1916

Who else in Hattie's Gulch could have handled the situation that night? Not the superintendent, not stubborn old Andy Fergus, not any one in the employ of the mining company. Nor could the miners themselves have curbed their own dull-thinking belligerency. Only the man from the outside, the interferer whom the operators dread, but the man who had the confidence of the miners and at the same time understood the sound principles of the labor movement, only such a man could have restored peace to Hattie's Gulch.

The story of the settlement of the labor trouble at Hattie's Gulch was never published. Why? It wasn't news. There was no strike, no rioting, no gunmen, no bloodshed. It was not more news than that nine hundred and ninety-nine citizens in every thousand in this country continue daily to obey the law and live in reasonable peace with their wives and neighbors. On the other hand, when a Sam Parks betrayed his trust, was caught and convicted, that was news, properly so, and published so widely that his name became the synonym for walking delegate among a great many people who draw their judgments of the labor movement only from the headlines in the daily press. Το such people the words labor union and strike are indissolubly associated, whereas, statistically, they belong no nearer together than marriage and divorce.

May I draw your attention once more to the meeting in that crude labor temple up there in Hattie's Gulch? It lasted another hour. The significance of the scene grew on one. Here were representatives of some twenty or thirty widely divergent and somewhat antagonistic racial groups voluntarily drawing together, formally addressing each other as "Brother," and learning to think together. They were submitting to the rules of parliamentary law, not always gracefully, but submitting nevertheless. I saw one countryman of Columbo's rising to speak a second time on a question while some of his brothers were still waiting for their first chance to speak. The chairman declared him out of order and refused to recognize him. Seized with sudden rage, he grabbed his hat from his head, threw it on the floor, and began to jump on it. I have often seen a seven-year-old boy act the same way when he discovered that the rules of baseball permit the batter to have only three strikes at the ball. His fellow-members yelled the miner down and a friendly brother whispered

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to him the explanation which made his dumb mind content. I saw those sluggish minds trying to grapple with some of the huge problems of economics. Each moment was impressing them with the necessity of learning to speak the language of the land in which they had chosen to make their homes. The men were hard at work learning the principles of representative action. They were a voluntary night school in democracy, teaching themselves the essentials of citizenship.

This illustrates another phase of the labor movement often too little considered. The American Federation of Labor alone represents over twenty-two thousand such groups of men. Not all of them are so unskilled or so untrained as the one in Hattie's Gulch, but many of them are. If they were all to be abolished to-morrow, whence could we supply the training in citizenship and democracy which they now give each other in their weekly meetings? What other combination of self-interest and brotherhood would be sufficiently strong to drag their tired bodies out to school and cause them to submit to this discipline which they now gladly receive?

I am not unaware that this story leaves many loose ends. It is, of course, hard to make an illustration prove a point. Possibly the incident in Hattie's Gulch was in some way exceptional. Certainly the walking delegate does not always find that Columbo rather than Andy is wrong. On the other hand, the delegate who calmly walks into a camp and deliberately stirs up trouble in order to maintain himself in the confidence and affection of the members of the union is not typical, as he is often supposed to be; but nearer to type is the delegate who, like my friend at Hattie's Gulch, furnishes not only to the men but also to their employers the most efficient available means for settling what threatens to be serious trouble.

This much seems certain. When two groups of men stand facing each other and a fight is started by either side, it is only a matter of minutes when the beefiest, most pugnacious fighters will be in the front rows facing each other and directing the struggle. If, on the contrary, the two groups begin negotiations instead of a fight, in a few moments the men with the coolest, keenest heads from either side will be facing each other and in control of their respective parties. The exceptions to this statement are, I believe, so few as to be negligible, and that is the point of the story.

MR. HUGHES AND THE RAILWAY ISSUE

Whether one agrees with Mr. Hughes or not, his speeches on the railway eight-hour day are at least refreshing. Their vigor and definiteness are a striking contrast to the vague and ineffectual oratory of the Western tour. At last he seems to have found his cue; his hesitation vanishes, and he grasps this new issue with the same passion with which Colonel Roosevelt condemns the invasion of Belgium. It is not candidate Hughes who speaks; it is the man himself. There is sincerity, and not the pale compromise to hold votes; there is clearness, and not the dull rhetoric about "firmness,' "America first," and "America efficient." These speeches are hints of what campaign speeches might be if candidates talked frankly and gave us their instinctive and spontaneous reactions to current issues instead of the enforced platitudes and tedious repetitions of blind partisanship.

More than this, however, cannot be said. When Mr. Hughes charges that President Wilson and Congress acted under the pressure of threats, he misunderstands the actual facts. The brotherhoods did not say to the President and to Congress, You must legislate for us or we will strike. They said to the railways, You must grant the eight-hour day or we will strike. Congress and the President were not threatened; they were not coerced or obliged to do anything. They could have remained stoically passive; they could have regarded the whole matter as a "private fight" and simply prepared to maintain "order" and "protect property."

Instead they "butted in." Perhaps, as the learned counsel for the Interborough Railroad insists, they had no right to do so; perhaps they did not legislate wisely or completely; but there can be no doubt that from the time the President called the first conference to the signing of the law it was a voluntary action. Of their own choice they attempted to avert a crisis to save the country from a disastrous calamity. An unprecedented struggle was imminent, and they intervened. Two courses remained open to forbid the strike or to grant an eight-hour day. The first, under the circumstances, was impossible and uncertain; no amount of firmness-even of the Rooseveltian brand-could have passed such a law; the second course, which was possible, and the effects of which could be foretold, was followed. They granted the eight-hour day because the men would have legally taken it from the railways by a successful strike. By acting quickly Congress made the use of this force unnecessary. This was the very essence of the "rule of rea

son." For, if that means anything, it means facing facts and accomplishing by rational action what would otherwise be accomplished by explosive action. Between an eight-hour day obtained by the inevitable strike or by legislation, there could be no reasonable choice. There was no sacrifice of the principle of arbitration in this; that had never been established by law or custom for industrial disputes. Indeed, the Adamson Bill gave the country a breathing spell in which to collect its thoughts and decide whether compulsory investigation and arbitration should be adopted for the future. There was no “abject surrender” in this act; there was a successful rescue of the public from starvation and horror and death. Our legislators were too sensible to "haggle with an earthquake."

The inability of Mr. Hughes to see this is due to the fact that he really denies the right of the brotherhoods to strike. He allows his own judicial passion for arbitration to obscure the fact that the railway men have a perfect legal right to strike. He confuses what should be with what is. He fancies a world in which capital and labor need but to be told that they are "all Americans" and then good will towards men will follow. But the President and Congress did not make this mistake. They realized that the brotherhoods were ready to act according to their legal rights. That this involved force was not the fault of the brotherhoods; it was the fault of a stupid legal system which permitted organized labor to resort to it. However that may be, it is futile to denounce the use of force when that is the established principle of action in the industrial world. That it should not be is the hope of all, but that does not justify us in acting as if strikes were impossible. Mr. Hughes is really speaking on industrial disputes as Mr. Bryan does on international disputes. They both hate to admit that strikes and wars are the order of the day. As a result, Mr. Hughes bewails the resort to strikes, but does not know how to prevent them except by "firmness," while Mr. Bryan moralizes sentimentally about war and offers nothing but arbitration treaties.

The big misconception, however, in Mr. Hughes's speeches is the exaggerated importance he gives to the whole episode. Even assuming that Congress had actually been held up and forced to pass the Eight-Hour Law, surely that would not be a startling innovation in our Government. It would not be the first time that force has been used to pass or obstruct legisla tion. If it is a blow at democracy, we have already withstood thousands of even a more serious and pernicious nature. If it does subvert our free institutions, then these would long

ago have crumbled into ruin. For, if anything is obvious, it is that force has constantly dominated our Government. What, for instance, prevented the confirmation of the nomination of Rublee for the Federal Trade Commission? Force, pure and simple. Senator Gallinger did not make use of his "sweet reasonableness." He did not convince the Senate that Rublee was not adequately equipped for the job. He did exactly what the robber does who says, Hold up your hands! He threatened to "kill" the nominees of the other Senators unless his revenge in this matter could be satisfied. Incidentally, Mr. Hughes has not denounced this use of force, and yet it is incomparably the more dangerous to democracy. What prevented the passage of the Child Labor Act until 1916 ? Did the "rule of reason" govern the Senators from Pennsylvania and the South? They voted exactly as the manufacturing companies of their States dictated. What makes Congress pass "pork-barrel" appropriations? The force of bipartisan selfishness. What passed the PayneAldrich Tariff Bill? The force of special privileges. What prevented the nomination of Roosevelt in 1912 and 1916? The force of partisan and selfish interests. So it is all along the line. If you but dig into the forces behind the Acts, whether it be an appointment, a delayed Child Labor Act, or other remedial legislation, you will find the pressure of forces, silent and invisible perhaps, but powerful. Laws which are good are strangely obstructed and die in committee rooms, and queer jokers often emasculate those which are passed. It is not the handiwork of reason. Our delayed reforms, our halting progress, our "pork barrels," our denial of democracy-all this is the result of the use of force. It may masquerade under the name of reverence for the Constitution or the courts, defense of private property, right of contract, "our free institutions," and what not, but the weapon is the same. Legislatures and Congress are not convinced, they are compelled.

If now labor unions should adopt similar tactics, they would but imitate the practice of their "masters." This may not be desirable, but surely it is naïve for us to decry the use of force on the part of the laborer when the employer has everlastingly used it both in his private business and in his dealings with the Government. If "our free institutions" have borne up under the assaults of organized wealth, they can certainly stand a little hammering from the other side. By making the shoe pinch on the other foot the labor union may bring us to our F. R. SERRI.

senses.

The Mills Building, 15 Broad Street, New York City.

HELP FOR THE FARMER"

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In a recent issue of The Outlook there ap peared an article by the Hon. Carl Vrooman, Assistant Secretary of Agriculture, upon the subject "Help for the Farmer." The article set up the claim that in the last three years the Department of Agriculture, under Democratic administration, had done great and numerous things to help the farmer make more money, and charged that the Department under Republican direction had ignored the economics of farming and devoted its attention to abstract science, which "buttered no parsnips" for the real farmers.

A list of alleged achievements of the last three years was used to illustrate the claim, but in every instance the credit belonged to the Republican Administration. For example: The fever tick, which prevented the South from raising meat animals, was driven out of half its infested area before President Wilson was elected. Hog cholera serum was discovered years before the Democratic Administration. The office of Markets and Rural Organization was created by a Republican law, signed by President Taft, and the work was installed by Dr. Thomas N. Carver, the foremost agricul tural economist in America, a Republican. Dr. Carver labored, too, successfully in organizing farmers and making them independent of middlemen, purchasing their supplies directly from manufacturers in car lots. The Assistant Secretary of Agriculture sent out letters to comfort the middlemen by assuring them that Dr. Carver's effectiveness would be curbed; it was, and he returned to his work as Professor of Economy in Harvard.

When the present Administration took over the Department, it found an army of fourteen thousand highly organized workers, of whom three thousand were scientific specialists. They were engaged in works of research, many of which have brought results in the last three years. When the Department was taken over in 1897 by Secretary James Wilson, he found no organization, and his predecessor, Hon. J. Sterling Morton, a Democrat, had recommended that the Department be abolished. The McKinley, Roosevelt, and Taft Administrations, with James Wilson, Secretary of Agriculture through all three terms, created the greatest agricultural system the world has known, and gave farmers definite knowledge in place of tradition; farmers no longer plant potatoes according to the moon. The momentum of that organization has carried it through the last three years without the addition of a single important enterprise of Democratic initiation. PAUL V. COLLINS.

A farmer, according to the "Rural New Yorker," drove to the public market in a certain town with vegetables and fruit for sale. A girl passed his stand, went to a grocery store and bought two cans of tomatoes and carried them home. For the price of these two cans this farmer was ready to sell a large basket of fresh and sound tomatoes-right from the vine. The farmer thinks that the biggest asset of the middlemen is just that quality in the consumer which sent the girl past him after the canned goods.

In a private letter written "somewhere in France" a surgeon with the British army gives this graphic description of the strenuous life of an erstwhile quiet city physician: "An attack was on for next day. Mines, minnewerfers, shelling. It was simply hell for twenty-four hours. Intense 'strafing' on both sides. The trenches were littered with cases. I had 120 cases and was certainly of use. Had a smack on the hand dressing one. Just a scratch. Our candle was blown out every now and then by the concussion of the high explosives. We got down all right yesterday, however, and slept in a wood in a captured German dugout."

"Is he a good after-dinner speaker?" asks Life," and answers its own question thus: "Splendid! He never talks more than five minutes, and when he gets through he makes you feel that you could have done much better."

"The Humane Monday Germans " is a headline that arrests attention. Why should they be more humane on Monday, one reasons, when "blue Monday" is a proverbial expression for irritation and sourness? The explanation is simple. The writer in " Collier's" who uses the above heading is describing the city of Baltimore. One of the institutions of that city is the Bachelors' Cotillion, perhaps the oldest dancing club in the United States. The balls given by this society are known as the "Monday germans," and their humane feature is that they end at midnight, instead of keeping the poor tired débutantes up till dawn.

The fact that automobiles are surely getting into everybody's hands is brought home by an advertisement in the "Situations Wanted" columns of a New York City paper. It reads: "Laundress wishes private family washing; open air drying in country; automobile delivery; reasonable prices. Address," etc.

A Japanese hunter of big game writes to the "National Sportsman" about hunting in Korea. He says of an animal called the "nukattei:"

In Korean language this means 'wolf,' and it is the most fiercest and terrible or quick active wolf in the world. He is the most large-damage maker to live stock and human life in Korea;

can be met so easier than in any other country." He asks for information on this point: "How to prevent the terrible damage of large beast when a dangerous game lion, tiger or leopard charges at me, so near, before I have time to receive another loaded gun from gun-bearer?" This would seem to offer a favorable opportunity for the use of jiu-jitsu, it is respectfully suggested. An American hunter would probably use a bowie-knife if he had one.

Two of Thackeray's characters are to be presented on the stage this season. John Drew will be seen as Major Pendennis," and Sir Herbert Tree as "Colonel Newcome." Mrs. Fiske, it will be recalled, made "Becky Sharp " famous on the stage in a play of that name.

A poultry raiser who specialized on capons writes to the "Country Gentleman" that he found that his nearest market, Detroit, had not yet become habituated to that luxurious diet. He makes this amusing comment: "Even though the automobile business has produced a large and ever-increasing class of wealthy men, their epicurean tastes seem to stop with gasoline. There are probably less than 300 families in Detroit who serve capon on their tables at regular intervals. The only demand is among the larger hotels. The supply is far greater than the demand." But at present high prices for market luxuries, a city that has three hundred families with the capon habit ought not to feel despondent.

Jules Verne's famous story, "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," a prophecy of the submarine, is to be dramatized for the movies. A submarine a hundred feet long, accommodating forty persons, has been built specially for the job. Under-se a pictures have been taken in large numbers, it is said, with this boat figuring as Captain Nemo's craft, in the vicinity of Jamaica. The actors who appear in the play are clothed in diving costumes and work at depths of from thirty to forty feet below the surface. It is reported that the submarine used in this work, the Nautilus, has been seized by British cruisers as a possible German Unterseeboot.

An interesting photograph showing the preparation of Indian relics for exhibition, published in The Outlook for September 27, was credited by mistake to the Museum of Natural History, New York City. It really represented work of the Museum of the American Indian, Heye Foundation. This museum, which will soon have a fine building of its own in New York, will house a mass of relics dealing with primitive man in North America, collected during many years by Mr. George G. Heye, of New York.