STRIKE AT GORDON'S MINE
Frank Gordon owned a coal mine about six miles west of the village of
Exeter, and four miles from Four Oaks. A village called Gordonville had
sprung up at the mouth of the mine. It was the home of the three hundred
miners and their families,--mostly Huns, but with a sprinkling of
Cornishmen.
The houses were built by the owner of the mine, and were leased to the
miners at a small yearly rental. They were modest in structure, but they
could be made inviting and neat if the occupants were thrifty. No one
was allowed to sell liquor on the property owned by the Gordons, but
outside of this limit was a fringe of low saloons which did a thriving
business off the improvident miners.
There had never been a strike at Gordonville, and such a thing seemed
improbable, for Gordon was a kind master, who paid his men promptly and
looked after their interests more than is usual for a capitalist.
It was, therefore, a distinct surprise when the foreman of the mine
telephoned to Gordon one July morning that the men had struck work.
Gordon did not understand the reason of it, but he expressed himself as
being heartily glad, for financial reasons, that the men had gone out.
He had more than enough coal on the surface and in cars to supply the
demand for the next three months, and it would be money in his pocket to
dispose of his coal without having to pay for the labor of replacing it.
During the day the reason for the strike was announced. From the
establishment of the mine it had been the custom for the miners to have
their tools sharpened at a shop built and run by the property. This was
done for the accommodation of the men, and the charge for keeping the
tools sharp was ten cents a week for each man, or $5 a year. For twenty
years no fault had been found with the arrangement; it had been looked
upon as satisfactory, especially by the men. A walking delegate, mousing
around the mine, and finding no other cause for complaint, had lighted
upon this practice, and he told the men it was a shame that they should
have to pay ten cents a week out of their hard-earned wages for keeping
their tools sharp. He said that it was the business of the property to
keep the tools sharp, and that the men should not be called upon to pay
for that service; that they ought, in justice to themselves and for the
dignity of associated labor, to demand that this onerous tax be removed;
and, to insure its removal, he declared a strike on. This was the
reason, and the only reason, for the strike at Gordon's mine. Three
hundred men quit work, and three hundred families suffered, many of them
for the necessities of life, simply because a loud-mouthed delegate
assured them that they were being imposed upon.
Things went on quietly at the mine. There was no riot, no disturbance.
Gordon did not go over, but simply telephoned to the superintendent to
close the shaft houses, shut down the engines, put out the fires, and
let things rest, at the same time saying that he would hold the
superintendent and the bosses responsible for the safety of the plant.
The men were disappointed, as the days went by, that the owner made no
effort to induce them to resume work. They had believed that he would at
once accede to their demand, and that they would go back to work with
the tax removed. This, however, was not his plan. Weeks passed and the
men became restless. They frequented the saloons more generally, spent
their remaining money for liquor, and went into debt as much as they
were permitted for more liquor. They became noisy and quarrelsome. The
few men who were opposed to the strike could make no headway against
public opinion. These men held aloof from the saloons, husbanded their
money, and confined themselves as much as possible to their own houses.
Things had gone on in this way for six weeks. The men grew more and
more restless and more dissipated. Again the walking delegate came to
encourage them to hold out. Mounted on an empty coal car, he made an
inflammatory speech to the men, advising them not only to hold out
against the owner, but also to prevent the employment of any other help.
If this should not prove sufficient, he advised them to wreck the mining
property and to fire the mine,--anything to bring the owner to terms.
Jack and Jarvis went for a long walk one day, and their route took them
near Gordonville. Seeing the men collected in such numbers around a coal
car, they approached, and heard the last half of this inflammatory
speech. As the walking delegate finished, Jack jumped up on the car, and
said:--
"McGinnis has had his say; now, men, let me have mine. There are always
two sides to a question. You have heard one, let me give you the other.
I am a delegate, self-appointed, from the amalgamated Order of Thinkers,
and I want you to listen to our view of this strike,--and of all
strikes. I want you also to think a little as well as to listen.
"You have been led into this position by a man whose sole business is to
foment discords between working-men and their employers. The moment
these discords cease, that moment this man loses his job and must work
or starve like the rest of you. He is, therefore, an interested party,
and he is more than likely to be biassed by what seems to be his
interest. He has made no argument; he has simply asserted things which
are not true, and played upon your sympathies, emotions, and passions,
by the use of the stale war-cries--'oppression,' 'down-trodden
working-man,' 'bloated bond-holders,' and, most foolish of all, 'the
conflict between Capital and Labor.' You have not thought this matter
out for yourselves at all. That is why I ask you to join hands for a
little while with the Order of Thinkers and see if there is not some
good way out of this dilemma. McGinnis said that the Company has no
right to charge you for keeping your tools sharp. In one sense this is
true. You have a perfect right to work with dull tools, if you wish to;
you have the right to sharpen your own tools; and you also have the
right to hire any one else to do it for you. You work 'by the ton,' you
own your pickaxes and shovels from handle to blade, and you have the
right to do with them as you please.
"There are three hundred of you who use tools; you each pay ten cents a
week to the Company for keeping them sharp,--that is, in round numbers,
$1500 a year. There are two smiths at work at $50 a month (that is
$1200), and a helper at $25 a month ($300 more), making just $1500 paid
by the Company in wages. If you will think this matter out, you will see
that there is a dead loss to the Company of the coal used, the wear and
tear of the instruments, and the interest, taxes, insurance, and
degeneration of the plant. Is the Company under obligation to lose this
money for you? Not at all! The Company does this as an accommodation and
a gratuity to you, but not as a duty. Just as much coal would be taken
from the Gordon mine if your tools were never sharpened, only it would
require more men, and you would earn less money apiece. You could not
get this sharpening done at private shops so cheaply, and you cannot do
it yourselves. You have no more right to ask the Company to do this work
for nothing than you have to ask it to buy your tools for you. It would
be just as sensible for you to strike because the Company did not send
each of you ten cents' worth of ice-cream every Sunday morning, as it is
for you to go out on this matter of sharpening tools.
"But, suppose the Company were in duty bound to do this thing for you,
and suppose it should refuse; would that be a good reason for quitting
work? Not by any means! You are earning an average of $2 a day,--nearly
$16,000 a month. You've 'been out' six weeks. If you gain your point, it
will take you fifteen years to make up what you've already lost. If you
have the sense which God gives geese, you will see that you can't afford
this sort of thing.
"But the end is not yet. You are likely to stay out six weeks longer,
and each six weeks adds another fifteen years to your struggle to catch
up with your losses. Is this a load which thinking people would impose
upon themselves? Not much! You will lose your battle, for your strike is
badly timed. It seems to be the fate of strikes to be badly timed; they
usually occur when, on account of hard times or over-supply, the
employers would rather stop paying wages than not. That's the case now.
Four months of coal is in yards or on cars, and it's an absolute benefit
to the Company to turn seventy or eighty thousand dollars of dead
product into live money. Don't deceive yourselves with the hope that you
are distressing the owner by your foolish strike; you are putting money
into his pockets while your families suffer for food. There is no great
principle at stake to make your conduct seem noble and to call forth
sympathy for your suffering,--only foolishness and the blind following
of a demagogue whose living depends upon your folly.
"McGinnis talked to you about the conflict between capital and labor.
That is all rot. There is not and there cannot be such a conflict. Labor
makes capital, and without capital there would be no object in labor.
They are mutually dependent upon each other, and there can be no quarrel
between them, for neither could exist after the death of the other. The
capitalist is only a laborer who has saved a part of his wages,
--either in his generation or in some preceding one. Any man with a
sound mind and a sound body can become a capitalist. When the laborer
has saved one dollar he is a capitalist,--he has money to lend at
interest or to invest in something that will bring a return. The second
dollar is easier saved than the first, and every dollar saved is earning
something on its own account. All persons who have money to invest or to
lend are capitalists. Of course, some are great and some are small, but
all are independent, for they have more than they need for immediate
personal use.
"I am going to tell you how you may all become capitalists; but first I
want to point out your real enemies. The employer is not your enemy,
capital is not your enemy, but the saloonkeeper is,--and the most deadly
enemy you can possibly have. In that fringe of shanties over yonder live
the powers that keep you down; there are the foes that degrade you and
your families, forcing you to live little better than wild beasts. Your
food is poor, your clothing is in rags, your children are without shoes,
your homes are desolate, there are no schools and no social life. Year
follows year in dreary monotone, and you finally die, and your neighbors
thrust you underground and have an end of you. Misery and wretchedness
fill the measure of your days, and you are forgotten.
"This dull, brutish condition is self-imposed, and to what end? That
some dozen harpies may fatten on your flesh; that your labor may give
them leisure; that your suffering may give them pleasure; that your
sweat may cool their brows, and your money fill their tills!
"What do you get in return? Whiskey, to poison your bodies and pervert
your minds; whiskey, to make you fierce beasts or dull brutes; whiskey,
to make your eyes red and your hands unsteady; whiskey, to make your
homes sties and yourselves fit occupants for them; whiskey, to make you
beat your wives and children; whiskey, to cast you into the gutter, the
most loathsome animal in all the world. This is cheap whiskey, but it
costs you dear. All that makes life worth living, all that raises man
above the brute, and all the hope of a future life, are freely given for
this poor whiskey. The man who sells it to you robs you of your money
and also of your manhood. You pay him ten times (often twenty times) as
much as it cost him, and yet he poses as your friend.
"I'm not going to say anything against beer, for I don't think good beer
is very likely to hurt a man. I will say this, however,--you pay more
than twice what it is worth. This is the point I would make: beer is a
food of some value, and it should be put on a food basis in price. It
isn't more than half as valuable as milk, and it shouldn't cost more
than half as much. You can have good beer at three or four cents a
quart, if you will let whiskey alone.
"I promised to tell you how to become capitalists, each and every one of
you, and I'll keep my word if you'll listen to me a little longer."
While Jack had been speaking, some of the men had shown considerable
interest and had gradually crowded their way nearer to the boy. Thirty
or forty Cornishmen and perhaps as many others of the better sort were
close to the car, and seemed anxious to hear what he had to say. Back of
these, however, were the large majority of the miners and the hangers-on
at the saloons, who did not wish to hear, and did not mean that others
should hear, what the boy had to say. Led by McGinnis and the
saloon-keepers, they had kept up such a row that it had been impossible
for any one, except those quite near the car, to hear at all. Now they
determined to stop the talk and to bounce the boy. They made a vigorous
rush for the car with shouts and uplifted hands.
A gigantic Cornishman mounted the car, and said, in a voice that could
easily be heard above the shouting of the crowd:--
"Wait--wait a bit, men! The lad is a brave one, and ye maun own to that!
There be small 'urt in words, and mebbe 'e 'ave tole a bit truth. Me and
me mates 'ere are minded to give un a chance. If ye men don't want to
'ear 'im, you don't 'ave to stay; but don't 'e dare touchen with a
finger, or, by God! Tom Carkeek will kick the stuffin' out en 'e!"
This was enough to prevent any overt act, for Tom Carkeek was the
champion wrestler in all that county; he was fiercer than fire when
roused, and he would be backed by every Cornishman on the job.
Jack went on with his talk. "The 'Order of Thinkers' claim that you men
and all of your class spend one-third of your entire wages for whiskey
and beer. There are exceptions, but the figures will hold good. I am
going to call the amount of your wages spent in this way, one-fourth.
The yearly pay-roll of this mine is, in round numbers, $200,000. Fifty
thousand of this goes into the hands of those harpies, who grow rich as
you grow poor. You are surprised at these figures, and yet they are too
small. I counted the saloons over there, and I find there are eleven of
them. Divide $50,000 into eleven parts, and you would give each saloon
less than $5000 a year as a gross business. Not one of those places can
run on the legitimate percentage of a business which does not amount to
more than that. Do you suppose these men are here from charitable
motives or for their health? Not at all. They are here to make money,
and they do it. Five or six hundred dollars is all they pay for the vile
stuff for which they charge you $5000. They rob you of manhood and money
alike.
"Now, what would be the result if you struck on these robbers? I will
tell you. In the first place, you would save $50,000 each year, and you
would be better men in every way for so doing. You would earn more
money, and your children would wear shoes and go to school. That would
be much, and well worth while; but that is not the best of it. I will
make a proposition to you, and I will promise that it shall be carried
out on my side exactly as I state it.
"This is a noble property. In ten years it has paid its owner
$500,000,--$50,000 a year. It is sure to go on in this way under good
management. I offer, in the name of the owner, to bond this property to
you for $300,000 for five years at six per cent. Of course this is an
unusual opportunity. The owner has grown rich out of it, and he is now
willing to retire and give others a chance. His offer to you is to sell
the mine for half its value, and, at the same time, to give you five
years in which to pay for it. I will add something to this proposition,
for I feel certain that he will agree to it. It is this: Mr. Gordon will
build and equip a small brewery on this property, in which good,
wholesome beer can be made for you at one cent a glass. You are to pay
for the brewery in the same way that you pay for the other property; it
will cost $25,000. This will make $325,000 which you are to pay during
the next five years. How? Let me tell you.
"The property will give you a net income of $40,000 or $50,000, and you
will save $50,000 more when you give up whiskey and get your beer for
less than one-fourth of what it now costs you. The general store at
which you have always traded will be run in your interests, and all that
you buy will be cheaper. The market will be a cooperative one, which
will furnish you meat, fattened on your own land, at the lowest price.
Your fruit and vegetables will come from these broad acres, which will
be yours and will cost you but little. You will earn more money because
you will be sober and industrious, and your money will purchase more
because you will deal without a middleman. You will be better clothed,
better fed, and better men. Your wives will take new interest in life,
and there will be carpets on your floors, curtains at your windows,
vegetables behind your cottages, and flowers in front of them.
"All these things you will have with the money you are now earning, and
at the same time you will be changing from the laborer to the
capitalist. The mine gives you a profit of $40,000, and you save
one-fourth of your wages, which makes $50,000 more,--$90,000 in all.
What are you to do with this? Less than $20,000 will cover the interest.
You will have $70,000 to pay on the principal. This will reduce the
interest for the next year more than $3000. Each year you can do as
well, and by the time the five years have passed you will own the mine,
the land, the brewery, the store, the market, and this blessed
blacksmith shop about which you have had so much fuss, and also a bank
with a paid-up capital of $50,000. You are capitalists, every one of
you, at the end of five years, if you wish to be, and if you are willing
to give up the single item,--whiskey.
"Do you like the plan? Do you like the prospect? Turn it over and see
what objections you can find. If you are willing to go into it, come
over to Four Oaks some day and we will go more into details. McGinnis
gave you one side of the picture: I have given you the other. You are at
liberty to follow whichever you please."
Jack and Jarvis jumped off the car and struck out for home. Carkeek and
his Cornishmen followed the lads until they were well clear of the
village, to protect them, and then Carkeek said:--"Me and the others
like for to hear 'e talk, mister, and we like for to 'ear 'e talk more."
"All right, Goliath," said Jack. "Come over any time and we'll make
plans."