A committee of three, to consist of the President of the Congress of Federated Trades, the Mayor of San Francisco, and the Chief of Police, was appointed to wait, early next morning, upon Mr. Lorin French, communicate to him the action taken by the Federated Trades, and receive his reply.
It was surrender on the part of the workers—absolute and unconditional. It was a blow to their pride, and a relinquishment of that which, with many of them, was a cherished principle; it was brought about by hunger and suffering, and they gave up the contest utterly, and placed themselves at the mercy of the conqueror. Only a brute could have misused the vanquished, but Lorin French had worked himself into a relentless fury during the progress of the strike, and, unfortunately, he had been left in full charge and invested with plenary power by the departed members of the Builders’ and Manufacturers’ Association.
At nine o’clock the next morning, in the sunshine of an April Sabbath, the committee appointed by the Federated Trades was permitted to pass the Pinkerton guard, and mount the five flights of stairs—for the elevator service had long been discontinued—which led to the top story of the building No. 1099 Market Street, where they were received by Lorin French, who arose from his breakfast table to greet them. He listened without changing his countenance while the Mayor, as Chairman of the committee, communicated to him the substance of the resolution adopted the night before by the Congress of Federated Trades.
“I expected exactly such a result,” said French; “it would have saved a great deal of money and a great deal of suffering to these Federated fools if they had adopted a similar course two months ago.”
“Well, Mr. French,” said the Mayor, “these misguided men, with their families, have been the greatest losers and the severest sufferers by it all. I will not discuss the rights and wrongs of it with you. There is more than one side to it, and we might not agree. I am rejoiced, for their sake and yours, and for the sake of the city and State, that it is all over, and that the workers can now return to their work, and business resume its usual channels.”
“These misguided men, as you call them, Mr. Mayor,” said French, “will be compelled to transfer their opportunities for future misguidance to some other locality. They are all blacklisted here. Their own signatures to receipts for wages when they quit, constitute the blacklist. Not one of them shall ever earn another day’s wages in this city in any enterprise owned, controlled, or influenced by me.”
“But, Mr. French,” remonstrated the Mayor, “this is unworthy of you. These men have homes here; they have families to support; the long strike has left many of them utterly without resources, either to go away with or to establish themselves elsewhere. The industries of San Francisco need them. Why bring in others to take their places? They have abandoned their strike. They have already been sufficiently punished for that which was, after all, only an error of judgment. If work be refused them, they will starve.”
“Let them starve,” savagely replied the millionaire; “not one of them shall ever get a job of work from me.”
The President of the Congress of Federated Trades, who was one of the committee, had hitherto been silent. He was an iron worker by trade, who, in twenty years of residence in San Francisco, had almost lost the Scotch burr which, as a lad, he had brought with him from Glasgow. In moments of feeling or excitement it returned to him. He addressed himself to French:—
“Oh mon,” said he, “but thou art hard; and thou art a fool as well! ’Tis a mad wolf that cooms oot of the mountain shingle to make a trail through the heather for the hoonds. Gin ye hae no mercy for God’s poor, hae ye no fear frae the divil’s dogs that your words may loosen on ye? Dinna ye ken there be ten, aye, twenty thousand men on the sand lots this blessed Sabbath morn, who love ye not, and who, if they get your words just spoken, and get them they maun, unless ye recall them, would, if they but reach ye, and reach ye they will, for a’ your guards and guns, would send ye to God’s throne wi’ your bad heart a’ reekin’?”