Part 61 (1/2)
”I'd advise you not to try that.”
”Why?”
”They're stronger than you think.”
”I'll take my chances on that. But I want to know where you stand. Are you with me or against me?”
”Well,” said Jesse, rubbing his head dubiously, ”I'll do what I can.”
”All right. We'll make a fresh start. Round up all hands. I'm going to talk to them at dinner time.”
Jesse glanced at him, shrugged and went out and Peter went into the office where he spent the intervening time going over the books. It was there that one of the clerks, a man named Brierly, brought forth from the drawer of his desk a small pamphlet which he had picked up yesterday in the bunk-house. Peter opened and read it. It was a copy of the new manifest of the Union of Russian Workers and though written in English, gave every mark of origin in the Lenin-Trotzky regime and was cleverly written in catch phrases meant to trap the ignorant. It proposed to destroy the churches and erect in their stead places of amus.e.m.e.nt for the working people. He read at random. ”Beyond the blood-covered barricades, beyond all terrors of civil war, there already s.h.i.+nes for us the magnificent, beautiful form of man, without a G.o.d, without a master, and full of authority.” Fine doctrine this! The pamphlet derided the law and the state, and urged the complete destruction of private owners.h.i.+p.
It predicted the coming of the revolution in a few weeks, naming the day, of a general strike of all industries which would paralyze all the functions of commerce. It was Bolshevik in ideal, Bolshevik in inspiration and it opened Peter's eyes as to the venality of the gentleman with the black mustache. Brierly also told him that whisky had been smuggled into the camp the night before and that a fire in the woods had luckily been put out before it had become menacing. Brierly was a discharged soldier who had learned something of the value of obedience and made no effort to conceal his anxiety and his sympathies.
He voiced the opinion that either Flynn or Jacobi had brought in the liquor. Peter frowned. Jesse Brown had said nothing of this. The inference was obvious.
At the dinner-shed, Peter was to be made aware immediately of the difficulty of the task that confronted him, for dour looks met him on all sides. There were a few men who sat near him whom he thought he might count on at a venture, but they were very few and their positions difficult. Some of the men still showed the effects of their drink and hurled epithets about the room, obviously meant for Peter's ear, but he sat through the meal patiently and then got to his feet and demanded their attention.
As he began he was interrupted by hoots and cat-calls but he waited calmly for silence and seeing that they couldn't ruffle him by buffoonery they desisted after a moment.
”Men, I'm not going to take much of your time,” he said. ”A short while ago I came down here and talked to you. Some of you seemed to be friendly toward me and those are the men I want to talk to now. The others don't matter.”
”Oh, don't they?” came a gruff voice from a crowd near the door. And another, ”We'll see about that.”
Peter tried to find the speakers with his gaze for a moment and then went on imperturbably. ”I'm going to talk to you in plain English, because some things have happened in this camp that are going to make trouble for everybody, trouble for me, trouble for McGuire, but more trouble for you.”
”That's what we're lookin' for--trouble----,” cried the same voice, and Peter now identified it as Flynn's, for the agitator had come back and stolen in unawares.
”Ah, it's you, Flynn,” said Peter easily. ”You've come back.” And then to the crowd, ”I don't think Flynn is likely to be disappointed if he's looking for trouble,” he said dryly. ”Trouble is one of the few things in this world a man can find if he looks for it.”
”Aye, mon, an' without lookin' for it,” laughed a broad-chested Scot at Peter's table.
”That's right. I met Flynn a while ago over in the office. I made him an offer. I said I'd fight him fair just man to man, for our opinions. He refused. I also told him he was a coward, a sneak and a liar. But he wouldn't fight--because he's what I said he was.”
”I'll show ye, Misther----,” shouted Flynn, ”but I ain't ready yet.”
”You'll be ready when this meeting is over. And one of us is going out of this camp feet first.”
”We'll see about that.”
”One of us will. And I think I'll do the seeing.”
A laugh went up around Peter, drowned immediately by a chorus of jeers from the rear of the room.
But Peter managed to be heard again.
”Well, _I_ didn't come on this job looking for trouble,” he went on coolly. ”I wanted to help you chaps in any way I could.” (”The h.e.l.l you did.”) ”Yes, I did what I could for your comfort. I raised your wages and I didn't ask more than an honest day's work from any one of you.
Some of you have stuck to your jobs like men, in spite of the talk you've heard all about you, and I thank you. You others,” he cried, toward the rear of the room, ”I've tried to meet in a friendly spirit where I could, but some of you don't want friends.h.i.+p----” (”Not with you, we don't.”) ”Nor with any one else----” Peter shouted back defiantly. ”You don't know what friends.h.i.+p means, or you wouldn't try to make discontent and trouble for everybody, when you're all getting a good wage and good living conditions.” (”That ain't enough!”)
Peter calmly disregarded the interruptions and went on. ”Perhaps you fellows think I don't know what socialism means. I do. To the true socialist, socialism is nothing else but Christianity. It's just friends.h.i.+p, that's all. He believes in helping the needy and the weak.