the iron puddler-第17部分
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time。 And when we saw the landlady's carving knife we forgot whatever else was on our minds。 This woman was a real peacemaker。 She not only wanted peace； she knew how to get it。 Such things afford us lessons that are useful all our lives。 This woman had learned by sad experience that healthy men will quarrel and thump each other； that these fights put men in the hospital； after breaking her dishes and splattering her tablecloths with blood。 Hating bloodshed； she prevented it by being ever ready to shed blood herself。 She stood for the moral law； but she stood armed and ready。
Impractical men have told me that right will always triumph of itself； it needs no fighters to support it。 The man who believes that is ignorant； and such ignorance is dangerous。 Right is always trampled down when no fighter upholds it。 But men will fight for right who will not fight for wrong。 And so right conquers wrong because right has the most defenders。 Let no man shirk the battle because he thinks he isn't needed。
The reason a woman with a carving knife was strong enough to put a stop to fighting in the Greasy Spoon was this： she had behind her every man except the two who were fighting。 Had either of those men struck down the woman； then twenty other men； outraged by such a deed； would then and there have swarmed upon the two and crushed them。 The woman stood for right and she always triumphed because she had （and these two knew she had） the biggest bunch of fighters on her side。
This is what peace means； an equilibrium between forces。 It is the natural law；God's way of keeping peace。 And any plan for World Peace that is builded not upon this law is nothing。 Justice must stand with an upraised sword。 When two states quarrel she must admonish them； and let them know that should they overthrow her； all good nations would rush in and crush them。 The same law that keeps peace in a rowdy boarding…house will keep the peace of the world。 For what is this world but a big wide boarding…house； and all the nations rough and greedy grabbers at the table？
I left the Greasy Spoon and went to the 〃Pie Boarding…House。〃 The Greasy Spoon had peace； but peace is not enough。 After peace comes prosperity。 The Pie House represented prosperity。 For the woman who ran it knew how to make more pies than the fellows ever heard of。 You see； we were all from the British Isles where they have pudding。 The pie is an American institution。 Nobody knows how to make pies but an American housewife。 And lucky that she does； for men can not thrive in America without pie。 I do not mean the standardized； tasteless things made in great pie factories。 I refer to the personally conducted pies that women used to make。 The pioneer wives of America learned to make a pie out of every fruit that grows； including lemons； and from many vegetables； including squash and sweet potatoes； as well as from vinegar and milk and eggs and flour。 Fed on these good pies the pioneersis there any significance in the first syllable of the wordhewed down the woods and laid the continent under the plow。 Some men got killed and their widows started boarding…houses。 Here we workers fed on proper pie； and we soon changed this wooden land into a land of iron。 Now the pie is passing out and we are feeding on French pastry。 Is our downfall at hand？
Life in the Pie Boarding…House was a never…ending delight。 You never knew when you sat down at the table what kind of pie would be dealt you。 Some of the fellows had been there half a year and swore that they had seen fifty…seven varieties and were expecting new ones at any meal。 The crowd here was a selected crowd。 It was made up of the pie connoisseurs of mill…town。 Word was quietly passed out among the wisest fellows to move to this boarding… house and get a liberal education in pie。 So it was a selected and well…behaved crowd。 They didn't want to start any rumpus and thus lose their places at this attractive table。
And that is one way that virtue is its own reward。 Only the well…behaved fellows were tipped off to the pie bonanza。 From this I learned that the better manners you have； the better fare you will get in this world。 I had steadily risen from the 〃Bucket of Blood；〃 through the 〃Greasy Spoon〃 to a seat at the cherished 〃Pie〃 table。 Here the cups were so thin that you couldn't break a man's head with them。 I was steadily rising in the social world。
CHAPTER XXVIII
CAUGHT IN A SOUTHERN PEONAGE CAMP
It was while I was in Birmingham that the industrial depression reached rock bottom。 In the depth of this industrial paralysis the iron workers of Birmingham struck for better pay。 I； with a train load of other strikers； went to Louisiana and the whole bunch of us were practically forced into peonage。 It was a case of 〃out of the frying pan into the fire。〃 We had been saying that the mill owners had driven us 〃into slavery；〃 for they had made us work under bad conditions； but after a month in a peon camp； deep in the swamps of Louisiana； we knew more about slavery than we did before。 And we knew that work in the rolling mills； bad as it was； was better than forced labor without pay。 To…day when I hear orators rolling out the word 〃slavery〃 in connection with American wages and working conditions； I have to laugh。 For any man who has ever had a taste of peonage； to say nothing of slavery； knows that the wage system is not real slavery； it's not the genuine； lash…driven； bloodhound…hunted； swamp…sick African slavery。 None is genuine without Simon Legree and the Louisiana bloodhounds。 The silk…socked wage slave； toiling eight hours for six dollars； is not the genuine old New Orleans molasses slave。 He may carry a band and give a daily street parade； but if he's not accompanied by Simon Legree and the bloodhounds； he is not a genuine Uncle Tom； his slavery is less than skin deep。 You can't fool me。 I know what real slavery is。 I know as much about slavery as the man that made it。 He's the guy that taught me。 I worked under Simon Legree in Louisiana。
On the way to New Orleans we paused at a siding； and a native asked me； 〃Who are all them men； and which way are they goin'？〃
I told him 〃which way〃 we were going； and that we were needing jobs。 He replied：
〃You…all are comin' down hyah now looking for food and work。 In '65 you was down hyah lookin' fo' blood！〃
When we reached the great city on the Mississippi； we scattered over the town looking for jobs。 I saw a pile of coal in the street before a boarding…house。 I asked for the job of carrying in the coal。 There were two tons of it。 I toted it in and was paid a dollar。 New Orleans was a popular winter resort where northerners came to escape the severe cold of the North Atlantic States。 I was given the job of yard…man in this boarding…house。 I carried in groceries； peeled potatoes； scrubbed the kitchen floor and built fires each evening in the guests' rooms。 Each room had a grate； and I carried up kindling and coal for all of them。 For this work I received a dollar a day； with two meals （dinner and supper） and was permitted to carry away from the kitchen all the cooked food that remained after the guests had eaten。 This privilege had grown out of the custom of the colored help in the South having their 〃man〃 to feed。 I had several men to feed。 My 〃gang〃 was still looking for work and not finding any。 Times were desperate。 For five cents a man could get a glass of beer and floor room to sleep on in a lodging…house for homeless men。 This was called a 〃Five Cent Flop〃 house。 My pals were not able at times to raise the five cents a day to buy sleeping quarters。 It was late fall and too cold to sleep in the 〃jungle〃 down by the levee。 The poor fellows were able to stave off starvation by visiting various free lunches during the day。 Every night I arrived with my dollar； and that meant beer and beds for a score。 I also brought along a flour sack half full of biscuits； cold pancakes； corn bread； chicken necks and wings and scraps of roasts and steaks。 These hungry men； with their schooners of beer； made a feast of these scraps。 My loyalty in coming every night and giving them everything I could scrape together touched them deeply。 They regarded me as deserving special honor； and while they believed in democracy as a general proposition； they voted that it would be carrying equality too far if they permitted me to get no more out of my work than all the rest got。 So they decided that I was to have a fifteen…cent bed each night instead of a five…cent flop with the rest of them。 And I was assigned to the royal suite of that flop house； which consisted of a cot with a mosquito bar over it。
At this time they were holding 〃kangaroo〃 court in the New Orleans jail。 Every vagrant picked up by the police was tried and sentenced and shipped out to a chain…gang camp。 Nearly every man tried was convicted。 And there were plenty of camp bosses ready to 〃buy〃 every vagrant the officers could run in。 My bunch down at the flop house was in deadly terror of being 〃kangarooed〃 and sent to a peon camp in the rice swamps。
One day when I was renewing the fuel in the room of a Mrs。 Hubbard from Pittsburgh； I found no one in the apartment and Mrs。 Hubbard's pearls and other jewels lying on the dresser。 Immediately I was te
