THE STRIKE
_The labor question from the inside--A talk with strikers--Tit for tat
all round--A ticklish place for an argument--My anarchist--Bluff--It
works--We call it square_
Meantime, for a little entertainment, we had a strike in one of our
Indiana plants. At first it didn't make much difference: all the packers
had been shutting down here and there during the cold months, and we
were ready to close that particular plant.
But as the severe winter of '94 passed, and the men saw that we were in
no hurry to start work until better times, they began to get ugly, to
set fire to the buildings, and do other injuries. There was no police
protection to amount to anything in any of these country places, and it
would cost too much to keep a sufficient force of hired detectives to
guard the property.
It got on toward spring and we wanted to open the place for a short run,
but I was determined not to give in to the union, especially since they
had taken to hurting the property. There had been a number of strikes
that year, notably the great one at Pullman, followed by the railroad
trouble. It was a most senseless time for any man with a job to quit
work, and the employers were feeling pretty set about not giving in.
I remember that about this time some of the preachers in the city, and
among them the Reverend Mr. Hardman, Sarah's young man, got loose on the
strike question and preached sermons that were printed in the
newspapers. Hardman's ideas were called "Christian Socialism," and it
all sounded pretty, but wouldn't work twenty-four hours in Chicago. I
wanted Sarah to try a new minister, who had sense enough to stick to his
Bible, but she was loyal to Hardman, and even thought there might be
something in his ideas.
Well, it got along into July, and I concluded to run down to our Indiana
plant and see what could be done with the situation. There was a
committee of the union waiting for me in the superintendent's office. We
talked back and forth a considerable time, and finally I said:--
"See here, boys, I want you to come over the plant with me and let me
show you what some of you strikers have done, and what it will cost us
before we can open up."
So I tramped over the place with the men, and I pointed out damages to
the property that would cost the company over ten thousand dollars to
repair.
"Now, go home and ask your union if they will stand for that bill?"
They thought it was my little joke. They could not understand that a
union, if it is to have the power to force a rise in wages, must be
responsible also for the damage done by its members. Nor could they see
that if the company wasn't making money, they could not make more money
out of the company.
At last, after talking with the lot of obstinate Poles for three hours,
I turned them all away, with the suggestion that they might see a
trainload of men coming in from the South in about a week if they didn't
come back--for we were going to open on the first of the month. They
trotted off to a saloon to talk it over. The superintendent shook his
head and talked about a riot if we should try getting in new men. Then
he and I went over the place together to see about improvements, and
spent another hour looking into every corner of the building.
He left me up in the loft of the main building, while he went back for
some plans that were in the office. I poked about here and there in the
dusty, cobwebbed place. There was only rough scantling for a floor, and
below my feet I could see the gaping mouths of the great vats, still
filled with dirty, slimy water. Pretty soon I heard the tread of feet
coming up the stairs. It didn't sound like the superintendent. He was a
light man, and this was a heavy person. I called out to the man to take
care, as the light was none too good, and a tumble to the floor below
into one of those vats would be no joke. He did not reply, and I was
bending over looking down between the boards and trying to make out who
it was, when suddenly I felt myself grasped by the neck. I straightened
up, and both of us came near tumbling over backward through the loose
boarding.
"Quit your fooling!" I cried, wondering what had got into the fellow.
Then I threw him off a bit and could see that I had to do with one of
those men who had been talking with me down below in the office.
"So you get some other help, you do, you do?" he began to spit at me. "I
know you! I know you!"
There was very little light in that loft, for the day was pretty well
over. All that could be seen by me was a stocky, short man, with a face
covered by a heavy beard. I remembered that I had seen him in the office
with the other men, though he had not done any talking.
"Well," I said, "what are _you_ after, John?"
Considering my position, I thought it was as well to speak
good-naturedly. It wasn't just the place for a wrestling match.
"I know you!" He came forward again and shook his fist in my face. "You
are one of the men who murdered my friends. Yes, you did murder them!"
"You're drunk, John," I said as coolly as I could.
"Yes, you do know. Seven, eight year ago. At the trial!"
"So you are an anarchist! Those were your friends, were they?"
"And this time yust look out for yourself!"
He made a grab for me, and I jumped out of his reach. In doing so, I
slipped on one of the boards, and went through part way. In the distance
below me I could see those tough-looking vats.
It was only a question now of how soon the superintendent would come. I
could not hear the sound of his steps below. Perhaps my anarchist had
settled him first. In that case there was little help for me. If I
should struggle, he could kick me over the edge as easily as you could
brush off a fly from the side of a bowl. So, to gain time, I thought I
would try to make the man talk. Then, at the last, I could grab him by
the legs and fight it out in that way, or pull him down with me.
[Illustration: _He undertook to give me a lesson then and there on the
rights of the anarchist._]
"So you think you'll get even by killing me! What is the good of that?
You'll be caught the first thing, and you and your mates won't get one
cent more for your day's work than you've had before. I don't count for
so much. Some one else will take my place in this business, and you will
have the same trick to play over again. He will boss you, and you will
work for him."
My theory of life seemed to amuse my earnest friend, for he undertook to
give me a lesson then and there on the rights of the anarchist.
"Maybe all the others like you will get killed some day," he concluded.
"Perhaps, John," I answered. "But you'll never kill us all. That's one
sure thing. And if by any luck you should do away with all my kind,
your own men would take to robbing you on a big scale as they do now on
a small one. Here, give me your hand and help me out."
Very likely his answer to my bluff would be my end. But I was tired out,
holding my two hundred pounds there in the air with my elbows. Strangely
enough, while I watched him, waiting for him to act, and expecting the
last blow, I did not seem to care half as much as I should have expected
to. I thought of Sarah and the children; I hated to leave the job I had
set myself half-done, with a lot of loose ends for other folks to bungle
over; and it didn't look inviting down there below. But the fall alone
would probably do for me at once, and, personally, my life didn't seem
to be of much consequence.
But my anarchist friend made no move. It seemed to trouble him, the way
I took his attack. So I gave a great heave, raised myself half up to the
girder where he stood, and held out my hand.
He took it! A moment more I found myself standing upright beside my
anarchist. The next thing was to induce him to continue the discussion a
few floors lower down, where there would be less likelihood of losing
our balance in the course of a heated argument. But I sat down,
friendly-like, on one of the cross-beams, and began to talk.
"So you are an anarchist? Yes, I helped to hang your friends. I had some
doubts about the matter then. But just here, now, after my experience
with you, I haven't any at all."
I gave him a good sermon--the gospel of man against man, as I knew it,
as I had learned it in my struggles for fortune. I showed him how I was
more bound than he,--bound hand and foot, for he could run away, and I
couldn't. At bottom he wasn't a bad sort of fellow, only easily excited
and loose-minded. In conclusion I said:--
"Now we'll just step down. I am going home to get some supper."
I started, and he followed on meekly after me. It was a rather creepy
feeling I had, going over those stairs! They were perfectly dark by this
time, and steep.
"You'll try to fix me for this?" the fellow said, when we reached the
first floor, and I had started toward the office.
"I guess we'll call this square," I replied, "and forget it. Good
night."
He made a line for the gate, and that was the last I ever saw of him. I
found the superintendent locked in the office. He had been spending his
time telephoning to the nearest town for help.
Then I took the train for Chicago. That experience was the greatest
bracer I had ever had in my life. Hanging there with the expectation
every minute of dropping into the vats below had steadied my nerves for
a good long haul. And I needed it, too.