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CHAPTER XIV
THE NEW WORLD
On a beautiful Sunday morning in May, 1899, the steamship Comrade slowly swept through the Golden Gate with two thousand enthusiastic Socialists crowding her decks, shouting, cheering, laughing, crying, singing their joy and faith in the new world of human brotherhood for which they had set sail.
The flag of the republic flew from her stern because the law of the port of entry required it. But from her huge prow rose a slender steel staff, above the tips of her funnels and masts, on which flew the blood-red ensign of Socialism, while from every masthead huge red steamers fluttered in the sky.
At noon on the following day the eager eyes of the pioneers sighted the island of Ventura. At first a tiny white and blue spot on the horizon, and then slowly out of the sea rose its majestic outlines, until at last the ship drew in so close to the towering mountains of its shore line the colonists could almost touch the stone walls with their hands.
The captain was evidently at home in the sparkling blue waters which rolled lazily against the perpendicular cliffs.
Norman had climbed over the piles of freight, cordage, and anchors, and taken his stand beside the flagstaff on the ship's prow, his soul enraptured with the thrilling adventure on which he had embarked.
He had made two trips to the island before, but never had he seen it rise from the sea in such matchless glory as to-day.
Far up in the sky loomed the mountain peaks still covered with snow, while the rich hills and valleys to the southward rolled laughingly in their robes of green.
Five miles down the coast the ship turned her nose inshore, and slowly ploughed her way through a narrow channel which opened between two hills. She quickly cleared the channel and rounded another headland, when a shout rang from her decks. Straight before them, across a beautiful landlocked bay, which formed a perfect harbour, rose the huge hotel, the home of the Brotherhood. The central building was crowned by two tall towers, and the long wings which stretched toward the sea pierced the skyline with a dozen minarets of quaint Moorish pattern. From the flagpole on the lawn, from each graceful tower and each shining sun-kissed minaret, flew the scarlet ensign of Socialism.
When the ship swept in alongside the pier the building loomed from its hilltop higher apparently than the mountain range behind it.
Barbara clapped her hands as she ran to Norman's side.
"Look! Look at those flags! Aren't they glorious? Nobody will haul them down here, will they?"
Norman lifted his eyes and looked in silence for a moment. A stiff breeze was blowing from the southeast, and the two huge banners of scarlet stood straight from their staffs on the towers and seemed to fill the sky with quivering flame.
"Glorious!" he said, at last. "They speak the end of strife, the dawn of love and human brotherhood!"
The Wolfs had preceded them to the colony with a select band of enthusiasts, stored the first supplies, and set the place in order to receive as welcome guests the first shipload of pioneers.
When the throng of joyous, excited comrades had landed, they formed in line and marched up from the pier. The wide, white, smooth road led through a wilderness of flowers which had grown in wild profusion since they had been abandoned two years before. The Wolfs led the procession, with Barbara and Norman by their side.
When they reached the big circle of scarlet geraniums in the centre of the floral court between the two wings of the great building they stopped, and Catherine began in her clear, thrilling soprano voice the Marseillaise hymn. The pioneers crowded around her tall, commanding figure and sang with inspired emotion. Every heart beat with high resolve. The heaven of which they had dreamed was no longer a dream. They were walking its white, shining streets. Their souls were crying for joy in its dazzling court of honour. The old world, with its sin and shame, its crime and misery, its hunger and cold, its greed and lust, its cruelty and insanity, had passed away, and lo! all things were new. The very air was charged with faith and hope and love. A wave of religious ecstasy swept the crowd. They called each by their first names. Strong men embraced, crying "Comrade!" through their tears. The older ones had made allowances for the glowing accounts of the island. They expected some disillusioning at first. Yet their wildest expectations were far surpassed. Such beauty, such grandeur, such wealth of nature, such magnificence of equipment, were too good to be true, and yet they were facts.
The island of Ventura was enchanted. The impression it gave each heart of the certainty of success was the biggest asset of real wealth with which the colony began its history.
CHAPTER XV
FOR THE CAUSE
During the first enchanted days every man woman and child entered the strange new system with a determination to see only its beauty, its truth, its sure success. Service was the order of the day. Men who had never before worked with their hands asked the privilege of the hardest tasks.
The whole colony swarmed to unload the ship. They refused to allow the crew to touch a piece of freight or handle a piece of baggage.
The only difficulty Norman found was to systematize their work under the captain's direction.
The day following they "swarmed" again to clear the lawn of weeds and restore the labyrinth of walks and beds of flowers in the great court. Merchants exchanged the yardstick for the rake and hoe. Preachers laid aside their sermons to wield a spade, and returned from their tasks in the evening with song and laughter.
Among the women the spirit of sacrifice and enthusiastic service was even higher. Many who loved flowers begged the privilege of using the pruning-knife and some even seized a hoe and worked with unwearied zeal.
Others, who had never seen the inside of their own kitchens, rolled up their sleeves, donned white aprons, entered the great cooking-room of the hotel, and made pots and kettles fly. Beautiful girls who had spent lives of comparative ease took turns in waiting on the tables, and all worked with a spirit of joy which robbed labour of its weariness.
By common consent Norman had assumed the general directorship of the colony, and by common consent the Wolfs were accepted as his chief advisers. This arrangement was formally voted on and unanimously approved at the first night's assembly of the Brotherhood in the big dining-hall of the building, which they now christened the "Mission House of the Brotherhood of Man."
On accepting the position of general manager of the Brotherhood the young leader rose and faced the people with deep emotion.
"Comrades," he began, in trembling tones, "I thank you for the confidence you have shown in me. I shall strive to prove myself worthy of your faith, and I hope within a year that we shall make such progress in the development of our new social system that I shall be able to convey then the full title to this glorious island to your permanent organization."
A round of applause greeted this announcement.
"I'm sure our preliminary work will be completed within a single year. I am not a man of many words, but I hope to prove myself a man of deeds. I shall consult you in every important step to be taken, and for this purpose the General Assembly of the Brotherhood will be held in this hall every Friday evening. On Monday evening a ball will be given for the pleasure of our young people, and every Wednesday evening a social reception. Let us make these three evenings the source of inspiration for our daily tasks."
Norman closed his brief speech in a burst of genuine enthusiasm. Scores of young men and women crowded to the platform and grasped his hand.
When the last echoes of the evening's celebration had died away, Catherine led Barbara into her room.
Wolf sat quietly smoking by the window.
"What on earth's the matter?" the girl asked. "You drag me to your room half dressed, in the dead of night, and speak in whispers. I thought we'd done with the dark and scheming ways of the world."
"And so we have, my child," laughed Wolf. His cold gray eyes lighted with sudden warmth as they rested on Barbara's dainty little figure. Its exquisite lines could be plainly seen through the silk kimono as she walked with languid grace and threw the mass of dishevelled curls back from her shoulders.
"Sit down, dear," Catherine said, with a smile. "We have something of the utmost importance to say to you."
"I am to go abroad as an ambassador to some foreign court. Don't say that – I like it here."
"No. We are going to propose that you establish a court here," Wolf interrupted.
"Establish a court!" Barbara exclaimed. "How romantic!"
"In short, my child, it's absolutely necessary for you to become, not merely the power behind the throne with our young Comrade Chief, you must assume the throne itself."
"But how?" the girl asked.
"As if you didn't know!"
"I honestly don't. My eloquence is of little use here. We are all persuaded. Besides, our Comrade Chief has acquired the habit of thinking for himself."
"Just so," observed Wolf. "And we want you to do his thinking for him."
"What do you mean, Catherine?" Barbara asked, her brow suddenly clouding, as she looked straight into her foster-mother's eyes.
"That you must win young Worth."
"Deliberately set out to make him love me?" the girl exclaimed with scorn. "I'll do nothing of the kind."
"You must, my dear," Wolf pleaded earnestly. "It's all for the Cause. It's in this boy's power to make or wreck this great enterprise. We have a kingdom here whose wealth and power may become the wonder of the world. It may be wrecked by the whim of one man. A thousand difficulties must be faced before we can have smooth sailing. The one thing above all to be done is to secure from young Worth the deed to this island. He must be convinced of the success of the scheme, and he must be convinced before he faces some of the most serious problems that are sure to arise – problems which will demand a strong arm and a cool, clear head to handle. The boy means well, but he can never meet these issues. Win his love and everything will be easy. Slowly and patiently I will perfect the organization we must have to succeed."
"I fail to see the necessity of such a shameless act on my part. No man here is so enthusiastic as our young leader. He is sure to make the deed. You heard his promise to-night."
"He intends to do it, I grant," Catherine argued. "But what Herman and I clearly see is that he will sooner or later be overwhelmed with difficulties. He may quit in disgust at the very moment when a strong policy could save the Cause. We want to be sure. He is a new convert. His enthusiasm is now at white heat. We are afraid of what may happen when it cools."
"With your great brown eyes looking into his," Wolf broke in, "and your little hand in his, it can't cool!"
"I don't think he cares for me in that way at all," the girl protested. "He has held himself quite aloof from me of late."
"All the more reason why your woman's pride should be piqued to make the conquest," urged Wolf.
"I have no such vulgar ambitions," was the short answer.
"Of course you haven't, child," Wolf said in serious tones. "We understand that. But we ask this of you as a brave little soldier of the Cause. It's the one big, brave thing you can do."
"I might have to let him kiss me," she said, with a frown.
"Well, he's a handsome youngster – it wouldn't poison you," laughed Catherine.
"I hate it! I think I hate every man on earth sometimes," she answered.
Wolf laughed and looked at her with quiet intensity.
"Come, dear, you can do this for the Cause we both love," Catherine urged.
"I might have to let him put his arm around me – ."
Catherine seized her hand, looked at her steadily for a moment, and slowly said:
"The woman who would not give both her body and her soul for the Cause of Humanity, if called on to make the sacrifice, is not worthy to live in the big world of which we've dreamed."
Barbara's face flushed and her eyes sparkled.
"You believe this?" she asked, sternly.
"With all my soul," was the fierce answer.
Barbara hesitated a moment, and firmly said:
"Then I'll do it!"
CHAPTER XVI
BARBARA CHOOSES A PROFESSION
When Norman came down to the office next morning, the clerk handed him a note. A glance at the smooth, perfect handwriting told him at once it was from Barbara. He opened it with a smile of pleasant surprise and read with increasing astonishment:
"You are to take breakfast with me this morning in the rose bower of the floral court.
"By order of"Barbara Bozenta,"Secretary to the General Manager."
Norman found her alone, seated beside a little table in the bower, her face wreathed in mischievous smiles.
She rose and extended her hand:
"Permit me to introduce you to your new secretary."
"I assure you my delight is only equalled by my surprise," he answered, with boyish banter.
"Yes, I thought it best to take you by surprise. Now that it's all settled, I trust we will get on well." She looked at him with demure and charming impudence.
Norman burst into laughter.
"I'm sure we will!" he answered. "All I require is industry, patience, wisdom, tact, knowledge, sacrifice, absolute obedience, and a joyous desire to assume full responsibility for my mistakes!"
"All of which will come to me," she responded, with mock gravity. "Permit me!"
She led him to the chair she had placed beside the table, and poured a cup of coffee for him.
Norman watched her with keen enjoyment. "I've never seen you in this mood before," he said, quietly.
"You like it?"
"Beyond words! I'm afraid I'll wake up directly and find I'm dreaming. I'm sure now, when I look into your eyes, sparkling with fun, that you are a flower nymph, and that your home has always been a rose bower on the sunny slope of a southern hillside."
"Perhaps I'm just teasing you. Perhaps I won't work," she said, glancing at him from the corners of her brown eyes.
"Then you'll find it a serious joke," he answered, firmly. "Resignations are not in order. You have chosen your profession. As general manager I have given my approval. That settles it, doesn't it?"
"If you are pleased, yes," she answered, gravely.
"I am more than pleased. I've been afraid to ask you to do this work for me – though I've had it in mind."
"Why afraid?"
"I don't know. I somehow got the impression lately that you didn't like me personally."
"How could you think such a thing!" she protested.
"Just a vague impression – caught, perhaps, from little gestures you sometimes made, little frowns that sometimes came to your brow, little flashes of hostility from your eyes."
"I didn't mean it, comrade!" she said, demurely, while her eyes danced and her mouth twitched playfully.
"And you've fully weighed the cost?"
"Fully."
"You know that you will be forced to spend most of your time in my office?"
"I'll try to endure it," she laughed.
"Without a frown or a hostile look?"
"Unless you provoke it."
Norman ate in silence for five minutes, listening to Barbara's girlish chatter while she bubbled over with the spirit of pure joy. Her whole being radiated fun and laughter as the sun pours forth heat and light. He wondered where this magic secret of joyous womanhood had been hidden in the past.
"What a revelation you've been to me this morning," he said, musingly, as he rose from the table.
"How?" she asked.
"I thought you were all seriousness and tragedy, eloquence and pathos."
"We're in paradise now. The shadows have lifted."
"And I find you a little ray of dancing sunlight."
"So every girl would be if she had the chance."
"And we're going to give them the chance here, little comrade!" he cried, with enthusiasm.
"I'll help you!" she earnestly responded, extending her hand with a tender look into the depth of Norman's soul.
CHAPTER XVII
A CALL FOR HEROES
The first business before the Assembly of the Brotherhood was the permanent assignment of work. The enthusiasm which swept the Socialists through the first week of joyous life could not last. No one expected it. The novelty of their surroundings, the surprise and elation of every one over the beauty and richness of their newly acquired empire, carried the pioneers over the opening days as in a dream. It all seemed like a great picnic – like the long-hoped-for holidays in life of which they had dreamed and never realized, yet which somehow had come to pass.
But the time was at hand to face the first big, sober reality of the new social system. The dining-hall was packed. Every member of the Brotherhood was present.
The orchestra played a lively air in a vain effort to revive the spirit of festivity with which every meeting had hitherto buzzed.
But an evil spirit had entered the Garden of Eden, and joy had fled. Over every heart hovered a brood of solemn questions. What will be my lot? Will I be allowed to choose my work? Or will they tell me what to do? Will it be dirty and disagreeable, or pleasant and inspiring?
Norman sat in his chair of state as presiding officer, bending over a mass of papers which Barbara had spread before him. She leaned close, and a stray hair from one of her brown curls touched his forehead. He trembled and stared blankly at the papers, seeing only a beautiful face.
"You understand?" she asked. "I've placed under each department the number of workers needed."
"Yes, yes, I understand!" he repeated, looking at her, blankly.
"I don't believe you've heard a word I've spoken to you," she said, reproachfully.
He was about to answer when the music stopped. Norman lifted his head with a start, rose quickly and faced the crowd.
"Comrades," he began, "the time has come for us to make good our faith in one another. You have proven yourselves brave and faithful in our struggle with the infamies of the system of capitalism. We call now for the heroes and heroines of actual work. We are entering, under the most favourable auspices, on the most important experiment yet made in the social history of the world. We are going to prove that mankind is one vast brotherhood – that love, not greed, can rule this earth.
"In our temporary organization we wish to outline the forms on which we will later found the permanent State of Ventura. At present we will organize four departments – Production, Distribution, Domestic Service, and Education.
"I am going to ask each one of you, by secret ballot, to choose your permanent work."
A cheer shook the building.
Norman flushed with pleasure, and continued quickly:
"It shall be my constant aim as your general manager under our temporary organization to give you the widest personal liberty consistent with the success of our enterprise.
"Before preparing your ballots for choice of your work, I shall have to ask that each head of a family and each unmarried man and woman first pass by the platform and draw lots for the assignment of your rooms in our Mission House. There have been some complaints already, I'm sorry to say, on this question. Some wish to live on the first floor, some on the top, but everybody wants to live on the south side of the house with the glorious views of the sea, and nobody wishes to live on the north side. There is but one way to determine such a question in our ideal state. Fate must decide.
"The numbers of each room and suite are in the basket. The bachelors will be assigned to the right wing, the girls to the left wing, the married ones to the centre of the building.
"Please form in line on the left and march toward the right aisle past the platform."
"Mr. Chairman!" called Roland Adair, the Bard of Ramcat.
Norman rapped for silence, and those who had risen resumed their seats.
"I protest, Mr. Chairman," continued the poet, "against the cruelty of such a process. The weak and the aged should be given their choice first."
"We left them all behind us!" Norman cried, with a wave of his hand. "There are no weak and aged in this crowd. We belong to the elect. We have found the secret of eternal youth."
Another cheer swept the crowd, the poet subsided with a sigh of contempt, and the people quickly filed past the platform and drew their lots for permanent rooms in the building. The larger suites had been subdivided, so that the entire pioneer colony of two thousand found accommodations under one roof.
When the crowd had resumed their seats, and the last cry of triumph over a successful draw and the last groan of disappointment over an unlucky lot had subsided, Norman rose and made the most momentous announcement the Brotherhood had yet heard:
"In the Department of Production we need hod-carriers, bricklayers, carpenters, architects, teamsters, and skilled mechanics for the foundry and machine-shops, saw-mill, and flour mills. On the farm and orchard we need ploughmen and harvesters for grain and hay, gardeners, stablemen, and ditchers.
"In our Department of Domestic Service we need cooks, seamstresses, washerwomen, scrubbers and cleaners, waiters, porters, bell-boys, telephone girls, steamfitters, plumbers, chimney-sweeps, and sewer cleaners.
"In the Department of Education we need artists and artisans, teachers, nurses, printers and binders, pressmen and compositors, one editor, scientists and lecturers, missionaries, actors, singers, and authors.
"Now you each of you know what you can do best. Choose the work in which you can render your comrades the highest service of which you are capable and best advance the cause of humanity. Write your name and your choice of work on the blanks which have been furnished you."
The orchestra played while the ballots were being cast and counted.
The chairman at length rose with the tabulated sheet in his hand and faced his audience.
"Comrades," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "that old saying I'll have to repeat, 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again!' Beyond the shadow of a doubt we shall have to try this election again. If I didn't know by the serious look on your faces that you mean it I'd say off-hand that you were trying to put up a joke on me."
He paused, and a painful silence followed.
"Give us the ballot!" growled the Bard.
Norman looked at the list he held, and in spite of himself, as he caught the gleam of mischief in Barbara's eye, burst into laughter and sat down.
Wolf ascended the platform, glanced over the list and whispered:
"It's a waste of time. Call for the election of an executive council with full powers."
"We'll try once more," Norman insisted, quickly rising.
"Comrades, I'm sorry to say there is no election. We must proceed to another ballot, and if the industries absolutely necessary to the existence of any society are not voted into operation, we must then choose an executive council with full power to act. I appeal to your sense of heroism and self-sacrifice – "
"Give us the ballot! Read it!" thundered the offended poet.
"Yes, read it!"
"Read it!"
The shouts came from all parts of the hall. The crowd was in dead earnest and couldn't see the joke.
Once more the young chairman raised the fateful record of human frailty before his eyes, paused, and then solemnly began:
"In the first place, comrades, more than six hundred ballots out of the two thousand cast are invalid. They have been cast for work not asked for. They must be thrown out at once.
"Three hundred and sixty five able-bodied men choose hunting as their occupation. I grant you that game is plentiful on the island, but we can't spare you, gentlemen!
"Two hundred and thirty-five men want to fish! The waters abound in fish, but we have a pound-net which supplies us with all we can eat.
"Thirty-two men and forty-six women wish to preach.
"We do not need at present hunters, fishermen, or preachers, and have not called for volunteers in these departments of labour.
"Three hundred and fifty-six women wish to go on the stage, and one hundred and ninety-five of them choose musical comedy and light opera. I think this includes most of our female population between the ages of fourteen and thirty-five!"
A murmur of excitement swept the feminine portion of the audience.
"Allow me to say," he went on, "that the most urgent need of the colony at this moment cannot be met by organizing a chorus, however beautiful and pleasing its performances would be. We need, and we must have, waitresses and milkmaids. The chorus can wait, the cows cannot.
"I asked for one editor. One hundred and seventy-five men and sixty-three women have chosen that field. Seventy-five men and thirty-two women wish to be musicians."
"We have looked in vain among the ballots for a single hod-carrier, or ploughman, ditcher, cook, seamstress, washerman or washerwoman, stableman, scrubber, or cleaner. The Brotherhood cannot live a day without them. Remember, comrades, we are to make the great experiment on which the future happiness of the race may depend. Let us forget our selfish preferences and think only of our fellow men. I call for heroes of the hod, heroines of the washtub and the scrubbing-brush and milk-pail, knights of the pitchfork, spade, and shovel. Let hunters, fishermen, preachers, and chorus-girls forget they live for the present.
"This is not a joke, comrades, though I have laughed. It's one of the gravest problems we must face. It has been suggested that we hire outside labour to do this disagreeable work for a generation or two. The moment we dare make such a compromise we are lost forever. We must solve this problem or quit. A second ballot is ordered at once."
Again the orchestra played, the ushers passed the boxes, the vote was taken, and all for naught. Not a single hero of the hod appeared. Not a single heroine of the washtub, the scrubbing-brush, or the milk-pail.
The young chairman's face was very grave when Barbara handed him the results.
She bent and whispered:
"Away with frowns and doubts and fears! There's a better way. A leader must lead. Their business is to follow."
Norman's face brightened. He turned to the crowd, and in tones of clear, ringing command announced:
"Comrades, I had hoped you could choose your work of your own accord. The attempt has failed. Six divisions of labour, each of them absolutely essential to the existence of society in any form above the primitive savage, have not a single man or woman in them."
"We must elect an executive council of four who shall sit as a court of last resort in settling the question of the ability of each comrade and the work to which he shall be assigned. Under our temporary charter the general manager will preside over this court and cast the deciding vote. Nominations are in order for the other four. We want two men and two women in this council. In all our deliberations woman shall have equal voice with man."
The Bard made a speech of protest against the action about to be taken, in the sacred name of liberty.
"This act is the first step on the road to a tyranny more monstrous than any ever devised by capitalism!" he shouted, with hands uplifted, his long hair flying in wild disorder.
Tom Mooney, an old miner, who had met Norman and become his friend during a visit to one of his father's mines, sprang to his feet and made a rush for the excited poet. Confronting him a moment, Tom inquired:
"Kin I ax ye a few questions?"
"Certainly. As many as you like."
"Kin ye cook?"
"I cannot."
"Kin ye wash?"
"No!"
"Kin ye scrub?"
"No, sir."
"Ever swing a hod?"
"I have not."
"Ever milk a cow?"
"No!"
"Are ye willin' to learn them things?"
"I didn't come here for that purpose."
"Then, what t' 'ell ye kickin' about?" Tom cried, and, glaring at the poet, he thundered fiercely:
"Set down!"
The man of song was so disconcerted by this unexpected onslaught, and by the roars of laughter which greeted Tom's final order, that he dropped into his seat, muttering incoherent protests, and the balloting for the executive council proceeded at once amid universal good humour.
A dozen names were proposed as candidates, and the four receiving the highest votes were declared duly elected.
The election resulted in the choice of Herman Wolf, Catherine, Barbara Bozenta, and Thomas Mooney.
Tom was amazed at his sudden promotion to high office, and insisted on resigning in favour of a man of better education.
Norman caught his big horny hand and pressed it.
"Not on your life, Tom. You've made a hit. The people like your hard horse-sense. You will make a good judge. Besides, I need you. You're a man I can depend on every day in the year."
"I'll stick ef you need me, boy – but I hain't fitten, I tell ye."
"I'll vouch for your fitness – sit down!"
The last command Norman thundered into Tom's ears in imitation of his order to the poet, and the old miner, with a grin, dropped into his seat.
As Norman was about to declare the meeting adjourned, the steward ascended the platform and whispered a message.
The young leader turned to the crowd and lifted his hand for silence.
"Comrades, a prosaic but very important announcement I have to make. I have just been informed that there is no milk for supper. The cows have been neglected. They must be milked. I call for a dozen volunteer milkmaids until this adjustment can be made. Come, now! – and a dozen young men to assist them. Let's make this a test of your loyalty to the cause. All labour is equally honourable. Labour is the service of your fellow man. Who will be the first heroine to fill this breach in the walls of our defence?"
Barbara sprang forward, with uplifted head, laughing.
"I will!"
"And I'll help you!" Norman cried, with a laugh. "Who will join us now? Come, you pretty chorus-girls! You wouldn't mind if you carried these milk-pails on the stage in a play. Well, this is the biggest stage you will ever appear on, and all the millions of the civilized world are watching."
A pretty, rosy-cheeked girl joined Barbara.
An admirer followed, and in a moment a dozen girls and their escorts had volunteered. They formed in line and marched to the cow lot with Norman and Barbara leading, singing and laughing and swinging their milk-pails like a crowd of rollicking children.
