The Negro who held Jason Andrews’ place as foreman of Shaft 11, the best yielding of all the mines, and the man who seemed to be the acknowledged leader of all the blacks, was known as big Sam Bowles. He was a great black fellow, with a hand like a sledge-hammer, but with an open, kindly face and a voice as musical as a lute.
On the first morning that they went in a body to work in the mines, they were assailed by the jeers and curses of the strikers, while now and then a rock from the hand of some ambushed foe fell among them. But they did not heed these things, for they were expected.
For several days nothing more serious than this happened, but ominous mutterings foretold the coming storm. So matters stood on the night that Jason Andrews left his cabin to find out what was “up.”
He went on down the road until he reached the outskirts of the crowd, which he saw to be gathered about a man who was haranguing them. The speaker proved to be “Red” Cleary, one of Daly’s first and most ardent converts. He had worked the men up to a high pitch of excitement, and there were cries of, “Go it, Red, you’re on the right track!” “What’s the matter with Cleary? He’s all right!” and, “Run the niggers out. That’s it!” On the edge of the throng, half in the shadow, Jason Andrews listened in silence, and his just anger grew.
The speaker was saying, “What are we white men goin’ to do? Set still an’ let niggers steal the bread out of our mouths? Ain’t it our duty to rise up like free Americans an’ drive ’em from the place? Who dares say no to that?” Cleary made the usual pause for dramatic effect and to let the incontrovertibility of his argument sink into the minds of his hearers. The pause was fatal. A voice broke the stillness that followed his question, “I do!” and Andrews pushed his way through the crowd to the front. “There ain’t anybody stealin’ the bread out of our mouths, niggers ner nobody else. If men throw away their bread, why, a dog has the right to pick it up.”
There were dissenting murmurs, and Cleary turned to his opponent with a sneer. “Humph, I’d be bound for you, Jason Andrews, first on the side of the bosses and then takin’ up for the niggers. Boys, I’ll bet he’s a Republican!” A laugh greeted this sally. The red mounted into the foreman’s face and made his tan seem darker.
“I’m as good a Democrat as any of you,” he said, looking around, “and you say that again, Red Cleary, and I’ll push the words down your throat with my fist.”
Cleary knew his man and turned the matter off. “We don’t care nothin’ about what party you vote with. We intend to stand up for our rights. Mebbe you’ve got something to say ag’in that.”
“I’ve got something to say, but not against any man’s rights. There’s men here that have known me and are honest, and they will say whether I’ve acted on the square or not since I’ve been among you. But there is right as well as rights. As for the niggers, I ain’t any friendlier to ’em than the rest of you. But I ain’t the man to throw up a job and then howl when somebody else gets it. If we don’t want our hoe-cake, there’s others that do.”
The plain sense of Andrews’ remarks calmed the men, and Cleary, seeing that his power was gone, moved away from the centre of the crowd, “I’ll settle with you later,” he muttered, as he passed Jason.