The Coal War

by Upton Sinclair

  [40]

  The fighting being over, there was nothing very pressing for Hal to do in Pedro, and Jessie was pleading with him to come away. He was so pale and thin, so utterly worn in body and mind; anyone could see that he was going to be ill if he did not rest. Surely they were entitled to a little happiness on their honeymoon!—So she lured him away, to a part of the mountains where there was no coal, but instead a beautifully appointed “camp”, with ladies and gentlemen in picturesque outing-costumes, seeking rainbow trout in crystal-clear torrents.

  But there came each day a newspaper, which could not be kept from Hal; so in a short while he was chafing, and they went back to Western City, where a struggle was developing about the Horton “massacre”—a struggle of publicity and politics. The killing of unarmed prisoners, the burning of helpless women and children, had accomplished this much at least—it had broken the conspiracy of silence of the great press association. There were meetings and demonstrations all over the country; telegrams of protest were pouring in upon the little cowboy Governor, and the big magazines were sending investigators—trained men of independence and conscience, who wanted to know, not merely about the events of that night of horror, but about the grievances which had caused a civil war. So here at last Hal had a chance to be heard; his friends the Minettis and John Edstrom and Louie the Greek had accomplished that much by their deaths!

  The young married couple went to stay with Hal’s father, who welcomed them with open arms; and the first thing Jessie did was to post off to fling herself into the crater of Vesuvius. That volcanic mountain had answered her telegram, casting her out forever. She had chosen her bed, let her lie in it; she had brought disgrace and shame upon her parents, she had brought their grey hairs in sorrow to the grave—and all the rest of the things that fathers say when they are disobeyed. Now Jessie stormed the house, rushing past poor helpless Horridge, who had orders not to admit her, and flinging her arms about her father’s neck and clinging there, sobbing as she had learned to sob for her purposes. And what could poor “Mr. Otter” do? What can any father do, who has brought up his favorite daughter to have everything in the world she wants, and discovers to his dismay that the thing she wants is a man whom he does not want?

  “Mr. Otter” did what all volcanos do—he rumbled and grumbled and emitted fumes. She had got her way, but she would live to rue it! That fellow would go on, he would drag her with him—next thing she would be in jail herself, and expecting her father to bail her out! Well, she might understand right away that he would not do it! He would have nothing to do with that young puppy! He had trouble enough already, with everybody he knew whispering and joking about his Socialist son-in-law! Every time the young scape-grace chose to get into the paper, it would be mentioned that his wife was the daughter of Robert Arthur, head of the hither-to respected banking-house!

  —Not more than a month later they were telling all over town a joke about this head of the hither-to respected banking-house. Perry White, president of the Red Mountain Coal Company, had come unannounced into his office, as a boyhood friend had a right to do, and had observed the old gentleman making a quick move to hide behind his coat-tails a book he had been reading. It would be a jolly lark to catch a leading citizen, father of half a dozen grown sons and daughters, indulging in the surreptitious reading of a French novel or a volume of risqué jokes; with this in mind Perry White seized the book and dragged it from its concealment. He could hardly believe his eyesight—a book about Socialism! For weeks thereafter old Mr. Arthur had no peace when he went to lunch at his club. In vain his protests that he had merely been trying to see what the young scape-grace was up to, to be able to answer his arguments! No, the subtle contagion would infect him, he would be convinced before he knew it; the city must prepare itself for the news that the head of the banking-house of Robert Arthur and Sons was wearing a red button, and distributing his dividends among “comrades” and “fellow-workers”!

  [41]

  The struggle of publicity and politics continued without abatement for months, and poor Jessie found to her despair that her husband was making himself as much a nuisance to the bankers and coal-operators of the city as if he were down in the strike-country with a gun. They were trying with all their resources to hush things up, and here was a young man of their own class, with their own prestige and sense of power, talking to magazine-writers and causing them to spread broad-cast his wild slanders against the state; speaking at mass-meetings, and working up hysterical women, so that they formed committees and plagued the lives out of politicians and newspaper editors! And this, just when a session of the legislature had to be held, to reimburse those who had paid the expenses of putting down an insurrection!

  This legislature was a smooth machine, carefully put together and thoroughly oiled by Peter Harrigan and his associates. There were a few men who could not be controlled, and these would make speeches; but then someone would move the “previous question”, and the machine would roll over the orators. There would be a bond issue of a million dollars, to reimburse the Clearing Association—thus saddling the state with an interest charge of fifty thousand dollars a year for all time. Also there would be a bill authorizing the state authorities to search homes and disarm citizens at any time—in flat violation of the constitutional guarantee of the right to bear arms. As a sop to the insurgents, there would be a committee to investigate the causes of the strike—which committee would never do anything. And then the Coal King’s legislature was ready to adjourn.

  The leaders of the militia had also a bit of important work cut out for them. They realized that the happenings at Horton left them in a dubious position in the eyes of the law. Might it not some day occur to a politician, anxious for the applause of the mob, to prosecute militia officers for the killing of unarmed prisoners? So the Judge-Advocate evolved a brilliant scheme. The law provided that no man should be twice placed in jeopardy of his life for the same offense; now let the militia proceed to court-martial its own officers and acquit them—thus making them forever immune!

  From which it may be realized that Major Cassels was a first-class lawyer, who earned the salary paid to him by the metalliferous mine-owners! The court-martial met with all military pomp and ceremony; it tried thirty-seven murderers in a bunch, putting through the proceedings with machine-like celerity. The only witnesses were officers and troopers—for of course the strikers refused to recognize this solemn farce. With one exception, the verdict was an absolute acquittal. In the case of Lieutenant Stangholz, who was charged with both assault and murder, he was acquitted on the latter charge, and on the former, that of assault, he was found guilty but innocent. Some lawyers might have thought this difficult, but not so a Judge-Advocate of Militia! The gun which Stangholz had broken over the head of Louie the Greek having been exhibited at the trial, the court-martial found the defendant “guilty of the facts as charged”, but declared that the court, by reason of the justification, “attached no criminality thereto”!

  Meantime in the Kingdom of Raymond a hand-picked grand jury of deputy-sheriffs and company employes was proceeding to vindicate the majesty of the law by bringing four hundred indictments against strikers and their leaders, nearly all of them for murder. These cases were to be prosecuted with vigor and were to drag on for a couple of years, costing the union hundreds of thousands of dollars. The most important case was that of John Harmon, who was accused of killing a mine-guard—not because anybody had ever seen John Harmon with a gun in his hand, or had ever heard him threaten this mine-guard, but because he had been in control of the strike, and therefore responsible for all that happened. Under such a theory of law, it was obvious that Peter Harrigan and his associates were guilty of the murder of the Horton victims; but you saw no grand juries proceeding to bring indictments against Peter Harrigan! To employ Hal’s metaphor, it was the bedraggled old harlot flaunting her shame upon the streets.

  [42]

  She flaunted it again in the case of Hal Warner
—this time not upon the street, but more decorously, in the private office of his brother. She came in one of her numerous disguises—the form of Judge Vagleman, grey-haired and impressive, yet genial, shrewd as an old fox—an advocate of rich men’s causes who had held his own in a world of fiercest competition. He had come now as a friend, a fellow member of St. George’s, moved by consideration and deep anxiety. Edward, being a man of the world, would understand that the chief counsel of the “G.F.C.” of necessity knew something of what was doing and planning in connection with the strike prosecutions; he knew and would say frankly that the case of Edward’s brother was giving great concern. The boy had killed several people; he made no bones about it, he went about telling everybody, and that put the authorities in a most awkward dilemma. It would be a scandal to indict for murder a member of one of the leading families; but on the other hand it was almost as much of a scandal not to indict him.

  Edward answered, as one man of the world to another—the Judge must realize that he had done everything in his power to restrain his brother, but in vain. What could the Judge suggest?

  The Judge answered that the boy ought to disappear for a while, until things blew over. He would be quite honest and admit that he had two motives in making the suggestion. The disturbance Hal was making was disagreeable to those in authority, and they naturally wanted to keep him quiet; but also it would be for Hal’s good, and the good of the family.

  Of course, Edward answered; he had been urging his brother to quit the state. Appie Harding had been urging it also. But the boy was courting martyrdom.

  The consequences might be very serious, said the Judge; and pretty soon Edward, as a man of the world, began to realize that there was more then friendship and church fellowship in this errand of Old Peter’s legal adviser. He had come to convey to the Warner family the definite threat that if Hal did not shut up, he was to be indicted for murder in the first degree, and that once the proceedings had started, they would go through to the bitter end.

  So it was necessary for Hal’s brother to stiffen his back somewhat. With the utmost tact, and in his best man of the world manner, he reminded the Judge that he, Edward, had come to know a good deal of the inside story of the strike, and it was a pretty rotten story; the boy had not a little cause for his indignation.

  “Of course,” said Vagleman, “I admit that a lot of the business has been raw as hell. But what can you do—with a bunch of anarchist labor leaders—”

  “I know,” replied Edward, “but none the less, there are laws, and if your side pays no attention to them, you can’t blame the other side for following suit. My point is that the boy has a case, and he’s managed to win over my father. You must understand that if he is indicted, the old gentleman will come to his defense; he’ll engage counsel and he’ll fight the case, not merely in the courts, but before the public. You know, he’s old and feeble, but he’s capable of being aroused, and he won’t consider his health, any more than Hal did. You must realize too that he knows an awful lot about Peter Harrigan’s affairs.”

  There was a still more awkward aspect of the matter which Edward had to mention—his wife. She had been completely convinced by the boy’s story, and it was all Edward could do to hold her back from day to day. If Hal was indicted and in danger of prison, she would go completely “off”. As the Judge knew, a woman could make the devil of a lot of talk.

  Of course, admitted Vagleman, tactfully; and he knew that Mrs. Warner was a very determined lady, not to be easily diverted from her course. —There was a gleam of a smile about the Judge’s lips, from which Edward divined that he had heard about the visit to the lair of the old Caliban-monster.

  It was not his wife alone, Edward made haste to add. There were a number of women who could make trouble. There had recently been organized a so-called “Fair Play Society”, and while its membership was not large as yet, there were some women among them whom even the “G.F.C.” must think twice before attacking: for example, the widow of the former Chief Justice of the state, the man who had written that grim prediction about the dragons’ teeth.

  The Judge admitted all that. He did not want any trouble; he was willing to go to any extreme to avoid it; but—and here he spoke with firm decision—the defiance of the law must cease, the authorities had made up their minds to it!

  Edward answered, as firmly as the Judge. If the defiance of law was to cease, he would suggest the first step. He had just seen a secret communication from the secret organization of the coal-operators of the state, pointing out that there was to be a general election in the fall, and that the one issue would be the coal-strike and its suppression. It was of vital importance that this election should result in a vindication of “Law and Order”, and so it had been voted that the membership should assess themselves the sum of five cents a ton for all coal mined during the year, so that the state might be made safe for the Republican ticket. Now, said Edward, no one knew better than Judge Vagleman that there existed a law against contributions to campaign funds by corporations, and the coal-operators who complied with that program of the association would each and every one be liable to five years in jail. It must further be pointed out that this was a Federal statute, not so easy for local interests to evade; the operators were in somewhat the same position as strikers who could fight the state militia, but had to give up when Federal troops came on the scene!

  —Edward said all this with his smoothest manner of man of the world; but he looked the old legal fox in the eye, and he made sure that the old legal fox was getting exactly what he meant. For that assessment fund of the coal-operators to do its work, it must be kept secret; if the public were to hear about it in advance, ten times the amount would not be enough to carry the election. So far, neither Hal nor Edward’s wife had got wind of the matter; but if it were a question of saving Hal from prison, why then the Judge must understand that some of Hal’s friends might give him a “tip”, and the criminal secret might be spread upon the front page of the Western City “Gazette”!

  The two friends and fellow church-members parted; and such was Hal Warner’s trial for murder! Hal never even knew about it. Edward, still in his role of man of the world, said nothing to his brother, but instead went to see Garrett Arthur, the “bond worm”, and caused him to convey to his youngest sister a harrowing picture of the imminence of hanging for her husband. So Jessie fled to her husband in hysterics, and made desperate attempts to persuade him to go back to Europe, to continue his studies of the Socialist and Syndicalist movements!

  [43]

  The Horton tent-colony was rebuilt, and the strikers settled down to a life of waiting. But Hal did not go back to live among them, for the work he had now to do could be better done in the city. Mary Burke and Mrs. Olson, Rovetta and Jack David were in charge, and kept him informed as to events. The Federal troops had been welcomed with music and flowers, just like the militia; but this time the confidence of the strikers was not so cruelly misplaced. Under the new regime there were no outrages, and hence no violence; the strike became a test of endurance between the coal-operators and their slaves—but with the conditions so arranged that only one outcome was possible. The strikers were deprived of their right to picket, and were not allowed near the depots; on the other hand the operators were allowed to bring in strike-breakers, provided they came “of their own initiative”—and of course it was a simple matter for such “initiative” to be provided.

  What this meant was that the power of the United States government was being used to hold down Peter Harrigan’s slaves while he starved them into submission. The President sent ambassadors and would-be mediators, to try to persuade Old Peter to make at least a pretense of concession; but Old Peter stood firm as a rock, he would make no pretense. So there began a struggle for the public opinion of the country—into which struggle Hal threw himself with fiery ardor. He wrote articles and leaflets, he addressed meetings of all sorts, he started a citizens’ league and a free speech association. One thing
at least all his clamor accomplished—it broke down the indifference to public sentiment which up to now had been the most conspicuous fact about the Harrigan regime. For the first time in history, Old Peter issued statements to the newspapers; as things got hotter yet, he was forced to set up a regular publicity-bureau—a sort of journalistic fire-department, to put out the flames of popular indignation. He had congressmen making speeches in Washington, he had judges and society-ladies running to plead his cause with the President. He sent General Wrightman to tour the state and defend the militia; he sent Major Cassels to tour the whole country on the same errand.

  Hal happened to be in Washington, having gone to see the President himself, when he heard that the Judge-Advocate was to speak in a church, and he went there and confronted his eminent legal friend, and gave him a most miserable half-hour. The kind of thing that Cassels was doing may be judged from his story of little Jennie Burke, who had testified under oath how she had laughed when General Wrightman fell from his horse, and how the General had mounted again and ridden her down and kicked her in the breast. Now, all over the country, at meetings of chambers of commerce and women’s clubs and church congregations, Major Cassels was giving a sample of the falsehoods told about the militia—a girl had sworn that General Wrightman had jumped from his horse and kicked her in the breast! Was it likely that a person as elderly as an Adjutant-General could kick that high? And the audiences would laugh—being impressed by the Judge-Advocate’s genial manner, as well as by his imposing title. What chance had they to find out about poor little Jennie, who was crippled for life, and might die of cancer in the end?