the iron puddler-第17节

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time。　And　when　we　saw　the　landlady's　carving　knife　we　forgot　whatever　else　was　on　our　minds。　This　woman　was　a　real　peacemaker。　She　not　only　wanted　peace；　she　knew　how　to　get　it。　Such　things　afford　us　lessons　that　are　useful　all　our　lives。　This　woman　had　learned　by　sad　experience　that　healthy　men　will　quarrel　and　thump　each　other；　that　these　fights　put　men　in　the　hospital；　after　breaking　her　dishes　and　splattering　her　tablecloths　with　blood。　Hating　bloodshed；　she　prevented　it　by　being　ever　ready　to　shed　blood　herself。　She　stood　for　the　moral　law；　but　she　stood　armed　and　ready。

Impractical　men　have　told　me　that　right　will　always　triumph　of　itself；　it　needs　no　fighters　to　support　it。　The　man　who　believes　that　is　ignorant；　and　such　ignorance　is　dangerous。　Right　is　always　trampled　down　when　no　fighter　upholds　it。　But　men　will　fight　for　right　who　will　not　fight　for　wrong。　And　so　right　conquers　wrong　because　right　has　the　most　defenders。　Let　no　man　shirk　the　battle　because　he　thinks　he　isn't　needed。

The　reason　a　woman　with　a　carving　knife　was　strong　enough　to　put　a　stop　to　fighting　in　the　Greasy　Spoon　was　this：　she　had　behind　her　every　man　except　the　two　who　were　fighting。　Had　either　of　those　men　struck　down　the　woman；　then　twenty　other　men；　outraged　by　such　a　deed；　would　then　and　there　have　swarmed　upon　the　two　and　crushed　them。　The　woman　stood　for　right　and　she　always　triumphed　because　she　had　（and　these　two　knew　she　had）　the　biggest　bunch　of　fighters　on　her　side。

This　is　what　peace　means；　an　equilibrium　between　forces。　It　is　the　natural　law；God's　way　of　keeping　peace。　And　any　plan　for　World　Peace　that　is　builded　not　upon　this　law　is　nothing。　Justice　must　stand　with　an　upraised　sword。　When　two　states　quarrel　she　must　admonish　them；　and　let　them　know　that　should　they　overthrow　her；　all　good　nations　would　rush　in　and　crush　them。　The　same　law　that　keeps　peace　in　a　rowdy　boarding…house　will　keep　the　peace　of　the　world。　For　what　is　this　world　but　a　big　wide　boarding…house；　and　all　the　nations　rough　and　greedy　grabbers　at　the　table？

I　left　the　Greasy　Spoon　and　went　to　the　〃Pie　Boarding…House。〃　The　Greasy　Spoon　had　peace；　but　peace　is　not　enough。　After　peace　comes　prosperity。　The　Pie　House　represented　prosperity。　For　the　woman　who　ran　it　knew　how　to　make　more　pies　than　the　fellows　ever　heard　of。　You　see；　we　were　all　from　the　British　Isles　where　they　have　pudding。　The　pie　is　an　American　institution。　Nobody　knows　how　to　make　pies　but　an　American　housewife。　And　lucky　that　she　does；　for　men　can　not　thrive　in　America　without　pie。　I　do　not　mean　the　standardized；　tasteless　things　made　in　great　pie　factories。　I　refer　to　the　personally　conducted　pies　that　women　used　to　make。　The　pioneer　wives　of　America　learned　to　make　a　pie　out　of　every　fruit　that　grows；　including　lemons；　and　from　many　vegetables；　including　squash　and　sweet　potatoes；　as　well　as　from　vinegar　and　milk　and　eggs　and　flour。　Fed　on　these　good　pies　the　pioneersis　there　any　significance　in　the　first　syllable　of　the　wordhewed　down　the　woods　and　laid　the　continent　under　the　plow。　Some　men　got　killed　and　their　widows　started　boarding…houses。　Here　we　workers　fed　on　proper　pie；　and　we　soon　changed　this　wooden　land　into　a　land　of　iron。　Now　the　pie　is　passing　out　and　we　are　feeding　on　French　pastry。　Is　our　downfall　at　hand？

Life　in　the　Pie　Boarding…House　was　a　never…ending　delight。　You　never　knew　when　you　sat　down　at　the　table　what　kind　of　pie　would　be　dealt　you。　Some　of　the　fellows　had　been　there　half　a　year　and　swore　that　they　had　seen　fifty…seven　varieties　and　were　expecting　new　ones　at　any　meal。　The　crowd　here　was　a　selected　crowd。　It　was　made　up　of　the　pie　connoisseurs　of　mill…town。　Word　was　quietly　passed　out　among　the　wisest　fellows　to　move　to　this　boarding…　house　and　get　a　liberal　education　in　pie。　So　it　was　a　selected　and　well…behaved　crowd。　They　didn't　want　to　start　any　rumpus　and　thus　lose　their　places　at　this　attractive　table。

And　that　is　one　way　that　virtue　is　its　own　reward。　Only　the　well…behaved　fellows　were　tipped　off　to　the　pie　bonanza。　From　this　I　learned　that　the　better　manners　you　have；　the　better　fare　you　will　get　in　this　world。　I　had　steadily　risen　from　the　〃Bucket　of　Blood；〃　through　the　〃Greasy　Spoon〃　to　a　seat　at　the　cherished　〃Pie〃　table。　Here　the　cups　were　so　thin　that　you　couldn't　break　a　man's　head　with　them。　I　was　steadily　rising　in　the　social　world。



CHAPTER　XXVIII

CAUGHT　IN　A　SOUTHERN　PEONAGE　CAMP


It　was　while　I　was　in　Birmingham　that　the　industrial　depression　reached　rock　bottom。　In　the　depth　of　this　industrial　paralysis　the　iron　workers　of　Birmingham　struck　for　better　pay。　I；　with　a　train　load　of　other　strikers；　went　to　Louisiana　and　the　whole　bunch　of　us　were　practically　forced　into　peonage。　It　was　a　case　of　〃out　of　the　frying　pan　into　the　fire。〃　We　had　been　saying　that　the　mill　owners　had　driven　us　〃into　slavery；〃　for　they　had　made　us　work　under　bad　conditions；　but　after　a　month　in　a　peon　camp；　deep　in　the　swamps　of　Louisiana；　we　knew　more　about　slavery　than　we　did　before。　And　we　knew　that　work　in　the　rolling　mills；　bad　as　it　was；　was　better　than　forced　labor　without　pay。　To…day　when　I　hear　orators　rolling　out　the　word　〃slavery〃　in　connection　with　American　wages　and　working　conditions；　I　have　to　laugh。　For　any　man　who　has　ever　had　a　taste　of　peonage；　to　say　nothing　of　slavery；　knows　that　the　wage　system　is　not　real　slavery；　it's　not　the　genuine；　lash…driven；　bloodhound…hunted；　swamp…sick　African　slavery。　None　is　genuine　without　Simon　Legree　and　the　Louisiana　bloodhounds。　The　silk…socked　wage　slave；　toiling　eight　hours　for　six　dollars；　is　not　the　genuine　old　New　Orleans　molasses　slave。　He　may　carry　a　band　and　give　a　daily　street　parade；　but　if　he's　not　accompanied　by　Simon　Legree　and　the　bloodhounds；　he　is　not　a　genuine　Uncle　Tom；　his　slavery　is　less　than　skin　deep。　You　can't　fool　me。　I　know　what　real　slavery　is。　I　know　as　much　about　slavery　as　the　man　that　made　it。　He's　the　guy　that　taught　me。　I　worked　under　Simon　Legree　in　Louisiana。

On　the　way　to　New　Orleans　we　paused　at　a　siding；　and　a　native　asked　me；　〃Who　are　all　them　men；　and　which　way　are　they　goin'？〃

I　told　him　〃which　way〃　we　were　going；　and　that　we　were　needing　jobs。　He　replied：

〃You…all　are　comin'　down　hyah　now　looking　for　food　and　work。　In　'65　you　was　down　hyah　lookin'　fo'　blood！〃

When　we　reached　the　great　city　on　the　Mississippi；　we　scattered　over　the　town　looking　for　jobs。　I　saw　a　pile　of　coal　in　the　street　before　a　boarding…house。　I　asked　for　the　job　of　carrying　in　the　coal。　There　were　two　tons　of　it。　I　toted　it　in　and　was　paid　a　dollar。　New　Orleans　was　a　popular　winter　resort　where　northerners　came　to　escape　the　severe　cold　of　the　North　Atlantic　States。　I　was　given　the　job　of　yard…man　in　this　boarding…house。　I　carried　in　groceries；　peeled　potatoes；　scrubbed　the　kitchen　floor　and　built　fires　each　evening　in　the　guests'　rooms。　Each　room　had　a　grate；　and　I　carried　up　kindling　and　coal　for　all　of　them。　For　this　work　I　received　a　dollar　a　day；　with　two　meals　（dinner　and　supper）　and　was　permitted　to　carry　away　from　the　kitchen　all　the　cooked　food　that　remained　after　the　guests　had　eaten。　This　privilege　had　grown　out　of　the　custom　of　the　colored　help　in　the　South　having　their　〃man〃　to　feed。　I　had　several　men　to　feed。　My　〃gang〃　was　still　looking　for　work　and　not　finding　any。　Times　were　desperate。　For　five　cents　a　man　could　get　a　glass　of　beer　and　floor　room　to　sleep　on　in　a　lodging…house　for　homeless　men。　This　was　called　a　〃Five　Cent　Flop〃　house。　My　pals　were　not　able　at　times　to　raise　the　five　cents　a　day　to　buy　sleeping　quarters。　It　was　late　fall　and　too　cold　to　sleep　in　the　〃jungle〃　down　by　the　levee。　The　poor　fellows　were　able　to　stave　off　starvation　by　visiting　various　free　lunches　during　the　day。　Every　night　I　arrived　with　my　dollar；　and　that　meant　beer　and　beds　for　a　score。　I　also　brought　along　a　flour　sack　half　full　of　biscuits；　cold　pancakes；　corn　bread；　chicken　necks　and　wings　and　scraps　of　roasts　and　steaks。　These　hungry　men；　with　their　schooners　of　beer；　made　a　feast　of　these　scraps。　My　loyalty　in　coming　every　night　and　giving　them　everything　I　could　scrape　together　touched　them　deeply。　They　regarded　me　as　deserving　special　honor；　and　while　they　believed　in　democracy　as　a　general　proposition；　they　voted　that　it　would　be　carrying　equality　too　far　if　they　permitted　me　to　get　no　more　out　of　my　work　than　all　the　rest　got。　So　they　decided　that　I　was　to　have　a　fifteen…cent　bed　each　night　instead　of　a　five…cent　flop　with　the　rest　of　them。　And　I　was　assigned　to　the　royal　suite　of　that　flop　house；　which　consisted　of　a　cot　with　a　mosquito　bar　over　it。

At　this　time　they　were　holding　〃kangaroo〃　court　in　the　New　Orleans　jail。　Every　vagrant　picked　up　by　the　police　was　tried　and　sentenced　and　shipped　out　to　a　chain…gang　camp。　Nearly　every　man　tried　was　convicted。　And　there　were　plenty　of　camp　bosses　ready　to　〃buy〃　every　vagrant　the　officers　could　run　in。　My　bunch　down　at　the　flop　house　was　in　deadly　terror　of　being　〃kangarooed〃　and　sent　to　a　peon　camp　in　the　rice　swamps。

One　day　when　I　was　renewing　the　fuel　in　the　room　of　a　Mrs。　Hubbard　from　Pittsburgh；　I　found　no　one　in　the　apartment　and　Mrs。　Hubbard's　pearls　and　other　jewels　lying　on　the　dresser。　Immediately　I　was　te