until the place was crowded, and quite a concourse of people lingered
without the door, striving to gain some idea of what was going on
within. All through the agent’s statement the Dane had sat silent,
apparently not hearing what was said, sullenly contemplating his
handcuffed wrists and heavy, patched boots. When the Justice spoke to
him, however, he slowly arose from the bench on which he sat and gazed
about him on the assembly of his neighbors. It seemed for a moment as
though he were seeking for sympathy, but only a vague, disinterested
curiosity greeted him from every face as he glanced from one to another.
His heavy features did not lighten, and his jaw dropped stupidly for a
moment, but at last he pulled himself together, as it were, and began
slowly and laboriously, his Norse tongue occasionally having hard work
to adapt itself to the foreign language in which he spoke.
“You all, mine neighbors, know me vell,” he said simply, “Olaf
Rassmussen, I am. In mine country, miles from here, an’ seas across, I
read an’ I hear on America. There, they tell me, is alvays vork to be
done, an’ plenty an’ vreedom vor the man who will vork, an’ I safe an’
safe, me an’ mine vooman, an’ bimeby ve come on the money vor to pring
us the seas across. So den to America vere comen, an’ ve puy land an’
lif on Minnesota, an’ I gits a little house an’ ve do vell, an’ haf von
two children.
“But I hear always Californy, Californy vas the land vor de man vat
vants to git ahead, an’ I vishes much I had come on Californy. Den one
night came to mine house fire, and ve vas all out purned, an’ afterwards
I make up mine mind I shall come on Californy. So, den, I sell mine
little farm and ve prings der children to this land. I hafs no more
money to puy land, but some man I know he sends me this man to, and he
says to me: ‘All right, all right, you rent now, you raise pig crops and
sells him for much money, and bimeby ve sells you land and you gits
ahead fast and has a home here in no time.’
“So I takes mine twenty acres an’ I puts in crops, an’ me an’ mine
vooman ve vork. Ven it vas come daylight ve pegin, an’ ven it come dark
ve vas vorking so as slaves. Ve puilds von house, mine vooman nailing up
does walls mit her own hands, an’ bimeby ve hat a shed an’ horse, an’
cow, an’ nice home, an’ mine grain do vell der year, an’ I pays mine
rent, an’ puts py some money. Venefer der vas extra to do I do him, an’
ven a neighbor vas hat pad luck I help ’im, an’ I do mine duty as a
man—you all know dat.”
“That’s so,” said a boy in the crowd. “When my father broke his arm Olaf
came over and harrowed for us two days, and never charged a cent.” “Mrs.
Rassmussen sat up most every night for a week when our baby was so sick
and Mother came down with the grip,” said another close beside me. But
the Dane went on with his story, gaining courage and command of language
as he proceeded, until he seemed completely to have forgotten everything
save the story he was telling.
“Come fruit time, first year, mine vork vas all so I could get along,
an’ mine vooman she says she can earn money picking cherries in Burns’
big orchard. I say ‘So?’ an’ I go see der boss about it. He say vork is
plenty and help scarce; but when I look I see he haf a pig gang of
Chinamen in der orchard, and I couldn’t let my vooman vork mit dem, and
so I say: ‘I vill vork in der orchard, and you stay der home py and dig
der potatoes and hoe der corn.’ Vell, I go in der orchard von day, an’ I
notice der Chinamen go in a corner an’ all talking like mad, an’ bimeby
der boss he comes an’ tells me I must quit or the whole gang will leaf.
I say to ’im, ‘Let dem leaf an’ git vite men an’ voomans to do der
vork,’ but he tells me he haf hire der gang much cheaper as vite men
vill vork, an’ he can’t afford to make ’em mad. Den I say I vork der day
out, an’ he goes off. Bimeby came der boss Chinaman an’ order me off. I
swear I go not, an’ den der whole gang came on me for fight, an’ I knock
some over an’ vas most in pieces torn. So the vite boss he pays me
nothing vor mine vork, as he say I lost ’im two days’ time of der gang.
I haf never any trouble of mine neighbor but what I tell you. You all
know it.
“Vell, after that I goes on working an’ doing well, an’ I haf a great
crop of potatoes dat year. Dey grow as I never pefore see, an’ one night
der agent of der railroad he say to me I pedder be send does potatoes to
der city. ‘Don’t delay,’ he say to me, or eferypody else will be ahead
of you an’ you gits no market.’ I hurried up next day an’ gits mine
potatoes der station to, an’ I see great piles, hundreds bushels
potatoes, all at station vor to ship. Der agent say, ‘All right, ve can
send plenty. I bin poking up der growers. I don’t like to see mine
neighbors git left,’ an’ I sends on mine potatoes to der commission men
vat he recommends an’ pays mine freight, an’ he tells me I make lots of
money. I keep not back any, as I needs dat money and vas thinking I
might bargain dat year to puy der land. Vell, I vaits tree four days—a
week. Den come vort by does commission men dat der city vas full of
potatoes, an’ der papers had been telling a week now how der potatoes
vas being dumped in der bay at der city, an’ mine had been dumped in,
too. Der letter said any man vas a fool to ship den. I show ’im to some
mens, an’ dey laugh and say dat agent vas tam smart, anyway, to git the
potatoes shipped an’ secure his freight; but I vas out mine crop an’
mine freight money, an’ mine children got no shoes dat winter nor me an’
mine vooman any clothes, an’ it vas a hard pull. I talked with dat
agent, an’ he say mine loss non his pizness. His pizness vas to do vell
by der railroad company. Dat vas vat he vas paid for. I haf no trouble
mit him, but von man vat he so fool try to kill him an’ vas put in
prison.
“You all know it.
“Vell, next year ye do better. Comes a little feller to mine house to
lif, but der crops is good and ve make some money. Den ve tink maybe ve
can puy der land dis year, an’ I haf tree hundred dollar to make von
payment. I say so to this man here ven he come, but he tell me his
company haf conclude not to sell, but to rent der land. He say der come
soon annuder road the place through, and value will be higher, so der
company conclude to hold, and then he tell me he must have bigger rent
der next year. I tell him impossible, I cannot pay more, an’ he say he
haf a tenant vot can, and he tell me tree four Japs vant der place for
nursery an’ vegetables to send to city, an’ vill pay bigger rent. I tell
him nopody can pay more an’ put up puildings, an’ he say puildings are
already up. Vy, I tells him dem mine puildings are an’ mine fences, an’
all vat is on der place mine, made mit mine own hands and mine vooman’s,
and paid for mit mine own money; but he say dere is nothing in der
agreement about dat, or mine taking off any puildings or being paid for
any improvements, an’ der place must stand just so as it vas. I could
pay der higher rent or move off and let der Japs pay it. Den I look
around on mine little home, an’ see dat pretty house covered mit der
vines mine vooman had planted, an’ der rose trees in der garden, an’ dat
little vineyard by der side of der house, an’ der henyard an’ barn vere
I could hear mine horse stomping, an’ I thought of all dem two years an’
mine hard vork, an’ it seems like I got crazy; an’ I asks dat man vas it
der law in free America? an’ he tell me he had all der law on his side
an’ der company would uphold him; an’ I made up mine mind he would nefer
lif to tell his company about dat, an’ so I picked up a cart stake an’
vent for him. He got away an’ jumped in his buggy before I could kill
him, or I vould.”
By this time the Dane’s rage was again in the ascendency. His sullen
face was actually black with anger, and he ground his teeth and shook
his manacled hands at the smiling agent.
“Dey all lif not here,” he shouted. “Does Chinamen lif not here nor
puild up der country! Does railroad people lif not here! Does land
company lif not here! Dere all like so many plud vorms, suck, suck,
sucking at der life of men vat vork hard. Vy should I not kill von of
them?”
Then, as if remembering himself, he ceased speaking, and sank down in
his seat again to resume contemplation of his bruised hands. There was a
hush for a moment. The rough, hard-working farmer folks felt there had
been much close home truth in what he said. Few but had had their own
experiences in the same line; but they were sane, law-abiding citizens,
who felt the necessity for supporting the dignity of the commonwealth,
not hot-headed and irrational like this yellow-haired, blue-eyed
foreigner.
The rest of the proceedings were soon over. All the testimony was
against the Dane. His own statement was damning evidence of his guilt.
He was remanded to the calaboose, as the town jail was called, to be
sent to the county jail next day and regularly committed for trial.
I saw him taken to the railway station next morning in charge of a
deputy-sheriff. In the procession of curious ones who followed him was a
weeping woman bearing a young baby in her arms, while two others clung
to her skirts. His “vooman,” they told me, but no one seemed able to say
what she would do while the husband and father expiated his crime in
durance vile. It seemed hard, but the majesty of the law must be upheld.
THE EARTH SLEPT.
I.
The earth slept.
Age upon age passed over the nebulous mass that lay without form and
void in space, unknowing, unfeeling, yet guided ever by the workings of
inexorable law.
“Brothers! Brothers!” whispered one statoblast to the others, “I feel a
strange stirring within me, a consciousness of broader life; and,
brothers, what is this shining whiteness creeping all about us?
Brothers, I dreamed once, long ago, of a wonderful glory called light. I
believe, brothers, that the light is breaking!”
“How foolish!” exclaimed the others. “We have no knowledge of such
stirrings or new consciousness. Why should you have? No one has ever
seen light. There never has been light and there never will be light.
When will you cease to trouble us?” And all the statoblasts murmured
their assent to this, and gathering more closely about their offending
brother, crushed him into silence.
And slowly the dawn broke, and there was light upon the face of the
earth, and the statoblasts saw it and saw each other, and looked upon
each other and said:
“We knew that it would come.”
II.
The earth slept.
Age upon age came and went. The light grew stronger. Great green growths
shot heavenward, lived their appointed time, fell back to earth and
mingled with its mold. The rain fell and covered the heated world, and
its vapors steamed up and fell back in rain again. The seas heaved and
dashed, and approached and receded, age upon age.
“Brothers! Brothers!” cried one amœboid cell to the rest, “I feel a
strange impulse within me—a stirring as of power. Brothers, I believe
that we have a wonderful destiny before use. I believe that we shall
have power of motion.”
“Nonsense,” replied the others. “Why do you trouble us? We are at rest.
We never have moved. We never shall move. There is nothing to move for
if we did move.”
And all the cells breathed their assent to this, and grew more closely
around their brother and pressed upon him and smothered him into
silence.
And the ages rolled by, and presently motion came to the cells and they
darted to and fro in the water, saying to each other: “We knew that we
should move, in time.”
III.
The earth slept.
Age upon age passed, and through them all the impulse of life beat on.
From one form to another it travelled. Mammoth creatures walked the
earth and mammoth vegetation covered its surface. From the north swept
down the mighty frozen tide bearing death before it, and the mammoth
passed away.
The dawning of a new life began to break upon the world, flowers
bedecked the earth, and fruits multiplied and increased in the trees.
Beneficent nature was planning for the good of her children.
“Friends!” cried one climbing anthropoid to the others, “I feel a
strange impulse within me—a yearning as of aspirations undefined.
Friends, I believe that we shall yet walk this earth erect!”
“Nonsense,” cried the rest, “we feel no such impulse, and why should
you? We never have walked erect. We have no power to walk erect, nor
desire to do so. Why do you trouble us with your imbecile folly?”
And gathering about him they drowned his voice in the chorus of their
clamoring protests.
IV.
The earth slept.
Age upon age passed and man dwelt upon the earth and fought and toiled
and traded with his kind. Man, king of creation, walking erect, engaged
in competition with his fellows, and battled fiercely with them in the
struggle for existence.
Kingdoms were set up and thrown down. Dynasties arose and died out.
Whole peoples came and went upon the face of the earth, but still the
struggle for existence went on; still men vied with each other in the
competition of trade; still the strong struggled for greater gain and
the weak went down, crushed, helpless, thrown to the earth, unable to do
battle in the struggle for existence. The rich grew richer, the poor
poorer, and the whole world was caught in the vise-like grip of
competition.
“Oh, men!” cried one man to his fellows, “I feel the stirring of a
strange impulse within me—the dawning of a great truth. We are brothers.
Our lives are knit up in each other. Fraternity, and not competition, is
to be the main spring of our racial life!”
“Nonsense!” replied his fellows. “You talk neither policy nor logic.
Fraternity is a dream of the poets, an ideal for a future life.
Competition is the life of trade.”
So they gathered about him and silenced him; but his light they could
not quench, the truth they could not smother, hide it as they would. Up
and down the earth it wanders, showing itself in a great deed here, a
great thought there, the stirring of a mighty force yonder, yet beaten
back by the throng of competing men.
And the earth sleeps.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
End of Project Gutenberg's One thousand dollars a day, by Adeline Knapp