Part 18 (1/2)
”Oh, those men,--those men--those wonderful, beautiful souls of men I saw!--those strong, fearless. G.o.dlike men!--there in the mine, I mean.
Evan Davis, d.i.c.k Bowman, Pat McCann, Jamey McPherson, Casper Herd.i.c.ker, Chopini--all of them; yes, Dennis Hogan, drunk as he is sometimes, and Ira Dooley, who's been in jail for hold-ups--I don't care which one--those wonderful men, who risked their lives for others, and Casper Herd.i.c.ker and Chopini, who gave their lives there under the rock for me.
My G.o.d, my G.o.d!”
His voice thrilled with emotion, and his arms trembled as his hands gripped the table. Those who heard him did not stop him, for they felt that from some uncovered spring in his being a section of personality was gus.h.i.+ng forth that never had seen day. He turned quietly to the wondering child, took him from his chair and hugged him closely to a man's broad chest and stroked the boyish head as the man's blue eyes filled with tears. Grant sat for a moment looking at the floor, then roughed his red mane with his fingers and said slowly and more quietly, but contentiously:
”I know what you don't know with all your religion, Mr. Dexter; I know what the Holy Ghost is now. I have seen it. The Holy Ghost is that divine spark in every human soul--however life has smudged it over by circ.u.mstance--that rises and envelopes a human creature in a flame of sacrificial love for his kind and makes him joy to die to save others.
That's the Holy Ghost--that's what is immortal.”
He clenched his great hickory fist and hit the table and lifted his face again, crying: ”I saw Dennis Hogan walk up to Death smiling that Irish smile. I saw him standing with a ton of loose dirt hanging over him while he was digging me out! I saw Evan Davis--little, bow-legged Evan Davis--go out into the smoke alone--alone, Mr. Dexter, and they say Evan is a coward--he went out alone and brought back Casper Herd.i.c.ker's limp body hugged to his little Welsh breast like a gorilla's--and saved a man. I saw d.i.c.k Bowman do more--when the dirt was dropping from the slipping, working roof into my mouth and eyes, and might have come down in a slide--I lay there and watched d.i.c.k working to save me and I heard him order his son to hold a shovel over my face--his own boy.” Grant shuddered and drew the child closer to him, and looked at the group near him with wet eyes. ”Ira Dooley and Tom Williams and that little Italian went on their bellies, half dead from the smoke, out into death and brought home three men to safety, and would have died without batting an eye--all three to save one lost man in that pa.s.sage.” He beat the table again with his fist and cried wildly: ”I tell you that's the Holy Ghost.
I know those men may sometimes trick the company if they can. I know Ira Dooley spends lots of good money on 'the row'; I know Tom gambles off everything he can get his hands on, and that the little Dago probably would have stuck a knife in an enemy over a quarter. But that doesn't count.”
The young man's voice rose again. ”That is circ.u.mstance; much of it is surroundings, either of birth or of this d.a.m.ned place where we are living. If they cheat the company, it is because the company dares them to cheat and cheats them badly. If they steal, it is because they have been taught to steal by the example of big, successful thieves. I've had time to think it all out.
”Father--father!” cried Grant, as a new wave of emotion surged in from the outer bourne of his soul, ”you once said d.i.c.k Bowman sold out the town and took money for voting for the Harvey Improvement bond steal.
But what if he did? That was merely circ.u.mstance. d.i.c.k is a little man who has had to fight for money all his life--just enough money to feed his hungry children. And here came an opportunity to get hold of--what was it?--a hundred dollars--” Amos Adams nodded. ”Well, then, a hundred dollars, and it would buy so much, and leading citizens came and told him it was all right--men we have educated with our taxes and our surplus money in universities and colleges. And we haven't educated d.i.c.k; we've just taught him to fight--to fight for money, and to think money will do everything in G.o.d's beautiful world. So d.i.c.k took it. That was the d.i.c.k that man and Harvey and America made, father, but I saw the d.i.c.k that G.o.d made!” He stopped and cried out pa.s.sionately, ”And some day, some day all the world must know this man--this great-souled, common American--that G.o.d made!”
Grant's voice was low, but a thousand impulses struggled across his features for voice and his eyes were infinitely sad as he gazed at the curly, brown hair of the child in his arms playing with the b.u.t.tons on his coat.
The minister looked at his wife. She was wet-faced and a-tremble, and had her hands over her eyes. Amos Adams's old, frank face was troubled.
The son turned upon him and cried:
”Father--you're right when you say character makes happiness. But what do you call it--surroundings--where you live and how you live and what you do for a living--environment! That's it, that's the word--environment has lots and lots to do with character. Let the company reduce its dividends by giving the men a chance at decent living conditions, in decent houses and decent streets, and you'll have another sort of att.i.tude toward the company. Quit cheating them at the store, and you'll have more honesty in the mines; quit sprinkling sour beer and whiskey on the sawdust in front of the saloons to coax men in who have an appet.i.te, and you'll have less drinking--but, of course, Sands will have less rents. Let the company obey the law--the company run by men who are pointed out as examples, and there'll be less lawlessness among the men when trouble comes. Why, Mr. Dexter, do you know as we sat down there in the dark, we counted up five laws which the company broke, any one of which would have prevented the fire, and would have saved ninety lives. Trash in the pa.s.sage leading to the main shaft delayed notifying the men five minutes--that's against the law. Torches leaking in the pa.s.sageway where there should have been electric lights--that's against the law. Boys--little ten-year-olds working down there--cheap, cheap!”
he cried, ”and dumping that pine lumber under a dripping torch--that's against the law. Having no fire drill, and rusty water plugs and hose that doesn't reach--that's against the law. A pine part.i.tion in an air-chute using it as a shaft--that's against the law. Yet when trouble comes and these men burn and kill and plunder--we'll put the miners in jail, and maybe hang them, for doing as they are taught a thousand times a week by the company--risking life for their own gain!”
Grant Adams rose. He ran his great, strong, copper-freckled hands through his fiery hair and stood with face transfigured, as the face of one staring at some phantasm. ”Oh, those men--they risked their lives--Chopini and Casper Herd.i.c.ker gave their lives for me. Father,” he cried, ”I am bought with a price. These men risked all and gave all for me. I am theirs. I have no other right to live except as I serve them.”
He drew a deep breath; set his jaw and spoke with all the force he could put into a quiet voice: ”I am dedicated to men--to those great-souled, brave, kind men whom G.o.d has sent here for man to dwarf and ruin. They have bought me. I am theirs.”
The minister put the question in their minds:
”What are you going to do, Grant?”
The fervor that had been dying down returned to Grant Adams's face.
”My job,” he cried, ”is so big I don't know where to take hold. But I'm not going to bother to tell those men who sweat and stink and suffer under the injustices of men, about the justice of G.o.d. I've got one thing in me bigger'n a wolf--it's this: House them--feed them, clothe them, work them--these working people--and pay them as you people of the middle cla.s.ses are housed and fed and paid and clad, and crime won't be the recreation of poverty. And the Lord knows the work of the men who toil with their hands is just as valuable to society as preaching and trading and buying and selling and banking and editing and lawing and doctoring, and insuring and school teaching.”
He stood before the kitchen stove, a tall, awkward, bony, wide-shouldered, loose-wired creature in the first raw stage of full-blown manhood. The red muscles of his jaw worked as his emotions rose in him. His hands were the hands of a fanatic--never still.
”I've been down into death and I've found something about life,” he went on. ”Out of the world's gross earnings we're paying too much for superintendence, and rent and machines, and not enough for labor.
There's got to be a new shake-up. And I'm going to help. I don't know where nor how to begin, but some way I'll find a hold and I'm going to take it.”
He drew in a long breath, looked around and smiled rather a ragged, ugly smile that showed his big teeth, all white and strong but uneven.
”Well, Grant,” said Mrs. Dexter, ”you have cut out a big job for yourself.” The young man nodded soberly.
”Well, we're going to organize 'em, the first thing. We talked that over in the mine when we had nothing else to talk about--but G.o.d and our babies.”
In the silence that followed, Amos Adams said: ”While you were down there of course I had to do something. So after the paper was out, I got to talking with Lincoln about things. He said you'd get out. Though,”