A SORE HAND.
I AM sick. I have been sick since day before yisterday. I have a high
fever. My head bothers me. I cant rite. Here is another letter I got
from poor Jobe. Oh! how I wish he was here. I know he would care for me
and watch over me and do for me while Ime sick. Read his letter and
return it. They seem so near to me. I havent been able to be out of bed
much to-day. If Jobe was only out of that dreadful place.
JOBE’S THIRD LETTER.
CLEVELAND WORK-HOUSE,
CLEVELAND, O., March 9, 1896.
_To Betsy Gaskins._
DEAR WIFE:—I got your letter yisterday. I cant tell you how I felt when
I read of them a puttin you out.
Betsy, I little thought, the day you stood beside me and become my wife,
that the time would come when you would have to sleep outdoors in the
big road.
I felt then, Betsy, as though I was strong enough, and God knows I was
willin, to provide a home for you as long as we both lived. Dont blame
me, Betsy. Ive done the best I could. You know Ive worked hard, and we
have lived savin, but by some unknown reason all I have aimed is gone.
Mr. Richer has $3,800 of it. Ive done the best I could.
I have to work hard here in this place, but Ime not complainin, nor
wouldent complain if I was gittin paid for what work I do, so that I
could help you.
[Illustration: “I have to work hard in this place.”]
Ime a wheelin coal to the furnace and a wheelin hot cinders away.
It keeps me bizzy.
There are lots of men in here. A great many for beggin—jist as I am.
Betsy, dont let the neighbors know they have me locked up. I feel so
disgraced.
I feel that if that “Director of Charities,” that had me arrested and
put in here, had known that I had feelins; if he had known that I was a
honest old man; if he had thought of the difference between a old man,
hungry, away from home and out of money—I say, Betsy, if he had thought
of the difference between sich a man as I was and a man drawin $5,000 a
year as a leadin city officer, like hisself, I dont think he could have
had the heart to have had me arrested and sent to prison.
Lots of the fellers in here seem to be honest, kind-hearted people, but
poor and away from home. Not bein known to the officers, they are
arrested and sent out here.
Betsy, I long to see you. When I git out I will come back. I cant find
any work up here. Nobody seems to want to hire me.
My hand is sore. I can hardly use it. But then the feller what watches
me work keeps me a goin. He dont allow me to stop a minit from the time
they let me out of my cell in the mornin till they lock me in it agin at
nite.
The way I come to hurt my hand was—I had a dream. Ive been a dreamin
more or less for some time. Ime so tired and my bed is so hard. I
suppose I dont sleep sound is why I dream so.
I dreamed I was in this work-house and there was more than a thousand
other men in, and a comin in from ten to thirty a day—mostly for bein
hungry and beggin.
Well, I thought one bright mornin one of the guards come through the
buildin a hollerin and poundin on a big gong, and tellin all the fellers
“to come into the big yard” that is in this place. He said that they had
some good news for us. “Glad tidings of great joy,” says he.
I thought we all stopped work and went a hurryin to that big yard, and
when I got there the yard was alive with people, men waitin to hear them
“tidings.”
Well, when we all got into that yard two nice-lookin men climbed up on
the platform that is in the middle and one of them says:
“FELLOW-CITIZENS, GENTLEMEN AND BROTHERS: We are delegated by the proper
authority to declare unto you this beautiful morning a new law that has
been made by our brothers, the law-makers at Washington. We solicit your
undivided attention for a few moments.”
He then read:
“_Be it resolved, by the Senate and House of Representatives, in
Congress assembled_: That the chief aim of human government should be to
secure to each individual member of such government contentment and
happiness; that this can be done only by securing to all the
unrestricted opportunity to employ the means intended by the Creator for
earning a livelihood—_i. e._, labor.
“_Therefore be it enacted_, That a fund of $500,000,000 be provided (by
the issue of said sum in full legal-tender greenback notes, in
denominations of one, two and five dollars) and set apart for the
purpose of giving employment to such American citizens as may have no
other employment, and who may go before any board of county
commissioners in the United States and certify under oath that they are
American citizens, are out of employment and desire to perform manual
labor in the service of this government.
“Thereupon it shall be the duty of said county commissioners to assign
to such citizens work in improving any of the public highways in said
county, or in constructing and equipping any public utility in and for
said county. The wages due each citizen for said services shall be paid
to him, weekly, by the treasurer of the county in which the services are
performed, on the warrant of the county auditor and order of the said
commissioners. A monthly statement of the amounts so paid out shall be
sent by the treasurer of the county to the Treasury Department at
Washington, and thereupon the sum thereof shall be repaid from the fund
aforesaid into the treasury of such county.
“On and after the passage of this act it shall be unlawful for any
person to beg or ask alms in the United States except in cases of
physical disability.”
Arter he had read this law says he:
“Gentlemen, we are aware that most of you are here because you are
victims of the system that has heretofore prevailed—many for asking for
bread when hungry, others for other offenses, which you may have been
forced to commit in consequence of having no employment and being in
want.
“Our county commissioners have assigned and set apart work, on the
Shaker Hill road and Kinsman Street, sufficient to give employment to
three thousand men for several months, and Governor Bushnell has, by
proclamation, given their liberty to all inmates of the penal
institutions of the State (except the penitentiary) who desire to avail
themselves of the opportunity to work as provided by the law I have just
read. You, gentlemen, are excused from making the oath mentioned.
[Illustration: “One nice little place that I thought I would rent as
soon as I got my first week’s pay.”]
“Now, all you who desire to work on these public improvements will form
in line and pass out through the office, giving your correct names and
addresses, as you now become once more respected American citizens. Form
in line, two abreast, out on Woodland Avenue, facing east, and we will
take pleasure in conducting you to the places of employment. There you
will be supplied with the necessary tools, and arrangements will be made
at different places where you can get accommodations until you receive
your first pay for services. Your compensation will be $1.50 each per
day.”
At that he stopped. Every man in that yard was in line. It seemed as
though a cloud had rose up off from that crowd. Every one looked happy,
cheerful.
Well, Betsy, we marched out into the open air onto Woodland Avenue, and
each one gave his real name and address to the clerk as we passed out.
Then we all went out to the place where they were at work.
There they were—hundreds of them—a plowin, and a shovelin, and a haulin,
a talkin and a laffin, a whistlin and a singin.
I looked at several houses as we were on our way out, and saw one nice
little place that I thought I would rent as soon as I got my first
week’s pay.
When the week was up I went, and sure enough it was empty. I hunted up
the owner, and got it for $5 a month. I used $3 of the other four to pay
my board.
I worked there three weeks, makin $27, and had sent for you. I was
lookin for you on Saturday, and could hardly wait until you come. I felt
young agin.
[Illustration: “I WORKED THERE THREE WEEKS.”]
Well, when I got to my boardin place on Thursday night, I went in and up
to my room, thinkin that in two more days you would be with me. When I
opened the door, there you was a comin toward me with your arms
stretched out. My heart leaped. I jumped towards you, throwin out my
arms to embrace you, when——
I struck my hand agin the iron bed-post in my cell and nearly broke it.
It woke me up. Everything was cold and dark. You was not there. I felt
so queer that I sot up in bed, and I sot there a thinkin of that
dream—thinkin of how glad I was to git work; thinkin of that law, and
what a grand country this would be if sich was the law; thinkin of that
little house with green winder-blinds; thinkin of you doin your cookin
and sweepin, your dustin and cleanin in that little house; thinkin of me
a makin $9 every week, and a countin the money out to you every Saturday
night in new, crisp greenbacks; thinkin of all these things, and then
thinkin of you a sleepin out there in the road, you a goin hungry and
without shelter because I cant git any sich work; thinkin how happy we
might be and how troubled we are. I jist had to cry. I had to, though
Ime a man. I sot there on the side of that iron bed till I nearly froze;
then I laid down and went to sleep and slept till half-past five, when
the watchman came around to waken me up to go to wheelin coal and
cinders for another twelve hours for nothin.
[Illustration: “Everything was cold and dark.”]
I will git out a Monday, and will start back as soon as they let me out.
Somethin tells me I ort to be there; and its no use me tryin to find
work in this place or any other. They either have “all the help they
need,” or else “dont want to hire a old man.”
Hopin this will find you well, and that some kind person has taken you
in out of the big road, I am, Betsy,
Your lovin but discouraged husband,
JOBE GASKINS.
Mistur Editure, the more I think of that letter, the more I think of
that poor old man a carin for me, and a dreamin about me, the worse it
makes my head ache and the higher it makes my fever. If I had the money
I would send for a doctor, but I haint got it; and if I had, I haint got
anybody to go. I jist have to lay here. No fire, no one to look at, no
one to talk to—jist lay here and look at the ceilin and think. Ile have
to quit.
Hopin your folks are all well,
BETSY GASKINS (Dimicrat),
Wife of
JOBE GASKINS (Republican).
[Illustration]