The Vortex
: The Iron HeelFollowing like thunder claps upon the Business Men's dinner, occurred
event after event of terrifying moment; and I, little I, who had lived
so placidly all my days in the quiet university town, found myself and
my personal affairs drawn into the vortex of the great world-affairs.
Whether it was my love for Ernest, or the clear sight he had given me of
the society in which I lived, that made me a revolutionist, I know not;
happenings that would have been inconceivable three short months before.
The crisis in my own fortunes came simultaneously with great crises in
society. First of all, father was discharged from the university. Oh,
he was not technically discharged. His resignation was demanded, that
was all. This, in itself, did not amount to much. Father, in fact, was
delighted. He was especially delighted because his discharge had been
precipitated by the publication of his book, "Economics and Education."
It clinched his argument, he contended. What better evidence could be
advanced to prove that education was dominated by the capitalist class?
But this proof never got anywhere. Nobody knew he had been forced to
resign from the university. He was so eminent a scientist that such an
announcement, coupled with the reason for his enforced resignation,
would have created somewhat of a furor all over the world. The
newspapers showered him with praise and honor, and commended him for
having given up the drudgery of the lecture room in order to devote his
whole time to scientific research.
At first father laughed. Then he became angry--tonic angry. Then came
the suppression of his book. This suppression was performed secretly,
so secretly that at first we could not comprehend. The publication of
the book had immediately caused a bit of excitement in the country.
Father had been politely abused in the capitalist press, the tone of the
abuse being to the effect that it was a pity so great a scientist should
leave his field and invade the realm of sociology, about which he knew
nothing and wherein he had promptly become lost. This lasted for a
week, while father chuckled and said the book had touched a sore spot on
capitalism. And then, abruptly, the newspapers and the critical
magazines ceased saying anything about the book at all. Also, and with
equal suddenness, the book disappeared from the market. Not a copy was
obtainable from any bookseller. Father wrote to the publishers and was
informed that the plates had been accidentally injured. An
unsatisfactory correspondence followed. Driven finally to an
unequivocal stand, the publishers stated that they could not see their
way to putting the book into type again, but that they were willing to
relinquish their rights in it.
"And you won't find another publishing house in the country to touch
it," Ernest said. "And if I were you, I'd hunt cover right now. You've
merely got a foretaste of the Iron Heel."
But father was nothing if not a scientist. He never believed in jumping
to conclusions. A laboratory experiment was no experiment if it were
not carried through in all its details. So he patiently went the round
of the publishing houses. They gave a multitude of excuses, but not one
house would consider the book.
When father became convinced that the book had actually been suppressed,
he tried to get the fact into the newspapers; but his communications
were ignored. At a political meeting of the socialists, where many
reporters were present, father saw his chance. He arose and related the
history of the suppression of the book. He laughed next day when he
read the newspapers, and then he grew angry to a degree that eliminated
all tonic qualities. The papers made no mention of the book, but they
misreported him beautifully. They twisted his words and phrases away
from the context, and turned his subdued and controlled remarks into a
howling anarchistic speech. It was done artfully. One instance, in
particular, I remember. He had used the phrase "social revolution."
The reporter merely dropped out "social." This was sent out all over
the country in an Associated Press despatch, and from all over the
country arose a cry of alarm. Father was branded as a nihilist and an
anarchist, and in one cartoon that was copied widely he was portrayed
waving a red flag at the head of a mob of long-haired, wild-eyed men who
bore in their hands torches, knives, and dynamite bombs.
He was assailed terribly in the press, in long and abusive editorials,
for his anarchy, and hints were made of mental breakdown on his part.
This behavior, on the part of the capitalist press, was nothing new,
Ernest told us. It was the custom, he said, to send reporters to all
the socialist meetings for the express purpose of misreporting and
distorting what was said, in order to frighten the middle class away
from any possible affiliation with the proletariat. And repeatedly
Ernest warned father to cease fighting and to take to cover.
The socialist press of the country took up the fight, however, and
throughout the reading portion of the working class it was known that
the book had been suppressed. But this knowledge stopped with the
working class. Next, the "Appeal to Reason," a big socialist publishing
house, arranged with father to bring out the book. Father was jubilant,
but Ernest was alarmed.
"I tell you we are on the verge of the unknown," he insisted. "Big
things are happening secretly all around us. We can feel them. We do
not know what they are, but they are there. The whole fabric of society
is a-tremble with them. Don't ask me. I don't know myself. But out of
this flux of society something is about to crystallize. It is
crystallizing now. The suppression of the book is a precipitation. How
many books have been suppressed? We haven't the least idea. We are in
the dark. We have no way of learning. Watch out next for the
suppression of the socialist press and socialist publishing houses. I'm
afraid it's coming. We are going to be throttled."
Ernest had his hand on the pulse of events even more closely than the
rest of the socialists, and within two days the first blow was struck.
The Appeal to Reason was a weekly, and its regular circulation amongst
the proletariat was seven hundred and fifty thousand. Also, it very
frequently got out special editions of from two to five millions. These
great editions were paid for and distributed by the small army of
voluntary workers who had marshalled around the Appeal. The first blow
was aimed at these special editions, and it was a crushing one. By an
arbitrary ruling of the Post Office, these editions were decided to be
not the regular circulation of the paper, and for that reason were
denied admission to the mails.
A week later the Post Office Department ruled that the paper was
seditious, and barred it entirely from the mails. This was a fearful
blow to the socialist propaganda. The Appeal was desperate. It devised
a plan of reaching its subscribers through the express companies, but
they declined to handle it. This was the end of the Appeal. But not
quite. It prepared to go on with its book publishing. Twenty thousand
copies of father's book were in the bindery, and the presses were
turning off more. And then, without warning, a mob arose one night,
and, under a waving American flag, singing patriotic songs, set fire to
the great plant of the Appeal and totally destroyed it.
Now Girard, Kansas, was a quiet, peaceable town. There had never been
any labor troubles there. The Appeal paid union wages; and, in fact,
was the backbone of the town, giving employment to hundreds of men and
women. It was not the citizens of Girard that composed the mob. This
mob had risen up out of the earth apparently, and to all intents and
purposes, its work done, it had gone back into the earth. Ernest saw in
the affair the most sinister import.
"The Black Hundreds* are being organized in the United States," he said.
"This is the beginning. There will be more of it. The Iron Heel is
getting bold."
* The Black Hundreds were reactionary mobs organized by the
perishing Autocracy in the Russian Revolution. These
reactionary groups attacked the revolutionary groups, and
also, at needed moments, rioted and destroyed property so as
to afford the Autocracy the pretext of calling out the
Cossacks.
And so perished father's book. We were to see much of the Black Hundreds
as the days went by. Week by week more of the socialist papers were
barred from the mails, and in a number of instances the Black Hundreds
destroyed the socialist presses. Of course, the newspapers of the
land lived up to the reactionary policy of the ruling class, and the
destroyed socialist press was misrepresented and vilified, while
the Black Hundreds were represented as true patriots and saviours of
society. So convincing was all this misrepresentation that even sincere
ministers in the pulpit praised the Black Hundreds while regretting the
necessity of violence.
History was making fast. The fall elections were soon to occur, and
Ernest was nominated by the socialist party to run for Congress. His
chance for election was most favorable. The street-car strike in San
Francisco had been broken. And following upon it the teamsters' strike
had been broken. These two defeats had been very disastrous to organized
labor. The whole Water Front Federation, along with its allies in the
structural trades, had backed up the teamsters, and all had smashed
down ingloriously. It had been a bloody strike. The police had broken
countless heads with their riot clubs; and the death list had been
augmented by the turning loose of a machine-gun on the strikers from the
barns of the Marsden Special Delivery Company.
In consequence, the men were sullen and vindictive. They wanted blood,
and revenge. Beaten on their chosen field, they were ripe to seek
revenge by means of political action. They still maintained their labor
organization, and this gave them strength in the political struggle that
was on. Ernest's chance for election grew stronger and stronger. Day by
day unions and more unions voted their support to the socialists, until
even Ernest laughed when the Undertakers' Assistants and the Chicken
Pickers fell into line. Labor became mulish. While it packed the
socialist meetings with mad enthusiasm, it was impervious to the wiles
of the old-party politicians. The old-party orators were usually greeted
with empty halls, though occasionally they encountered full halls where
they were so roughly handled that more than once it was necessary to
call out the police reserves.
History was making fast. The air was vibrant with things happening and
impending. The country was on the verge of hard times,* caused by a
series of prosperous years wherein the difficulty of disposing abroad
of the unconsumed surplus had become increasingly difficult. Industries
were working short time; many great factories were standing idle against
the time when the surplus should be gone; and wages were being cut right
and left.
* Under the capitalist regime these periods of hard times
were as inevitable as they were absurd. Prosperity always
brought calamity. This, of course, was due to the excess of
unconsumed profits that was piled up.
Also, the great machinist strike had been broken. Two hundred thousand
machinists, along with their five hundred thousand allies in the
metalworking trades, had been defeated in as bloody a strike as had ever
marred the United States. Pitched battles had been fought with the small
armies of armed strike-breakers* put in the field by the employers'
associations; the Black Hundreds, appearing in scores of wide-scattered
places, had destroyed property; and, in consequence, a hundred thousand
regular soldiers of the United States has been called out to put a
frightful end to the whole affair. A number of the labor leaders had
been executed; many others had been sentenced to prison, while thousands
of the rank and file of the strikers had been herded into bull-pens**
and abominably treated by the soldiers.
* Strike-breakers--these were, in purpose and practice and
everything except name, the private soldiers of the
capitalists. They were thoroughly organized and well armed,
and they were held in readiness to be hurled in special
trains to any part of the country where labor went on strike
or was locked out by the employers. Only those curious
times could have given rise to the amazing spectacle of one,
Farley, a notorious commander of strike-breakers, who, in
1906, swept across the United States in special trains from
New York to San Francisco with an army of twenty-five
hundred men, fully armed and equipped, to break a strike of
the San Francisco street-car men. Such an act was in direct
violation of the laws of the land. The fact that this act,
and thousands of similar acts, went unpunished, goes to show
how completely the judiciary was the creature of the
Plutocracy.
** Bull-pen--in a miners' strike in Idaho, in the latter
part of the nineteenth century, it happened that many of the
strikers were confined in a bull-pen by the troops. The
practice and the name continued in the twentieth century.
The years of prosperity were now to be paid for. All markets were
glutted; all markets were falling; and amidst the general crumble
of prices the price of labor crumbled fastest of all. The land was
convulsed with industrial dissensions. Labor was striking here, there,
and everywhere; and where it was not striking, it was being turned out
by the capitalists. The papers were filled with tales of violence and
blood. And through it all the Black Hundreds played their part. Riot,
arson, and wanton destruction of property was their function, and well
they performed it. The whole regular army was in the field, called there
by the actions of the Black Hundreds.* All cities and towns were like
armed camps, and laborers were shot down like dogs. Out of the vast
army of the unemployed the strike-breakers were recruited; and when
the strike-breakers were worsted by the labor unions, the troops always
appeared and crushed the unions. Then there was the militia. As yet, it
was not necessary to have recourse to the secret militia law. Only the
regularly organized militia was out, and it was out everywhere. And
in this time of terror, the regular army was increased an additional
hundred thousand by the government.
* The name only, and not the idea, was imported from Russia.
The Black Hundreds were a development out of the secret
agents of the capitalists, and their use arose in the labor
struggles of the nineteenth century. There is no discussion
of this. No less an authority of the times than Carroll D.
Wright, United States Commissioner of Labor, is responsible
for the statement. From his book, entitled "The Battles of
Labor," is quoted the declaration that "in some of the great
historic strikes the employers themselves have instigated
acts of violence;" that manufacturers have deliberately
provoked strikes in order to get rid of surplus stock; and
that freight cars have been burned by employers' agents
during railroad strikes in order to increase disorder. It
was out of these secret agents of the employers that the
Black Hundreds arose; and it was they, in turn, that later
became that terrible weapon of the Oligarchy, the agents-
provocateurs.
Never had labor received such an all-around beating. The great captains
of industry, the oligarchs, had for the first time thrown their full
weight into the breach the struggling employers' associations had made.
These associations were practically middle-class affairs, and now,
compelled by hard times and crashing markets, and aided by the great
captains of industry, they gave organized labor an awful and decisive
defeat. It was an all-powerful alliance, but it was an alliance of the
lion and the lamb, as the middle class was soon to learn.
Labor was bloody and sullen, but crushed. Yet its defeat did not put
an end to the hard times. The banks, themselves constituting one of the
most important forces of the Oligarchy, continued to call in credits.
The Wall Street* group turned the stock market into a maelstrom where
the values of all the land crumbled away almost to nothingness. And
out of all the rack and ruin rose the form of the nascent Oligarchy,
imperturbable, indifferent, and sure. Its serenity and certitude was
terrifying. Not only did it use its own vast power, but it used all the
power of the United States Treasury to carry out its plans.
* Wall Street--so named from a street in ancient New York,
where was situated the stock exchange, and where the
irrational organization of society permitted underhanded
manipulation of all the industries of the country.
The captains of industry had turned upon the middle class. The
employers' associations, that had helped the captains of industry to
tear and rend labor, were now torn and rent by their quondam allies.
Amidst the crashing of the middle men, the small business men and
manufacturers, the trusts stood firm. Nay, the trusts did more than
stand firm. They were active. They sowed wind, and wind, and ever more
wind; for they alone knew how to reap the whirlwind and make a profit
out of it. And such profits! Colossal profits! Strong enough themselves
to weather the storm that was largely their own brewing, they turned
loose and plundered the wrecks that floated about them. Values were
pitifully and inconceivably shrunken, and the trusts added hugely
to their holdings, even extending their enterprises into many new
fields--and always at the expense of the middle class.
Thus the summer of 1912 witnessed the virtual death-thrust to the middle
class. Even Ernest was astounded at the quickness with which it had been
done. He shook his head ominously and looked forward without hope to the
fall elections.
"It's no use," he said. "We are beaten. The Iron Heel is here. I had
hoped for a peaceable victory at the ballot-box. I was wrong. Wickson
was right. We shall be robbed of our few remaining liberties; the Iron
Heel will walk upon our faces; nothing remains but a bloody revolution
of the working class. Of course we will win, but I shudder to think of
it."
And from then on Ernest pinned his faith in revolution. In this he was
in advance of his party. His fellow-socialists could not agree with him.
They still insisted that victory could be gained through the elections.
It was not that they were stunned. They were too cool-headed and
courageous for that. They were merely incredulous, that was all. Ernest
could not get them seriously to fear the coming of the Oligarchy. They
were stirred by him, but they were too sure of their own strength. There
was no room in their theoretical social evolution for an oligarchy,
therefore the Oligarchy could not be.
"We'll send you to Congress and it will be all right," they told him at
one of our secret meetings.
"And when they take me out of Congress," Ernest replied coldly, "and put
me against a wall, and blow my brains out--what then?"
"Then we'll rise in our might," a dozen voices answered at once.
"Then you'll welter in your gore," was his retort. "I've heard that song
sung by the middle class, and where is it now in its might?"
More
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The Terrorists
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The news of Edith's kidnapping--for, in Heideck's opinion, this was the only explanation, because she would otherwise have left a message for him--fell upon Heideck as a crushing blow. He remembered the terrible cruelties narrated of the period ... The Zone Of Force Is Tested
Seaton strode into the control room with a small oblong box in his hand. Crane was seated at the desk, poring over an abstruse mathematical treatise in Science. Margaret was working upon a bit of embroidery. Dorothy, seated upon a cushion on the f... Their Place Of Shelter
This curious but certainly correct explanation once given, the three friends returned to their slumbers. Could they have found a calmer or more peaceful spot to sleep in? On the earth, houses, towns, cottages, and country feel every shock given ... They Make Themselves At Home And Feel Quite Comfortable
This curious explanation given, and its soundness immediately recognized, the three friends were soon fast wrapped in the arms of Morpheus. Where in fact could they have found a spot more favorable for undisturbed repose? On land, where the dwelli... Things Material And Spiritual
The wind continued all night as last noted, and Silver Cloud, without a tremor or swaying motion of any kind, was scurrying across the barren wastes of the Arctics at marvelous speed. At noon upon the second day from the Pole, Professor Gray took ... This Earth Shall Die
My memory does not serve me well in the scenes which immediately preceded the closing of the drama in which Brande was chief actor. It is doubtless the transcendental interest of the final situation which blunts my recollection of what occurred sh... Three Days
Lincoln awaited Graham in an apartment beneath the flying stages. He seemed curious to learn all that had happened, pleased to hear of the extraordinary delight and interest which Graham took in flying Graham was in a mood of enthusiasm. "I must... Through Carnage To Joy
Sometime later Tars Tarkas and Kantos Kan returned to report that Zodanga had been completely reduced. Her forces were entirely destroyed or captured, and no further resistance was to be expected from within. Several battleships had escaped, but... Through Flood And Flame
Yersted's information convinced me that there was no time to be lost. I must reach the Temple of Issus secretly before the forces under Tars Tarkas assaulted at dawn. Once within its hated walls I was positive that I could overcome the guards of ... Through Space Into The Carboniferous
Seaton opened his eyes and gazed about him wonderingly. Only half conscious, bruised and sore in every part of his body, he could not at first realize what had happened. Instinctively drawing a deep breath, he coughed and choked as the undiluted o... Through The Carrion Caves
Straight toward the north, day and night, our destination compass led us after the fleeing flier upon which it had remained set since I first attuned it after leaving the thern fortress. Early in the second night we noticed the air becoming perc... Thuvia
It was the sound of conflict that aroused me once more to the realities of life. For a moment I could neither place my surroundings nor locate the sounds which had aroused me. And then from beyond the blank wall beside which I lay I heard the sh... Thyma Castle
Soon afterwards the hollow sound of the warden's horn, from the watch over the gate of the wall, proclaimed the hour of noon, and they all assembled for dinner in the banqueting chamber. The apartment was on the ground floor, and separated from th... Tight Squeeze
He knew the theory of repairing the gizmo all right. He had that nicely taped. But there was the little matter of threading a wire through a too-small hole while under zero-g, and working in a spacesuit! ... Tinker's Dam
There is something very fundamental indeed about the ancient showman's trick--divert their attention from the thing you're really doing ... Illustrated by Schoenherr The call on the TV-phone came right in the middle of my shaving. ... To Kill!
The Rajah Muda Saffir, tiring of the excuses and delays which Bududreen interposed to postpone the fulfillment of his agreement with the former, whereby he was to deliver into the hands of the rajah a certain beautiful maiden, decided at last to a... To Save Dusar
Thuvia of Ptarth, battling for more than life against the lust of Jav, cast a quick glance over her shoulder toward the forest from which had rumbled the fierce growl. Jav looked, too. What they saw filled each with apprehension. It was Komal,... To Save The World
Two days later Alan and Miela were quietly married in Bay Head. She still wore the long cloak, and no one could have suspected she was other than a beautiful stranger in the little community. When we got back home Alan immediately made her take of... To The Unknown
WHEN, with elaborate genuflections and vows of allegiance, the governors of the six principal provinces of the mystic Kingdom had taken leave of Omar, we remained in consultation with the old sage for upwards of another hour. He told us many horri... Tom Bowcock Pitman
Lennard found himself standing outside the Trinity Street Station at Bolton a few minutes after six that evening. Of course it was raining. Rain and fine-spun cotton thread are Bolton's specialities, the two chief pillars of her fame and prosper...