The Jungle
for a meal. And so he had soup and bread, and boiled beef and potatoes
and beans, and pie and coffee, and came out with his skin stuffed tight
as a football. And then, through the rain and the darkness, far down
the street he saw red lights flaring and heard the thumping of a bass
drum; and his heart gave a leap, and he made for the place on the
run—knowing without the asking that it meant a political meeting.
The campaign had so far been characterized by what the newspapers
termed “apathy.” For some reason the people refused to get excited over
the struggle, and it was almost impossible to get them to come to
meetings, or to make any noise when they did come. Those which had been
held in Chicago so far had proven most dismal failures, and tonight,
the speaker being no less a personage than a candidate for the
vice-presidency of the nation, the political managers had been
trembling with anxiety. But a merciful providence had sent this storm
of cold rain—and now all it was necessary to do was to set off a few
fireworks, and thump awhile on a drum, and all the homeless wretches
from a mile around would pour in and fill the hall! And then on the
morrow the newspapers would have a chance to report the tremendous
ovation, and to add that it had been no “silk-stocking” audience,
either, proving clearly that the high tariff sentiments of the
distinguished candidate were pleasing to the wage-earners of the
nation.
So Jurgis found himself in a large hall, elaborately decorated with
flags and bunting; and after the chairman had made his little speech,
and the orator of the evening rose up, amid an uproar from the
band—only fancy the emotions of Jurgis upon making the discovery that
the personage was none other than the famous and eloquent Senator
Spareshanks, who had addressed the “Doyle Republican Association” at
the stockyards, and helped to elect Mike Scully’s tenpin setter to the
Chicago Board of Aldermen!
In truth, the sight of the senator almost brought the tears into
Jurgis’s eyes. What agony it was to him to look back upon those golden
hours, when he, too, had a place beneath the shadow of the plum tree!
When he, too, had been of the elect, through whom the country is
governed—when he had had a bung in the campaign barrel for his own! And
this was another election in which the Republicans had all the money;
and but for that one hideous accident he might have had a share of it,
instead of being where he was!
The eloquent senator was explaining the system of protection; an
ingenious device whereby the workingman permitted the manufacturer to
charge him higher prices, in order that he might receive higher wages;
thus taking his money out of his pocket with one hand, and putting a
part of it back with the other. To the senator this unique arrangement
had somehow become identified with the higher verities of the universe.
It was because of it that Columbia was the gem of the ocean; and all
her future triumphs, her power and good repute among the nations,
depended upon the zeal and fidelity with which each citizen held up the
hands of those who were toiling to maintain it. The name of this heroic
company was “the Grand Old Party”—
And here the band began to play, and Jurgis sat up with a violent
start. Singular as it may seem, Jurgis was making a desperate effort to
understand what the senator was saying—to comprehend the extent of
American prosperity, the enormous expansion of American commerce, and
the Republic’s future in the Pacific and in South America, and wherever
else the oppressed were groaning. The reason for it was that he wanted
to keep awake. He knew that if he allowed himself to fall asleep he
would begin to snore loudly; and so he must listen—he must be
interested! But he had eaten such a big dinner, and he was so
exhausted, and the hall was so warm, and his seat was so comfortable!
The senator’s gaunt form began to grow dim and hazy, to tower before
him and dance about, with figures of exports and imports. Once his
neighbor gave him a savage poke in the ribs, and he sat up with a start
and tried to look innocent; but then he was at it again, and men began
to stare at him with annoyance, and to call out in vexation. Finally
one of them called a policeman, who came and grabbed Jurgis by the
collar, and jerked him to his feet, bewildered and terrified. Some of
the audience turned to see the commotion, and Senator Spareshanks
faltered in his speech; but a voice shouted cheerily: “We’re just
firing a bum! Go ahead, old sport!” And so the crowd roared, and the
senator smiled genially, and went on; and in a few seconds poor Jurgis
found himself landed out in the rain, with a kick and a string of
curses.
He got into the shelter of a doorway and took stock of himself. He was
not hurt, and he was not arrested—more than he had any right to expect.
He swore at himself and his luck for a while, and then turned his
thoughts to practical matters. He had no money, and no place to sleep;
he must begin begging again.
He went out, hunching his shoulders together and shivering at the touch
of the icy rain. Coming down the street toward him was a lady, well
dressed, and protected by an umbrella; and he turned and walked beside
her. “Please, ma’am,” he began, “could you lend me the price of a
night’s lodging? I’m a poor working-man—”
Then, suddenly, he stopped short. By the light of a street lamp he had
caught sight of the lady’s face. He knew her.
It was Alena Jasaityte, who had been the belle of his wedding feast!
Alena Jasaityte, who had looked so beautiful, and danced with such a
queenly air, with Juozas Raczius, the teamster! Jurgis had only seen
her once or twice afterward, for Juozas had thrown her over for another
girl, and Alena had gone away from Packingtown, no one knew where. And
now he met her here!
She was as much surprised as he was. “Jurgis Rudkus!” she gasped. “And
what in the world is the matter with you?”
“I—I’ve had hard luck,” he stammered. “I’m out of work, and I’ve no
home and no money. And you, Alena—are you married?”
“No,” she answered, “I’m not married, but I’ve got a good place.”
They stood staring at each other for a few moments longer. Finally
Alena spoke again. “Jurgis,” she said, “I’d help you if I could, upon
my word I would, but it happens that I’ve come out without my purse,
and I honestly haven’t a penny with me: I can do something better for
you, though—I can tell you how to get help. I can tell you where Marija
is.”
Jurgis gave a start. “Marija!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Alena; “and she’ll help you. She’s got a place, and she’s
doing well; she’ll be glad to see you.”
It was not much more than a year since Jurgis had left Packingtown,
feeling like one escaped from jail; and it had been from Marija and
Elzbieta that he was escaping. But now, at the mere mention of them,
his whole being cried out with joy. He wanted to see them; he wanted to
go home! They would help him—they would be kind to him. In a flash he
had thought over the situation. He had a good excuse for running
away—his grief at the death of his son; and also he had a good excuse
for not returning—the fact that they had left Packingtown. “All right,”
he said, “I’ll go.”
So she gave him a number on Clark Street, adding, “There’s no need to
give you my address, because Marija knows it.” And Jurgis set out,
without further ado. He found a large brownstone house of aristocratic
appearance, and rang the basement bell. A young colored girl came to
the door, opening it about an inch, and gazing at him suspiciously.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“Does Marija Berczynskas live here?” he inquired.
“I dunno,” said the girl. “What you want wid her?”
“I want to see her,” said he; “she’s a relative of mine.”
The girl hesitated a moment. Then she opened the door and said, “Come
in.” Jurgis came and stood in the hall, and she continued: “I’ll go
see. What’s yo’ name?”
“Tell her it’s Jurgis,” he answered, and the girl went upstairs. She
came back at the end of a minute or two, and replied, “Dey ain’t no
sich person here.”
Jurgis’s heart went down into his boots. “I was told this was where she
lived!” he cried. But the girl only shook her head. “De lady says dey
ain’t no sich person here,” she said.
And he stood for a moment, hesitating, helpless with dismay. Then he
turned to go to the door. At the same instant, however, there came a
knock upon it, and the girl went to open it. Jurgis heard the shuffling
of feet, and then heard her give a cry; and the next moment she sprang
back, and past him, her eyes shining white with terror, and bounded up
the stairway, screaming at the top of her lungs: “_Police! Police!
We’re pinched!_”
Jurgis stood for a second, bewildered. Then, seeing blue-coated forms
rushing upon him, he sprang after the Negress. Her cries had been the
signal for a wild uproar above; the house was full of people, and as he
entered the hallway he saw them rushing hither and thither, crying and
screaming with alarm. There were men and women, the latter clad for the
most part in wrappers, the former in all stages of _déshabille_. At one
side Jurgis caught a glimpse of a big apartment with plush-covered
chairs, and tables covered with trays and glasses. There were playing
cards scattered all over the floor—one of the tables had been upset,
and bottles of wine were rolling about, their contents running out upon
the carpet. There was a young girl who had fainted, and two men who
were supporting her; and there were a dozen others crowding toward the
front door.
Suddenly, however, there came a series of resounding blows upon it,
causing the crowd to give back. At the same instant a stout woman, with
painted cheeks and diamonds in her ears, came running down the stairs,
panting breathlessly: “To the rear! Quick!”
She led the way to a back staircase, Jurgis following; in the kitchen
she pressed a spring, and a cupboard gave way and opened, disclosing a
dark passageway. “Go in!” she cried to the crowd, which now amounted to
twenty or thirty, and they began to pass through. Scarcely had the last
one disappeared, however, before there were cries from in front, and
then the panic-stricken throng poured out again, exclaiming: “They’re
there too! We’re trapped!”
“Upstairs!” cried the woman, and there was another rush of the mob,
women and men cursing and screaming and fighting to be first. One
flight, two, three—and then there was a ladder to the roof, with a
crowd packed at the foot of it, and one man at the top, straining and
struggling to lift the trap door. It was not to be stirred, however,
and when the woman shouted up to unhook it, he answered: “It’s already
unhooked. There’s somebody sitting on it!”
And a moment later came a voice from downstairs: “You might as well
quit, you people. We mean business, this time.”
So the crowd subsided; and a few moments later several policemen came
up, staring here and there, and leering at their victims. Of the latter
the men were for the most part frightened and sheepish-looking. The
women took it as a joke, as if they were used to it—though if they had
been pale, one could not have told, for the paint on their cheeks. One
black-eyed young girl perched herself upon the top of the balustrade,
and began to kick with her slippered foot at the helmets of the
policemen, until one of them caught her by the ankle and pulled her
down. On the floor below four or five other girls sat upon trunks in
the hall, making fun of the procession which filed by them. They were
noisy and hilarious, and had evidently been drinking; one of them, who
wore a bright red kimono, shouted and screamed in a voice that drowned
out all the other sounds in the hall—and Jurgis took a glance at her,
and then gave a start, and a cry, “Marija!”