Authors: John Steinbeck
“And you think they will? They cut the wages before we showed up, don’t forget that. Hell, you’d think we started this strike, and you know damn well we didn’t.
We’re just helpin’ it to go straight instead of shootin’ its wad.”
Dakin’s monotone cut him off. “What you gettin’ out of this?”
Mac retorted hotly, “We ain’t gettin’ nothin’.”
“How do I know that?”
“You don’t know it unless you believe it. They ain’t no way to prove it.”
Dakin’s voice became a little warmer. “I don’t know that I’d trust you guys if that was so. If a man’s gettin’ somethin’ you know he’s only goin’ to do one or two things, he’s goin’ to take orders, or he’s goin’ to double-cross. But if a guy ain’t gettin’ nothin’, you can’t tell what he’ll do.”
“All right,” Mac said irritably. “Let’s lay off that junk. When the guys want to kick us out, let ’em take a vote on us. And let us argue our case. But there ain’t no good of us fighting each other.”
“Well, what we goin’ to do, then. No good sneakin’ the guys out tomorrow mornin’ if the cops know we’re goin’ to do it.”
“Sure not. Let’s just march along the road and take our chances. When we see the scabs, and see how they act, we’ll know whether we got to fight or talk.”
Dakin stopped and moved his foot sideways against the dirt. “What do you want me out here for?”
“I just wanted to tell you we’re bein’ double-crossed. If you get somethin’ you don’t want the cops to know, don’t tell nobody.”
“All right, I got that. Long as everybody’s goin’ to know, we might as well let ’em know. I’m goin’ to bed. You guys see if you can keep out of a mess till morning.”
Mac and Jim shared a little pup-tent with no floor cloth. They crawled into the little cave and curled up in their old comforters. Mac whispered, “I think Dakin’s straight, but he isn’t taking orders.”
“You don’t think he’ll try to get us out of here, do you, Mac?”
“He might. I don’t think he will. By tomorrow night enough guys will be bruised up and mad so they’ll be meat for us. Jesus, Jim, we can’t let this thing peter out. It’s too good.”
“Mac?”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t the cops just come and take us out of here, you and me?”
“Scared to. They’re scared the men might go haywire. It might be like when old Dan fell off the ladder. Cops know pretty well when they’ve got to leave the stiffs alone. We better go to sleep.”
“I just want to ask, Mac, how’d you get loose over in the orchard? You had a battle, didn’t you?”
“Sure, but it was so dark they couldn’t see who they were socking. I knew I could sock anybody.”
Jim lay quiet for a while. “Were you scared, Mac, when they had the guns in our backs?”
“Damn right. I’ve been up against vigilantes before; so’s poor old Joy. Ten or fifteen of ’em gang up on you and beat you to a pulp. Oh, they’re brave guys, all right. Mostly they wear masks. Damn right I was scared, weren’t you?”
“Sure, I guess so. At first I was. And then they started marching us, and I got cold all over. I could see just what would happen if I dropped. I really saw that guy fall
over me, saw it before it happened. I was mostly scared they’d plug you.”
Mac said, “It’s a funny thing, Jim, how the worse danger you get in, the less it scares you. Once the fuss started, I wasn’t scared. I still don’t like the way that gun felt.”
Jim looked out through the tent opening. The night seemed grey in contrast with the blackness inside the tent. Footsteps went by, crushing the little clods. “D’you think we’ll win this strike, Mac?”
“We ought to go to sleep; but you know, Jim, I wouldn’t have told you this before tonight: No, I don’t think we have a chance to win it. This valley’s
organized.
They’ll start shooting, and they’ll get away with it. We haven’t a chance. I figure these guys here’ll probably start deserting as soon as much trouble starts. But you don’t want to worry about that, Jim. The thing will carry on and on. It’ll spread, and some day—it’ll work. Some day we’ll win. We’ve got to believe that.” He raised up on one elbow. “If we didn’t believe that, we wouldn’t be here. Doc was right about infection, but that infection is invested capital. We’ve
got
to believe we can throw it off, before it gets into our hearts and kills us. You never change, Jim. You’re always here. You give me strength.”
Jim said, “Harry told me right at first what to expect. Everybody hates us, Mac.”
“That’s the hardest part,” Mac agreed. “Everybody hates us; our own side and the enemy. And if we won, Jim, if we put it over, our own side would kill us. I wonder why we do it. Oh, go to sleep!”
BEFORE the night had broken at all the voice of awakening men sounded through the camp. There were axe-strokes on wood, and the rattling of the rusty stoves. In a few moments the sweet smell of burning pine and apple wood filled the camp. The cooks’ detail was busy. Near the roaring stoves the buckets of coffee were set. The wash boilers of beans began to warm. Out of the tents the people crept, and went to stand near the stoves where they crowded so closely that the cooks had no room to work.
Dakin’s truck drove off to Anderson’s house and came back with three barrels of water. The word passed, “Dakin wants to see the squad leaders. He wants to talk to ’em right away.” The leaders walked importantly toward Dakin’s tent.
Now the line of orchard top grew sharp against the eastern sky and the parked cars were greyly visible. The buckets of coffee began to boil, and a rank, nourishing smell came from the bean kettles. The cooks ladled out beans into anything the people brought, pans, jars, cans and tin plates. Many sat on the ground, and with their pocket-knives carved little wooden paddles with which to eat their beans. The coffee was black and bitter, but men and women who had been silent and uncomfortable were warmed by it so that they began to talk, to laugh, to call greetings to one another. The daylight came over the trees
and the ground turned greyish-blue. Three great bands of geese flew over, high in the light.
Meanwhile Dakin, flanked by Burke and London, stood in front of his tent. Before Dakin the squad leaders stood and waited, and Mac and Jim stood among them, for Mac had explained to Jim, “We’ve got to go pretty slow for a while. We don’t want the guys to throw us out now.”
Dakin had put on a short denim jacket and a tweed cap. His pale eyes darted about over the faces of the men. He said, “I’m goin’ to tell you guys what’s on, and then you can pull out of it if you want to. I don’t want nobody to come that don’t want to come. There’s a train-load of scabs comin’ in. We figure to go in town an’ try to stop ’em. We’ll talk to ’em some, and then we might have to fight ’em. How’s that sound to you?”
A murmur of assent arose.
“All right, then. We’ll march in. Keep your guys in hand. Keep ’em quiet, and on the side of the road.” He grinned coldly. “If any of ’em want to pick up a few rocks an’ shove ’em in their pockets, I can’t see no harm in that.”
The men laughed appreciatively.
“O.K. If you got that, go talk to your men. I want to get all the kicks in before we start. I’m goin’ to leave about a hundred guys to look after the camp. Go get some breakfast.”
The men broke and hurried back to the stoves. Mac and Jim moved up to where the leaders stood. London was saying, “I wouldn’t trust ’em to put up much of a scrap. They don’t look none too mean to me.”
“Too early in the morning,” Mac assured him. “They
ain’t had their coffee yet. Guys are different before they’ve ate.”
Dakin demanded, “You guys goin’ along?”
“Damn right,” said Mac. “But look, Dakin, we got men out gettin’ food and supplies together. Fix it so some cars can go in for the stuff when they send the word.”
“O.K. We’ll need it by tonight, too. Them beans’ll be all gone. It takes a hell of a lot to feed a bunch like this.”
Burke said, “I’m for startin’ a mix soon’s the scabs get off the train. Scare hell out of ’em.”
“Better talk first,” Mac said. “I seen half a trainload of scabs go over to the strike if they was talked to first. You jump on ’em and you’ll scare some, and make some mad.”
Dakin watched him suspiciously while he talked. “Well, let’s be movin’,” he said. “I got to pick the guys to stay. Doc and his men can clean up the camp. I’m goin’ in my truck; London an’ Burke can ride with me. We better leave these damn old cans here.”
The sun was just coming up when the long, ragged column started out. The squad leaders kept their men to one side of the road. Jim heard a man say, “Don’t bother with clods. Wait till we get to the railroad right-of-way. There’s nice granite rocks in the roadbed.”
Singing broke out, the tuneless, uneven singing of untrained men. Dakin’s green Chevrolet truck led off, idling in low gear. The column of men followed it, and the crowd left in camp with the women howled goodbyes after them.
They had hardly started when ten motorcycle policemen rode up and spaced themselves along the line of march. When they had gone half a mile along the road a big open car, jammed with men, dashed to the head of the
column and parked across the road. All of the men carried rifles in their hands, and all wore deputies’ badges. The driver stood up on the seat. “You men are going to keep order, and don’t forget it,” he shouted. “You can march as long as you don’t block traffic, but you’re not going to interfere with anybody. Get that?” He sat down, moved his car in front of Dakin’s truck and led the whole march.
Jim and Mac marched fifty feet behind Dakin’s truck. Mac said, “They got a reception committee for us. Ain’t that kind of ’em?” The men about him tittered. Mac continued, “They say ’you got a right to strike, but you can’t picket,’ an’ they know a strike won’t work without picket-in’.” There was no laughter this time. The men growled, but there was little anger in the tone. Mac glanced nervously at Jim. “I don’t like it,” he said softly. “This bunch of bums isn’t keyed up. I hope to Christ something happens to make ’em mad before long. This ’s going to fizzle out if something don’t happen.”
The straggling parade moved into town and took to the sidewalks. The men were quiet now, and most of them looked shamefaced. As they came into the town, householders watched through the windows, and children stood on the lawns and looked at them until the parents dragged them into the houses and shut the doors. Very few citizens moved about in the streets. The motorcycles of the police idled along so slowly that the riders had to put out their feet and touch the ground occasionally to keep upright. Led by the sheriff’s car, the procession moved along back streets until it came at last to the railroad yard. The men stopped along the edge of the right-of-way, for the line was guarded by twenty men armed with shot-guns and tear gas bombs.
Dakin parked his truck at the curb. The men silently spread out and faced the line of special policemen. Dakin and London walked up and down the dense front, giving instructions. The men must not start any trouble with the cops if they could help it. There was to be talk first, and that was all.
On the right of way two long lines of refrigerator cars stood idle. Jim said, aside, to Mac, “Maybe they’ll stop the freight way up the track and unload the guys. Then we wouldn’t get a chance at them.”
Mac shook his head. “Later they might, but now I think they want a show-down. They figure they can scare us off. Jesus, I wish the train’d come in. Waiting raises hell with guys like ours. They get scared when they have to wait around.”
A number of the men were sitting down on the curb by now. A buzz of quiet talk came from the close-pressed line. They were hemmed in, railroad guards on one side, motorcycle police and deputy sheriffs on the other. The men looked nervous and self-conscious. The sheriff’s deputies carried their rifles in two hands, held across their stomachs.
“The cops are scared, too,” Mac said.
London reassured a group of men. “They ain’t a goin’ to do no shootin’,” he said. “They can’t afford to do no shootin’.”
Someone shouted, “She’s in the block!” Far along the track the block arm of the semaphore was up. A line of smoke showed above the trees, and the tracks rumbled under approaching wheels. Now the men stood up from the curb and craned their necks up the track.
London bellowed, “Hold the guys in, now.”
They could see the black engine and the freight cars moving slowly in; and in the doorways of the cars they could see the legs of men. The engine crashed slowly in, puffing out bursts of steam from under its wheels. It drew into a siding and its brakes set. The cars jarred together, the ending stood wheezing and panting.
Across the street from the right-of-way stood a line of dilapidated stores and restaurants with furnished rooms in their upper storeys. Mac glanced over his shoulder. The windows of the rooms were full of men’s heads looking out. Mac said, “I don’t like the looks of those guys.”
“Why not?” Jim asked.
“I don’t know. There ought to be some women there. There aren’t any women at all.”
In the doorways of the box-cars strike-breakers sat, and standing behind them were others. They stared uneasily. They made no move to get out on to the ground.
Then London stepped out in front, stepped so close to a guard that the shot-gun muzzle turned and pointed at his stomach, and the guard moved back a pace. The engine panted rhythmically, like a great, tired animal. London cupped his hands around his mouth. His deep voice roared, “Come on over, you guys. Don’t fight against us. Don’t help the cops.” His voice was cut off by a shriek of steam. A jet of white leaped from the side of the engine, drowning London’s voice, blotting out every sound but its own swishing scream. The line of strikers moved restively, bellied out in the middle, toward the guards. The shotgun muzzles turned and swept the ranks. The guards’ faces tightened, but their threat had stopped the line. The steam shrieked on, and its white plume rose up and broke into little pieces.
In the doorway of one of the box-cars a commotion started, a kind of a boiling of the men. A man squirmed through the seated scabs and dropped to the ground.
Mac shouted in Jim’s ear, “My God! It’s Joy!”
The misshapen, gnome-like figure faced the doorway, and the men. The arms waved jerkily. Still the steam screeched. The men in the doorway dropped to the ground and stood in front of the frantic, jerking Joy. He turned and waved his arm toward the strikers. His beaten face was contorted. Five or six of the men fell in behind him, and the whole group moved toward the line of strikers. The guards turned sideways, nervously trying to watch both sides at once.