CHAPTER III
JACKSON'S ARM.
Little did I dream the fateful part Jackson's arm was to play in mylife. Jackson himself did not impress me when I hunted him out. I foundhim in a crazy, ramshackle* house down near the bay on the edge of themarsh. Pools of stagnant water stood around the house, their surfacescovered with a green and putrid-looking scum, while the stench thatarose from them was intolerable.
* An adjective descriptive of ruined and dilapidated houses in which great numbers of the working people found shelter in those days. They invariably paid rent, and, considering the value of such houses, enormous rent, to the landlords.
I found Jackson the meek and lowly man he had been described. He wasmaking some sort of rattan-work, and he toiled on stolidly while Italked with him. But in spite of his meekness and lowliness, I fancied Icaught the first note of a nascent bitterness in him when he said:
"They might a-given me a job as watchman,* anyway."
* In those days thievery was incredibly prevalent. Everybody stole property from everybody else. The lords of society stole legally or else legalized their stealing, while the poorer classes stole illegally. Nothing was safe unless guarded. Enormous numbers of men were employed as watchmen to protect property. The houses of the well-to-do were a combination of safe deposit vault and fortress. The appropriation of the personal belongings of others by our own children of to-day is looked upon as a rudimentary survival of the theft-characteristic that in those early times was universal.
I got little out of him. He struck me as stupid, and yet the deftnesswith which he worked with his one hand seemed to belie his stupidity.This suggested an idea to me.
"How did you happen to get your arm caught in the machine?" I asked.
He looked at me in a slow and pondering way, and shook his head. "Idon't know. It just happened."
"Carelessness?" I prompted.
"No," he answered, "I ain't for callin' it that. I was workin' overtime,an' I guess I was tired out some. I worked seventeen years in themmills, an' I've took notice that most of the accidents happens justbefore whistle-blow.* I'm willin' to bet that more accidents happensin the hour before whistle-blow than in all the rest of the day. A manain't so quick after workin' steady for hours. I've seen too many of 'emcut up an' gouged an' chawed not to know."
* The laborers were called to work and dismissed by savage, screaming, nerve-racking steam-whistles.
"Many of them?" I queried.
"Hundreds an' hundreds, an' children, too."
With the exception of the terrible details, Jackson's story of hisaccident was the same as that I had already heard. When I asked him ifhe had broken some rule of working the machinery, he shook his head.
"I chucked off the belt with my right hand," he said, "an' made a reachfor the flint with my left. I didn't stop to see if the belt was off. Ithought my right hand had done it--only it didn't. I reached quick, andthe belt wasn't all the way off. And then my arm was chewed off."
"It must have been painful," I said sympathetically.
"The crunchin' of the bones wasn't nice," was his answer.
His mind was rather hazy concerning the damage suit. Only one thing wasclear to him, and that was that he had not got any damages. He had afeeling that the testimony of the foremen and the superintendent hadbrought about the adverse decision of the court. Their testimony, as heput it, "wasn't what it ought to have ben." And to them I resolved togo.
One thing was plain, Jackson's situation was wretched. His wife was inill health, and he was unable to earn, by his rattan-work and peddling,sufficient food for the family. He was back in his rent, and the oldestboy, a lad of eleven, had started to work in the mills.
"They might a-given me that watchman's job," were his last words as Iwent away.
By the time I had seen the lawyer who had handled Jackson's case, andthe two foremen and the superintendent at the mills who had testified, Ibegan to feel that there was something after all in Ernest's contention.
He was a weak and inefficient-looking man, the lawyer, and at sight ofhim I did not wonder that Jackson's case had been lost. My first thoughtwas that it had served Jackson right for getting such a lawyer. Butthe next moment two of Ernest's statements came flashing into myconsciousness: "The company employs very efficient lawyers" and "ColonelIngram is a shrewd lawyer." I did some rapid thinking. It dawned upon methat of course the company could afford finer legal talent than could aworkingman like Jackson. But this was merely a minor detail. There wassome very good reason, I was sure, why Jackson's case had gone againsthim.
"Why did you lose the case?" I asked.
The lawyer was perplexed and worried for a moment, and I found it in myheart to pity the wretched little creature. Then he began to whine. Ido believe his whine was congenital. He was a man beaten at birth. Hewhined about the testimony. The witnesses had given only the evidencethat helped the other side. Not one word could he get out of them thatwould have helped Jackson. They knew which side their bread was butteredon. Jackson was a fool. He had been brow-beaten and confused by ColonelIngram. Colonel Ingram was brilliant at cross-examination. He had madeJackson answer damaging questions.
"How could his answers be damaging if he had the right on his side?" Idemanded.
"What's right got to do with it?" he demanded back. "You see all thosebooks." He moved his hand over the array of volumes on the walls of histiny office. "All my reading and studying of them has taught me thatlaw is one thing and right is another thing. Ask any lawyer. You go toSunday-school to learn what is right. But you go to those books to learn. . . law."
"Do you mean to tell me that Jackson had the right on his side and yetwas beaten?" I queried tentatively. "Do you mean to tell me that thereis no justice in Judge Caldwell's court?"
The little lawyer glared at me a moment, and then the belligerence fadedout of his face.
"I hadn't a fair chance," he began whining again. "They made a fool outof Jackson and out of me, too. What chance had I? Colonel Ingram isa great lawyer. If he wasn't great, would he have charge of the lawbusiness of the Sierra Mills, of the Erston Land Syndicate, of theBerkeley Consolidated, of the Oakland, San Leandro, and PleasantonElectric? He's a corporation lawyer, and corporation lawyers are notpaid for being fools.* What do you think the Sierra Mills alone give himtwenty thousand dollars a year for? Because he's worth twenty thousanddollars a year to them, that's what for. I'm not worth that much. IfI was, I wouldn't be on the outside, starving and taking cases likeJackson's. What do you think I'd have got if I'd won Jackson's case?"
* The function of the corporation lawyer was to serve, by corrupt methods, the money-grabbing propensities of the corporations. It is on record that Theodore Roosevelt, at that time President of the United States, said in 1905 A.D., in his address at Harvard Commencement: "We all know that, as things actually are, many of the most influential and most highly remunerated members of the Bar in every centre of wealth, make it their special task to work out bold and ingenious schemes by which their wealthy clients, individual or corporate, can evade the laws which were made to regulate, in the interests of the public, the uses of great wealth."
"You'd have robbed him, most probably," I answered.
"Of course I would," he cried angrily. "I've got to live, haven't I?"*
* A typical illustration of the internecine strife that permeated all society. Men preyed upon one another like ravening wolves. The big wolves ate the little wolves, and in the social pack Jackson was one of the least of the little wolves.
"He has a wife and children," I chided.
"So have I a wife and children," he retorted. "And there's not a soul inthis world except myself that cares whether they starve or not."
His face suddenly softened, and he opened his watch and showed me asmall photograph of a woman and two little girls pasted inside the case.
r /> "There they are. Look at them. We've had a hard time, a hard time. Ihad hoped to send them away to the country if I'd won Jackson's case.They're not healthy here, but I can't afford to send them away."
When I started to leave, he dropped back into his whine.
"I hadn't the ghost of a chance. Colonel Ingram and Judge Caldwellare pretty friendly. I'm not saying that if I'd got the right kind oftestimony out of their witnesses on cross-examination, that friendshipwould have decided the case. And yet I must say that Judge Caldwelldid a whole lot to prevent my getting that very testimony. Why, JudgeCaldwell and Colonel Ingram belong to the same lodge and the same club.They live in the same neighborhood--one I can't afford. And their wivesare always in and out of each other's houses. They're always havingwhist parties and such things back and forth."
"And yet you think Jackson had the right of it?" I asked, pausing forthe moment on the threshold.
"I don't think; I know it," was his answer. "And at first I thoughthe had some show, too. But I didn't tell my wife. I didn't want todisappoint her. She had her heart set on a trip to the country hardenough as it was."
"Why did you not call attention to the fact that Jackson was trying tosave the machinery from being injured?" I asked Peter Donnelly, one ofthe foremen who had testified at the trial.
He pondered a long time before replying. Then he cast an anxious lookabout him and said:
"Because I've a good wife an' three of the sweetest children ye everlaid eyes on, that's why."
"I do not understand," I said.
"In other words, because it wouldn't a-ben healthy," he answered.
"You mean--" I began.
But he interrupted passionately.
"I mean what I said. It's long years I've worked in the mills. I beganas a little lad on the spindles. I worked up ever since. It's by hardwork I got to my present exalted position. I'm a foreman, if you please.An' I doubt me if there's a man in the mills that'd put out a hand todrag me from drownin'. I used to belong to the union. But I've stayedby the company through two strikes. They called me 'scab.' There's nota man among 'em to-day to take a drink with me if I asked him. D'ye seethe scars on me head where I was struck with flying bricks? There ain'ta child at the spindles but what would curse me name. Me only friend isthe company. It's not me duty, but me bread an' butter an' the life ofme children to stand by the mills. That's why."
"Was Jackson to blame?" I asked.
"He should a-got the damages. He was a good worker an' never madetrouble."
"Then you were not at liberty to tell the whole truth, as you had swornto do?"
He shook his head.
"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" I saidsolemnly.
Again his face became impassioned, and he lifted it, not to me, but toheaven.
"I'd let me soul an' body burn in everlastin' hell for them children ofmine," was his answer.
Henry Dallas, the superintendent, was a vulpine-faced creature whoregarded me insolently and refused to talk. Not a word could I get fromhim concerning the trial and his testimony. But with the other foreman Ihad better luck. James Smith was a hard-faced man, and my heart sankas I encountered him. He, too, gave me the impression that he was not afree agent, as we talked I began to see that he was mentally superiorto the average of his kind. He agreed with Peter Donnelly that Jacksonshould have got damages, and he went farther and called the actionheartless and cold-blooded that had turned the worker adrift after hehad been made helpless by the accident. Also, he explained that therewere many accidents in the mills, and that the company's policy was tofight to the bitter end all consequent damage suits.
"It means hundreds of thousands a year to the stockholders," he said;and as he spoke I remembered the last dividend that had been paid myfather, and the pretty gown for me and the books for him that had beenbought out of that dividend. I remembered Ernest's charge that mygown was stained with blood, and my flesh began to crawl underneath mygarments.
"When you testified at the trial, you didn't point out that Jacksonreceived his accident through trying to save the machinery from damage?"I said.
"No, I did not," was the answer, and his mouth set bitterly. "Itestified to the effect that Jackson injured himself by neglect andcarelessness, and that the company was not in any way to blame orliable."
"Was it carelessness?" I asked.
"Call it that, or anything you want to call it. The fact is, a man getstired after he's been working for hours."
I was becoming interested in the man. He certainly was of a superiorkind.
"You are better educated than most workingmen," I said.
"I went through high school," he replied. "I worked my way through doingjanitor-work. I wanted to go through the university. But my father died,and I came to work in the mills.
"I wanted to become a naturalist," he explained shyly, as thoughconfessing a weakness. "I love animals. But I came to work in the mills.When I was promoted to foreman I got married, then the family came, and. . . well, I wasn't my own boss any more."
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
"I was explaining why I testified at the trial the way I did--why Ifollowed instructions."
"Whose instructions?"
"Colonel Ingram. He outlined the evidence I was to give."
"And it lost Jackson's case for him."
He nodded, and the blood began to rise darkly in his face.
"And Jackson had a wife and two children dependent on him."
"I know," he said quietly, though his face was growing darker.
"Tell me," I went on, "was it easy to make yourself over from what youwere, say in high school, to the man you must have become to do such athing at the trial?"
The suddenness of his outburst startled and frightened me. He ripped*out a savage oath, and clenched his fist as though about to strike me.
* It is interesting to note the virilities of language that were common speech in that day, as indicative of the life, 'red of claw and fang,' that was then lived. Reference is here made, of course, not to the oath of Smith, but to the verb ripped used by Avis Everhard.
"I beg your pardon," he said the next moment. "No, it was not easy. Andnow I guess you can go away. You've got all you wanted out of me. Butlet me tell you this before you go. It won't do you any good to repeatanything I've said. I'll deny it, and there are no witnesses. I'll denyevery word of it; and if I have to, I'll do it under oath on the witnessstand."
After my interview with Smith I went to my father's office inthe Chemistry Building and there encountered Ernest. It was quiteunexpected, but he met me with his bold eyes and firm hand-clasp, andwith that curious blend of his awkwardness and ease. It was as thoughour last stormy meeting was forgotten; but I was not in the mood to haveit forgotten.
"I have been looking up Jackson's case," I said abruptly.
He was all interested attention, and waited for me to go on, though Icould see in his eyes the certitude that my convictions had been shaken.
"He seems to have been badly treated," I confessed. "I--I--think some ofhis blood is dripping from our roof-beams."
"Of course," he answered. "If Jackson and all his fellows were treatedmercifully, the dividends would not be so large."
"I shall never be able to take pleasure in pretty gowns again," I added.
I felt humble and contrite, and was aware of a sweet feeling thatErnest was a sort of father confessor. Then, as ever after, his strengthappealed to me. It seemed to radiate a promise of peace and protection.
"Nor will you be able to take pleasure in sackcloth," he said gravely."There are the jute mills, you know, and the same thing goes on there.It goes on everywhere. Our boasted civilization is based upon blood,soaked in blood, and neither you nor I nor any of us can escape thescarlet stain. The men you talked with--who were they?"
I told him all that had taken place.
"And not one of them was a free agent," he said. "They were all tied tothe merciless i
ndustrial machine. And the pathos of it and the tragedyis that they are tied by their heartstrings. Their children--alwaysthe young life that it is their instinct to protect. This instinct isstronger than any ethic they possess. My father! He lied, he stole, hedid all sorts of dishonorable things to put bread into my mouth and intothe mouths of my brothers and sisters. He was a slave to the industrialmachine, and it stamped his life out, worked him to death."
"But you," I interjected. "You are surely a free agent."
"Not wholly," he replied. "I am not tied by my heartstrings. I am oftenthankful that I have no children, and I dearly love children. Yet if Imarried I should not dare to have any."
"That surely is bad doctrine," I cried.
"I know it is," he said sadly. "But it is expedient doctrine. I am arevolutionist, and it is a perilous vocation."
I laughed incredulously.
"If I tried to enter your father's house at night to steal his dividendsfrom the Sierra Mills, what would he do?"
"He sleeps with a revolver on the stand by the bed," I answered. "Hewould most probably shoot you."
"And if I and a few others should lead a million and a half of men*into the houses of all the well-to-do, there would be a great deal ofshooting, wouldn't there?"
* This reference is to the socialist vote cast in the United States in 1910. The rise of this vote clearly indicates the swift growth of the party of revolution. Its voting strength in the United States in 1888 was 2068; in 1902, 127,713; in 1904, 435,040; in 1908, 1,108,427; and in 1910, 1,688,211.
"Yes, but you are not doing that," I objected.
"It is precisely what I am doing. And we intend to take, not the merewealth in the houses, but all the sources of that wealth, all themines, and railroads, and factories, and banks, and stores. That isthe revolution. It is truly perilous. There will be more shooting, I amafraid, than even I dream of. But as I was saying, no one to-day isa free agent. We are all caught up in the wheels and cogs of theindustrial machine. You found that you were, and that the men you talkedwith were. Talk with more of them. Go and see Colonel Ingram. Lookup the reporters that kept Jackson's case out of the papers, and theeditors that run the papers. You will find them all slaves of themachine."
A little later in our conversation I asked him a simple littlequestion about the liability of workingmen to accidents, and received astatistical lecture in return.
"It is all in the books," he said. "The figures have been gathered, andit has been proved conclusively that accidents rarely occur in thefirst hours of the morning work, but that they increase rapidly in thesucceeding hours as the workers grow tired and slower in both theirmuscular and mental processes.
"Why, do you know that your father has three times as many chances forsafety of life and limb than has a working-man? He has. The insurance*companies know. They will charge him four dollars and twenty cents ayear on a thousand-dollar accident policy, and for the same policy theywill charge a laborer fifteen dollars."
* In the terrible wolf-struggle of those centuries, no man was permanently safe, no matter how much wealth he amassed. Out of fear for the welfare of their families, men devised the scheme of insurance. To us, in this intelligent age, such a device is laughably absurd and primitive. But in that age insurance was a very serious matter. The amusing part of it is that the funds of the insurance companies were frequently plundered and wasted by the very officials who were intrusted with the management of them.
"And you?" I asked; and in the moment of asking I was aware of asolicitude that was something more than slight.
"Oh, as a revolutionist, I have about eight chances to the workingman'sone of being injured or killed," he answered carelessly. "The insurancecompanies charge the highly trained chemists that handle explosiveseight times what they charge the workingmen. I don't think they'd insureme at all. Why did you ask?"
My eyes fluttered, and I could feel the blood warm in my face. Itwas not that he had caught me in my solicitude, but that I had caughtmyself, and in his presence.
Just then my father came in and began making preparations to depart withme. Ernest returned some books he had borrowed, and went away first. Butjust as he was going, he turned and said:
"Oh, by the way, while you are ruining your own peace of mind and Iam ruining the Bishop's, you'd better look up Mrs. Wickson andMrs. Pertonwaithe. Their husbands, you know, are the two principalstockholders in the Mills. Like all the rest of humanity, those twowomen are tied to the machine, but they are so tied that they sit on topof it."