Book two, sections twenty-one through twenty-three, of King Cole. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. King Cole by Upton Sinclair. Book two, the Serfs of King Cole. Section twenty-one. The Marshal went out, and a few moments later the jailer came back, with a meal which presented a surprising contrast to the ones he had previously served. There was a tray containing cold ham, a couple of soft-boiled eggs, some potato salad, and a cup of coffee with rolls and butter. "'Well, well,' said Hal, condescendingly, that's even nicer than beefsteak and mashed potatoes. He sat and watched, not offering to help, while the other made room for the tray on the table in front of him. Then the man stalked out, and Hal began to eat. Before he had finished, the camp Marshal returned. He seated himself in his revolving chair, and appeared to be meditative. Between bites, Hal would look up and smile at him. "'Cotton,' said he, "'you know there is no more certain test of breeding than table manners. You will observe that I have not tucked my napkin in my neck, as Alec Stone would have done.' "'I'm getting you,' replied the Marshal. Hal said his knife and fork side by side on his plate. "'Your man has overlooked the finger-bowl,' he remarked. "'However, don't bother. You might ring for him now and let him take the tray.' The camp Marshal used his voice for a bell, and the jailer came. "'Unfortunately,' said Hal, "'when your people were searching me night before last, they dropped my purse, so I have no tip for the waiter.' The waiter glared at Hal as if he would like to bite him, but the camp Marshal grinned.  Then Hal stretched his legs and made himself comfortable again. "'I must say I like being your guest better than being your prisoner.' There was a pause. "'I've been talking it over with Mr. Cartwright,' began the Marshal.  You may be some new-fangled kind of agitator, but I'm damned if I ever saw an agitator that had tea-party manners. I suppose you've been brought up to money. But if that's so, why you want to do this kind of thing is more than I can imagine.' "'Tell me, Cotton,' said Hal. "'Did you never hear of on-we?' "'Yes,' replied the other. "'But aren't you rather young to be troubled with that complaint?' "'Suppose I've seen others suffering from it and wanted to try a different way of living from theirs.  "'Then, unexpectedly, with a spirit which only moonlit campuses "'and privilege could beget, he chanted, "'O King Cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he.  "'And Hal sang again, "'O Liza, and come out with me. "'The moon is shining in the monkey-puzzle tree, "'O Liza, and I have begun to sing you the song of Harrigan.' "'Well, well,' commented the Marshal, when the concert was over. "'Are there many more like you at Harrigan? "'A little group, enough to leaven the lump. "'And this is your idea of a vacation?' "'No, it isn't a vacation. "'It's a summer course in practical sociology.' "'Oh, I see,' said the Marshal, and he smiled in spite of himself. "'All last year we let the professors of political economy "'hand out their theories to us. "'But somehow the theories didn't seem to correspond with the facts. "'I said to myself, I've got to check them up. "'You know the phrases, perhaps, individualism, "'less a fare, freedom of contract, "'the right of every man to work for whom he pleases. "'And here you see how the theories work out.  "'He rose to his feet to cut matters short. "'If you don't mind, young man,' said he, "'we'll get down to business.' "'End of section twenty-one.' "'Section twenty-two.' He took a turn about the room, then he came and stopped in front of Howe. He stood with his hands thrust into his pockets, with a certain jaunty grace that was out of keeping with his occupation. He was a handsome devil, Howe thought, in spite of his dangerous mouth and the marks of dissipation on him. "'Young man,' he began, with another effort at geniality. "'I don't know who you are, but you're wide awake.   Howe had been studying the other's careful smile. "'Cotton,' he said, at last, "'let me get the proposition clear. I don't have to say I took that money.' "'No, we'll let you off from that.' "'And you won't send me to the pen?' "'No, I never meant to do that, of course. I was only trying to bluff you. All I ask is that you clear out and give our people a chance to forget.' "'But what's there in that for me, Cotton? If I had wanted to run away, I could have done it any time during the last eight or ten weeks.' "'Yes, of course, but now it's different. Now it's a matter of my consideration.' "'Cut out the consideration,' exclaimed Howe. "'You want to get rid of me, and you'd like to do it without trouble. But you can't. You forget it.' The other was staring, puzzled. "'You mean you expect to stay here?' "'I mean just that.' "'Young man, I've had enough of this. I've got no more time to play. I don't care who you are. I don't care about your threats. I'm the marshal of this camp, and I have the job of keeping order in it. I say you're going to get out.' "'But Cotton,' said Howe, "'this is an incorporated town. I have a right to walk on the streets, exactly as much right as you. I'm not going to waste time arguing. I'm going to put you into an automobile and take you down to Pedro.  He'll laugh at you. And suppose I go to the governor of the state. He'll laugh still louder. "'All right, Cotton, maybe you know what you're doing. But I wonder—I wonder just how sure you feel. Has it never occurred to you that your superiors might not care to have you take these high-handed steps?' "'My superiors, who do you mean?' "'There's one man in the state you must respect, even though you despise the district attorney and the governor. That is Peter Harrigan.' "'Peter Harrigan,' echoed the other, and then he burst into a laugh.  How continue to study him, unmoved? I wonder if you're sure he'll stand for everything you've done?' "'He will,' said the other.  Where do you suppose he got the money for your college?' There was a pause. At last the marshal asked defiantly. "'Have you got what you want?' "'Yes,' replied Hal. "'Of course, I thought it all along, but it's hard to convince other people. Oh, Peter's not like most of these Western wolves, you know. He's a pious, high churchman.' The marshal smiled grimly. "'So long as there are sheep,' said he, "'there'll be wolves in sheep's clothing.' "'I see,' said Hal, and you leave them to feed on the lambs. "'If any lamb is silly enough to be fooled by that old worn-out skin,' remarked the marshal, "'it deserves to be eaten.'" Hal was studying the cynical face in front of him. "'Cotton,' he said, "'the shepherds are asleep, but the watchdogs are barking. Haven't you heard them?' I hadn't noticed. "'They are barking, barking. They are going to wake the shepherds. They are going to save the sheep.' "'Religion don't interest me,' said the other, looking bored. Your kind any more than old Peter's.' And suddenly Hal rose to his feet. "'Cotton,' said he, "'my place is with the flock. I'm going back to my job at the tipple,' and he started towards the door. "'End of section twenty-two, section twenty-three.'" Jeff Cotton sprang forward. "'Stop,' he cried. But Hal did not stop. "'See here, young man,' cried the marshal, "'don't carry this joke too far.'" And he sprang to the door just ahead of his prisoner. His hand moved toward his hip. "'Draw your gun,' Cotton, said Hal, and as the marshal obeyed, "'now I will stop. If I obey you in future, it will be at the point of your revolver.'" The marshal's mouth was dangerous looking. "'You may find that in this country there's not so much between the drawing of a gun and the firing of it.' "'I've explained my attitude,' replied Hal, "'what are your orders? Come back and sit in this chair.'" So Hal sat, and the marshal went to his desk and took up the telephone. "'Number seven,' he said, and waited a moment. "'That you, Tom, bring the car right away.'" He hung up the receiver and there followed a silence. Finally Hal inquired. "'I'm going to Pedro?' There was no reply. "'I see I've got on your nerves,' said Hal.  Also, I have an account with a company, some money coming to me for my work. What about that?' The marshal took up the receiver and gave another number. "'Hello, Simpson, this is Cotton. Will you figure out the time of Joe Smith, Buddy, and Number Two, and send over the cash? Get his account at the store, and be quick, we're waiting for it. He's going out in a hurry.'" Then he hung up the receiver. "'Tell me,' said Hal, did you take that trouble for Mike's Sikoria? There was silence. Let me suggest that when you get my time you give me part of it in script. I want it for a souvenir. Still there was silence. You know,' persisted the prisoner tormentingly, there's a law against paying wages in script. The marshal was goaded to speech. We don't pay in script.  The law requires you to pay them twice a month, and you don't do it. You pay them once a month, and meantime, if they need money, you give them this imitation money. Well, if it satisfies them, where's your kick? If it doesn't satisfy them, you put them on the train and ship them out?' The marshal sat in silence, tapping impatiently with his fingers on the desk. "'Cotton,' Hal began again, "'I'm out for education, and there's something I'd like you to explain to me, a problem in human psychology. When a man puts through a deal like this, what does he tell himself about it?' "'Young man,' said the marshal, "'if you'll pardon me, you are getting to be a bore.' "'Oh, but we've got an automobile ride before us. Surely we can't sit in silence all the way.' After a moment he added, in a coaxing tone, "'I really want to learn, you know. You might be able to win me over.' "'No,' said Cotton, promptly, "'I'll not go in for anything like that.' "'But why not?' "'Because I'm no match for you in long-windedness. "'I've heard you agitators before.  You think the world is run by talk, but it isn't.' Hal had come to realize that he was not getting anywhere in his duel with the camp marshal. He had made every effort to get somewhere. He had argued, threatened, bluffed. He had even sung songs for the marshal. But the marshal was going to ship him out. That was all there was to it. Hal had gone on with the quarrel simply because he had to wait for the automobile, and because he had endured indignities and had to vent his anger and disappointment. But now he stopped quarreling suddenly. His attention was caught by the marshal's words.  Those were the words Hal's brother always used. And also the marshal had said, you agitators. For years it had been one of the taunts Hal had heard from his brother. You will turn into one of these agitators. Hal had answered with boyish obstinacy. I don't care if I do. And now here the marshal was calling him an agitator, seriously, without an apology, without the license of blood relationship. He repeated the words, that's what gets me about you agitators.  So that was the way Hal seemed to the GFC. He had come here intending to be a spectator, to stand on the deck of the steamer and look down into the ocean of social misery. He had considered every step so carefully before he took it. He had merely tried to be a Czech wayman, nothing more. He had told Tom Olson he would not go in for unionism. He had had a distrust of union organizers, of agitators of all sorts, blind, irresponsible persons who went about stirring up dangerous passions. He had come to admire Tom Olson, but that had only partly removed his prejudices. Olson was only one agitator, not the whole lot of them. But all his consideration for the company had counted for nothing. Likewise, all his efforts to convince the Marshal that he was a leisure class person. In spite of all Hal's tea party manners, the Marshal had said, you agitators. What was he judging by, Hal wondered? Had he, Hal Warner, come to look like one of these blind, irresponsible persons? It was time that he took stock of himself. The two months of dirty work in the bowels of the earth changed him so? The idea was bound to be disconcerting to one who had been a favorite of the ladies. Did he talk like it? He who had been kissing the Blarney Stone? The Marshal had said he was long-winded.   Hal recalled his broodings in the jail. He had been embittered. He had not cared whether North Valley was dominated by labor unions. But that had all been a mood, the same as his answer to his brother. That was jail psychology, a part of his summer course in practical sociology. He had put it aside. But apparently it had made a deeper impression upon him than he had realized. It had changed his physical aspect. It had made him look and talk like an agitator. It had made him irresponsible, blind. Yes, that was it. All this dirt, ignorance, disease, this navery and oppression, this maiming of men and body and soul in the cold camps of America, all this did not exist. It was the hallucination of an irresponsible brain. There was the evidence of Hal's brother and the Camp Marshal to prove it. There was the evidence of the whole world to prove it. The Camp Marshal and his brother and the whole world could not be blind. And if you talk to them about these conditions, they shrugged their shoulders. They called you a dreamer, a crank. They said you were off your trolley. Or else they became angry and bitter. They called you names. They said you agitators. CHAPTER XXIV The Camp Marshal of North Valley had been agitated to such an extent that he could not stay in his chair. All the harassments of his troubled career had come pouring into his mind. He had begun pacing the floor and was talking away regardless of whether Hal listened or not.  They have only one idea in the world, to shirk every lick of work they can, to fill up their cars with slate and rock and blame it on some other fellow, and go off to fill themselves with booze. They won't work fair, they won't fight fair. They fight with a knife in the back, and you agitators with your sympathy for them.  Hal had heard this question before, but they had to wait for the automobile, and being sure that he was an agitator now, he would make all the trouble he could. The reason is obvious enough, he said. Isn't it true that the GFC employs agents abroad to tell them of the wonderful pay they get in America? Well, they get it, don't they? Three times what they ever got at home. Yes, but it doesn't do them any good. There's another fact which the GFC doesn't mention, that the cost of living is even higher than the wages. Then too, there led to think of America as a land of liberty. They come hoping for a better chance for themselves and their children, but they find a camp-martial who's off in his geography, who thinks the Rocky Mountains are somewhere in Russia. I know that line of talk, exclaimed the other. I learned to wave the starry flag when I was a kid, but I tell you, you've got to get coal mined, and it isn't the same thing as running a Fourth of July celebration. Some church people make a law they shant work on Sunday, and what comes of that? They have 36 hours to get soused in, and so they can't work on Monday. Surely, there's a remedy, Cotton. Suppose the company refused to rent buildings to saloon keepers. Good God, you think we haven't tried it? They go down to Pedro for the stuff, and bring back all they can carry, inside them and out. And if we stop that, then our hands move to some other camps where they can spend their money as they please. No, young man, when you have such cattle, you have to drive them. And it takes a strong hand to do it, a man like Peter Harrigan. If there's to be any coal, if industries to go on, if there's to be any progress, we have that in our song, laughed howl, breaking into the camp-martial's discourse. He keeps them a roll that merry old soul the wheels of industry, a roll and a roll for his pipe and his bowl and his college faculty. Yes, growl the marshal. It's easy enough for you smart young chaps to make verses while you're living at ease on the old man's bounty. But that don't answer any argument.  For these Democrat politicians that come in here, talking fool talk about liberty, making labor laws for these wops, I begin to understand, said howl, you object to the politicians who pass the laws, you doubt their motives, and so you refuse to obey. But why didn't you tell me sooner you were an anarchist? Anarchist, cried the marshal, me, an anarchist? That's what an anarchist is, isn't it? Good God, if that isn't the limit. You come here stirring up the men, a union agitator, or whatever you are, and you know that the first idea of these people, when they do break loose, is to put dynamite in the shafts and set fire to the buildings. Do they do that? There was surprise in howl's tone. Haven't you read what they did in the last big strike? That doe-faced old preacher John Edstrom could tell you, he was one of the bunch. No, said howl, you're mistaken. Edstrom has a different philosophy. But others did, I've no doubt. And since I've been here I can understand their point of view entirely. When they set fire to the buildings it was because they thought you and Alex Stone might be inside. The marshal did not smile. They want to destroy the properties, continued howl, because that's the only way they can think of to punish the tyranny and greed of the owners. But Cotton, suppose someone were to put a new idea into their heads. Suppose someone were to say to them, don't destroy the properties, take them. The others stared. Take them, so that's your idea of morality. It would be more moral than the method by which Peter got them in the beginning. What method is that, demanded the marshal, with some appearance of indignation. He paid the market price for them, didn't he? He paid the market price for politicians. Up in western city I happened to know a lady who was a school commissioner when he was buying school lands from the state, lands that were known to contain coal. He was paying three dollars an acre, and everybody knew they were worth three thousand. Well, said Cotton, if you don't buy the politicians you wake up some fine morning and find that somebody else has bought them. If you have property you have to protect it.  The others smiled. My check might be bigger, I admit, but I've figured over it, and I think I have an easier time than you agitators. I'm top dog and I expect to stay on top. Well, Cotton, on that view of life I don't wonder you get drunk now and then.  Don't think I'm sneering at you, I'm talking out of my heart to you. I'm not so young, nor such a fool, that I haven't had the dog fight aspect of things brought to my attention. But there's something in a fellow that insists he isn't all dog. He has at least a possibility of something better. Take these poor underdogs sweating inside the mountain, risking their lives every hour of the day and night to provide you and me with coal to keep us warm, to keep the wheels of industry a roll. End of Section 24. Section 25. These were the last words Hal spoke. They were obvious enough words, yet when he looked back upon the coincidence, it seemed to him a singular one. For while he was sitting there chatting, it happened that the poor underdogs inside the mountain were in the midst of one of those experiences which make the romance and terror of coal mining. One of the boys who were employed underground, in violation of the child labor law, was in the act of bungling his task. He was a sprager, whose duty it was to thrust a stick into the wheel of a loaded car to hold it, and he was a little chap, and the car was in motion when he made the attempt. It knocked him against the wall, and so there was a load of coal rolling downgrade, pursued too late by half a dozen men. Gathering momentum, it whirled round a curve and flew from the track, crashing into timbers and knocking them loose. With the timbers came a shower of coal dust, accumulated for decades in these old workings, and at the same time came an electric light wire, which, as it touched the car, produced a spark. And so it was that Hal, chatting with the Marshal, suddenly felt, rather than heard, a deafening roar. He felt the air about him turn into a living thing which struck him a mighty blow, hurling him flat upon the floor. The windows of the room crashed inward upon him in a shower of glass, and the plaster of the ceiling came down on his head in another shower. When he raised himself, half stunned, he saw the Marshal also on the floor. These two conversationalists stared at each other with horrified eyes. Even as they crouched, there came a crash above their heads, and half the ceiling of the room came toward them, with a great piece of timber sticking through. All about them were other crashes, as if the end of the world had come.  They sprang back. Into the cellar, cried the Marshal, leading the way to the back stairs. But before they had started down these stairs, they realized that the crashing had ceased. What is it, gasped Hal, as they stood? Mine explosion, said the other, and after a few seconds they ran to the door again. The first thing they saw was a vast pillar of dust and smoke rising into the sky above them. It spread before their dazed eyes until it made night of everything about them.  As they stared and got their wits about them, remembering how things had looked before this, they realized that the shaft house of number one had disappeared. Blown up by God, cried the Marshal, and the two ran out into the street and, looking up, saw that a portion of the wrecked building had fallen through the roof of the jail above their heads. The rain of debris had now ceased, but there were clouds of dust which covered the two men black. The clouds grew worse until they could hardly see their way at all, and with the darkness there fell silence, which, after the sound of the explosion and the crashing of debris, seemed the silence of death. For a few moments Hal stood, dazed. He saw a stream of men and boys pouring from the breaker. While from every street there appeared a stream of women, old, women, young, leaving their cooking on the stove, their babies in the crib, with their older children screaming at their skirts, they gathered in swarms about the pit mouth, which was like the steaming crater of a volcano. Cartwright, the superintendent, appeared, running toward the fan house. Cotton joined him, and Hal followed. The fan house was a wreck, the giant fan lying on the ground a hundred feet away, its blades smashed. Hal was too inexperienced in mind-matters to get the full significance of this, but he saw the marshal and the superintendent stare blankly at each other, and heard the former's exclamation, "'That does for us!' Cartwright said not a word, but his thin lips were pressed together, and there was fear in his eyes. Back to the smoking pit mouth the two men hurried, with Hal following. Here were a hundred, two hundred women crowded, clamoring questions all at once. They swarmed about the marshal, the superintendent, the other bosses, even about Hal, crying hysterically in Polish and Bohemian and Greek. When Hal shook his head, indicating that he did not understand them, they moaned in anguish or shrieked aloud. Some continued to stare into the smoking pit mouth. Others covered the sight from their eyes, or sank down upon their knees, sobbing, praying with uplifted hands. Little by little Hal began to realize the full horror of a mind-disaster. It was not noise and smoke and darkness, nor frantic wailing women. It was not anything above ground, but what was below in the smoking-black pit? It was men, men whom Hal knew, whom he had worked with and joked with, whose smiles he had shared, whose daily life he had come to know. Scores, possibly hundreds of them, they were down here under his feet, some dead, others injured, maimed. What would they do? What would those on the surface do for them? Hal tried to get to cotton to ask him questions, but the camp-martial was surrounded, besieged. He was pushing the women back, exclaiming, Go away, go home. What? Go home? They cried. When their men were in the mine, they crowded about him closer, imploring, shrieking. Get out, he kept exclaiming. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing anybody can do yet.  He had to beat them back by force to keep them from pushing one another into the pit-mouth. Everywhere Hal looked were women in attitudes of grief, standing rigid, staring ahead of them as if in a trance, sitting down, rocking to and fro, on their knees with faces uplifted in prayer, clutching their terrified children about their skirts. He saw an Austrian woman, a pitiful, pale young thing, with a ragged gray shawl about her head, stretching out her hands and crying, Mein Mann, Mein Mann! Presently she covered her face, and her voice died into a wail of despair. Oh, Mein Mann, oh, Mein Mann! She turned away, staggering about like some creature that has received a death wound. Hal's eyes followed her. Her cry, repeated over and over incessantly, became the light motif of this symphony of horror. He had read about Mein disasters in his morning newspaper, but here a Mein disaster became a thing of human flesh and blood. The unendurable part of it was the utter impotence of himself and of all the world. This impotence became clearer to him each moment, from the exclamations of cotton and of the men he questioned. It was monstrous, incredible, but it was so. They must send for a new fan. They must wait for it to be brought in. They must set it up and get it into operation. They must wait for hours after that, while smoke and gas were cleared out of the Mein passages of the Mein. And until this had been done, there was nothing they could do, absolutely nothing. The men inside the Mein would stay. Those who had not been killed outright would make their way into the remote chambers and barricade themselves against the deadly after-damp. They would wait without food or water, with air of doubtful quality. They would wait and wait until the rescue crew could get to them. CHAPTER XXVI. At moments in the midst of this confusion Hal found himself trying to recall who had worked in number one among the people he knew. He himself had been employed in number two, so he had naturally come to know more men in that Mein. But he had known some from the other Mein, old Rafferty for one, and Mary Burke's father for another, and at least one of the members of his Czech Wayman group, Zamier Rowski. Hal saw in a sudden vision the face of this patient little man, who smiled so good-naturedly while Americans were trying to say his name. An old Rafferty, with all his little Rafferty's, and his piteous efforts to keep the favor of his employers, and poor Patrick Burke, whom Hal had never seen sober, doubtless he was sober now if he was still alive. Then in the crowd Hal encountered Jerry Minetti, and learned that another man who had been down was Forenzena, the Italian whose Fonsiula had played with him, and yet another was Judas Apostolicus, having taken his thirty pieces of silver with him into the death trap. People were making up lists, just as Hal was doing, by asking questions of others. These lists were subject to revision, sometimes under dramatic circumstances.  Suddenly she would look up, give a piercing cry, and fling her arms about the neck of some man. As for Hal, he felt as if he were encountering a ghost when suddenly he recognized Patrick Burke standing in the midst of a group of people. He went over and heard the old man's story, how there was a dago fellow who had stolen his timbers, and he had come up to the surface for more, so his life had been saved, while the timber-thief was down there still, a judgment of providence upon mine miscreants. Presently Hal asked if Burke had been to tell his family. He had run home, he said, but there was nobody there. So Hal began pushing his way through the throngs, looking for Mary, or her sister Jenny, or her brother Tommy. He persisted in this search, although it occurred to him to wonder whether the family of a hopeless drunkard would appreciate the interposition of providence in his behalf. He encountered Olson, who had had a narrow escape, being employed as a surface man near the hoist. All this was an old story to the organizer, who had worked in mines since he was eight years old, and had seen many kinds of disaster. He began to explain things to Hal in a matter-of-fact way. The law required a certain number of openings to every mine, also an escape way with ladders by which men could come out, but it cost good money to dig holes in the ground. At this time the immediate cause of the explosion was unknown, but they could tell it was a dust explosion, by the clouds of coke dust, and no one who had been into the mine and seen its dry condition would doubt what they would find when they went down and traced out the force and its effects. They were supposed to do regular sprinkling, but in such matters the bosses used their own judgment. Hal was only half listening to these explanations. The thing was too raw and too horrible to him. What difference did it make whose fault it was? The accident had happened, and the question was now how to meet the emergency. Underneath Olson's sentences he heard the cry of men and boys being asphyxiated in dark dungeons. He heard the wailing of women, like a surf beating on a distant shore, or the faint, persistent accompaniment of muted strings.  They came upon Jeff Cotton again.  He was none too gentle about it, Hal thought. But doubtless women are provoking when they are hysterical. He was answering their frenzied questions. Yes, yes, we're getting a new fan. We're doing everything we can, I tell you. We'll get them out. Go home and wait. But of course no one would go home. How could a woman sit in her house or go about her ordinary tasks of cooking or washing, while her man might be suffering asphyxiation under the ground? The least she could do was to stand at the pit mouth, as near to him as she could get. Some of them stood motionless, hour after hour, while others wandered through the village streets, asking the same people over and over again if they had seen their loved ones. Several had turned up, like Patrick Burke, there seemed always a chance for one more. End of Section 26. Section 27. In the course of the afternoon Hal came upon Mary Burke on the street. She had long ago found her father and seen him off to O'Callaghan's to celebrate the favors of Providence. Now Mary was concerned with a graver matter. Number two, mine was in danger. The explosion in number one had been so violent that the gearing of the fan of the other mine, nearly a mile up the canyon, had been thrown out of order. So the fan had stopped, and when someone had gone to Alec Stone, asking that he bring out the men, Stone had refused. "'What do you think,' he said, cried Mary, "'what do you think? Damn the men! Save the mules!' Hal had all but lost sight of the fact that there was a second mine in the village, in which hundreds of men and boys were still at work. "'Wouldn't they know about the explosion?' he asked. "'They might have heard the noise,' said Mary, but they'd not know what it was, and the bosses won't tell them till they've got out the mules. For all that he had seen in North Valley, Hal could hardly credit that story. How do you know it, Mary?' Young Roveda just told me. He was there, and hurted with his own ears. He was staring at her. "'Let's go and make sure,' he said, and they started up the main street of the village. On the way they were joined by others, for already the news of this fresh trouble had begun to spread. Jeff Cotton went past them in an automobile, and Mary exclaimed, "'I told you so. When you see him go and you know there's dirty work to be done.' They came to the shaft house of Number Two, and found a swarm of people, almost a riot. Women and children were shrieking and gesticulating, threatening to break into the office and use the mine telephone to warn the men themselves. And here was the camp-martial, driving them back. Hal and Mary arrived in time to see Mrs. David, whose husband was at work in Number Two, shaking her fist in the marshal's face and screaming at him like a wildcat. He drew his revolver upon her, and at this Hal started forward. A blind fury seized him. He would have thrown himself upon the marshal. But Mary Burke stopped him, flinging her arms about him and pinning him by main force. "'No, no,' she cried. "'Stay back, man. Do you want to get killed?' He was amazed at her strength. He was amazed also at the vehemence of her emotion. She was calling him a crazy fool, and names even more harsh.  The crisis passed in a moment, for Mrs. David fell back, and then the marshal put up his weapon. But Mary continued scolding Hal, trying to drag him away. "'Come on now, come out of here. Mary, we must do something. You can do nothing, I tell you. You ought to have sense enough to know it. I'll not let you get yourself murdered. Come away now!' And half by force and half by cajoling she got him farther down the street. He was trying to think out the situation. Were the men in number two really in danger? Could it be possible that the bosses would take such a chance in cold blood? And right at this moment, with the disaster in the other mind before their eyes, he could not believe it. And meantime Mary, at his side, was declaring that the men were in no real danger. It was only Alex Stone's brutal words that had set her crazy. "'Don't you remember the time when the air-course was blocked before, and you helped to get up the mules yourself? You thought nothing of it then, and it is the same now. How could everybody out in time?' She was concealing her real feelings in order to keep him safe. He let her lead him on while he tried to think of something else to do. He would think of the men in number two. They were his best friends, Jack David, Tim Rafferty, Resmok, Androkylos, Kloowski. He would think of them in their remote dungeons, breathing bad air, becoming sick and faint, in order that mules might be saved. He would stop in his tracks, and Mary would drag him on, repeating over and over. He can do nothing, nothing. And then he would think, what could he do? He had put up his best bluff to Jeff Cotton a few hours earlier, and the answer had been the muzzle of the Marshal's revolver in his face. All he could accomplish now would be to bring himself to Cotton's attention, and be thrust out of camp forthwith. End of Section 27. Section 28. They came to Mary's home, and next door was the home of the slov woman, Mrs. Zamboni, about whom in the past she had told him so many funny stories. Mrs. Zamboni had had a new baby every year for sixteen years, and eleven of these babies were still alive. Now her husband was trapped in number one, and she was distracted, wondering about the streets with the greater part of her brood at her heels. At intervals she would emit a howl like a tortured animal, and her brood would take it up in various timbers. Howl stopped to listen to the sounds, but Mary put her fingers into her ears and fled into the house. Howl followed her and saw her fling herself into a chair and burst into hysterical weeping. And suddenly Howl realized what a strain this terrible affair had been upon Mary. It had been bad enough to him, but he was a man and more able to contemplate sights of horror. Men went to their deaths in industry and war, and other men saw them go and inured themselves to the spectacle. But women were the mothers of these men. It was women who bore them in pain, nursed them and reared them with endless patience. Women could never become inured to the spectacle. Then too the women's fate was worse. If the men were dead, that was the end of them. But the women must face the future, with its bitter memories, its lonely and desolate struggle for existence. The women must see the children suffering, dying by slow stages of deprivation. Howl's pity for all suffering women became concentrated upon the girl beside him. He knew how tender-hearted she was. She had no man in the mine, but some day she would have, and she was suffering the pangs of that inexorable future. He looked at her, huddled in her chair, wiping away her tears with the hem of her old blue calico.  She was sobbing out sentences now and then, as if to herself. Oh, the poor women, the poor women! Did you see the face of Mrs. John Och? She jumped into the smoking pit-mouth if they'd let her. Don't suffer so, Mary, pleaded Howl, as if he thought she could stop. Let me alone, she cried. Let me have it out. And Howl, who had had no experience with hysteria, stood helplessly by. There's more misery than I ever knew there was, she went on, to everywhere he turned, a woman with her eyes burning with suffering, wondering if she'll ever see her man again, or some mother whose lad may be dying and she can do nothing for him. And neither can you do anything, Mary, Howl pleaded again. You're only sorrowing yourself to death. You say that to me, she cried, and when ye were ready to let Jeff Cotton shoot ye because you were so sorry for Mrs. David, no, the sights here nobody can stand. He could think of nothing to answer.  Howl's eyes followed hers. There were the ash heaps and tomato cans. There were two of Mrs. Zamboni's bedraggled brood poking with sticks into a dump heap, looking for something to eat, perhaps, or for something to play with. There was the dry waste grass of the roadside, grimy with cold dust, as was everything else in the village. What a scene!  Day in and day out, all her life long, she looked at this scene. Had he ever, for a moment, reproached her for her black moods? With such an environment could men or women be cheerful? Could they dream of beauty, aspire to heights of nobility and courage, to happy service of their fellows? There was a miasma of despair over this place. It was not a real place. It was a dream place, a horrible, distorted nightmare. It was like the black hole in the ground which haunted Howl's imagination, with men and boys at the bottom of it, dying of asphyxiation. Suddenly it came to Howl. He wanted to get away from North Valley, to get away at all costs. The place had worn down his courage, slowly, day after day, the sight of misery and want, of dirt and disease, of hunger, oppression, despair, had eaten the soul out of him, had undermined his fine structure of altruistic theories. Yes, he wanted to escape, to a place where the sun shone, where the grass grew green, where human beings stood erect and laughed and were free.  He looked at the girl, who sat staring before her, bent forward, her arms hanging limply over her knees. Mary, he said, you must go away from here. It's no place for a tender-hearted girl to be. It's no place for anyone. She gazed at him, dullly, for a moment. It was me that was telling you to go away, she said at last. Ever since she came here I've been saying it, now I guess she know what I mean. Yes, he said, I do, and I want to go, but I want you to go too. Do you think to do me any good, Joe? She asked. Do you think to do me any good to get away? Could I ever forget the sights I've seen this day? Could I ever have any real, honest happiness anywhere after this? He tried to reassure her, but he was far from reassured himself. How would it be with him? Would he ever feel that he had a right to happiness after this? Could he take any satisfaction in a pleasant and comfortable world, knowing that it was based upon such hideous misery? His thoughts went to that world where careless, pleasure-loving people sought gratification of their desires. It came to him suddenly that what he wanted more than to get away was to bring those people here, if only for a day, for an hour, that they might hear this chorus of wailing women. End of Section XXVIII. Mary made Howe swear that he would not get into a fight with Cotton. Then they went to Number II. They found the mules coming up and the bosses promising that in a short while the men would be coming. Everything was all right, there was not a bit of danger. But Mary was afraid to trust Howe in spite of his promise, so she lured him back to Number I. They found that a rescue car had just arrived from Pedro, bringing doctors and nurses, also several helmets. These helmets were strange-looking contrivances, fastened over the head and shoulders, airtight, and provided with oxygen sufficient to last for an hour or more. The men who wore them sat in a big bucket which was let down the shaft with a windlass, and every now and then they pulled on a signal cord to let those on the surface know they were alive. When the first of them came back, he reported that there were bodies near the foot of the shaft, but apparently all dead. There was heavy black smoke indicating a fire somewhere in the mine, so nothing more could be done until the fan had been set up. By reversing the fan they could draw out the smoke and gases and clear the shaft. The State Mine Inspector had been notified, but was ill at home and was sending one of his deputies. Under the law this official would have charge of all the rescue work, but how found that the miners took no interest in his presence? It had been his duty to prevent the accident, and he had not done so. When he came he would do what the company wanted. Some time after dark the workers began to come out of Number II, and their women, waiting at the pit-mouth, fell upon their necks with cries of thankfulness. Hal observed other women, whose men were in Number I, and would perhaps never come out again, standing and watching these greetings with wistful, tear-filled eyes. Among those who came out was Jack David, and Hal walked home with him and his wife, listening to the latter abuse Jeff Cotton and Alex Stone, which was an education in the vocabulary of class consciousness.  She said it again and again. It seemed to delight her like a work of art. It summed up so perfectly the attitude of the bosses to their men. There were many other people repeating that saying, Hal found. It went all over the village. In a few days it went all over the district. It summed up what the district believed to be the attitude of the coal operators to the workers. Having got over the first shock of the disaster, Hal wanted information, and he questioned Big Jack, a solid and well-read man who had given thought to every aspect of the industry. In his quiet, slow way he explained to Hal that the frequency of accidents in this district was not due to any special difficulty in operating these mines, the explosiveness of the gases or the dryness of the atmosphere. It was merely the carelessness of those in charge, their disregard of the laws for the protection of the men. There ought to be a law with teeth in it, for example one providing that for every man killed in a coal mine, his heirs should receive a thousand dollars, regardless of who had been to blame for the accident. Then you would see how quickly the operators would get busy and find remedies for the unusual dangers. As it was they knew that no matter how great their culpability they could get off with slight loss. Already no doubt their lawyers were on the spot, and by the time the first bodies were brought out they would be fixing things up with the families. They would offer a widow a ticket back to the old country. They would offer a whole family of orphaned children maybe fifty dollars, maybe a hundred dollars, and it would be a case of take it or leave it. You could get nothing from the courts. The case was so hopeless that you could not even find a lawyer to make the attempt. That was one reform in which the companies believed, said Big Jack with sarcasm. They had put the Scheister lawyer out of business. End of Section 29 Section 30 There followed a night and then another day of torturing suspense. The fan came, but it had to be set up before anything could be done. As volumes of black smoke continued to pour from the shaft, the opening was made tight with a board and canvas cover. It was necessary, the bosses said, but to how it seemed the climax of horror, to seal up men and boys in a place of deadly gases. There was something peculiarly torturing in the idea of men caught in a mine. They were directly under one's feet, yet it was impossible to get to them, to communicate with them in any way. The people on top yearned to them, and they, down below, yearned back. It was impossible to forget them for even a few minutes. People would become abstracted while they talked, and would stand staring into space. Suddenly in the midst of a crowd a woman would bury her face in her hands and burst into tears, and then all the others would follow suit. Few people slept in North Valley during those two nights. They held mourning parties in their homes or on the streets. Some housework had to be done, of course, but no one did anything that could be left undone. The children would not play. They stood about, silent, pale, like whizzened up grown people, over-mature in knowledge of trouble. The nerves of every one were on edge, the self-control of every one balanced upon a fine point. It was a situation bound to be fruitful in imaginings and rumors, stimulated to those inclined to signs and omens, the seers of ghosts or those who went into trances or possessed second sight or other mysterious gifts. There were some living in a remote part of the village who declared they had heard explosions under the ground, several blasts and quick succession. The men underground were setting off dynamite by way of signaling. In the course of the second day Hal sat with Mary Burke upon the steps of her home. Old Patrick lay within, having found the secret of oblivion at O'Callaghan's. Now and then came the moaning of Mrs. Zamboni, who was in her cabin with her brood of children.  Mary was worn out herself. The wonderful Irish complexion had faded and there were no curves to the vivid lips. They had been sitting in silence, for there was nothing to talk of but the disaster, and they had said all there was to say about that. But Hal had been thinking while he watched Mary. "'Listen, Mary,' he said at last, "'When this thing is over you must really come away from here. I've thought it all out. I have friends in Western City who will give you work so you can take care of yourself and of your brother and sister, too. Will you go?' But she did not answer. She continued to gaze indifferently into the dirty little street. "'Truly, Mary,' he went on, "'Life isn't so terrible everywhere as it is here. Come away. But as it is to believe you'll forget all this. People suffer, but then they stop suffering. It's nature's way to make them forget.' "'Nature's way has been to beat me dead,' said she. "'Yes, Mary, despair can become a disease, but it hasn't with you. You're just tired out. And if you'll try to rouse yourself,' and he reached over and caught her hand with an attempt at playfulness, "'Cheer up, Mary. You're coming away from North Valley.' She turned and looked at him. "'Am I?' she asked impassively, and she went on studying his face. "'Who are you, Joe Smith? What are you doing here?' "'Working in a coal mine,' he laughed, still trying to divert her. But she went on as gravely as before. "'You're no working man that I know, and you're always offering me help. You're always saying what you can do for me.' She paused, and there came some of the old defiance into her face. "'Joe, you can have no idea of the feelings that have got hold of me just now. I'm ready to do something desperate. You'd best believe in me alone, Joe.' "'I think I understand, Mary. I would hardly blame you for anything you did.' She took up his words eagerly. "'Wouldn't she, Joe? You're sure? Then what I want is to get the truth from you. I want you to talk it out fair.' "'All right, Mary, what is it?' But her defiance had vanished suddenly. Her eyes dropped, and he saw her fingers picking nervously at a fold of her dress. "'About us, Joe,' she said. "'I thought sometimes you cared for me. I thought you liked to be with me, not just because you were sorry for me, but because of me. I've not been sure, but I can't help thinking it's so. Is it?' "'Yes, it is,' he said, a little uncertainly. "'I do care for you. Then is it that you don't care for that other girl all the time?' "'No,' he said. "'It's not that. You can care for two girls at the same time?' He did not know what to say. "'It would seem that I can, Mary.'  "'You told me about that other girl, and I've been wondering, was it only to put me off? Maybe it's my own fault, but I can't make me self-believe in that other girl, Joe.' "'You're mistaken, Mary,' he answered quickly. What I told you was true.' "'Well, maybe so,' she said, but there was no conviction in her tone. You come away from her, and you never go where she is or see her. It's hard to believe you'd do that way if you were very close to her. I just don't think you love her as much as you might. And you say you do care some for me, so I've thought, I've wandered.' She stopped, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "'I've been trying to work it out. I know you're too good a man for me, Joe.  You've a right to expect more in a woman.' "'It's not that, Mary.' But she cut him short. I know that's true. You're only trying to save my feelings. I know you're better than me. I've tried hard to hold me head up. I've tried a long time not to let me self-go to pieces. I've even tried to keep cheerful, telling me self I'd not want to be like Mrs. Zamboni, forever complaining. But there's no use telling yourself lies. I've been up to the church, and heard the reverence sprague tell the people that the rich and poor are the same in the sight of the Lord. And maybe tis so, but I'm not the Lord, and I'll never pretend I'm not ashamed to be livin' in a place like this. I'm sure the Lord has no interest in keeping you here,' he began. But she broke in. What makes it so hard to bear is no one there's so many wonderful things in the world, and you can never have them. Tis as if ye had to see them through a pane of glass, like in the window of a store. Just think, Joe Smith, once in a church in Sheridan, I heard a lady sing beautiful music, once in my whole lifetime. Can you guess what it meant to me? Yes, Mary, I can. But I had that all out with me self years ago. I knew the price a working girl has to pay for such things, and I said, I'll not let me self think about them. I've hated this place, I've wanted to get away, but there's only one way to go, to let some man take ye. So I've stayed. I've kept straight, Joe, I want ye to believe that. Of course, Mary. No, it's not been, of course. It means ye have to fight with temptations. It's many a time I've looked at Jeff Cotton, and thought about the things I need. But I've done without. But now comes the thing a woman wants more than all the other things in the world. She paused, but only for a moment. They tell ye to love a man of your own class. Me old mother said that to me before she died. But suppose ye didn't happen to. Suppose ye'd stopped and thought what it meant, have in one baby after another, till ye're worn out and drop, like me old mother did. Suppose ye knew good manners when ye see them. Ye knew interest in talk when ye heard it. She clasped her hand suddenly before her, exclaiming, Ah, it is something different, ye are, Joe, so different from anything around here. The way ye talk, the way ye move, the gay look in your eyes, No minor ever had that happy look, Joe. Me heart stops beaten almost when ye look at me. She stopped with a sharp catching of her breath, and he saw that she was struggling for self-control. After a moment she exclaimed defiantly. But they'd tell ye be careful, ye don't love that kind of man, ye'd only have your heart broken. There was silence. For this problem the amateur sociologist had no solution at hand, whether for the abstract question or for its concrete application. End of Section 30. Section 31. Mary forced herself to go on. This is how I've worked it out, Joe. I said to myself, ye love this man, and it's his love, ye want, nothing else. He's got a place in the world, ye'd only hold him back, and ye'd not want to do that. Ye don't want his name, or his friends, or any of those things. Ye want him. Have ye ever heard of such a thing as that? Her cheeks were flaming, but she continued to meet his gaze. Yes, I've heard of it, he answered, in a low voice. What would ye say to it? Is it honest? The reverent sprag would say it was the devil, no doubt. Father O'Gorman, down in Pedro, would call it mortal sin. And maybe they know, but I don't. I only know I can't stand it any more. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she cried out suddenly. Oh, take me away from here. Take me away and give me a chance, Joe. I'll ask nothing. I'll never stand in your way. I'll work for ye. I'll cook and wash and do everything for ye. I'll wear my fingers to the bone, or I'll go out and work at some job and earn my share. And I'll make ye this promise. If ever ye get tired and want to leave me, you'll not hear a word of complaint. She made no conscious appeal to his senses. She sat gazing at him honestly through her tears, and that made it all the harder to answer her. What could he say? He felt the old, dangerous impulse to take the girl in his arms and comfort her. When finally he spoke, it was with an effort to keep his voice calm. I'd say yes, Mary, if I thought it would work. It would work. It would, Joe. You can quit when you want. I mean it. There's no woman lives who can be happy on such terms, Mary. She wants her man, and she wants him to herself, and she wants him always. She's only deluding herself if she believes anything else. You're overwrought now. What you've seen in the last few days has made you wild. No, she exclaimed. It is not only that. I've been thinking about it for weeks. I know you've been thinking, but you wouldn't have spoken if it hadn't been for this horror. He paused for a moment to renew his own self-possession. It won't do, Mary, he declared. I've seen it tried more than once, and I'm not so old, either. My own brother tried it once, and ruined himself. Ah, you're afraid to trust me, Joe. No, it's not that. What I mean is, he ruined his own heart. He made himself selfish. He took everything and gave nothing. He's much older than I, so I've had a chance to see its effect on him. He's cold.   It's another way of being afraid of me, she insisted, afraid you'd ought to marry me. But, Mary, there's the other girl. I really love her, and I'm promised to her. What can I do? Tis that I've never believed you'd love her, she said in a whisper. Her eyes fell, and she began picking nervously again at the faded blue dress, which was smutted and grease-stained, perhaps from her recent effort with Mrs. Zamboni's brood. Several times, Howe thought she was going to speak, but she shut her lips tightly again. He watched her, his heart aching. And finally she spoke, it was still in a whisper, and there was a note of humility he had never heard from her before. You'll not be wanting to speak to me, Joe, after what I've said. Oh, Mary, he exclaimed, and caught her hand. Don't say I've made you more unhappy. I want to help you. Won't you let me be your friend, your real, true friend? Let me help you get out of this trap. You'll have a chance to look about. You'll find a way to be happy. The whole world will seem different to you then, and you'll laugh at the idea that you ever wanted me. End of Section 31. Book 2. sections 32 through 34 of King Cole. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. King Cole by Upton Sinclair. Book 2. The Serfs of King Cole. Section 32. The two of them went back to the pit-mouth. It had been two days since the disaster, and still the fan had not been started, and there was no sign of its being started. The hysteria of the women was growing, and there was a tension in the crowds. Jeff Cotton had brought in a force of men to assist him in keeping order. They had built a fence of barbed wire about the pit-mouth and its approaches, and behind this wire they walked, hard-looking citizens with policemen's billies and the bulge of revolvers plainly visible on their hips. During this long period of waiting, Hal had talks with members of his Czech Wayman group. They told what had happened while he was in jail, and this reminded him of something which had been driven from his mind by the explosion. Oral John Edstrom was down in Pedro, perhaps in dire need. Hal went to the old Swedes' cabin that night, climbed through a window, and dug up the buried money. There were five, five-dollar bills, and he put them in an envelope, addressed them in care of general delivery, Pedro, and had Mary Burke take them to the post office and register them. The hours dragged on, and still there was no sign of the pit-mouth being opened. There began to be secret gatherings of the miners and their wives to complain at the conduct of the company, and it was natural that Hal's friends who had started the Czech Wayman movement should take the lead in these. They were among the most intelligent of the workers, and saw farther into the meaning of events. They thought not merely of the men who were trapped underground at this moment, but of thousands of others who would be trapped through years to come. Hal especially was pondering how he could accomplish something definite before he left the camp, for of course he would have to leave soon. Jeff Cotton would remember him and carry out his threat to get rid of him. Newspapers had come in with accounts of the disaster, and Hal and his friends read these. It was evident that the company had been at pains to have the accounts written from its own point of view. There existed some public sensitiveness on the subject of mine disasters in this state. The death rate from accidents was seen to be mounting steadily. The reports of the state mine inspector showed six per thousand in one year, eight and a half in the next, and twenty-one and a half in the next. When fifty or a hundred men were killed in a single accident, and when such accidents kept happening, one on the heels of another, even the most callous public could not help asking questions. So in this case the GFC had been careful to minimize the loss of life and to make excuses. The accident had been owing to no fault of the companies. The mine had been regularly sprinkled, both with water and adobe dust, and so the cause of the explosion must have been the carelessness of the men in handling powder. In Jack David's cabin one night there arose a discussion as to the number of men entombed in the mine. The company's estimate of the number was forty, but Manetti and Olson and David agreed that this was absurd. Any man who went about in the crowds could satisfy himself that there were two or three times as many unaccounted for. And this falsification was deliberate, for the company had a checking system whereby it knew the name of every man in the mine. But most of these names were unpronounceable slavish, and the owners of the names had no friends to mention them, at least not in any language understood by American newspaper editors. It was all a part of the system, declared Jack David, its purpose and effect being to enable the company to go on killing men without paying for them, either in money or in prestige. It occurred to Hal that it might be worthwhile to contradict these false statements, almost as worthwhile as to save the men who were at this moment entombed. One who came forward to make such a contradiction would, of course, be giving himself up to the blacklist, but then Hal regarded himself as a man already condemned to that penalty. Tom Olson spoke up. What would you do with your contradiction? Give it to the papers, Hal answered. But what papers would print it? There are two rival papers in Pedro, aren't there? One owned by Alf Raymond, the sheriff emperor, and the other by Vagelman, counsel for the GFC. Which one would you try? Well, then the outside papers, those in western city. There are reporters here now, and some one of them would surely take it. Olson answered, declaring that they would not get any but labor and socialist papers to print such news. But even that was well worth doing. When Jack David, who was strong for unions and all their activities, put in, the thing to do is to take a regular census so as to know exactly how many are in the mine. The suggestions struck fire, and they agreed to set to work that same evening. It would be a relief to do something, to have something in their minds but despair. They passed the word to Mary Burke, to Roveta, Klawosky, and others, and at eleven o'clock the next morning they met again, and the lists were put together. And it was found that no less than a hundred and seven men and boys were positively known to be inside number one. End of section thirty-two. Section thirty-three. As it happened, however, discussion of this list and the method of giving it to the world was cut short by a more urgent matter. Jack David came in with news of fresh trouble at the pit-mouth. The new fan was being put in place, but they were slow about it, so slow that some people had become convinced that they did not mean to start the fan at all, but were keeping the mine sealed to prevent the fire from spreading. A group of such malcontents had presumed to go to Mr. Carmichael, the deputy state mine inspector, to urge him to take some action, and the leader of these protestants, Hussar, the Austrian, who had been one of House-Czech-Weyman group, had been taken into custody and marched at double-quick to the gate of the stockade. Jack David declared furthermore that he knew a carpenter who was working in the fan-house, and who said that no haste whatever was being made. All the men at the fan-house shared that opinion. The mine was sealed, and would stay sealed until the company was sure the fire was out. But, argued Hal, if they were to open it the fire would spread, and wouldn't that prevent rescue work? Not at all, declared Big Jack. He explained that by reversing the fan they could draw the smoke up through the air-course, which would clear the main passages for a time. But you see some coal might catch fire, and some timbers. There might be falls of rock, so they couldn't work some of the rooms again. How long will they keep the mine sealed? cried Hal, in consternation. Everybody can say, in a big mine like that a fire might smolder for a week. Everybody be dead! cried Rosa Minetti, wringing her hands in a sudden access of grief. Hal turned to Olsen. Would they possibly do such a thing? It's been done more than once, was the organizer's reply. Did you never hear about Cherry, Illinois? asked David. They did it there, and more than three hundred people lost their lives. He went on to tell that dreadful story, known to every coal miner. They had sealed the mine, while women fainted and men tore their clothes in frenzy, some going insane. They had kept it sealed for two weeks, and when they opened it there were twenty-one men still alive. They did the same thing in Diamondville, Wyoming, added Olsen. They built up a barrier, and when they took it away they found a heap of dead men, who had crawled to it and torn their fingers to the bone trying to break through. My God! cried Hal, springing to his feet. And this man Carmichael, would he stand for that? He'd tell you they were doing their best, said Big Jack. And maybe he thinks they are, but you'll see, something will keep happening. They'll drag on from day to day, and they'll not start the fan till they're ready. Why, it's murder, cried Hal. It's business, said Tom Olsen quietly. Hal looked from one to another of the faces of these working people, not one but had friends in that trap, not one but might be in the same trap tomorrow. You have to stand it, he exclaimed, half to himself. Don't you see the guards at the pit-mouth, answered David.  They bring in more guards this morning, put in Jerry Minetti. Rosa, she see them get off. They know what they're doing, said Rosa. They only frayed we find it out. They told Mrs. Zamboni she keep away, or they send her out of camp. And old Mrs. Jonach, her husband and three sons, inside. They're getting rougher and rougher, declared Mrs. David. That big fellow they call Pete, that came up from Pedro, the way he's handling the women is a shame. I know him, put in Olsen, Pete Hannon. They had him in Sheridan when the union first opened headquarters. He smashed one of our organizers in the mouth and broke four of his teeth. They say he has a jail record. All through the previous year at college, Hal had listened to lectures upon political economy, filled with the praises of a thing called private ownership. This private ownership developed initiative and economy. It kept the wheels of industry a role. It kept fat the payrolls of college faculties. It accorded itself with the sacred laws of supply and demand. It was the basis of the progress and prosperity wherewith America had been blessed. And here suddenly Hal found himself face to face with the reality of it. He saw its wolfish eyes glaring into his own.  He saw its gleaming fangs and claw-like fingers dripping with the blood of men and women and children. Private ownership of coal mines. Private ownership of sealed-up entrances and non-existent escape ways. Private ownership of fans which did not start. Of sprinklers which did not sprinkle. Private ownership of clubs and revolvers, and of thugs and ex-convicts to use them, driving away rescuers and shutting up agonized widows and orphans in their homes. Oh, the serene and well-fed priests of private ownership chanting in academic halls the praises of the bloody demon. Suddenly Hal stopped still. Something had risen in him, the existence of which he had never suspected. There was a new look upon his face. His voice was deep as a strongman's when he spoke. I am going to make them open that mine. They looked at him. They were all of them close to the border of Hysteria. But they caught the strange note in his utterance. I am going to make them open that mine. How? asked Olson. The public doesn't know about this thing. If the story got out, there'd be such a clamor it couldn't go on. But how will you get it out? I'll give it to the newspapers. They can't suppress such a thing. I don't care how prejudiced they are. But do you think they'd believe what a minor's buddy tells them? I'll find a way to make them believe me, said Hal. I'm going to make them open that mine. End of Section 33. Section 34. In the course of his wanderings about the camp, Hal had observed several wide awake looking young men with notebooks in their hands. He could see that these young men were being made guests of the company, chatting with the bosses upon friendly terms. Nevertheless, he believed that among them he might find one who had a conscience, or at any rate who would yield to the temptation of a scoop. So leaving the gathering at Mrs. David's, Hal went to the pit-mouth, watching out for one of these reporters. When he found him, he followed him for a while, desiring to get him where no company's spotter might interfere. At the first chance he stepped up and politely asked the reporter to come into a side street where they might converse undisturbed. The reporter obeyed the request, and Hal, concealing the intensity of his feelings so as not to repel the other, let it be known that he had worked in North Valley for some months and could tell much about conditions in the camp. There was the matter of adobe dust, for example. Explosions in dry mines could be prevented by spraying the walls with this material. Did the reporter happen to know that the company's claim to have used it was entirely false? No, the reporter answered. He did not know this. He seemed interested, and asked Hal's name and occupation. Hal told him Joe Smith, a buddy who had recently been chosen as Chek Weyman. The reporter, a lean and keen-faced young man, asked many questions, intelligent questions. Incidentally, he mentioned that he was the local correspondent of the Great Press Association, whose stories of the disaster were sent to every corner of the country. This seemed to Hal an extraordinary piece of good fortune, and he proceeded to tell this Mr. Graham about the census which some of the workers had taken. They were able to give the names of a hundred and seven men and boys who were inside the mine. The list was at Mr. Graham's disposal if he cared to see it. Mr. Graham seemed more interested than ever, and made notes in his book. Another thing, more important yet, Hal continued, the matter of the delay in getting the fan started. It had been three days since the explosion, but there had been no attempt at entering the mine. Had Mr. Graham seen the disturbance at the pit-mouth that morning? Did he realize that a man had been thrown out of camp merely because he had appealed to the Deputy State Mine Inspector? Hal told what so many had come to believe, that the company was saving property at the expense of life. He went on to point out the human meaning of this. He told about old Mrs. Rafferty with her failing health and her eight children. About Mrs. Zamboni with eleven children. About Mrs. Jonach with a husband and three sons in the mine. Led on by the reporter's interest, Hal began to show some of his feeling. These were human beings, not animals. They loved and suffered, even though they were poor and humble. Most certainly, said Mr. Graham, you're right, and you may rest assured I'll look into this. There's one thing more, said Hal, if my name is mentioned I'll be fired, you know. I won't mention it, said the other. Of course, if you can't publish the story without giving it source. I'm the source, said the reporter, with a smile. Your name would not add anything. He spoke with quiet assurance. He seemed to know so completely, both the situation and his own duty in regard to it, that Hal felt a thrill of triumph. It was as if a strong wind had come blowing from the outside world, dispelling the miasma which hung over this coal-camp. Yes, this reporter was the outside world. He was the power of public opinion, making itself felt in this place of navery and fear. He was the voice of truth, the courage and rectitude of a great organization of publicity, independent of secret influences, lifted above corruption. I'm indebted to you, said Mr. Graham at the end, and Hal's sense of victory was complete. Had an extraordinary chance that he should have run into the agent of the Great Press Association, the story would go out to the great world of industry, which depended upon coal as its lifeblood. The men in the factories, the wheels of which were turned by coal, the travelers on trains which were moved by coal, they would hear at last of the sufferings of those who toiled in the bowels of the earth for them. Even the ladies reclining upon the decks of palatial steamships in gleaming tropic seas, so marvelous was the power of modern news-spreading agencies that these ladies, too, might hear the cry for help of these toilers and of their wives and little ones. And from this great world would come an answer, a universal shout of horror, of execration that would force even old Peter Harrigan to give way. So Hal mused, for he was young, and this was his first crusade. He was so happy that he was able to think of himself again and to realize that he had not eaten that day. It was noontime, and he went into Reminitsky's and was about half through with the first course of Reminitsky's two-course banquet when his cruel disillusioning fell upon him. He looked up and saw Jeff Cotton striding into the dining-room, making straight for him. There was blood in the marshal's eye, and Hal saw it and rose instinctively. "'Come,' said Cotton, and took him by the coat-sleeve and marched him out, almost before the rest of the diners had time to catch their breath. Hal had no opportunity now to display his tea-party manners to the camp-martial. As they walked, Cotton expressed his opinion of him, that he was a skunk, a puppy, a person of undesirable ancestry, and when Hal endeavored to ask a question, which he did quite genuinely, not grasping at once the meaning of what was happening, the marshal bade him shut his face and emphasized the command by a twist at his coat-caller. At the same time two of the huskiest mind-guards who had been waiting at the dining-room door took him, one by each arm, and assisted his progress. They went down the street and passed Jeff Cotton's office, not stopping this time. Their destination was the railroad station, and when Hal got there he saw a train standing. The three men marched him to it, not releasing him till they had jammed him down into a seat. "'Now, young fellow,' said Cotton, "'we'll see who's runnin' this camp.'" By this time Hal had regained a part of his self-possession. "'Do I need a ticket?' he asked. "'I'll see to that,' said the marshal. "'And do I get my things?' "'You save some questions for your college professors,' snapped the marshal. So Hal waited, and a minute or two later a man arrived on the run with his scanty belongings, rolled into a bundle and tied with a piece of twine. Hal noted that this man was big and ugly and was addressed by the camp marshal as Pete. The conductor shouted, all aboard, and at the same time Jeff Cotton leaned over towards Hal and spoke in a menacing whisper. "'Take this for me, young fellow. Don't stop in Pedro, move on in a hurry, or something will happen to you on a dark night.'" After which he strode down the aisle and jumped off the moving train. But Hal noticed that Pete Hannon, the breaker of teeth, stayed on the car a few seats behind him. End of section 34.


You know, you're never alone with the Holy Spirit by your side. You don't have to be afraid of what's coming your way. You don't have to fear for your future. You don't have to stress about the past. In every moment, the presence of the Holy Spirit can bring love, joy, peace, comfort, and clarity. I believe that many believers are under the attack of fear, of stress, of worry, of anxiety, of hurry, because they don't recognize that the presence of the Holy Spirit dwells with them. The Holy Spirit is your companion. The Holy Spirit is with you 24-7. The Holy Spirit is constantly reminding you that you belong to Jesus. And He brings to your remembrance those truths that you sometimes forget. When the enemy points to your circumstance, the Holy Spirit points to God's presence. When the enemy points to your past, the Holy Spirit points to God's forgiveness. When the enemy points to things that cause you to fear, the Holy Spirit reminds you of God's power. The Holy Spirit dwells with you. I want you to type this in the comment section. He's with me. And the Holy Spirit does indeed abide. And it's my prayer that as you listen to this truth, that the Holy Spirit is your companion. My prayer is that you're released from stress. You're released from fear. You're released from confusion. And you're brought to that place of perfect peace that you become more aware of His presence. That you become encouraged by the fact that He dwells with you. John chapter 14 verses 16 and onwards say this, And I will ask the Father and He will give you another advocate who will never leave you. He is the Holy Spirit who leads into all truth. Now let's just take a look at this promise that Jesus is giving to us. Verse 16 makes it clear who will never leave you. He is your constant companion. Now many Christians are sadly of the opinion that when they make a mistake, the Holy Spirit leaves them. And when they do well, the Holy Spirit comes back to abide with them. Some believers don't even realize that they have the Holy Spirit and have had the Holy Spirit since the very moment they were saved. You don't have to perform to receive His presence. His presence is what helps you to perform. When you were born again, when you placed your faith in Christ, the Holy Spirit came to dwell in you in the fullness of His power, not in smaller measures, not in sections of His personality, but in the fullness of who He is. And Jesus says, Who will never leave you? Now some might ask the question, but David, what if a believer, a true believer, lives in persistent, willful sin to the point where the Holy Spirit leaves? To that I would ask, what true believer could persistently sin in order for the Holy Spirit to leave? In fact, it is the Holy Spirit in us who gives us the desires to do right. It is the Holy Spirit within us who gives us the grace and the power to live holy. The Holy Spirit is not a reward for the super spiritual. The Holy Spirit is not a reward for good Christian performance. The Holy Spirit is the power unto holiness. The Holy Spirit is the power unto good Christian living. So he says, Who will never leave you? The Holy Spirit doesn't come and go when we make mistakes and then do better. The Holy Spirit abides convicting us when we do wrong in order to help us get it right. Verse 17, he is the Holy Spirit who leads into all truth. The world cannot receive him because it isn't looking for him and doesn't recognize him. But you know him because he lives with you now and later will be in you. No, I will not abandon you as orphans. I will come to you. Soon the world will no longer see me, but you will see me. Since I live, you will also live. Verse 20, when I am raised to life again, you will know that I am in my father and you are in me and I am in you. Those who accept my commandments and obey them are the ones who love me. And because they love me, my father will love them and I will love them and reveal myself to each of them. Well, how does the Lord Jesus reveal himself to us? It's by the Holy Spirit, revelation by the Holy Spirit. We as believers need to make a conscious effort to become more aware of the fact that the Holy Spirit abides with us, far too many of us go on throughout our day without acknowledging the presence of the Holy Spirit. We're so rushed through our day-to-day activities that rarely do we leave a moment to pause and to acknowledge the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit. We're so wrapped up in our anxiety about tomorrow that we never acknowledge the Holy Spirit in the moment. Perhaps we feel guilty for some past mistake and we think that God has abandoned us or God does not want to hear from us or that God has rejected us, my friend. It's not by our own works. Ephesians 2-8-9 makes it clear that our salvation is by grace through faith and that God gives us that grace not so that we can have a license to sin but so that he can empower us unto holiness. And when we recognize this, we are free to enjoy righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.  That's a fact. You don't have to do anything more to receive him. When I talk about receiving the Holy Spirit, I'm talking about surrendering to that power and presence that already abides within you. That's what it means to flow with the Holy Spirit, to obey him, to surrender, to listen to the Word, to listen to his voice, to yield when he speaks. And as we begin to live according to that power that worketh in us, as we begin to live according to the power of the Holy Spirit within our lives, then we begin to see the manifestation of that power in our minds, in our emotions, in our everyday living. We become more like Jesus. We become less like ourselves.  And so the Holy Spirit abides with us. We're never alone. You are never alone. In those moments where you feel like rejoicing because of some breakthrough, because of some victory, because of some accomplishment, the Holy Spirit is there with you in that moment of joy and triumph and accomplishment. In those moments where you feel like you did right, he's right there by your side. In those moments when tragedy strikes and things that are beyond your control begin to affect your life like a storm. When you can't quite see beyond the moment and you're looking for any ray of light to shine through those dark clouds. When your heart is heavy, when your mind is confused, when your future is uncertain, he's there right there by your side. In fact, he's in the room with you right now. In those moments when you fail him, he's there. In those moments when you obey him, he's there. In those moments when you're confident in your calling, he's there. In those moments when you begin to wonder if God called the right person, he's there. When you do your Christian checklist, prayer, the word, church attendance, he's there. And when you make a mistake in that area, he abides. He will never leave you. He's the constant companion. Now again, I have to stress this because true believers must understand that we will not abuse that grace. True believers don't look at the Holy Spirit's grace and say, oh, so I can go on sinning as I did before. No, true believers, look at the grace given to them, that power given to them. And they say that right there is liberty from sin. That right there is freedom from self. That right there is the power to subject the flesh. In Romans chapter 8 verses 5 and onward, the scripture says this, those who are dominated by the sinful nature think about sinful things. But those who are controlled by the Holy Spirit think about things that please the Spirit. Here's one of the telltale signs that you are dominated by the Holy Spirit. Your thoughts begin to reflect upon what please God, the things that please God. Your mind begins to become transformed. That companionship with the Holy Spirit grounds you in Christ's likeness. Now, another amazing thing that begins to happen as you're controlled by the Holy Spirit, you're controlled by the nature of the Spirit. As you now in this moment begin to come to the place where fear cannot grip your heart. Think about all of the things that are going on in the world. And here's the reality. Many believers in an attempt to prepare people actually just scare people. How many times do we panic when we hear about headlines that reflect the apocalyptic scriptures that we read of? How many times do we panic when we hear the systems of the world declaring doom and gloom and collapse and chaos and all of those things that we don't want to see happen? If you're not careful, you will have fear to strike your heart. But when you walk in awareness of the Holy Spirit's presence nothing that happens around you can disturb that peace within you. Nothing that the enemy attempts to scare you with can shake the confidence and the faith that you have in Christ. Verse 6, So letting your sinful nature control your mind leads to death but letting the spirit control your mind leads to life and peace. There is this tension of the will between spirit and self and self pools selfishly. Self pools fearfully. Self pools aggressively. The spirit leads and guides and corrects and points to lovingly, peacefully and selflessly. And as we are caught in the tension between self and spirit we have a choice to make. Either we can live in the awareness of the nearness of the Holy Spirit or we can live in the lack of the awareness of who He is in us. And believers who live in that lack of awareness they're all tangled up in self. I'll tell you some of the things that begin to happen to believers who live that way. They can't flow with the Holy Spirit. They can't get their mind on the things of God. They get caught up in the things of the world quite easily because they are being pooled by the things of this earth. And their minds are focused on that and they become afraid. They become filled with doubt. They become confused about the future. They become cynical toward the things of God, toward the power of God. I can't tell you how many times I've seen and it's so sad to watch. Christians who should know better so filled with bitterness and they don't even recognize that bitterness. So filled with cynicism and they don't even recognize that cynicism. They're brought to this place of lowliness. They're brought to this place where it's almost as if they're just moral atheists who believe in the power of the Holy Spirit in theory but any practice of it is condemned because though they believe it in their minds with their intellect, they do not actually walk in that power in their everyday life and therefore they condemn true power. They condemn the work of the Spirit and they are like unto the Pharisees of old who had a form of godliness but denied the power thereof. And that's what begins to happen to the heart of the individual who treats God as though he cannot be experienced. Who treats the word as though it is just written word and not life and not fellowship and not spirit.  For the sinful nature, verse 7, is always hostile toward God. It never did obey God's laws and it never will. That's why those who are still under the control of their sinful nature can never please God. You are not controlled by your sinful nature. You are controlled by the Spirit if you have the Spirit of God living in you. And remember that those who do not have the Spirit of Christ living in them do not belong to him at all and Christ lives within you.  The Spirit of God, and by the way this verse, verse 11, so often we just read over it. So often we just gloss over this without ever realizing the implications of what is being said here. This verse is a powerful verse. Of course, all verses are. But this one to me stands out, the Spirit of God. And then I said, Who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you? Now, we may be dismissive of this because we've heard this verse so many times but really consider the weight of these words.  And not a different version of the Holy Spirit, mind you. Not a lesser potent version of the Spirit of God. But the same Holy Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you and he's with you 24 seven. Why should any of us be afraid of what goes on in this world? Why should any of us fear that the enemy tries to terrify us with? The Spirit of God who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you. And just as God raised Jesus Christ from the dead, he will give life to your mortal bodies by the same Spirit living within you. Now, there's a lot here but the truth I simply want to glean from this is the fact that the Holy Spirit dwells in you. He does not dwell in the unbeliever in the same way that he dwells in the believer. Second Corinthians 13-14. Now, here's a portion of scripture that literally transformed my life when I began to see the truth behind this. Second Corinthians 13-14. May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Now, I love this because if we simply look at this verse, we can deduce that the Holy Spirit is more than just a force or a feeling. It can be known as a friend. The Holy Spirit is not just an experience that you have in a church service or at a revival meeting. The Holy Spirit is not just an emotion that you feel when you're thinking about the Lord. The Holy Spirit is a personal being. He is the third member of the triune God. He is God within us. The Holy Spirit's presence dwelling within us. The Holy Spirit is God, yes. The Holy Spirit dwells in us, yes. The Holy Spirit is God within us. We are not God, but the Holy Spirit is God within us. And when we recognize that that power, that presence rests upon our lives 24-7 on a constant basis, it begins to change the way we live our lives. Now, when I was driving as a single man, maybe I didn't completely stop at all stop signs. Selfish, dangerous. I admit it, immature. I admit it. I'm not proud of it. But perhaps I didn't drive as I should have driven when I was a single man. And then when I began to date my Jessica, whenever she was in my car, it changed the way I drove because I was aware of her presence in the car. And I wanted to make sure that the ride was comfortable for her. But when we had our precious Aria, the day we took her home from the hospital, you bet my driving habits changed. I did everything by the book. Everything to a T. Why? Because I was aware of who was with me. And when you are aware of the Holy Spirit within you, when you're aware that he's with you in the room, in the car, on the job, at school, wherever you are, wherever you're going, he's present. It changes the way you live. It changes the posture of your life because now you recognize that he dwells with you. And everything you do, he sees. And everything you say, he hears.  Please don't grieve the Holy Spirit. 1 Corinthians 6-19 accentuates the point.  You do not belong to yourself. You are his dwelling place. The Holy Spirit dwells with you, in you, abiding 24-7. May the Lord help us to recognize this and to live in a way that reflects that reality. Father, help them do it today. May we become more aware of the presence of the Holy Spirit. Now pause for a moment because even as I began to pray, some of you were being pulled away to some other clip or video or maybe some other thing on your phone or on your laptop, whatever you're watching on. Some of us were being pulled. Why? Because the flesh seeks out distraction and entertainment. Allow the Holy Spirit to do a work as we pray together now. Say no to the flesh and yes to the Spirit. Father, I thank you. You're doing a work in all of us. And I pray, precious Lord, that you would cause us to be more like Jesus. Thank you, Father, that you are giving us an awareness of your presence. Now, Lord, I ask you in the name of Jesus, deliver your people. Bring healing and restoration and break through as only you can. Break every addiction. Break every bondage. Heal minds and hearts. Heal bodies in Jesus' name. If you receive that, I want you to type in the comment section. Amen. If this message blessed you, leave a like so that others can see it. And also, I want to stay connected with you. So, subscribe to my channel right now and make sure that when you do that, you click the notification bell. Otherwise, YouTube may try to hide some of the content from you. So, click the notification bell. Have a better chance of actually receiving the content. Now, I want to ask you to do something. I need your help. Our ministry is expanding. It's growing. Every season has just been one of growth. I'm standing in amazement of what God is doing through His ministry. The events are getting larger. The media reach is expanding. The Holy Spirit School enrollment is exploding. We are seeing just a very effective fruitful season. It's been like this for the past few years, just year over year over year of expansion and growth. And it's not slowing down. It doesn't look like it's slowing down. Everything we're seeing is indicating that this is just going to continue. Why? Because it's the Lord's favor. This is His ministry.  Will you consider right now, prayerfully, with no pressure? And by the way, I want to mention this just so that it's clear. Your giving is not tied to your healing or your deliverance. That's a separate thing. We don't give to receive healing. We don't give to receive deliverance. We give because we believe in the work and the cause. We believe in the message that's going forth and we stand behind that. I believe that as we sow, we also reap. You know, generosity is only one aspect of good stewardship. And I believe that God does recognize generosity and He does increase. But that's not for me to say. It's not for me to tell you when you'll be blessed and with what and with what amount or anything like that. Besides, we don't give to get. We give to give. So if you've been blessed by this ministry, you love the work that's going forth. You love the message that's going forth. You're excited about the lives being impacted through this ministry. Can I invite you right now to help me out by signing up to become a monthly ministry supporter? You can go to davidhernandezministries.com slash partner to become a monthly ministry sponsor. Any monthly amount really helps us and the monthly giving helps because it helps us to plan. You can also give a single gift at davidhernandezministries.com slash donate. You can give that single gift today. We accept currency from all different countries. We even accept cryptocurrency. Try our website first. If our website giving form doesn't work for you, then of course you can use the social media platforms to give and we so appreciate whatever you give, however you choose to give. Thank you for doing your part and being a part of this. And so I appreciate your help. I love you. I appreciate you. I pray for you. And until next time, remember, nothing is impossible with God.