when the steel age walked across the ocean from europe a dilemma was created. the will and mentality were here; the labor was there. until then labor in american mills had been made up of british, irish, welsh, germans, swedes and, choicest of all, buckwheats, meaning young american brawn released from the farm by the advent of man-saving agricultural implements. the steel age widened the gap between brain and muscle. it required a higher kind of imagination at the top and a lower grade of labor below. there was no such labor here,—at least, nowhere near enough. hence an inpouring of hungarians, slavs, polacks and other inferior european types,—hairy, brutish, with slanting foreheads.
nobody thought of the consequences. nobody thought at all. the labor was needed. that was enough. there was no effort to americanize or assimilate it. there wasn’t time. it had to be fed raw to the howling new genie. it lived wretchedly in sore clusters from which americans averted their eyes. where it came from life was wretched, even worse, perhaps; but here were contrasts, no gendarmes, freedom of discontent, and a new weapon, which was the strike. these men, bred with sullen[328] anger in their blood, melancholy and neglected in a strange land, having no bond with the light, were easily moved to unite against the work bosses who symbolized tyranny anew. their impulse to violence was built upon by labor leaders and the steel industry became a battle ground. strikes were frequent, bloody and futile, save for their educational value, which was hard to see then and is not at all clear yet.
this was all in the way of business,—big business. we imported labor and exported steel. we flung slavs into our racial melting pot and sold rails and bridges in hungary. one can easily imagine an invisible force to have been at work, a blind force, perhaps. the centers of power were shifted in the world. greatness was achieved. the rest is hidden.
one advantage the breakspeare mills had was almost complete immunity from labor troubles. in every reign of terror destruction passed them by. for this there was thane to thank. he handled all labor problems. in disputes between the workers and the steel companies the question of wages was seldom the basic matter, even when it seemed to be. the trouble was much more subtle, or more simple, as you happen to see it, turning upon the ways and hungers of humanity. thane knew men, he knew what drudgery costs the soul and how little it takes beyond what is due to overcome its bitterness. he knew, besides, how and in what proportions to mix different kinds of men so that the characteristics of one kind would neutralize those of another kind by a sort of chemistry.
seven miles down the river from the agnes plant[329] had been built a magnificent new plate mill, called the wyoming steel works. it had every element of success save one. the manager had no way with labor. he was continually engaged in desperate struggles with the amalgamated unions and the plant for that reason had involved its new york owners in heavy loss. these troubles, becoming chronic, culminated in a strike that spread sympathetically over the whole eastern steel industry. at the agnes plant the men went out for the first time. they had no quarrel of their own. that was made very clear. but they felt obliged, as all other union workers did, to take up the quarrel of the men at the wyoming works and settle it for good; they would if necessary tie up every steel plant in the country in order to bring pressure to bear upon their arch enemy, the wyoming manager, to whose destruction they had made a vow.
not only did the strikers seize the wyoming works, as was the first step in hostilities; they took possession of the town that had grown up around the plant and organized themselves on a military basis. an advisory committee of workers declared martial law, mounted a siren on the town hall to give signals by a secret code, put sentinels around the works, around the town, up and down the river front, and held a mobile force of eight hundred hungarians, poles and slavs in readiness for battle at any point. no one could enter the town on an unfriendly errand. trains were not permitted to stop. the telegraph office was seized. the advisory committee announced that any attempt on the part of the owners to retake possession[330] of their property,—say nothing of trying to work it with non-union labor,—would mean an abundant spilling of blood.
this was the situation when thane received a telegram from john in new york, as follows:
“can buy wyoming steel works for a song. will close transaction at once if you will say labor trouble can be straightened out with the plant in our hands.”
almost without reflection thane answered:
“yes. go ahead.”
he had no doubt that the mere announcement of their having bought the works would end the violent phase of the strike. the rest would be a matter of peaceable negotiation. he might have made the announcement in pittsburgh. the strikers there would have communicated it fast enough. he might have telegraphed it to the advisory committee. he might have done it in one of several ways. but his natural way was to go himself and see to it. he knew the strike leaders; he talked their language. an hour after answering john’s telegram he was in a launch going down the river.
there had been no news from the scene of passion since the afternoon before. no one knew what was taking place in the wyoming steel works town.
in the night two barge loads of pinkerton men, recruited in philadelphia, had silently drifted down the river past pittsburgh. the manager was resolved to get possession of the plant by force. the plan was to land the pinkerton men before daylight on the river bank. once inside the works they could stand siege[331] until the state authorities could be persuaded to send the militia in. but the barges were sighted by the advisory committee’s sentinels a mile above the town. the siren blew an alarm. men, women and children tumbled out of bed. the armed battalion was rushed to receive the pinkerton men.
in the darkness a running fire was exchanged between the strikers on shore and the barges; however, the barges did land at the works and the leader of the pinkerton men signalled for a parley. he told the strikers he had come to take possession of the works and meant to do it. the strike leaders dared him to try. he did. he formed his men and started them off the barges. they were stopped by a volley from the slav battalion entrenched behind piles of steel in the yard,—and fled back to the barges. daylight came. the pinkerton men, unwilling to venture forth a second time, hoisted a white flag. the strikers scoffed at it and went on firing at the barges. they became discouraged. they could see the holes their shots made in the planks; they couldn’t be sure they were hitting the men inside. so they floated burning oil down the river and sent tanks of burning oil down the bank against the barges. that was ineffective. pinkerton men would not burn on earth. someone thought of dynamite. cases of it were brought, and the lightest of arm among the strikers calmly attached fuses to the sticks of dynamite, lighted them, and hurled them at the barges, like firecrackers. once in a while they made the target, tearing a great hole in the barge planking. then there would be a volley[332] of shots at the pinkerton men suddenly exposed. two cannons were brought. they were handled so awkwardly that they did little damage to the barges and took off one striker’s head. the use of dynamite increased. in some fashion the pinkerton men fought back. when a striker fell groans were heard. when a pinkerton man was hit cheers went up from the strikers and were repeated by the spectators,—women, children and noncombatants,—who gorged the spectacle from afar.
and that was what had been going on for hours when thane’s launch appeared, speeding down the middle of the river. he was steering it himself; his boatman lay flat on the bottom. having recognized him the sentinels above the town passed word down their line, so that the strikers at the works knew who he was before he had come within rifle range. firing ceased. he steered the boat in, shot it high on the bank, and stepped out.
at that instant there appeared from behind one of the steel piles the figure of frenzy personified. this was not a striker. it was one of those weak, an?mic creatures who are intoxicated by participation in the lusts and passions of others and go mad over matters that do not concern them. he was a clerk in a dry goods store and taught a sunday school class. it must be supposed that the cessation of firing made him think the strikers were weakening. he brandished a rifle, shrieking:
“citizens! there are the men who wreck our homes, assault our women, take away our bread. kill[333] them! kill them without mercy!” he was unnaturally articulate. “cowards!” he cried. “follow me!”
he levelled his rifle at the barges. the only man in sight was thane, walking up the bank. the insane neurotic fired and thane fell in a crumpled heap.
several men together leaped at the assassin and disarmed him. he disappeared.
thane was unconscious. there was no doctor, no ambulance. they took him to pittsburgh in the launch.
john arrived the next morning. he looked once at agnes and knew the worst.
thane lived through that day and into the night. shortly before he died he wished to be alone with john. they clasped hands and read each other in silence. once the doctor opened the door and softly closed it again. thane beckoned to john to bring his head nearer.
“take ... agnes,” he said. “that’s ... all ... everything.... let her ... come back ... now.”
only agnes knew when he died. at daylight the doctor went in and she was still holding his form in her arms.
