I see by the papers that the government of the ‘Land of the free and
home of the brave’ has made another law. It is that no contract be given
for government work to any firm that compels its employes to work more
than eight hours a day, an’ the government has turned down a
shipbuildin’ firm’s bid on the two new battleships because the firm
didn’t have the eight-hour law in force in its shipyard. Now, wouldn’t
that jar you, when right here on this government job there’s five
hundred men that work from twelve to sixteen hours a day an’ never get a
cent of overtime pay, not even a ‘thank you’?
“Who are the twelve-and sixteen-hour men? We are. I’m one of ’em. Am I a
steam-shovel man? No; not on your life. If I was I’d be curlin’ my
mustache an’ polishin’ my finger-nails right now. But, instead of that,
I’m hustlin’ into the mess hall to swallow a bite of cold grub before
they shut the doors for the night. It’s now three hours after
knockin’-off time. I’m a marine engineer, an’ I’ve seen as much of this
terrestrial globe as any man of my age on this job, an’ I can say with
conviction that this is the blamedest job for workin’ overtime that I
ever struck, or ever expect to strike.
“You say that you thought we all worked eight hours down here. Not the
floating equipment, no, m’am; but, say! a more intelligent or finer
bunch of fellows never struck the Isthmus than they are. Why, some of
’em are veterans of the Spanish-American War. They done the work that
got the glory for Dewey an’ that beauty Hobson, when the petted darlin’s
of the Commission--the steam-shovel men, the shop guys and the
like--were milkin’ cows an’ feedin’ hens down on the farm. But, wait,
we’ll come in handy again some day, maybe right here, where we’re
sweatin’ away from four to six hours a day for nothin’. Here in Balboa
we ain’t got no more gumption than a bunch of dog-robbers. Why, in
Cristobal, they have formed an association to fight for back pay for
overtime since the Canal started, an’ for an eight-hour day.
“A committee of ten of ‘the boys’ waited upon a bunch of hayseeds that
were down here lookin’ around an’ botherin’ the Colonel. ’Twas last fall
an’ they stopped at the Tivoli. The Colonel attended the meetin’
himself, an’ showed the fellers that he was with them for a square deal.
He’s always on deck when there’s need of justice, the Colonel is. Well,
anyhow, old Uncle Joe was in the gang from the U. S. A., smilin’ from
ear to ear an’ smokin’ a big cigar that made him look top heavy. He told
‘the boys’ that he was feelin’ fine; that he was gittin’ to be a bit
overfed, an’ that he was just pinin’ to do something for the floating
equipment of the Canal Commission; but when a couple of ‘the boys’ told
him that they had nearly $9,000 for back pay comin’ to ’em his face
froze, the cigar fell from his lips an’ he looked as if he was goin’ to
drop dead. I was there lookin’ on an’ takin’ it all in.
“I attended the association supper at Cristobal after that, an’, say! it
was some feast. It looked more like a meetin’ of the floating equipment
of the New York Yacht Club than it did of the overworked and underpaid
live ones of the Isthmian Canal Commission. Every man was dressed to
kill in correct evening togs except me, but, of course, I didn’t count,
bein’ from Balboa, an’ not bein’ a member, nohow. Anyway, I enjoyed
myself an’ drunk it all in. Did I get drunk? Yes, I think I did get
drunk. A saint would have got drunk there. The first sight that met the
eye on entering the hall was--what do you think? Twelve barrels of beer
all packed in ice an’ ready to quench thirst. There was all kinds of
whiskies and wines, and even champagne.
“How did they get away to get to the supper? Oh, they just struck.
‘Where are you fellers goin’ to?’ said the boss that night, when the
last of the gang was walkin’ off the dock to go home an’ dress. ‘We are
goin’ to get drunk,’ spoke up old Cap. Bartin, who isn’t so old, but is
as sassy as they make ’em. ‘Get drunk?’ said the boss, in amazement;
‘well, you’ve got your nerve with you.’ ‘You bet,’ replied the Captin;
‘if I didn’t have considerable nerve I wouldn’t have been able to keep
up an’ work all of this overtime. Me an’ the boys,’ said he, ‘need to
wet our whistles this blessed Sunday night, after workin’ from twelve to
eighteen hours a day for the past week.’ ‘You can’t get off now,’ said
the boss, ‘because there’s that derelict out there that’s got to be
attended to.’ ‘I ain’t responsible for the derelict,’ retorted the
Captain; ‘why don’t you get your launch an’ go out an’ hang a dinner
bell on it, or else get a couple of niggers to rig up a jury mast for
it? The boys an’ me have an important engagement,’ an’ he winked at his
friends in a foxy way. ‘I’m through with the briny deep until Monday
mornin’.’ ‘You’ll lose your job for this,’ said the boss, tryin’ to keep
a straight face. ‘Hurrah!’ said Captin Bartin, ‘back to the Bowery for
mine. There’s a few boats sailin’ in and out around old Liberty. Do you
know where Liberty is? We have almost forgot, we get so little of it in
this outfit.’ After dancin’ a few steps of the ‘Sailors’ Hornpipe’ he
marches off the dock, followed by the fellows, all of them singin’, ‘We
Won’t Go Home Till Mornin’.’
“Just after the boys had gone, a time inspector hove into sight an’ the
boss said to him, in that dry way of his, ‘There ain’t nothin’ for you
to do to-night. The bunch has quit, an’ I don’t blame ’em. They’re
havin’ a banquet.’ ‘You don’t say,’ said the inspector. ‘Sure,’ said the
boss, ‘an’ ’tis kind of tough on me. I’ve got to go out to that derelict
an’ hang a scarecrow on it to keep the mosquitoes from breedin’ in it.
I’m blamed if I know what else to do with the darned thing.’ ‘Nor I,’
says the time inspector. ‘I been on a farm in Connecticut all my life,
an’ it makes me sicker’n a dog to go out in that launch to take the
men’s time. This ain’t no job for me, nohow. I’ guess I’ll write to Ma
an’ tell her to see our Congressman, an’ tell him to have me transferred
to some inland place out of sight an’ smell of this blamed old ocean.’
‘Yes,’ said the boss, dryly, ‘you’re too good a farmer to be fussin’
about this dock. Suppose,’ he went on, ‘we go over to Buildin’ Number
One an’ watch the boys gittin’ drunk.’ ‘I’m on,’ said the inspector,
without hesitancy. ‘You may,’ said he, ‘meet one of ’em that’s half
soused an’ good-natured, that ’ud go out in the launch with you an’ show
you what to do with that machine you have jest been talkin’ about.’
‘Well, say, you are a farmer from Jones’s woods,’ replied the boss,
laughin’, an’ walkin’ off the dock.
“Well, sir, I walked off that dock and follered ’em, for I had been
there takin’ it all in. When we got to that hall, say! of all the fun
and good fellowship! There was Captin Bartin dancin’ the Highlan’ Fling
to the tune of ‘Lass of Killiecrankie.’ Every one was feelin’ good, an’
I was welcomed as heartily as the boss an’ the inspector, though they
didn’t know any of us from Adam, they were so drunk. But, anyhow, I soon
felt at home, an’ it seemed as if I had known the bunch all my life. The
place was decorated with palms an’ plants an’ flags, an’ the supper
tables showed up fine, with cut glass an’ silver from Major Falstaff’s
own house an’ the houses of the married members, for the committee said
they wouldn’t stand for three-pronged forks an’ black-handled knives
from the I. C. C. mess hall (they call it an hotel over there), not at
that spread.
“Well, I met an old friend, an’ he pointed out the different ones that
were the leaders. A merry-lookin’ little devil got up to make a speech,
an’, say! he sure could talk. Bryan, as an orator, couldn’t hold a
candle to him. ‘Who’s the orator?’ I asked. ‘He’s one of the fleet,’
said my friend. ‘He’s German, but an American citizen.’ ‘He’s away up on
English,’ said I. ‘Yes,’ said he. ‘Shorty is a bright fellow, a graduate
of Heidelberg, an’ his brother is a professor there right now.’ ‘Why,’ I
spoke up, ‘this is not only a dredgin’ outfit you have here, but ’tis a
floatin’ university as well.’ He was tickled to death at this, an’ said,
‘We fellows ain’t nobody’s fools over here. Do you see that
good-lookin’, inoffensive-appearin’ chap over there?’ he asked, pointin’
toward a youngster that sure did look inoffensive. ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘who
is he?’ ‘He’s the real thing in the manly art of boxin’,’ was the reply.
‘He could lick any man in this hall to-night. The boys call him the
Prince.’ ‘He looks like a kid,’ I says. ‘We call him that, too,’ said
he. ‘The feller he’s talkin’ to is a Danish nobleman, with an Eyetalian
name; he was once an officer in the Danish Navy.’ ‘By gum!’ said I, ‘we
guys at Balboa never’ll get in on this association. We ain’t grand
enough.’
“At this point the voice of the orator rang out loud and clear. ‘You men
of the floatin’ equipment are just as important to the great work of
buildin’ this Canal as those whose professions are of a higher order an’
whose education is of the higher criticism. English, German, Danish and
Scotch by descent, your veins reek with the wholesome blood of the
Viking.’ Then Captin Barton yelled, ‘Come along, all ye Irish that ain’t
in on that Viking blood, an’ we’ll hit up the whiskey.’ Then there were
cheers, an’ maybe we didn’t! Well, we ate an’ we drank, an’ told
stories; some of ’em was true an’ some of ’em darned lies, but we all
felt good an’ noble an’ brave, an’ along toward mornin’ an Eyetalian
Prince came in to take the photograph of the bunch. I was in it, though
I hadn’t ought to be, seein’ I belong in Balboa, where we ain’t got more
gumption than a lot of dog-robbers, because we’re afraid of Tam
O’Shanter, as canny a Scot as ever sailed out of Glasgow.
“I been told since that when the gang showed up on the dock Monday
mornin’ to go to work the boss was fit to be tied. ‘Why didn’t you
fellers show up yesterday?’ said he. There was no response, but all
grinned kind of sheepish. ‘And you,’ he said to Captin Bartin, ‘you
didn’t show up yesterday. Were you sick?’ The Captin took three steps to
the right an’ three steps to the left, an’ broke down two or three steps
of the ‘Sailors’ Hornpipe.’ Then he said in the boss’ ear, ‘I was
drunk.’ ‘Drunk?’ said the boss, in amazement. ‘Well, say! you’ve an
awful nerve. Give me your doctor’s certificate,’ he added, with a sigh.
‘Shure, you wouldn’t have me compound a felony like that, would you?’
said the Captin. Then the boss coughed kind of funny and said, ‘Get
aboard an’ stop chewin’ the rag.’
“An’ me. I got back to Balboa half an hour too late to get on the job,
and, thinks I, there’s other jobs in the universe, so I’m goin’ to take
a day off an’ get some rest. An’ maybe I got the rest. Not on your life,
for old Tam O’Shanter was on the job lookin’ me up. He gumshoed up to my
room, an’ hearin’ me snorin’, yelled out, ‘Hoot, mon, get ye up and pit
on yer cloes an’ come down on the job the noo.’ I was savage. ‘To h--l
with the job,’ I says, ‘I’m sick.’ ‘Dinna ye fash wid yer clatter, or
I’ll pit me fist in yer eye,’ says he. Well, I got up an’ dressed an’
went on the dredge, an’ I’m on it yet. Tam O’Shanter likes me about as
well as the devil likes holy water, but I don’t care a rap for that old
kilt, for he’s one Scot with a yellow streak runnin’ right through him
from the top of his head to the top of his toes. He says there ain’t
talent enough in the U. S. A. to hold down his job, an’ that’s why he
got it. It must be so; he ain’t got no citizenship papers; if he has,
they ain’t bona fidy. See! Well, I’ll have to be gittin back to the
dock, or he’ll be around peepin’ an’ reportin’ that I have an affinity.
So long, lady; I’m glad to have met you. The boys here in Balboa are all
right, only they’re a little short on gumption, that’s all.”