嘉莉妹妹 英文版 Sister Carrie
德莱塞 Theodore Dreiser
Chapter XLI Page 1
THE STRIKE
The barn at which Hurstwood applied was exceedingly short-handed,and was being operated practically by three men as directors.There were a lot of green hands around--queer, hungry-lookingmen, who looked as if want had driven them to desperate means.They tried to be lively and willing, but there was an air ofhang-dog diffidence about the place.
Hurstwood went back through the barns and out into a large,enclosed lot, where were a series of tracks and loops. A half-dozen cars were there, manned by instructors, each with a pupilat the lever. More pupils were waiting at one of the rear doorsof the barn.
In silence Hurstwood viewed this scene, and waited. Hiscompanions took his eye for a while, though they did not interesthim much more than the cars. They were an uncomfortable-lookinggang, however. One or two were very thin and lean. Several werequite stout. Several others were rawboned and sallow, as if theyhad been beaten upon by all sorts of rough weather.
"Did you see by the paper they are going to call out themilitia?" Hurstwood heard one of them remark.
"Oh, they'll do that," returned the other. "They always do."
"Think we're liable to have much trouble?" said another, whomHurstwood did not see.
"Not very."
"That Scotchman that went out on the last car," put in a voice,"told me that they hit him in the ear with a cinder."
A small, nervous laugh accompanied this.
"One of those fellows on the Fifth Avenue line must have had ahell of a time, according to the papers," drawled another. "Theybroke his car windows and pulled him off into the street 'forethe police could stop 'em."
"Yes; but there are more police around to-day," was added byanother.
Hurstwood hearkened without much mental comment. These talkersseemed scared to him. Their gabbling was feverish--things saidto quiet their own minds. He looked out into the yard andwaited.
Two of the men got around quite near him, but behind his back.They were rather social, and he listened to what they said.
"Are you a railroad man?" said one.
"Me? No. I've always worked in a paper factory."
"I had a job in Newark until last October," returned the other,with reciprocal feeling.
There were some words which passed too low to hear. Then theconversation became strong again.
"I don't blame these fellers for striking," said one. "They'vegot the right of it, all right, but I had to get something todo."
"Same here," said the other. "If I had any job in Newark Iwouldn't be over here takin' chances like these."
"It's hell these days, ain't it?" said the man. "A poor manain't nowhere. You could starve, by God, right in the streets,and there ain't most no one would help you."
"Right you are," said the other. "The job I had I lost 'causethey shut down. They run all summer and lay up a big stock, andthen shut down."
Hurstwood paid some little attention to this. Somehow, he felt alittle superior to these two--a little better off. To him thesewere ignorant and commonplace, poor sheep in a driver's hand.
"Poor devils," he thought, speaking out of the thoughts andfeelings of a bygone period of success."Next," said one of the instructors.
"You're next," said a neighbour, touching him.
He went out and climbed on the platform. The instructor took itfor granted that no preliminaries were needed.
"You see this handle," he said, reaching up to an electric cut-off, which was fastened to the roof. "This throws the currentoff or on. If you want to reverse the car you turn it over here.If you want to send it forward, you put it over here. If youwant to cut off the power, you keep it in the middle."
Hurstwood smiled at the simple information.
"Now, this handle here regulates your speed. To here," he said,pointing with his finger, "gives you about four miles an hour.This is eight. When it's full on, you make about fourteen milesan hour."
Hurstwood watched him calmly. He had seen motormen work before.He knew just about how they did it, and was sure he could do aswell, with a very little practice.
The instructor explained a few more details, and then said:
"Now, we'll back her up."
Hurstwood stood placidly by, while the car rolled back into theyard.
"One thing you want to be careful about, and that is to starteasy. Give one degree time to act before you start another. Theone fault of most men is that they always want to throw her wideopen. That's bad. It's dangerous, too. Wears out the motor.You don't want to do that."
"I see," said Hurstwood.
He waited and waited, while the man talked on.
"Now you take it," he said, finally.
The ex-manager laid hand to the lever and pushed it gently, as hethought. It worked much easier than he imagined, however, withthe result that the car jerked quickly forward, throwing him backagainst the door. He straightened up sheepishly, while theinstructor stopped the car with the brake.
"You want to be careful about that," was all he said.
Hurstwood found, however, that handling a brake and regulatingspeed were not so instantly mastered as he had imagined. Once ortwice he would have ploughed through the rear fence if it had notbeen for the hand and word of his companion. The latter wasrather patient with him, but he never smiled.
"You've got to get the knack of working both arms at once," hesaid. "It takes a little practice."
One o'clock came while he was still on the car practising, and hebegan to feel hungry. The day set in snowing, and he was cold.He grew weary of running to and fro on the short track.
After eating, he stood about as before, waiting until his turncame.
The intention was to give him an afternoon of practice, but thegreater part of the time was spent in waiting about.
At last evening came, and with it hunger and a debate withhimself as to how he should spend the night. It was half-pastfive. He must soon eat. If he tried to go home, it would takehim two hours and a half of cold walking and riding. Besides hehad orders to report at seven the next morning, and going homewould necessitate his rising at an unholy and disagreeable hour.He had only something like a dollar and fifteen cents of Carrie'smoney, with which he had intended to pay the two weeks' coal billbefore the present idea struck him.
"They must have some place around here," he thought. "Where doesthat fellow from Newark stay?"
Finally he decided to ask. There was a young fellow standingnear one of the doors in the cold, waiting a last turn. He was amere boy in years--twenty-one about--but with a body lank andlong, because of privation. A little good living would have madethis youth plump and swaggering.
"How do they arrange this, if a man hasn't any money?" inquiredHurstwood, discreetly.
The fellow turned a keen, watchful face on the inquirer.
"You mean eat?" he replied.
"Yes, and sleep. I can't go back to New York to-night."
"The foreman 'll fix that if you ask him, I guess. He did me."
Scab!"replied Hurstwood.
"That so?"
"Yes. I just told him I didn't have anything. Gee, I couldn'tgo home. I live way over in Hoboken."
Hurstwood only cleared his throat by way of acknowledgment.
"They've got a place upstairs here, I understand. I don't knowwhat sort of a thing it is. Purty tough, I guess. He gave me ameal ticket this noon. I know that wasn't much."
Hurstwood smiled grimly, and the boy laughed.
"It ain't no fun, is it?" he inquired, wishing vainly for acheery reply.
"Not much," answered Hurstwood.
"I'd tackle him now," volunteered the youth. "He may go 'way."
Hurstwood did so.
"Isn't there some place I can stay around here to-night?" heinquired. "If I have to go back to New York, I'm afraid I won't"
"There're some cots upstairs," interrupted the man, "if you wantone of them."
"That'll do," he assented.
He meant to ask for a meal ticket, but the seemingly propermoment never came, and he decided to pay himself that night.
"I'll ask him in the morning."
He ate in a cheap restaurant in the vicinity, and, being cold andlonely, went straight off to seek the loft in question. Thecompany was not attempting to run cars after nightfall. It wasso advised by the police.
The room seemed to have been a lounging place for night workers.There were some nine cots in the place, two or three woodenchairs, a soap box, and a small, round-bellied stove, in which afire was blazing. Early as he was, another man was there beforehim. The latter was sitting beside the stove warming his hands.
Hurstwood approached and held out his own toward the fire. Hewas sick of the bareness and privation of all things connectedwith his venture, but was steeling himself to hold out. Hefancied he could for a while.
"Cold, isn't it?" said the early guest.
of the officers. "
"Rather."
A long silence.
"Not much of a place to sleep in, is it?" said the man.
"Better than nothing," replied Hurstwood.
Another silence.
"I believe I'll turn in," said the man.
Rising, he went to one of the cots and stretched himself,removing only his shoes, and pulling the one blanket and dirtyold comforter over him in a sort of bundle. The sight disgustedHurstwood, but he did not dwell on it, choosing to gaze into thestove and think of something else. Presently he decided toretire, and picked a cot, also removing his shoes.
While he was doing so, the youth who had advised him to come hereentered, and, seeing Hurstwood, tried to be genial.
"Better'n nothin'," he observed, looking around.
Hurstwood did not take this to himself. He thought it to be anexpression of individual satisfaction, and so did not answer.The youth imagined he was out of sorts, and set to whistlingsoftly. Seeing another man asleep, he quit that and lapsed intosilence.
Hurstwood made the best of a bad lot by keeping on his clothesand pushing away the dirty covering from his head, but at last hedozed in sheer weariness. The covering became more and morecomfortable, its character was forgotten, and he pulled it abouthis neck and slept.In the morning he was aroused out of a pleasant dream by severalmen stirring about in the cold, cheerless room. He had been backin Chicago in fancy, in his own comfortable home. Jessica hadbeen arranging to go somewhere, and he had been talking with herabout it. This was so clear in his mind, that he was startlednow by the contrast of this room. He raised his head, and thecold, bitter reality jarred him into wakefulness.
"Guess I'd better get up," he said.
There was no water on this floor. He put on his shoes in thecold and stood up, shaking himself in his stiffness. His clothesfelt disagreeable, his hair bad.
"Hell!" he muttered, as he put on his hat.
Downstairs things were stirring again.
He found a hydrant, with a trough which had once been used forhorses, but there was no towel here, and his handkerchief wassoiled from yesterday. He contented himself with wetting hiseyes with the ice-cold water. Then he sought the foreman, whowas already on the ground.
"Had your breakfast yet?" inquired that worthy.
"No," said Hurstwood.
"Better get it, then; your car won't be ready for a littlewhile."
things were stirring.
Hurstwood hesitated.
"Could you let me have a meal ticket?" he asked with an effort.
"Here you are," said the man, handing him one.
He breakfasted as poorly as the night before on some fried steakand bad coffee. Then he went back.
"Here," said the foreman, motioning him, when he came in. "Youtake this car out in a few minutes."
Hurstwood climbed up on the platform in the gloomy barn andwaited for a signal. He was nervous, and yet the thing was arelief. Anything was better than the barn.
On this the fourth day of the strike, the situation had taken aturn for the worse. The strikers, following the counsel of theirleaders and the newspapers, had struggled peaceably enough.There had been no great violence done. Cars had been stopped, itis true, and the men argued with. Some crews had been won overand led away, some windows broken, some jeering and yelling done;but in no more than five or six instances had men been seriouslyinjured. These by crowds whose acts the leaders disclaimed.
Idleness, however, and the sight of the company, backed by thepolice, triumphing, angered the men. They saw that each day morecars were going on, each day more declarations were being made bythe company officials that the effective opposition of thestrikers was broken. This put desperate thoughts in the minds ofthe men. Peaceful methods meant, they saw, that the companieswould soon run all their cars and those who had complained wouldbe forgotten. There was nothing so helpful to the companies aspeaceful methods.All at once they blazed forth, and for a week there was storm andstress. Cars were assailed, men attacked, policemen struggledwith, tracks torn up, and shots fired, until at last streetfights and mob movements became frequent, and the city wasinvested with militia.
Hurstwood knew nothing of the change of temper.
"Run your car out," called the foreman, waving a vigorous hand athim. A green conductor jumped up behind and rang the bell twiceas a signal to start. Hurstwood turned the lever and ran the carout through the door into the street in front of the barn. Heretwo brawny policemen got up beside him on the platform--one oneither hand.
At the sound of a gong near the barn door, two bells were givenby the conductor and Hurstwood opened his lever.
The two policemen looked about them calmly.
"'Tis cold, all right, this morning," said the one on the left,who possessed a rich brogue.
"I had enough of it yesterday," said the other. "I wouldn't wanta steady job of this."
"Nor I."
Neither paid the slightest attention to Hurstwood, who stoodfacing the cold wind, which was chilling him completely, andthinking of his orders.
"Keep a steady gait," the foreman had said. "Don't stop for anyone who doesn't look like a real passenger. Whatever you do,don't stop for a crowd."
The two officers kept silent for a few moments.
"The last man must have gone through all right," said the officeron the left. "I don't see his car anywhere."
"Who's on there?" asked the second officer, referring, of course,to its complement of policemen.
"Schaeffer and Ryan."
There was another silence, in which the car ran smoothly along.There were not so many houses along this part of the way.Hurstwood did not see many people either. The situation was notwholly disagreeable to him. If he were not so cold, he thoughthe would do well enough.
He was brought out of this feeling by the sudden appearance of acurve ahead, which he had not expected. He shut off the currentand did an energetic turn at the brake, but not in time to avoidan unnaturally quick turn. It shook him up and made him feellike making some apologetic remarks, but he refrained.
"You want to look out for them things," said the officer on theleft, condescendingly.
"That's right," agreed Hurstwood, shamefacedly.
"There's lots of them on this line," said the officer on theright.Around the corner a more populated way appeared. One or twopedestrians were in view ahead. A boy coming out of a gate witha tin milk bucket gave Hurstwood his first objectionablegreeting.
"Scab!" he yelled. "Scab!"
Hurstwood heard it, but tried to make no comment, even tohimself. He knew he would get that, and much more of the samesort, probably.
At a corner farther up a man stood by the track and signalled thecar to stop.
"Never mind him," said one of the officers. "He's up to somegame."
Hurstwood obeyed. At the corner he saw the wisdom of it. Nosooner did the man perceive the intention to ignore him, than heshook his fist.
"Ah, you bloody coward!" he yelled.
Some half dozen men, standing on the corner, flung taunts andjeers after the speeding car.
Hurstwood winced the least bit. The real thing was slightlyworse than the thoughts of it had been.
Now came in sight, three or four blocks farther on, a heap ofsomething on the track.
"They've been at work, here, all right," said one of thepolicemen.
"We'll have an argument, maybe," said the other.
Hurstwood ran the car close and stopped. He had not done sowholly, however, before a crowd gathered about. It was composedof ex-motormen and conductors in part, with a sprinkling offriends and sympathisers.
"Come off the car, pardner," said one of the men in a voice meantto be conciliatory. "You don't want to take the bread out ofanother man's mouth, do you?"
Hurstwood held to his brake and lever, pale and very uncertainwhat to do.
"Stand back," yelled one of the officers, leaning over theplatform railing. "Clear out of this, now. Give the man achance to do his work."
"Listen, pardner," said the leader, ignoring the policeman andaddressing Hurstwood. "We're all working men, like yourself. Ifyou were a regular motorman, and had been treated as we've been,you wouldn't want any one to come in and take your place, wouldyou? You wouldn't want any one to do you out of your chance toget your rights, would you?"
"Shut her off! shut her off!" urged the other of the policemen,roughly. "Get out of this, now," and he jumped the railing andlanded before the crowd and began shoving. Instantly the otherofficer was down beside him.
"Stand back, now," they yelled. "Get out of this. What the helldo you mean? Out, now."
It was like a small swarm of bees.
"Don't shove me," said one of the strikers, determinedly. "I'mnot doing anything."
"Get out of this!" cried the officer, swinging his club. "I'llgive ye a bat on the sconce. Back, now."
"What the hell!" cried another of the strikers, pushing the otherway, adding at the same time some lusty oaths.
Crack came an officer's club on his forehead. He blinked hiseyes blindly a few times, wabbled on his legs, threw up hishands, and staggered back. In return, a swift fist landed on theofficer's neck.
Infuriated by this, the latter plunged left and right, layingabout madly with his club. He was ably assisted by his brotherof the blue, who poured ponderous oaths upon the troubled waters.No severe damage was done, owing to the agility of the strikersin keeping out of reach. They stood about the sidewalk now andjeered.
"Where is the conductor?" yelled one of the officers, getting hiseye on that individual, who had come nervously forward to standby Hurstwood. The latter had stood gazing upon the scene withmore astonishment than fear.
"Why don't you come down here and get these stones off thetrack?" inquired the officer. "What you standing there for? Doyou want to stay here all day? Get down."