CHAPTER III.

THE SWEATING SYSTEM IN GENERAL.

"History repeats itself," is a very hackneyed phrase, yet, for want of

any better or more expressive one, must lead such words as are to be

said on an old yet ever new evil; for it is just forty years ago, since

the winter of 1847-1848 showed among the working men and women of

England conditions analogous to those of the present, though on a far

smaller scale. Acute distress prevailed then as now. Revolution was in

the air, and what it might mean being far less plain to apprehensive

minds than it is to-day, a London newspaper, desirous of knowing just

what dangers were to be faced, sent a commissioner to investigate the

actual conditions of the working classes, and published his reports from

day to day. Then, for the first time, a new word came into circulation,

and "sweating" became the synonym, which it has since remained, for a

system of labor which means the maximum of profit for the employer and

the minimum of wages for the employed. The term is hardly scientific,

yet it is the only one recognized in the most scientific investigation

thus far made. That of 1847-1848 did its work for the time, nor have its

results wholly passed away. Charles Kingsley, young then and ardent, his

soul stirred with longing to lighten all human suffering, took up the

cause of the worker, and in his pamphlet "Cheap Clothes and Nasty," and

later, in the powerful novel "Alton Locke," showed every phase of the

system, then in its infancy, and, practically, entirely unknown on the

other side of the Atlantic.

The results of this agitation became visible at once. Unions and

Associations of various sorts among tailors and the one or two other

trades to which the sweating system had applied, were organized and from

year to year extended and perfected till it had come to be the popular

conviction that, save in isolated cases here and there, the evil was to

be found only among the foreign population, and even there, hedged in

and shorn of its worst possibilities. This conviction remained and made

part of the estimate of any complaints that now and then arose, and

though the work of the organized charities, and of independent

investigations here and there, demonstrated from year to year that it

had increased steadily, its real scope was still unbelieved. Now, after

forty years, the story tells itself again, this time in ways which

cannot be set down as newspaper sensationalism or anybody's desire to

make political capital. It is a Blue Book which holds the latest

researches and conclusions, and Blue Books are not part of the popular

reading, but are usually tucked away in government offices or libraries,

to which the public has practically no access. A newspaper paragraph

gives its readers the information that another report on this or that

feature of public interest has been prepared and shelved for posterity,

and there the matter ends.

In the present case public feeling and interest have been so stirred by

the condition of unexampled misery and want among masses eager to work

but with no work to be had, that the report has been called for and

read and discussed to a degree unknown to any of its predecessors. While

it gives results only in the most compact form and by no means compares

with work like that of Mr. Charles Peck in his investigations for the

New York Bureau of Statistics of Labor, it still holds a mass of

information invaluable to all who are seeking light on the cause of

present evils. As with us the system is closely a part of the

manufacture of cheap clothing of every order, tailoring leading, and

various other trades being included, furniture makers, strange to say,

being among the chief sufferers in these.

With us the system is so clearly defined and so well known, at any rate

in all our large centres of labor, that definition is hardly necessary.

For England and America alike the sweater is simply a sub-contractor

who, at home or in small workshops, undertakes to do work, which he in

turn sublets to other contractors, or has done under his own eyes. The

business had a simple and natural beginning, the journey-worker of fifty

years ago taking home from his employers work to be done there either

by himself or some member of his family. At this time it held decided

advantages for both sides. The master-tailor was relieved from finding

workshop accommodations with all the accompanying expense and from

constant supervision of his work people, while good work was insured by

the pride of the worker in his craft, as well as his desire not to lose

a good connection. There was but the slightest subdivision of labor,

each worker was able to make the garment from the beginning to the end,

apprentices being employed on the least important parts.

Work of this order has no further place in the clothing trade, whether

tailoring or general outfitting, save for the best order of clothing.

Increase of population cheapened material, the introduction of machinery

and the tremendous growth of the ready-made clothing trade are all

responsible for the change. The minutest system of subdivided labor now

rules here as in all trades. When a coat is in question, it is no longer

the master-tailor, journeyman and apprentices who prepare it, but a

legion of cutters, basters, machinists, pressers, fellers, button-hole,

and general workers, who find the learning of any one alone of the

branches an easy matter, and so rush into the trade, the fiercest and

most incessant competition being the instant result.

In 1881 a census was taken in the East End of London which showed over

fifteen thousand tailors at work, of whom more than nine thousand were

women. The number of the latter at present is estimated to be about

twelve thousand, much increase having been prevented by various causes,

for which there is no room here. As the matter at present stands, every

man and woman employed aims to become as fast as possible a sweater on

his or her own account. For large employers this is not so easy; for the

small ones nothing could be simpler, and here are the methods.

If the trade is an unfamiliar one, there is first the initiation by

employment in a sweater's shop, and a few months, or even weeks, gives

all the necessary facility. Then comes the question of workroom; and

here it is only necessary to take the family room, and hire a sewing

machine, which is for rent at two shillings and sixpence, or sixty

cents, a week. To organize the establishment all that is necessary is a

baster, a machinist, a presser, and two or three women-workers, one for

button-holing, one for felling, and one for general work, carrying home,

etc. The baster may be a skilled woman; the presser is always a man, the

irons weighing from seven to eighteen pounds, and the work being of the

most exhausting description, no man being able to continue it beyond

eight or ten years at the utmost. The sweater-employer often begins by

being his own presser, or his own baster; but as business increases his

personal labor lessens. In the beginning his profits are extremely

small, prices varying so that it is impossible to make any general table

of rates. Even in the same branch of trade hardly any two persons are

employed at the same rate, and the range of ability appears to vary with

the wage paid, subdivision of labor being thus carried to its utmost

limit, and the sections of the divisions already mentioned being again

subdivided beyond further possibility. So tremendous is the competition

for work that the sweaters are played off against each other by the

contractors and sub-contractors, the result upon the workers below

being as disastrous as the general effect of the system as a whole.

As one becomes familiar with the characteristics of the East End,--and

this is only after long and persistent comings and goings in street and

alley,--it is found that there are entire streets in Whitechapel or St.

George's-in-the-East, the points where the tailoring trade seems to

focus, in which almost every house contains one, and sometimes several,

sweating establishments, managed usually by men, but now and then in the

hands of women, though only for the cheapest forms of clothing. Here,

precisely as in our own large cities, a room nine or ten feet square is

heated by a coke fire for the presser's irons, and lighted at night by

flaming gas-jets, six, eight, or even a dozen workers being crowded in

this narrow space. But such crowding is worse here than with us, for

reasons which affect also every form of cheap labor within doors.

London, under its present arrangements, is simply an enormous smoke

factory, and no quarter of its vast expanse is free from the plague of

soot and smoke, forever flying, and leaving a coating of grime on every

article owned or used, no matter how cared for. This is true for

Belgravia as for the East End, and "blacks," as the flakes of soot are

known, are eaten and drunk and breathed by everything that walks in

London streets or breathes London air.

There is, then, not only the foulness engendered by human lungs

breathing in the narrowest and most crowded of quarters, but the added

foulness of dirt of every degree and order, overlaid and penetrated by

this deposit of fine soot; the result a griminess that has no

counterpart on the face of the earth. "Cheap clothes and nasty" did not

end with Kingsley's time, and these garments, well made, and sold at a

rate inconceivably low, are saturated with horrible emanations of every

sort, and to the buyer who stops to think must carry an atmosphere that

ends any satisfaction in the cheapness. Setting aside this phase as an

intangible and, in part, sentimental ground for complaint, the fact that

the cheapness depends also upon the number of hours given by the

worker--whose day is never less than fourteen, and often eighteen,

hours--should be sufficient to ban the whole trade. Even for this

longest day there is no uniformity of price, and with articles

identically the same the rate varies with different sweaters, the

increasing competition accentuating these differences more and more. The

sweater himself is more or less at the mercy of the contractor, who says

to him: "Here are so many coats, at so much a coat. If you won't do them

at the price, there are plenty that will."

Already well aware of this fact, the sweater, if the rate falls at all

below his expectation, has simply to pursue the same course with the

waiting worker in his shop, a slight turn of the screw, half a penny off

here and a farthing there, bringing his own profit back to the rate he

assumes as essential. There is no pressure from below to compel justice.

For any rebellious worker a dozen stand waiting to fill the vacant

place; and thus the wrong perpetuates itself, and the sweater, whose

personal relation with those he employs may be of the friendliest,

becomes tyrant and oppressor, not of his own will, but through sheer

force of circumstances. Thus evils, which laws have not reached,

increase from day to day. Inspectors are practically powerless, and the

shameful system, degrading alike to employer and employed, grows by what

it feeds on, and hangs over the East End, a pall blacker and fouler than

the cloud of smoke and soot, also the result of man's folly, not to be

lifted till human eyes see clearer what makes life worth living, and

human hands are less weary with labor that profiteth not, but that

deadens sense and soul alike.

This is the general view of the system as a whole. For the special there

must still be a further word.

Prisoners of Poverty Abroad · 第 3 / 21 章