Part 57 (2/2)

We talked of books being written in England and France, in Germany and Russia, all dealing with deep changes in the views and beliefs and desires of men.

”Any man,” he said, ”who thinks that modern Europe will go smoothly, quietly on, needs a dose of your harbor to open his eyes.”

He turned to me with a sudden thought.

”Why don't you write a book,” he asked, ”about this harbor you have known!”

Eleanore made a quick move in her chair.

”That's just what you ought to do!” she exclaimed.

”I wonder if I could,” I said. ”It would be hard to see it now, as it looked at all the different times.”

”You'll hardly be able to do that,” the Englishman answered quietly.

”Because to each one of us, I suppose, not only his present but his past is constantly changing to his view. But I wouldn't let that bother you.

What would interest me as a reader would be your view of your life as you look back upon it to-day--in this present stage of your growth.

”I was raised in the Alps myself,” he went on. ”So _my_ picture of life is the mountain path. As I climb and turn now and then to look back, the twisting little path below appears quite different each time. But still I keep on writing--my changing view of the slope behind and of the rising peaks ahead. And now and then by working my hardest I've felt the great joy of writing the truth. As you know, it isn't easy. But year by year I've felt my readers grow in number. I believe they are going to grow and grow, not mine nor yours but the readers of all the chaps like ourselves, the readers who pick up each new book with the hope that one more fellow has done his best--not to please them but to please himself--by telling of life as he has seen it--his changing life through his changing eyes.”

After he left us there was a long silence. Both of us were thinking hard. And as Eleanore looked up to the stars I saw their brightness in her eyes.

”Yes,” she said at last, ”I'm sure. I'm sure you'd better take his advice--and write as truthfully as you can the whole story as you see it now--of this strange harbor you have known.”

We talked long and eagerly that night.

CHAPTER VI

I began my story of the harbor. Every hour that I could spare from the stories and sketches of tenement life by which I made a scant living those days, I spent in gathering memories of my long struggle with this place, arranging and selecting and setting them in order for this record of the great life I had seen.

But this wide world has many such lives, many heaving forces. And ever since I had been born, while I had been building for myself one after the other these G.o.ds of civilization and peace--all unheeded by my eyes a black shadow had been silently creeping over the whole ocean world.

Now from across the water there came the first low grumble of war.

Within one short portentous week that grumble had become a roar, and before all the startled peoples had time to realize what was here, vast armies were being rushed over the lands, all Europe was in chaos--and the world was on the eve of the most prodigious change of all.

And like the mirror of the world that it had always been to me, the harbor at once reflected this change. Only a little time before, I had seen it almost empty, except for that crude boat of the crowd; the _Internationale_, with its songs of brotherhood and of a world where wars should cease. Now I saw it jammed with s.h.i.+ps from whose masts flew every flag on the seas, and from the men who came ash.o.r.e I heard of how they had been chased, some fired upon, by battles.h.i.+ps--I heard of war upon the seas. I felt my father's world reborn, an ocean world where there was nothing without fighting, and where every nation fought.

Ours had already entered the lists, with a loud clamor for s.h.i.+ps of our own in which to seize this sudden chance for our share of the trade of the world. The great ca.n.a.l was open at last, and Europe in her turmoil had had not even a moment to look. The East and South lay open to us--rush in and get our share at last! Make our nation strong at sea!

And while in blind confusion I groped for some new footing here, strove to see what it was going to mean to that fair world of brotherhood which I had seen struggling to be born--suddenly as though in reply there came a sharp voice out of the crowd.

Joe Kramer came to trial for his life. Before his case went to the jury, Joe rose up and addressed them. And he spoke of war and violence. He spoke of how in times of peace this present system murders men--on s.h.i.+ps and docks and railroads, in the mills and down in the mines. And as though these lives were not enough, the powers above in this scramble for theirs for all the profits in the world, all the sweated labor they could wring out of humankind, had now flown at each others' throats. And the blood of the common people was pouring out upon the earth.

”My comrades over the water,” he said, ”saw this coming years ago. They worked day and night to gather the workers of Europe together against this war that will blacken the world. For that they were called anti-patriots, fiends, men without a country. And some were imprisoned and others were shot. And over here--where in times of peace the number of killed and wounded is over five hundred thousand a year--for rebelling against this murder they have called me murderer--and have placed me here on trial for my life.

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