THE LEGAL REVOLUTION OF 1902.CHAPTER I.
THE LEGAL REVOLUTION OF 1902.CHAPTER I.
THE LEGAL REVOLUTION OF 1902.CHAPTER I.
THE LEGAL REVOLUTION OF 1902.
CHAPTER I.
“Well, mother, I’ll run down and get the mail,” said John Brown to his wife, as he started for the village postoffice. On arriving there he found his “grist” of daily papers that regularly visited his home, and also two letters. One was addressed “Hon. John Brown, Member of the Illinois Legislature.” He looked at it and incidentally remarked to a friend with whom he was conversing: “I wonder who that is from—‘Return in five days to Mark Mishler, Attorney-at-Law, Springfield, Ill.’; I guess it is not of much importance to me; I don’t know any such person.” And with that he put it, unopened, into his pocket, and looked at the other.
“Indeed, New York, from brother Benjamin! I haven’t heard from him in a long time. Mother and I were just talking about him and wondering if he had forgotten us. She’ll want to hear the news, and I had better go right back to the house,” and he started, carrying the letter and papers in his hand. It was but a few minutes’ walk, and he was soon home.
“See here, mother, a letter from Ben,” he said, starting to tear it open.
“Is it possible!” she exclaimed, with considerable surprise; “we haven’t heard from him since his wife died. He is no hand to write, and I’ll warrant it is news of importance; probably sad news, or we wouldn’t hear fromhim now. You remember he never wrote us that Glen (his only child) was born until he was two years old. Of course he wrote during that time, but never mentioned that fact, and it was so strange, since he always writes so much about him now, when he writes at all.”
By this time the letter was opened, the spectacles adjusted to his nose, and Mr. Brown began to read:
“My Dear Brother and Sister—
“My Dear Brother and Sister—
“My Dear Brother and Sister—
“My Dear Brother and Sister—
“You know how difficult it is for me to write, and I am sure you won’t think strange because of not having heard from me before. I often think of you both, and have frequently resolved to write, but have neglected it until days, weeks and months have slipped away. I am in deep trouble now. You know that ten years ago the company set me back to flagman. The wages for such a position are very low; I have been able only to live and keep the family, and have found it impossible to lay by anything. A year ago an accident, a collision, occurred in the yards between a couple of switching freight trains. It was charged to me and I was ‘laid off.’ Perhaps I was to blame. I worked long hours and was very tired. I am getting old, anyway. My eyes, and faculties as well, are getting dim. Since then I have had no work, and have employed my time about the garden and with my poultry, out of which I have made a little.
“But Glen, though only sixteen, had completed school, and had also learned the glassblower’s trade in the factory here, and with my pension and what little I could earn was able to support me and keep the house up in good shape, so I did not feel badly. In my old age I felt I had earned a rest, and Glen, noble boy! was satisfied, and insisted that I should have it. But now, just as he has his trade well learned, and had, as we supposed, the means of gaining a livelihood through life for himself and a way of supporting me in my old age, improved machines were introduced into many of the larger factories,that almost entirely displaced the glassblower and absolutely ruined his trade. They were not put in the factory here, but it was seen that the factory would be unable to compete with the machine-equipped factories, and that they must put them in or close up.
“After the machines began to be used it was evident that half the factories would supply the market. So the big ones all joined together into one big company, or trust, and closed up a number of the factories. The one here went into the big company, and the Board of Directors of the big concern voted it to be one of the factories that would be permanently closed. Lots of the machinery has been moved away, and there is little probability of it ever being operated again. At any rate it has now been closed for three months, and Glen has been unable to find a day’s work of any kind to do, and there is little hope of any here. Glassblowers have been laid off in all the factories that are still running, and those now retained are taken from the force of older employes and there is no chance whatever for a new man now. So Glen will probably never find work again at his trade.
“And the town! You have no idea of the condition here. The glass factory was almost the sole industry. There is not another enterprise of any importance. Two thousand men, who fed ten thousand people, or the whole town, are thrown out of employment at the mandate of a trust, and the whole place is ruined. No western cyclone ever wrought worse havoc, because after one of them has passed the people can go to work and rebuild, but there is nothing here they can do to get even bread to eat.
“The very day it was known the factory would be permanently closed residence property depreciated one-half, and in fact it is scarcely worth anything now, and will not sell at any price. My place, which cost me a lifetime of toil, and for which I paid $2,500 principal and no end of interest, will not sell to-day for $500.
“But the question with the people here is, not howmuch their property has depreciated in value, but how they are to get work by which to earn a living.
“Glen and I think we want to go West. We would like to go out where you are, and want to know what you think about it. Can we make a living there? We have been thinking if we could get a little patch of ground near some good-sized town we could, by gardening and poultry raising (at which I am becoming expert, by the way), get along and make a living; and Glen is a bright scholar, and I have been thinking that perhaps he could get work of some kind out there.
“I don’t want to be a burden on you, but God knows I will be on the state if things continue as they are. And Glen, he deserves a better fate than the world seems to have allotted him.
“Please let me hear from you soon. With kind regards to sister Jane and yourself,
“I am, your brother,“BENJAMIN BROWN.”
“I am, your brother,“BENJAMIN BROWN.”
“I am, your brother,“BENJAMIN BROWN.”
“I am, your brother,
“BENJAMIN BROWN.”
Mr. Brown was visibly affected as he slowly read the letter, and tears filled the eyes of both himself and his wife by the time it was completed.
“Well, mother, what had I better write him?”
To which the good woman quickly replied: “Send for them both to come at once and make their home with us—at least for the present. You will soon go to Springfield, and will be gone all winter attending the Legislature. You expect to hire someone to attend the stock and the farm while you are away, and you always hire in the summer. Perhaps they might like farm work, and suit you better than anyone you can hire, and so stay permanently.
“The Lord has taken all our dear children away,” she continued; “and if Glen is the boy his father has always
“‘Fellow reformers, would you be free? Would you see the regimen of corporate power and class despotism at an end? Would you see the shackles stricken forever from the limbs of humanity, and behold emancipation—the rebirth? Do you believe that this can come through the ballot? No! You do not.
“‘Have not the reformers spent their lives, their fortunes, and their energies in the cause of political reform? Have they not seen the cunning and unscrupulous always victorious, emerging from every campaign master of the spoils? Have you any hopes that this will be changed in the future? The past is one long protest against the ballot as an instrument of reformation.’
“Scarcely a day passes that I do not receive one or more appeals to join one or the other of the revolutionary orders being formed in this country, and offers of money and arms are frequently received if I will give my efforts to the cause of revolution. Thus far I have persistently declined to give aid or encouragement to such movements. But if, through the writings of such men as Private Dalzell, revolution comes, in spite of all efforts to prevent it, I will not be found among the cowards, nor on the side of the plutocratic classes. * * *
“J. R. SOVEREIGN.”
“J. R. SOVEREIGN.”
“J. R. SOVEREIGN.”
“J. R. SOVEREIGN.”
“Let me see your scrap-book, please,” said Glen. It was handed to him, and he settled down to read, while the others conversed.
“That letter appeared some time ago,” said Benjamin, “and I’ll warrant it has been read by every member of a labor union. I tell you something is going to happen. Where, or when, or what it is going to be I don’t know, but I do know the power of the labor unions, and doubt not they will play an important part in the struggle. I haven’t a particle of doubt but those societies which Mr. Sovereign mentions are being formed. It is this greatchasm between the rich and the poor that is causing the trouble. The laboring people are piling up wealth, and it is all being appropriated by the rich, and the poor find it harder each day to make a living. This is especially true in the factories of the East, where labor-saving machines are displacing thousands of laborers.”
“Don’t you think,” said Mr. Smith, “that their further introduction should be prohibited?”
“The labor unions,” was the reply, “do now, to some extent. The shoe manufacturers of Lynn have not dared to introduce a certain lasting machine recently invented, because the lasters’ union has declared against it, and yet it is claimed that that machine will revolutionize the shoe business. You see that shows the strength of the unions, and what they can do if they get started. Oh, there are bloody times ahead for us. I believe one of your Western governors said lately: ‘The high buildings and grand palaces of our big cities will be spattered with the lungs and livers of humanity before this thing is adjusted.’ He was called a crank, but he was not far amiss.”
“I am inclined to think,” said Mr. Smith, “that you take a too serious view of matters. Your brother tells me the glass factory in your town was permanently closed by a trust. Is that possible? I never heard of such an outrage. I should think the managers of the trusts would be in danger of their lives.”
“Now you are coming to it. See! it makes a revolutionist out of you to even hear of such a thing,” said Benjamin; “yet you don’t see revolution coming. Suppose you knew nothing but one trade, and you found the factory in which you had worked all your life permanentlyclosed by a trust, and it was impossible to ever again work at your trade. When you become an actor in such an affair it is worse than a picture in your imagination. If you were placed in that position you would see what is coming.”
“But has it really been permanently closed by the trust?” he again asked.
“Closed! Why, certainly, and it is nothing new. Hundreds of factories have been permanently shut down by trusts, in order to decrease production, raise prices and throw thousands of laborers out of work.”
“Well,” said Mr. Smith, “I guess you are right, but what is it going to be, and what are they going to do?”
“O, I don’t know. They will at least have revenge. It may be we’ll have anarchy, and the fulfillment of the bloody scenes painted in that wonderful book, ‘Caesar’s Column.’ Have you read it? It is fearful. Enough to curdle a man’s blood.”
At this point Glen, who was still looking over his uncle’s scrap-book, said: “I believe Uncle John is getting to be quite a Socialist, judging from these clippings. Let me read some of them. They are mostly from the metropolitan dailies”:
“WANT IN THE CITIES.
“A few days ago we quoted from an editorial in the New York Tribune to show that there never before was such great distress in the chief city in the country as at present, and that the victims were not merely laboring men, unable to find employment, but professional people and small merchants as well. The Times-Herald editorially testifies that want is as general and intense in Chicago as in New York. It says:
“‘Perhaps since the great fire there has not been a keener occasion for generous giving. The country is now in the fourth year of a period of hard times. Very rich men have had their fortunes trimmed, so to speak; moderately rich men have been reduced to a sharp counting of the cost of casual luxuries. All classes have suffered in degree, but thousands and thousands of those brave folks whose only hope in life is to fight for the ship till they fall face forward fighting on the deck have been precipitated from a hard-earned and perilous independence into a black and hopeless poverty. * * * We do not share the opinion of the versifier who wrote “Organized charity, cold as ice, in the name of a hard, statistical Christ,” but we submit that the present crisis, when ill-clad, half-famished shapes confront us on the streets; when the cold pinches the denizens of hovels and tenements; when the children in a thousand squalid homes cry for sustenance, when women fight for bread at the county agent’s door, and able-bodied men swarm on the railroad tracks, eagerly begging fragments of coal—this crisis is not to be met with perfunctory measures.’
“In another article published in its news columns the Times-Herald declares that:
“‘Chicago has 8,000 families actually starving to death.
“‘It has 40,000 wives, husbands and children begging for a pittance of food to keep body and soul together—huddled into single rooms and freezing in the blizzard that visited the city yesterday.’”
The next item reads:
“DISTRESS IN GREAT CITIES.
“The public authorities and organized charities of Chicago are having more than they can do to care for the tens of thousands of destitute people in the Garden City, and the New York Tribune confesses that the want inthat town is as dire as in Chicago. ‘At no moment within the memory of the present generation,’ says the Tribune, ‘has the number of unemployed in this city been so large as just now, and never before has the strain on public and private charity been so severe as during this winter season (1896–97). It is not merely the laboring classes—that is to say, the classes who may be regarded as within facile reach of philanthropic relief—who are the sufferers, but those who may be described as professional men, clerks, the salesmen, the architects and the literary men. Few, save the clergy and physicians, have any idea of the extent to which privation and actual want prevail among these victims of the bad times that are marking the close of the deplorable Democratic administration, and doctor and parson alike wax eloquent about the destitution of the families of those unfortunate men who, while eager for work and ready to do anything for the sake of a living, are for the first time in their lives unable to find employment of any kind.’ After adverting to the sympathy extended to the unfortunate inmates of Sing Sing and other prisons, who are losing their sanity because there is no work to employ them, the Tribune adds: ‘It may be questioned whether the first duty of the people of New York is not toward those of their more honest and honorable fellow-citizens whose enforced idleness, due to their inability to find any employment, is driving them, too, to the verge of insanity—an insanity caused not so much by the brooding over their own unhappy lot as by the spectacle of their wives and little ones literally starving before their eyes. It is not merely on the ground of philanthropy and charity that some means or other should be devised for their relief, but on the score of policy and economy. For the less enforced idleness there is outside the prison the fewer convicts there will be within its walls.’”
The next clipping is as follows: