THE OLD TIME FARM-HAND
With all my industries thus increasing, the necessity for more help
became imperative. French and Judson had their hands more than full in
the dairy barns, and had to be helped out by Thompson. Anderson could
not give the swine all the attention they needed, and was assisted by
Otto, who proved an excellent swineherd. Sam had the aid of Lars's boys
with the poultry, and very efficient aid it was, considering the time
they could give to it. They had to be off with the market wagon at 7.40,
and did not return from school until 4 P.M. Lars was busy in the
carriage barn; and though we spared him as much as possible from
driving, he had to be helped out by Johnson at such times as the latter
could spare from his greenhouse and hotbeds. Zeb took care of the farm
teams; but the winter's work of distributing forage and grain, getting
up wood and ice, hauling manure, and so forth, had to be done in a
desultory and irregular manner. The spring work would find us wofully
behindhand if I did not look sharp. I had been looking sharp since
January set in, and had experienced, for the first time, real
difficulties in finding anything like good help. Hitherto I had been
especially fortunate in this regard. I had met some reverses, but in the
main good luck had followed me. I had nine good men who seemed contented
and who were all saving money,--an excellent sign of stability and
contentment. Even Lars had not fallen from grace but once, and that
could hardly be charged against him, for Jack and Jarvis had tempted him
beyond resistance; while Sam's nose was quite blanched, and he was to
all appearances firmly seated on the water wagon. Really, I did not know
what labor troubles meant until 1898, but since then I have not had
clear sailing.
From my previous experience with working-men, I had formed the opinion
that they were reasoning and reasonable human beings,--with
peculiarities, of course; and that as a class they were ready to give
good service for fair wages and decent treatment. In early life I had
been a working-man myself, and I thought I could understand the feelings
and sympathize with the trials of the laborer from the standpoint of
personal experience. I was sorely mistaken. The laboring man of to-day
is a different proposition from the man who did manual labor "before the
war." That he is more intelligent, more provident, happier, or better in
any way, I sincerely doubt; that he is restless, dissatisfied, and less
efficient, I believe; that he is unreasonable in his demands and
regardless of the interests of his employer, I know. There are many
shining exceptions, and to these I look for the ultimate regeneration of
labor; but the rule holds true.
I do not believe that the principles of life have changed in forty
years. I do not believe that an intelligent, able-bodied man need be a
servant all his life, or that industry and economy miss their rewards,
or that there is any truth in the theory that men cannot rise out of the
rut in which they happen to find themselves. The trouble is with the
man, not with the rut. He spends his time in wallowing rather than in
diligently searching for an outlet or in honestly working his way up to
it. Heredity and environment are heavy weights, but industry and
sobriety can carry off heavier ones. I have sympathy for weakness of
body or mind, and patience for those over whom inheritance has cast a
baleful spell; but I have neither patience nor sympathy for a strong man
who rails at his condition and makes no determined effort to better it.
The time and money wasted in strikes, agitations, and arbitrations, if
put to practical use, would better the working-man enough faster than
these futile efforts do. I have no quarrel with unions or combinations
of labor, so far as they have the true interests of labor for an object;
but I do quarrel with the spirit of mob rule and the evidences of
conspicuous waste, which have grown so rampant as to overshadow the
helpful hand and to threaten, not the stability of society--for in the
background I see six million conservative sons of the soil who will look
to the stability of things when the time comes--but the unions
themselves.
I remember my first summer on a farm. It lasted from the first day of
April to the thirty-first day of October, and on the evening of that day
I carried to my father $28, the full wage for seven months. I could not
have spent one cent during that time, for I carried the whole sum home;
but I do not remember that I was conscious of any want. The hours on the
farm were not short; an eight-hour day would have been considered but a
half-day. We worked from sun to sun, and I grew and knew no sorrow or
oppression. The next year I received the munificent wage of $6 a month,
and the following year, $8.
In after years, in brick-yards, sawmills, lumber woods, or harvest
fields, there was no arbitrary limit put upon the amount of work to be
done. If I chose to do the work of a man and a half, I got $1.50 for
doing it, and it would have been a bold and sturdy delegate who tried to
hold me from it. I felt no need of help from outside. I was fit to care
for myself, and I minded not the long hours, the hard work, or the hard
bed. This life was preliminary to a fuller one, and it served its use.
I know what tired legs and back mean, and I know that one need not have
them always if he will use the ordinary sense which God gives. Genius,
or special cleverness, is not necessary to get a man out of the rut of
hard manual labor. Just plain, everyday sense will do. But before I had
secured the three men for whom I was in search, I began to feel that
this common sense of which we speak so glibly is a rare commodity under
the working-man's hat. I advertised, sent to agencies and intelligence
offices, interviewed and inspected, consulted friends and enemies, and
so generally harrowed my life that I was fit to give up the whole
business and retire into a cave.
By actual count, I saw more than one hundred men, of all ages, sizes,
and colors. Eight of these were tried, of whom five were found wanting.
Early in February I had settled upon three sober men to add to our
colony. As none of these lasted the year out, I may be forgiven for not
introducing them to the reader. They served their purpose, and mine too,
and then drifted on.