It was Halloween when the new building was formally opened. Up to that
time, only a few privileged persons were allowed to enter its sacred
portals; but every one connected with the Shawsheen Mills was invited to
be present at the opening.
On the hill, back of the mills, stood one hundred new cottages, each
costing from fifteen to twenty-five hundred dollars, and all ready for
occupancy; but as yet none of the mill-hands had seen the inside of one
of them.
It had been a work of no small magnitude to find a suitable matron for
the Newbern Shepard Hall. But, finally, the widow of a former physician
in Shepardtown, a woman of excellent character and judgment, and with
some experience as matron of a young ladies’ school, was secured and
duly installed in the two pleasant rooms set apart for her in the girls’
wing.
John Villard had relieved Salome’s mind of another perplexity, by
offering to take up permanent quarters for himself in the young men’s
side; for, although she had felt the necessity of such an arrangement,
she had not liked to ask him to give up what she rightly guessed were
more congenial apartments in a quiet corner of the town. But he felt
that his influence would be needed at the Hall, and that he could do the
work which he hoped to do much better, if he were in the midst of the
young men whom he wished to interest in many ways. And before Halloween,
he was comfortably settled in two rooms at the Hall.
The evening came, clear and cold; such an evening as only the last of
October can give. The building was brilliantly lighted from top to
bottom, and decorated with flags and evergreen. Outside, Chinese
lanterns and bunting lined both sides of the walk up to the main
entrance, and helped to give it a holiday air. A band of
street-musicians, who happened to be in town, had been engaged and were
stationed in front of the building, where their tolerably harmonious
strains gave just as much pleasure to the not over-critical audience
that was fast assembling, as Thomas’ or Seidl’s men could have afforded
them.
Inside, Salome waited impatiently. Without any premeditated plan,
Villard and Burnham placed her and Marion, with Mrs. Soule in the
background—for she “declined to be introduced to these persons”—in the
center of the library; and forming themselves into a reception
committee, they drafted into service a few of the best-appearing young
men, who presented every comer to the owner of the mills and her friend.
After giving each one a cordial welcome and hand-shake, Salome told them
they were free to inspect the new building as they pleased; and,
consequently, every mill-hand, accompanied by every other member of his
or her family, went critically over the wonderful new building, which
seemed to their unaccustomed eyes a structure of unwonted magnificence,
and furnished in a most luxurious style.
It had been fitted up inexpensively, but with the utmost good taste. No
carpets were on the floors, but American rugs abounded wherever they had
seemed necessary. The library furniture was of plain, substantial oak,
like the heavy woodwork of the room. Throughout the rest of the house,
bedrooms, dining-rooms, and class-rooms were furnished with strong,
neat, ash furniture. There were a few good engravings on the walls of
the principal rooms, and the bookcases were about half-filled with
literature of a harmless and interesting, if light quality. They had all
agreed it would not be best to fill the shelves at first, but to watch
the popular taste and to “leave room for improvement,” as Marion said.
The operatives were simply astonished at what they saw. Some were even
yet incredulous, and whispered that they would not be willing nor able
to live in such a place; but many of the girls’ eyes brightened as they
inspected their new quarters, and showed a determination, on the part of
their owners, to come in for some of the good times they saw in store.
It is doubtful if even the lowest ones there did not feel a new
self-respect creeping up in their hearts. Dress may not make the man,
but surroundings often do the woman.
By half-past eight the stream of people stopped pouring through the big
front doors. Everybody had come in, shaken hands with Salome and Marion,
and passed along, scattering themselves over the building.
“Now let’s get every one into the hall, above,” said Salome, “and have a
little talking and some music.”
It was some little time before the crowd of visitors could be gathered
in one place, but after a while the hall was well filled, and the
musicians installed in their place. The sound of the band, indoors,
proved an effectual summons for the stragglers. For the first time,
Salome, on the platform, faced a surging, eager crowd of her own people
in Newbern Shepard Hall.
She had wanted one of her two “faithful henchmen” to take the lead
to-night; but they had each refused, saying she was better fitted than
they; that it was eminently her own affair and not theirs, and that the
success of the opening depended on her alone. The last argument was
enough, and, much to Mrs. Soule’s horror at seeing “Cora de Bourdillon’s
daughter” in such a plight, Salome presided over her first
meeting,—“exactly as if she were one of those ‘woman’s rights women.’”
When the musicians had finished, Salome stepped forward, and not without
some inward quaking, made her first speech.
It was an occasion the Shawsheen Mill hands never forgot. Salome, always
well and appropriately dressed, had not slighted them by refusing to
appear at her best. She wore a white China silk costume, rightly
thinking her young people would be readily reached by the gospel of good
clothes. Her gown was simply made, but fitted exquisitely her
well-proportioned figure. Neck and wrists were finished with beautiful
old point lace, and she did not scorn to wear her grandmother’s
diamonds.
Her attractive appearance, her cordial and interested manner, and her
winning voice had pleaded her cause with the critical operatives before
she had uttered a half-dozen sentences. Her sincerity and earnestness
went straight to their sensibilities, and, before she had suspected it,
every heart in the room was hers.
“My dear friends,” she began, “I never made a speech in my life, and
cannot now. I never stood on a platform before; and only my interest in
every one of you brings me here to-night. I only want to say that this
building, which you see now for the first time, and which I hope will
prove a happy home for many of you, is built to my grandfather’s memory.
Some who are present to-night remember him and love him still, I hope.”
Here several gray-haired men in the audience nodded their heads, and one
was heard to mutter, “Ay, ay, we do.”
“If he had lived, I think everything in the factory would have been
different. Your lives would have been different; and mine, too, perhaps.
For one thing, I don’t believe you and I would have grown up strangers
to each other. You know, by this time, I am sure, that I have a glorious
plan for making the Shawsheen Mills the best on earth.
“Not by tearing down mills and building new and more elegant ones; not
alone by making costly improvements; but by having—and mind, this is the
only way it can be done,—by having the best and most conscientious and
intelligent class of operatives in this country,—and that will mean, of
course, in the world. Now, you all know I cannot do this alone; every
one of you has a part in carrying out this plan of mine. And unless you
all agree to help, it will fail. Don’t think I want you to do any
impossible thing. I only want every one of you to be the best and do the
best you possibly can. You and I are going to have some splendid times
in the future. We’re going to get better acquainted with each other. We
are going to become real friends. On your part, you are going to deserve
my good opinion and my honest friendship; on my part, I’m going to
deserve your confidence and trust and love; and between us we are going
to show the people of Massachusetts that a cotton-factory can become
something more than a great machine to grind out yards and yards of
unbleached sheeting; and that its operatives can become something better
and greater than so many smaller wheels in the machinery. We will show
that a factory community may be, and is, a prosperous, happy, contented
and intelligent people.”
Some of the young men could contain themselves no longer, and broke into
enthusiastic applause as Salome uttered the last sentiment. Villard
chuckled secretly as he observed that the leaders in it were the heads
of the committees in the recent strike.
“I’m so glad you agree with me,” said Salome heartily, when the noise
had subsided. “Now, I want to tell you about this house. The rooms are
all ready for occupancy. I think there are accommodations for all who
care to come. You are to leave the old boardinghouses on the
corporation, and I shall have them taken down at once. The price of
board will remain the same as at the old houses. The reading-rooms are
ready, the library is yours, and we shall soon find means of
entertainment and work, which will keep us all contented, I hope. Mr.
Villard will occupy rooms on this floor, and the matron, whom I will
shortly present to you, will be on the girls’ wing. There will be but
few rules, and those, I trust, not irksome. I cannot imagine that any
one will not be willing to obey them. The new houses on the hill are all
ready for the families on the corporation to move into. A few of the
larger and better houses are to be let at an increased rental; but most
of them will be let at the old rates. We have a plan, by which any one
who wants to, may, after a little, buy a house and pay for it by monthly
installments, just the same as you pay rent. But I will not go into
details. Mr. Fales will be at the first cottage on the hill, and you can
all make arrangements with him at any time after to-morrow morning. Now
I have talked too long, I know, and am going to stop. I want to have you
hear what Mr. Burnham and Mr. Villard have to say; but first we must
have some music.”
If Salome could have read the trembling waves of sympathy and reverence
which were already vibrating from the hearts of the young people whom
she had addressed, she would not have sat down with the feeling of
self-distrust and failure which followed her speech. The experience, the
very atmosphere, was unique in the history of industrial experiments.
The two superintendents followed the band with speeches that were
characteristic of each. Burnham’s, witty and tinged with sarcasm, but
friendly and cordial enough; and Villard’s, strong with earnest purpose
and full of brotherly love. The matron, Mrs. French, was presented,
also, and her few remarks won a friendly recognition among the young
folks; and then Salome announced that the meeting would adjourn to the
dining-rooms in the basement.
More refined audiences than hers have not been slow to exchange an
atmosphere of sentiment and intellectuality for one of prosaic salads
and cold meats, and more fanciful ices and coffee; and the Shawsheen
operatives were soon encountering a more æsthetic collation, it is
probable, than had ever been served them before. But as it was a
bountiful one, they acted well their part and found no fault.
The crowning delight of the evening came afterward. The young men were
asked to lend a hand, and soon the floor was cleared in the large hall,
and word was circulated through the house that the evening’s
entertainment would close with dancing. Nothing could have gone so far
toward convincing the mill-hands that Salome had meant what she said,
than this concession to their social rights, unless it was the fact that
she, herself,—the haughty, aristocratic daughter of Floyd Shepard, whom
they had looked upon with envy not unmixed with hatred,—that she should
lead the dance with the younger superintendent. An orchestra of three
pieces was selected from the band of musicians, and Marion and Salome,
by turns, furnished the piano accompaniment. Salome claimed her promise
from Villard and danced merrily, not only the first figure but several
others. Mrs. Soule was too much overcome by all she had seen and heard
to endure this, and was taken home; but the others staid until the
midnight hour tolled, and the dancers had all bidden good-night to their
newly-developed friends and gone home enthusiastic in their praise of
the new order of things in the mill _régime_, and, especially, of the
woman who was opening to them the wider doors of opportunity.