Читать книгу The Electric Gun - Harold Johnston - Страница 4

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"A thousand years scarce serve to form a State;

An hour may lay it in the dust."

—Byron.

Bruce was appointed sub-editor of the "State Daily News," but his innate love of justice brought him ere long into conflict with the horde of place hunters who swarmed like flies round the Government offices.

Edward Bruce had always strongly advocated equal remuneration for all workers, as he recognized that any other arrangement would lead to infinite trouble when the commission to regulate employment should be appointed. In a community where all were supposed to have equal rights, he contended that it was absurd to say that the services of one man were of more value to the State than those of his neighbour. He quite failed to perceive, however, that while the amount of money actually paid might be the same in all cases, yet the position of the officials who regulated and controlled production must be very much better than that of the labourers on the farm or in the factory. This must be so, even if all men were industrious and virtuous, and in Bruce's calculations he entirely overlooked the important factor of human nature.

No sooner did the bureaucracy find itself firmly seated than it promptly kicked away the ladder by means of which it had climbed to power.

At this time Bruce was thirty-five years of age, married, with one infant son.

One morning he was politely informed that, as his services were no longer required on the staff of the paper, he would be expected to report himself for duty within three days to the Superintendent of the wheat farm at Temora. He went round at once to the Labour Department and, after some difficulty, succeeded in obtaining an interview with the Director. But it was quite in vain that he pointed out that his services would be of more value to the State in his present position.

"You may think so," said the Director, with a sneer, "but then your opinion is not wanted on the subject. Don't you, or can't you, see that if choice of occupation were permitted in your case, we should be morally bound to allow everyone to select his own work? Everyone might decide to become a lawyer or a policeman. The only fair, the only possible, way of allotting tasks is by rote. The farm superintendent at Temora has sent in a requisition for two hundred additional men. Your name happened to be drawn amongst the number. I can do nothing for you; good-day."

This was bad enough, but worse was to follow. When he reached his home an hour later, he found that his wife had just been served with a notice, instructing her to proceed by the following Monday morning's train to Jervis Bay, to begin work there in the new jute factory.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Bruce, when he had glanced at the notice; "there must be some dreadful mistake. I am being sent to Temora. They cannot intend to separate us!"

The young wife threw herself into her husband's arms. "I will not leave you, I cannot leave you, Ted," she sobbed. "I'll die before I let them take me away."

Bruce soothed her as well as his own emotions would permit.

"Don't cry, Ellen, dear," he said. "I feel sure that it is only the result of a clerical error. I shall go back to town at once, and see the Director again. Don't worry! It will be all right."

Bruce was far from feeling the confidence which his words to his weeping wife indicated. He had already seen enough of departmental tyranny to realize that many of the officials were capable of anything, especially when it meant a demonstration of their own authority. They could always shield themselves behind the State. "The interests of the State demanded it."

Bruce found, upon his return to the office, that the Director had "just gone out for a few minutes." The great man did not return for an hour and a half and, when he did come in, Bruce mentally diagnosed the case as "pretty full."

"What's the matter?" asked the Director, as he lurched into his chair. "Oh! it's you, Bruce, is it? What-ye-want? Out with it; can't ye see I'm busy?"

"I wish, sir, to put my case before you again," began Bruce. The Director interrupted him angrily.

"Your case! your case! Confound you and your case! One would think, to hear you talk, that nothing in the world is of any importance but your paltry affairs."

"But, Sir, you stated this morning that I must go to Temora."

"Well, what about it?"

"Only this, that since I saw you this morning, my wife has received instructions to proceed to Jervis Bay," replied the unhappy man.

"Look here!" exclaimed the Minister, thumping the table with his fist, "you understand this. The rights of the State are paramount—paramount. The individual is nothing—less than nothing. If your wife's name is drawn for Jervis Bay, or for Bourke, or for Tim-Timbuctoo, she must go; that's all about it. D'you think, do you really think, that a department such as this can be administered if I am to be constantly pestered by fellows such as you? Gerout the office!"

"But my wife's health—"

"Oh! d—n your wife's health! What I care about y'r wife's health? She'll be orright. Plenty men at Jervis Bay. Soon console herself loss o' you. Plenty women Temora; you get side the superin'endent, he'll fix y' up. Gerout! I got lot o' work. Gerout!"

How Bruce reached his home on that dreadful day he did not know.

"What can I say to Ellen?" he groaned. He and his wife, though married for more than five years, were still lovers. Through all the struggles of the past few years he had been supported by the thought that he was working for Ellen. "For Ellen and now!"

His cheeks burned as he recalled the insulting words of the brute who, by virtue of his office, had power to inflict such injustice upon unoffending people. And then there was his little boy, whom he had temporarily forgotten. Heavens! Would that poor helpless child be torn from his mother's arms—taken away, to be handed over to the tender mercies of the nurses at the State Creche? And he—fool! idiot! madman! that he had been. He had been partly instrumental in bringing into existence this iniquitous, this devilish system!

Bruce found his wife at the door, waiting for him. He tried to smile. but it was a very feeble attempt. The little boy uttered a gurgle of delight, and tried to gouge out his father's eye with his own chubby fist.

"Come in, Ted," cried his wife. "I have been looking out for you for the last hour. How did you get on? Tell me quick—quick. You have pod news, haven't you?"

"Ellen, my poor girl," he said, as he took her in his arms, "I have failed—utterly failed. The Director—he insulted me in the grossest manner—he will do nothing. No alteration in the arrangement is possible."

The poor wife bowed her head upon his shoulder, while he stroked the beautiful, chestnut hair tenderly. Presently she looked up, and exclaimed, in heart-broken tones: "But, surely, such a thing cannot be allowed. Isn't there anyone to whom we call appeal? You know all the members of the Government so well; why not see some of the others?"

"My dear girl," he replied, "I am afraid that it is useless to apply to any of the members. I have already made myself obnoxious to most of them by constituting myself the champion of the workers. I feel sure that this is the reason why I am being sent out of the city. Little did I dream that my own case would so soon become even worse than that of those poor creatures for whom my heart has bled during the past six months."

"And this is what you call love!" cried Ellen, drawing herself away from his embrace. "We are to be separated—perhaps for ever—and yet you can talk about the sufferings of others. What do I care for other people's troubles? My own, and those of my unfortunate child, are quite enough for me."

"Ellen! My God! Ellen!" he groaned. "What are you saying? Do you think that my remorse at having assisted in bringing about such a condition of things, at having handed over thousands of innocent men and women to those devils incarnate—do you think that is not enough without your reproaches?"

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she sobbed. "Forgive me, Teddy dear, forgive me! To think that I could say such an unkind thing to my own dear boy! Kiss me, Teddy, dear. I'm so sorry."

Under the influence of her caresses, Bruce, who was naturally optimistic, rapidly regained his spirits. He would "look, up Henson" (one of the members of the Government) in the morning. Henson was always very friendly. Henson would be able to fix matters up. Even if they separated, he felt sure that it would be for a very short time, as he would petition the Government for an exchange to Jervis Bay. They would soon be together again.

Ellen dried her tears, and became comparatively cheerful as she listened to his words.

Next morning Bruce called at Henson's office, but was disappointed to learn that that gentleman was out of town. "How long would he be?" The clerk didn't know. "Mr. Henson had gone to Bourke, in connection with the scheme for locking the Darling River. Any message?"

Conquering his pride, Bruce determined to see the Director of Labour once more, but the clerk, to whom he handed his card, returned in a few minutes, and informed him, with a grin, that "Mr. Lewis requests Mr. Bruce to go to the devil."

The unfortunate man returned home, and began his preparations for leaving the city. Before he left he drew up a statement of his case, and forwarded this to Henson's town address.

Bruce and his wife parted at the Central Railway Station, where he, blinded by his tears, staggered to the train set apart for the Temora farm labourers, after seeing his wife borne, half conscious, into that just on the point of starting for the South Coast.

They never met again.

* * *

Almost from the day of her arrival at Jervis Bay, Ellen Bruce, owing to her unusual beauty of face and form, attracted the unwelcome attentions or the factory manager. A virtuous, refined woman, she repelled the fellow's advances with scorn, with the result that she was subjected to all kinds of petty humiliations. Her only solace during this unhappy time was her little son. Jack was a bright little fellow and just beginning to talk when, instigated probably by his master, the devil, the manager had the child removed from his mother's room (during her absence at work), and transferred to the State Nursery at Kiama.

When she discovered her loss, Ellen Bruce was, for a time, a mad woman, and while in that condition would have dashed herself from the window of her room to the courtyard below, if she had not been restrained, forcibly, by the other workwomen. After a couple of hours she became quiet, however, and when "lights out" was signalled at 9 o'clock by the factory bell, the bereaved woman was in bed, and apparently asleep.

The next morning Ellen Bruce did not respond to her name at roll call, and the girl who was despatched in search of her reported that the room was empty. A hurried search was made, but the missing woman could nowhere be found.

Some days later the workmen employed on the wharf noticed an object floating in the Bay; and a boat being sent out to investigate, the body of Ellen Bruce was recovered from the water.

"Poor girl!" said one of the boatmen, with a sigh.

"Poor girl!" repeated the other in a tone of scorn. "Happy girl, you mean, to get away from this God-forsaken country. If what the parsons used to tell us was true, this girl is now in Heaven, while we are still in hell—hell, do you understand?—and serve us right, too, for we walked into hell with our eyes open, while poor girls like this were dragged in. I wish to I had courage enough to follow her example."

Immediately upon his arrival at Temora, Bruce, a man with but one idea for the time being, sought an interview with the superintendent of the farm. Some ten or twelve other workers were present—on similar errands. The officer listened to the tales of woe with but languid interest, but eventually informed Bruce and the others that he would communicate with headquarters and let them know the result.

A week later Bruce, in accordance with the regulations, had his name "put down" for another interview with the superintendent, at the same time stating, in the prescribed form, the matter he wished to discuss. Before going out to work next morning he was curtly informed by one of the foremen that the superintendent did not consider an interview necessary, as "the matter was under consideration."

He next asked to be supplied with writing materials, in order that he might forward a petition to the Government. The official to whom he applied directed his attention to "Regulation 41." He learned from this that "Workers are permitted to write letters, not exceeding three in number, on the first Sunday in every month, provided that no black marks are standing against their names," and with this he had to be content.

On "Letter Day" he first wrote a long and affectionate letter to his wife, and then proceeded to state his case to the head of the Government. He took infinite pains over this statement, but might have saved himself the trouble, as the correspondence was all submitted to the superintendent before being sent out, and that gentleman promptly threw Bruce's petition into the waste-paper basket. A few days later he was informed that nothing could be done in his case—for the present.

Bruce was not alone in his misfortune, Quite one-third of the married men on the farm had been separated from their wives and families. It must not be supposed that the whole of these men submitted, without protest, to the arbitrary acts of the officials, but their attempts to obtain justice met with no success. The less scrupulous among the newly-appointed officials naturally forced themselves into the highest positions, and they were aware that they held these positions only so long as they could compel others to acknowledge their authority.

Shortly after Bruce's arrival at the farm there was a mutiny amongst the workers, led by one of the married men, who persuaded the others that, provided they stood firm, the authorities must give way, as they had always done in the old days. The revolt lasted only a few hours. The leader was led out into the yard and there shot dead, while twenty others were put on reduced rations for a fortnight. At the same time the superintendent announced that the Government intended establishing a factory near the farm and that diligent workers would he allowed to rejoin their wives, who would be brought from the other factories, while workers guilty of any insubordination would he deprived of this privilege. Of course the Government did not intend doing anything of the kind, but the poor workers did not know this and the combined threat and promise had the desired effect of keeping them quiet.

For the next six months Bruce worked strenuously, hoping to find, in the severe manual toil, an outlet for the suppressed forces within him. At the end of that time he was handed an official document, wherein he read that some individual, with an indecipherable name, had the honour to inform him that "Female worker Ellen Bruce, employed at the jute factory, Jervis Bay, died on the 10th day of November, 1926."

Nothing else! No word of explanation! No cause of death assigned! No expression of regret! The State was indeed paramount; the individual nothing.

During the four years which followed the death of his wife the only communication which Bruce received from the outside world were the half-yearly notices stating that his son, John Bruce, was alive and in good health. Then these ceased.

When the usual form failed to arrive Bruce concluded that his child was dead, and he thanked God for his kindness in removing the poor child to a better world. But he discovered later, from a remark by one of his fellow-workmen, that no one at the farm had received any notice, and one of the foremen condescended to inform them that the central authority had decided, in order to save unnecessary expense, that in future, parents would know that their children were alive unless they received notice to the contrary, but that, in case of death, the parent or parents would be notified in due course.

This statement was received with apathy. Why should they—dumb driven creatures—be a cause of unnecessary expense to the paternal State?

They slouched away to their daily tasks, and from that day until just before he was removed to the Home for Aged Workers at Callan Park, twenty years later, Edward Bruce, the one-time journalist, author and philanthropist, held no communication with any person other than his fellow workers and the farm gangers.

There was a tolerably good library at the farm lodging house, and here, among the books, Bruce spent most of his leisure. The great majority of the workers, however, seemed to think of nothing beyond devising schemes for obtaining more food and doing less work.

Fear of punishment was the only incentive to exertion, and lying the only weapon of defence against the tyranny of officialdom. The virtues which had been created by a thousand years of struggling against oppression vanished at the first touch of the slavery of Socialism.

Honesty, diligence, and truthfulness had disappeared.

The system had destroyed virtue.