Burning Daylight

by Jack London

  CHAPTER VII

  Not being favored by chance in getting acquainted with Dede Mason,Daylight's interest in her slowly waned. This was but natural, for hewas plunged deep in hazardous operations, and the fascinations of thegame and the magnitude of it accounted for all the energy that even hismagnificent organism could generate.

  Such was his absorption that the pretty stenographer slowly andimperceptibly faded from the forefront of his consciousness. Thus, thefirst faint spur, in the best sense, of his need for woman ceased toprod. So far as Dede Mason was concerned, he possessed no more than acomplacent feeling of satisfaction in that he had a very nicestenographer. And, completely to put the quietus on any last lingeringhopes he might have had of her, he was in the thick of his spectacularand intensely bitter fight with the Coastwise Steam Navigation Company,and the Hawaiian, Nicaraguan, and Pacific-Mexican Steamship-Company.He stirred up a bigger muss than he had anticipated, and even he wasastounded at the wide ramifications of the struggle and at theunexpected and incongruous interests that were drawn into it. Everynewspaper in San Francisco turned upon him. It was true, one or two ofthem had first intimated that they were open to subsidization, butDaylight's judgment was that the situation did not warrant suchexpenditure. Up to this time the press had been amusingly tolerant andgood-naturedly sensational about him, but now he was to learn whatvirulent scrupulousness an antagonized press was capable of. Everyepisode of his life was resurrected to serve as foundations formalicious fabrications. Daylight was frankly amazed at the newinterpretation put upon all he had accomplished and the deeds he haddone. From an Alaskan hero he was metamorphosed into an Alaskan bully,liar, desperado, and all around "bad Man." Not content with this, liesupon lies, out of whole cloth, were manufactured about him. He neverreplied, though once he went to the extent of disburdening his mind tohalf a dozen reporters. "Do your damnedest," he told them. "BurningDaylight's bucked bigger things than your dirty, lying sheets. And Idon't blame you, boys... that is, not much. You can't help it. You'vegot to live. There's a mighty lot of women in this world that maketheir living in similar fashion to yours, because they're not able todo anything better. Somebody's got to do the dirty work, and it mightas well be you. You're paid for it, and you ain't got the backbone torustle cleaner jobs."

  The socialist press of the city jubilantly exploited this utterance,scattering it broadcast over San Francisco in tens of thousands ofpaper dodgers. And the journalists, stung to the quick, retaliatedwith the only means in their power-printer's ink abuse. The attackbecame bitterer than ever. The whole affair sank to the deeper deepsof rancor and savageness. The poor woman who had killed herself wasdragged out of her grave and paraded on thousands of reams of paper asa martyr and a victim to Daylight's ferocious brutality. Staid,statistical articles were published, proving that he had made his startby robbing poor miners of their claims, and that the capstone to hisfortune had been put in place by his treacherous violation of faithwith the Guggenhammers in the deal on Ophir. And there were editorialswritten in which he was called an enemy of society, possessed of themanners and culture of a caveman, a fomenter of wasteful businesstroubles, the destroyer of the city's prosperity in commerce and trade,an anarchist of dire menace; and one editorial gravely recommended thathanging would be a lesson to him and his ilk, and concluded with thefervent hope that some day his big motor-car would smash up and smashhim with it.

  He was like a big bear raiding a bee-hive and, regardless of thestings, he obstinately persisted in pawing for the honey. He grittedhis teeth and struck back. Beginning with a raid on two steamshipcompanies, it developed into a pitched battle with a city, a state, anda continental coastline. Very well; they wanted fight, and they wouldget it. It was what he wanted, and he felt justified in having comedown from the Klondike, for here he was gambling at a bigger table thanever the Yukon had supplied. Allied with him, on a splendid salary,with princely pickings thrown in, was a lawyer, Larry Hegan, a youngIrishman with a reputation to make, and whose peculiar genius had beenunrecognized until Daylight picked up with him. Hegan had Celticimagination and daring, and to such degree that Daylight's cooler headwas necessary as a check on his wilder visions. Hegan's was aNapoleonic legal mind, without balance, and it was just this balancethat Daylight supplied. Alone, the Irishman was doomed to failure, butdirected by Daylight, he was on the highroad to fortune andrecognition. Also, he was possessed of no more personal or civicconscience than Napoleon.

  It was Hegan who guided Daylight through the intricacies of modernpolitics, labor organization, and commercial and corporation law. Itwas Hegan, prolific of resource and suggestion, who opened Daylight'seyes to undreamed possibilities in twentieth-century warfare; and itwas Daylight, rejecting, accepting, and elaborating, who planned thecampaigns and prosecuted them. With the Pacific coast from PeugeotSound to Panama, buzzing and humming, and with San Francisco furiouslyabout his ears, the two big steamship companies had all the appearanceof winning. It looked as if Burning Daylight was being beaten slowlyto his knees. And then he struck--at the steamship companies, at SanFrancisco, at the whole Pacific coast.

  It was not much of a blow at first. A Christian Endeavor conventionbeing held in San Francisco, a row was started by Express Drivers'Union No. 927 over the handling of a small heap of baggage at the FerryBuilding. A few heads were broken, a score of arrests made, and thebaggage was delivered. No one would have guessed that behind thispetty wrangle was the fine Irish hand of Hegan, made potent by theKlondike gold of Burning Daylight. It was an insignificant affair atbest--or so it seemed. But the Teamsters' Union took up the quarrel,backed by the whole Water Front Federation. Step by step, the strikebecame involved. A refusal of cooks and waiters to serve scabteamsters or teamsters' employers brought out the cooks and waiters.The butchers and meat-cutters refused to handle meat destined forunfair restaurants. The combined Employers' Associations put up asolid front, and found facing them the 40,000 organized laborers of SanFrancisco. The restaurant bakers and the bakery wagon drivers struck,followed by the milkers, milk drivers, and chicken pickers. Thebuilding trades asserted its position in unambiguous terms, and all SanFrancisco was in turmoil.

  But still, it was only San Francisco. Hegan's intrigues were masterly,and Daylight's campaign steadily developed. The powerful fightingorganization known as the Pacific Slope Seaman's Union refused to workvessels the cargoes of which were to be handled by scab longshoremenand freight-handlers. The union presented its ultimatum, and thencalled a strike. This had been Daylight's objective all the time.Every incoming coastwise vessel was boarded by the union officials andits crew sent ashore. And with the Seamen went the firemen, theengineers, and the sea cooks and waiters. Daily the number of idlesteamers increased. It was impossible to get scab crews, for the menof the Seaman's Union were fighters trained in the hard school of thesea, and when they went out it meant blood and death to scabs. Thisphase of the strike spread up and down the entire Pacific coast, untilall the ports were filled with idle ships, and sea transportation wasat a standstill. The days and weeks dragged out, and the strike held.The Coastwise Steam Navigation Company, and the Hawaiian, Nicaraguan,and Pacific-Mexican Steamship Company were tied up completely. Theexpenses of combating the strike were tremendous, and they were earningnothing, while daily the situation went from bad to worse, until "peaceat any price" became the cry. And still there was no peace, untilDaylight and his allies played out their hand, raked in the winnings,and allowed a goodly portion of a continent to resume business.

  It was noted, in following years, that several leaders of workmen builtthemselves houses and blocks of renting flats and took trips to the oldcountries, while, more immediately, other leaders and "dark horses"came to political preferment and the control of the municipalgovernment and the municipal moneys. In fact, San Francisco'sboss-ridden condition was due in greater degree to Daylight'swidespreading battle than even San Francisco ever dreamed. For thepart he had played, the details of which
were practically all rumor andguesswork, quickly leaked out, and in consequence he became amuch-execrated and well-hated man. Nor had Daylight himself dreamedthat his raid on the steamship companies would have grown to suchcolossal proportions.

  But he had got what he was after. He had played an exciting hand andwon, beating the steamship companies down into the dust and mercilesslyrobbing the stockholders by perfectly legal methods before he let go.Of course, in addition to the large sums of money he had paid over, hisallies had rewarded themselves by gobbling the advantages which laterenabled them to loot the city. His alliance with a gang of cutthroatshad brought about a lot of cutthroating. But his conscience sufferedno twinges. He remembered what he had once heard an old preacherutter, namely, that they who rose by the sword perished by the sword.One took his chances when he played with cutting throats, and his,Daylight's, throat was still intact. That was it! And he had won. Itwas all gamble and war between the strong men. The fools did notcount. They were always getting hurt; and that they always had beengetting hurt was the conclusion he drew from what little he knew ofhistory. San Francisco had wanted war, and he had given it war. Itwas the game. All the big fellows did the same, and they did muchworse, too.

  "Don't talk to me about morality and civic duty," he replied to apersistent interviewer. "If you quit your job tomorrow and went towork on another paper, you would write just what you were told towrite. It's morality and civic duty now with you; on the new job itwould be backing up a thieving railroad with... morality and civicduty, I suppose. Your price, my son, is just about thirty per week.That's what you sell for. But your paper would sell for a bit more.Pay its price to-day, and it would shift its present rotten policy tosome other rotten policy; but it would never let up on morality andcivic duty.

  "And all because a sucker is born every minute. So long as the peoplestand for it, they'll get it good and plenty, my son. And theshareholders and business interests might as well shut up squawkingabout how much they've been hurt. You never hear ary squeal out ofthem when they've got the other fellow down and are gouging him. Thisis the time THEY got gouged, and that's all there is to it. Talk aboutmollycoddles! Son, those same fellows would steal crusts from starvingmen and pull gold fillings from the mouths of corpses, yep, and squawklike Sam Scratch if some blamed corpse hit back. They're all tarredwith the same brush, little and big. Look at your Sugar Trust--withall its millions stealing water like a common thief from New York City,and short-weighing the government on its phoney scales. Morality andcivic duty! Son, forget it."