　soldiery；　the　street　riots；　the　long　lists　of　arrests　（〃some；〃　said　he；　〃got　into　jail　on　purpose；　so　that　they　could　at　least　have　enough　to　eat！〃）；　the　late　meetings　of　strikers；　the　wild　turmoil　and　excitement。

Of　all　this　he　told　me；　and　then　he　stopped　suddenly；　and　after　a　long　pause　he　said　in　a　low　voice：

〃Comrade；　did　ye　ever　see　your　wife　and　your　sickly　daughter　and　your　kids　sufferin'　for　bread　to　eat？〃

He　paused　again　with　a　hard；　dry　sob　in　his　voice。

〃Did　ye　ever　see　that？〃

〃No；〃　said　I；　very　humbly；　〃I　have　never　seen　anything　like　that。〃

He　turned　on　me　suddenly；　and　I　shall　never　forget　the　look　on　his　face；　nor　the　blaze　in　his　eyes：

〃Then　what　can　you　know　about　working…man？〃

What　could　I　answer？

A　moment　passed　and　then　he　said；　as　if　a　little　remorseful　at　having　turned　thus　on　me：

〃Comrade；　I　tell　you；　the　iron　entered　my　soulthem　days。〃

It　seems　that　the　leaders　of　the　strike　were　mostly　old　employees　like　Bill　Hahn；　and　the　company　had　conceived　the　idea　that　if　these　men　could　be　eliminated　the　organization　would　collapse；　and　the　strikers　be　forced　back　to　work。　One　day　Bill　Hahn　found　that　proceedings　had　been　started　to　turn　him　out　of　his　home；　upon　which　he　had　not　been　able　to　keep　up　his　payments；　and　at　the　same　time　the　merchant；　of　whom　he　had　been　a　respected　customer　for　years；　refused　to　give　him　any　further　credit。

〃But　we　lived　somehow；〃　he　said；　〃we　lived　and　we　fought。〃

It　was　then　that　he　began　to　see　clearly　what　it　all　meant。　He　said　he　made　a　great　discovery：　that　the　〃black　people〃　against　whom　they　had　struck　in　1894　were　not　to　blame！