Part 4

The Justice took his seat at a little stained wooden table and called his primitive court to order. The whole scene at once assumed an air of solemnity that seemed to impress everybody but the prisoner. Apparently he was the only one present who was unaware that the strong arm of the law was about to perform its function. The agent began to tell his story. He was a tall man who would have presented the appearance of great physical power, but for a certain shambling looseness about his build. While he had occupied his chair he had “sat on his backbone” in genuine American style. Standing erect his hands hung limply at his sides and his shoulders bent forward, not as if the man had acquired a stoop, but rather as though the spirit within him had long since ceased to take enough interest in its habitation to maintain it erect. He had prominent eyes and a projecting under lip, a well-shaped head with short, clay-colored hair, and when he spoke he had a trick of only moving one-half of his upper lip, which was long and very thin. His face was smooth-shaven, and he presented, in his well-brushed city garments and sleek hat, a strong contrast to the country people surrounding him. He was bland and courteous, even mildly facetious, as he related his case. He expatiated upon the wealth and power of the syndicate he represented, the confidence the men composing it had shown in the future of our great State in investing their capital here, although they themselves resided abroad. He reminded the Justice that the entire people of California owed it to these trusting capitalists to uphold peace and order in the State. If anarchy and rebellion were suffered to go unpunished in our midst, it would render capital timid about investing money among us, and the industrial future of the State would be blighted. Rassmussen, the Dane, had rented the land of him for the past two years, but had proven a troublesome tenant, and having secured a better one he had given the man notice to quit; had even come up from the city himself, instead of writing, in order to make the matter clear to him and offer him the rental of another piece of land, should he desire it. His kindly effort had, however, only resulted in disaster to himself, for Rassmussen, as he could bring witnesses to prove, had assaulted him violently, so that he was forced to retire, fearing serious bodily injury had he remained to finish his business with the dangerous man. Mr. Brien, the constable, could testify also to the violence with which the Dane had resisted the process of the law, when the officer would have arrested him. He was very sorry to proceed to harsh measures against Rassmussen, but in no other way could he get him off the premises. He understood that the Dane was a notoriously quarrelsome fellow, whose rage seemed directed particularly against those who, by superior industry and enterprise, had acquired a larger share than he possessed of this world’s goods. There was no crime in competence. Rassmussen himself had doubtless come to this country for the purpose of making money. Apparently, however, he desired no one else to make any. He quarreled with the superintendent on the ranch of the largest land-owner and the wealthiest man in the section, and had been driven from the orchard by his fellow-laborers. He had trouble with the railroad company over a freight bill, and now the agent had himself experienced his violence and dangerous propensities. Clearly, such a man was a detriment to any community, and deeply as he regretted the duty he had to perform in the matter, he trusted that the Justice would uphold him in his attempt to bring such a ruffian to punishment. He was sure, in fact, that the Justice would sustain him. A man who had been selected by a community of clear-headed, honest farmers to maintain the majesty of the law among them would never be false to his trust, and he was sure he would not regret the confidence he had placed in the Justice’s uprightness of intention and determination to see right done.

The worthy official was evidently impressed by the agent’s address, and at the reference to himself his whole aspect stiffened into a still more rigid solemnity. Turning to the prisoner he said with scarce concealed impatience:

“Well, Rassmussen, have you got anything to say for yourself?”

By this time one citizen after another had dropped into the court-room until the place was crowded, and quite a concourse of people lingered without the door, striving to gain some idea of what was going on within. All through the agent’s statement the Dane had sat silent, apparently not hearing what was said, sullenly contemplating his handcuffed wrists and heavy, patched boots. When the Justice spoke to him, however, he slowly arose from the bench on which he sat and gazed about him on the assembly of his neighbors. It seemed for a moment as though he were seeking for sympathy, but only a vague, disinterested curiosity greeted him from every face as he glanced from one to another. His heavy features did not lighten, and his jaw dropped stupidly for a moment, but at last he pulled himself together, as it were, and began slowly and laboriously, his Norse tongue occasionally having hard work to adapt itself to the foreign language in which he spoke.

“You all, mine neighbors, know me vell,” he said simply, “Olaf Rassmussen, I am. In mine country, miles from here, an’ seas across, I read an’ I hear on America. There, they tell me, is alvays vork to be done, an’ plenty an’ vreedom vor the man who will vork, an’ I safe an’ safe, me an’ mine vooman, an’ bimeby ve come on the money vor to pring us the seas across. So den to America vere comen, an’ ve puy land an’ lif on Minnesota, an’ I gits a little house an’ ve do vell, an’ haf von two children.

“But I hear always Californy, Californy vas the land vor de man vat vants to git ahead, an’ I vishes much I had come on Californy. Den one night came to mine house fire, and ve vas all out purned, an’ afterwards I make up mine mind I shall come on Californy. So, den, I sell mine little farm and ve prings der children to this land. I hafs no more money to puy land, but some man I know he sends me this man to, and he says to me: ‘All right, all right, you rent now, you raise pig crops and sells him for much money, and bimeby ve sells you land and you gits ahead fast and has a home here in no time.’

“So I takes mine twenty acres an’ I puts in crops, an’ me an’ mine vooman ve vork. Ven it vas come daylight ve pegin, an’ ven it come dark ve vas vorking so as slaves. Ve puilds von house, mine vooman nailing up does walls mit her own hands, an’ bimeby ve hat a shed an’ horse, an’ cow, an’ nice home, an’ mine grain do vell der year, an’ I pays mine rent, an’ puts py some money. Venefer der vas extra to do I do him, an’ ven a neighbor vas hat pad luck I help ’im, an’ I do mine duty as a man—you all know dat.”

“That’s so,” said a boy in the crowd. “When my father broke his arm Olaf came over and harrowed for us two days, and never charged a cent.” “Mrs. Rassmussen sat up most every night for a week when our baby was so sick and Mother came down with the grip,” said another close beside me. But the Dane went on with his story, gaining courage and command of language as he proceeded, until he seemed completely to have forgotten everything save the story he was telling.

“Come fruit time, first year, mine vork vas all so I could get along, an’ mine vooman she says she can earn money picking cherries in Burns’ big orchard. I say ‘So?’ an’ I go see der boss about it. He say vork is plenty and help scarce; but when I look I see he haf a pig gang of Chinamen in der orchard, and I couldn’t let my vooman vork mit dem, and so I say: ‘I vill vork in der orchard, and you stay der home py and dig der potatoes and hoe der corn.’ Vell, I go in der orchard von day, an’ I notice der Chinamen go in a corner an’ all talking like mad, an’ bimeby der boss he comes an’ tells me I must quit or the whole gang will leaf. I say to ’im, ‘Let dem leaf an’ git vite men an’ voomans to do der vork,’ but he tells me he haf hire der gang much cheaper as vite men vill vork, an’ he can’t afford to make ’em mad. Den I say I vork der day out, an’ he goes off. Bimeby came der boss Chinaman an’ order me off. I swear I go not, an’ den der whole gang came on me for fight, an’ I knock some over an’ vas most in pieces torn. So the vite boss he pays me nothing vor mine vork, as he say I lost ’im two days’ time of der gang. I haf never any trouble of mine neighbor but what I tell you. You all know it.

“Vell, after that I goes on working an’ doing well, an’ I haf a great crop of potatoes dat year. Dey grow as I never pefore see, an’ one night der agent of der railroad he say to me I pedder be send does potatoes to der city. ‘Don’t delay,’ he say to me, or eferypody else will be ahead of you an’ you gits no market.’ I hurried up next day an’ gits mine potatoes der station to, an’ I see great piles, hundreds bushels potatoes, all at station vor to ship. Der agent say, ‘All right, ve can send plenty. I bin poking up der growers. I don’t like to see mine neighbors git left,’ an’ I sends on mine potatoes to der commission men vat he recommends an’ pays mine freight, an’ he tells me I make lots of money. I keep not back any, as I needs dat money and vas thinking I might bargain dat year to puy der land. Vell, I vaits tree four days—a week. Den come vort by does commission men dat der city vas full of potatoes, an’ der papers had been telling a week now how der potatoes vas being dumped in der bay at der city, an’ mine had been dumped in, too. Der letter said any man vas a fool to ship den. I show ’im to some mens, an’ dey laugh and say dat agent vas tam smart, anyway, to git the potatoes shipped an’ secure his freight; but I vas out mine crop an’ mine freight money, an’ mine children got no shoes dat winter nor me an’ mine vooman any clothes, an’ it vas a hard pull. I talked with dat agent, an’ he say mine loss non his pizness. His pizness vas to do vell by der railroad company. Dat vas vat he vas paid for. I haf no trouble mit him, but von man vat he so fool try to kill him an’ vas put in prison.

“You all know it.

“Vell, next year ye do better. Comes a little feller to mine house to lif, but der crops is good and ve make some money. Den ve tink maybe ve can puy der land dis year, an’ I haf tree hundred dollar to make von payment. I say so to this man here ven he come, but he tell me his company haf conclude not to sell, but to rent der land. He say der come soon annuder road the place through, and value will be higher, so der company conclude to hold, and then he tell me he must have bigger rent der next year. I tell him impossible, I cannot pay more, an’ he say he haf a tenant vot can, and he tell me tree four Japs vant der place for nursery an’ vegetables to send to city, an’ vill pay bigger rent. I tell him nopody can pay more an’ put up puildings, an’ he say puildings are already up. Vy, I tells him dem mine puildings are an’ mine fences, an’ all vat is on der place mine, made mit mine own hands and mine vooman’s, and paid for mit mine own money; but he say dere is nothing in der agreement about dat, or mine taking off any puildings or being paid for any improvements, an’ der place must stand just so as it vas. I could pay der higher rent or move off and let der Japs pay it. Den I look around on mine little home, an’ see dat pretty house covered mit der vines mine vooman had planted, an’ der rose trees in der garden, an’ dat little vineyard by der side of der house, an’ der henyard an’ barn vere I could hear mine horse stomping, an’ I thought of all dem two years an’ mine hard vork, an’ it seems like I got crazy; an’ I asks dat man vas it der law in free America? an’ he tell me he had all der law on his side an’ der company would uphold him; an’ I made up mine mind he would nefer lif to tell his company about dat, an’ so I picked up a cart stake an’ vent for him. He got away an’ jumped in his buggy before I could kill him, or I vould.”

By this time the Dane’s rage was again in the ascendency. His sullen face was actually black with anger, and he ground his teeth and shook his manacled hands at the smiling agent.

“Dey all lif not here,” he shouted. “Does Chinamen lif not here nor puild up der country! Does railroad people lif not here! Does land company lif not here! Dere all like so many plud vorms, suck, suck, sucking at der life of men vat vork hard. Vy should I not kill von of them?”

Then, as if remembering himself, he ceased speaking, and sank down in his seat again to resume contemplation of his bruised hands. There was a hush for a moment. The rough, hard-working farmer folks felt there had been much close home truth in what he said. Few but had had their own experiences in the same line; but they were sane, law-abiding citizens, who felt the necessity for supporting the dignity of the commonwealth, not hot-headed and irrational like this yellow-haired, blue-eyed foreigner.

The rest of the proceedings were soon over. All the testimony was against the Dane. His own statement was damning evidence of his guilt. He was remanded to the calaboose, as the town jail was called, to be sent to the county jail next day and regularly committed for trial.

I saw him taken to the railway station next morning in charge of a deputy-sheriff. In the procession of curious ones who followed him was a weeping woman bearing a young baby in her arms, while two others clung to her skirts. His “vooman,” they told me, but no one seemed able to say what she would do while the husband and father expiated his crime in durance vile. It seemed hard, but the majesty of the law must be upheld.

THE EARTH SLEPT.

I.

The earth slept.

Age upon age passed over the nebulous mass that lay without form and void in space, unknowing, unfeeling, yet guided ever by the workings of inexorable law.

“Brothers! Brothers!” whispered one statoblast to the others, “I feel a strange stirring within me, a consciousness of broader life; and, brothers, what is this shining whiteness creeping all about us? Brothers, I dreamed once, long ago, of a wonderful glory called light. I believe, brothers, that the light is breaking!”

“How foolish!” exclaimed the others. “We have no knowledge of such stirrings or new consciousness. Why should you have? No one has ever seen light. There never has been light and there never will be light. When will you cease to trouble us?” And all the statoblasts murmured their assent to this, and gathering more closely about their offending brother, crushed him into silence.

And slowly the dawn broke, and there was light upon the face of the earth, and the statoblasts saw it and saw each other, and looked upon each other and said:

“We knew that it would come.”

II.

The earth slept.

Age upon age came and went. The light grew stronger. Great green growths shot heavenward, lived their appointed time, fell back to earth and mingled with its mold. The rain fell and covered the heated world, and its vapors steamed up and fell back in rain again. The seas heaved and dashed, and approached and receded, age upon age.

“Brothers! Brothers!” cried one amœboid cell to the rest, “I feel a strange impulse within me—a stirring as of power. Brothers, I believe that we have a wonderful destiny before use. I believe that we shall have power of motion.”

“Nonsense,” replied the others. “Why do you trouble us? We are at rest. We never have moved. We never shall move. There is nothing to move for if we did move.”

And all the cells breathed their assent to this, and grew more closely around their brother and pressed upon him and smothered him into silence.

And the ages rolled by, and presently motion came to the cells and they darted to and fro in the water, saying to each other: “We knew that we should move, in time.”

III.

The earth slept.

Age upon age passed, and through them all the impulse of life beat on. From one form to another it travelled. Mammoth creatures walked the earth and mammoth vegetation covered its surface. From the north swept down the mighty frozen tide bearing death before it, and the mammoth passed away.

The dawning of a new life began to break upon the world, flowers bedecked the earth, and fruits multiplied and increased in the trees. Beneficent nature was planning for the good of her children.

“Friends!” cried one climbing anthropoid to the others, “I feel a strange impulse within me—a yearning as of aspirations undefined. Friends, I believe that we shall yet walk this earth erect!”

“Nonsense,” cried the rest, “we feel no such impulse, and why should you? We never have walked erect. We have no power to walk erect, nor desire to do so. Why do you trouble us with your imbecile folly?”

And gathering about him they drowned his voice in the chorus of their clamoring protests.

IV.

The earth slept.

Age upon age passed and man dwelt upon the earth and fought and toiled and traded with his kind. Man, king of creation, walking erect, engaged in competition with his fellows, and battled fiercely with them in the struggle for existence.

Kingdoms were set up and thrown down. Dynasties arose and died out. Whole peoples came and went upon the face of the earth, but still the struggle for existence went on; still men vied with each other in the competition of trade; still the strong struggled for greater gain and the weak went down, crushed, helpless, thrown to the earth, unable to do battle in the struggle for existence. The rich grew richer, the poor poorer, and the whole world was caught in the vise-like grip of competition.

“Oh, men!” cried one man to his fellows, “I feel the stirring of a strange impulse within me—the dawning of a great truth. We are brothers. Our lives are knit up in each other. Fraternity, and not competition, is to be the main spring of our racial life!”

“Nonsense!” replied his fellows. “You talk neither policy nor logic. Fraternity is a dream of the poets, an ideal for a future life. Competition is the life of trade.”

So they gathered about him and silenced him; but his light they could not quench, the truth they could not smother, hide it as they would. Up and down the earth it wanders, showing itself in a great deed here, a great thought there, the stirring of a mighty force yonder, yet beaten back by the throng of competing men.

And the earth sleeps.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

End of Project Gutenberg's One thousand dollars a day, by Adeline Knapp