Letters of a Down-and-Out

COSMOPOLIS, WASHINGTON,
March 28, 1912.
DEAR—&emdash:
I landed in Seattle with three dollars and a half, thoroughly dirty, and without any baggage except a tin box of cigarettes. As the cheapest lodging in sight, I spent about a week in a Turkish Bath (basement of Tourist Hotel), my shirt studs and cuff buttons bought food for a while, while the hot room made a most excellent, drying room after I had done my washing, — underclothes and socks. I never before wore one shirt for so many days, but as I did n’t have any money I could not buy another.
During this time I did my best to get something to do in the coal business, in which I have had experience, but with one exception, the S. & W. Co., who run a mine at Renton, some eight miles from Seattle, and the Pacific Coal Company (a subsidiary of the Harriman system), I did not get any sort of a bite. Both of these will not materialize until fall at the earliest. I went to every concern in the business, but no one seemed to desire my undoubtedly very valuable services. Also I went to every wholesale concern in Seattle, handling machinery, etc., but from these I did not get a smell. I presume my appearance was somewhat against me as my suit of clothes looked pretty tough.
I tried everything I could think of, but all I could find was one night’s work as a stevedore on S.S. Governor. Even that work is very hard to obtain. I went night after night; from 400 to 500 men would be on hand and only from 60 to 75 would be taken. I tried all the concerns dealing in fish, but discovered they take no one excepting Swedes or Finns.
I went to every Alaskan concern that has a Seattle office, all with no success.
The nights in the Turkish Bath were interesting, had I the power of description. A bunch of prize fighters boxed and were rubbed down there. Two of them were pretty decent sort of chaps. I acted as second for one in a fight that he won. If anybody in the crowd spotted me in the towel-waving second, he kept quiet.
I lived at the Turkish Bath until I ran into a chap named Jones, that I used to know at home. He ran a hotel in Springfield and one in Greenfield. He, I found, was almost as destitute as I, but he did have four dollars, that looked like a small fortune. He had been working as a deckhand on a tugboat but he got in a row with the Swede mate and was fired. We moved from the Bath to a dump called the Hotel Rainer, one of those places that have (to me) the most disagreeable smell in the world: that of poverty. We stayed there for about a week, paying 75 cents a day for the room. We answered newspaper advertisements and followed up every clue we could think of to get work. I always thought I had sufficient brain to earn my living with it, but it was n’t possible to get anything to do in Seattle. So, in desperation, Jones and I went to an employment office and signed on for a job in the lumber mill of Grey’s Harbor Commercial Co., located at Cosmopolis, which is about 100 miles south of Seattle.
Being entirely without proper clothes for a colder place, I went to a chap named Weeks that B—— had written would give me help as a last resort, and from him obtained the following: —

One dress-suit case $ .85

One flannel shirt .89

One pair underdrawers .39

Last night Hotel Rainer .75

Fee, employment agency 2.00

Cash 1.00

$5.88

The object of the dress-suit case (you can imagine what kind it is for 85 cents) was that to get your fare advanced from Seattle to Cosmopolis one had to have baggage. As Jones’s belongings consisted of a comb, one extra pair of shoes, and a second union suit, the dress-suit case really was quite important. To get this large sum out of Mr. Weeks was like pulling teeth, although B——had written me that he

(Weeks) would advance me what funds I needed. Weeks was about as bloodless as a turnip.

However, we left Seattle a week ago at five P.M. and arrived at Cosmopolis at ten-fifteen. A man met us at the station and led us to a boarding-house. Being very tired, I went to bed at once, where I stayed for perhaps thirty minutes, then I arose and spent the balance of the night on the ground outside of the house. Bed-bugs. The mill whistle blew at six and we went to the messhouse for breakfast. The food was and is surprisingly good. Of course, as they feed over 400 at once, they throw it at you, but the place is clean and not at all bad, excepting the coffee, which is awful. Then we went to work.

If you work with your hands from 7 to 12 and from 1 to 6, handling 4X8s, three things happen: plenty of splinters in your fingers, a very, very lame back, and a devil of an appetite. I did this sort of work Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. In the mean time I discovered the remuneration was $26 a month and food; from this you have to subtract $5 a month for a room and $1 for the doctor: so, as the employment agency in Seattle had advanced the railroad fare, from March 19 to April 19 I stood as follows (also Jones) :—

March 19 to April 19 $26.00

Carfare $3.95

Room 5.00

Doctor 1.00 9.95

$16.05

In the mean time, what the night at stevedoring had not done to my clothes, the three days in the mill here had (en passant, the Company keep your baggage until you have earned the price of the railroad fare). So at four, Thursday afternoon, I was really fairly blue, and then the first glimmer of sunshine, since I left Boston, came to the front. Kelley, the boss, came to me, in a hurry, and said, ‘The I. W. W. are outside; are you willing to take a chance?’ As far as I can figure, the I. W. W. or, as they call themselves, The Industrial Workers of the World, is a labor organization that has no standing whatsoever in the eastern and central American Unions. (I underscored American, because in the entire outfit there is not one in ten who can speak English.)

PRINCE RUPERT, Ii. C., April 4.
Being a jump of 650 miles north of Cosmopolis, which I will explain later. I was so damn tired of the lumber business I was willing to take a chance at anything, so I said, ‘Yes,’ and we beat it to the outside of the mill. There were about 300 I. W. W.’s just across the track, and after hooting and jeering, about twenty started to run across the track and into the mill grounds. The manager, who was lined up with about 15 other brave defenders, yelled, ‘Stab them.’ Allen, the sub-foreman, made a beautiful tackle on the extreme end of the enemy’s line and I followed suit. My I. W. W.’s head struck the inside rail and after he hit he lay still. It had been so long since I’d played foot ball I was considerable shook up myself, but some one hopped up and tried to kick me in the head; this made me sore, so, arising, I billed a man in the left eye and he my right. Then the enemy retreated, and until the whistle blew at six, spent their time in yelling and making speeches. These were somewhat difficult to understand as the spouters used very indifferent English, but the purport was that $26 per month, less deductions, was too little. To this I thoroughly agreed, but when the sheriff came around and offered me $5 a day to act as a guard, I decided it was plenty. Jones also became a night defender, so for a week we walked the streets and through the mill, when it was decided we were no longer required. Then I agreed with the strikers once again, and we decided to quit.
We had just money enough to get here; which was on Wednesday the 3d. Our landing was not particularly cheerful: snowing very hard and our total cash resources just one American penny. I had walked the streets of Cosmopolis so vigorously that I wore a hole completely through my right shoe and the snow was wet. In fact, as I write, both feet are as wet as they can be. The steamship agents in Seattle told us we would secure work within five minutes of getting off the boat, but we did n’t and have n’t yet, though we have a half promise of being shipped Saturday noon to the most eastern construction camp of the Grand Trunk Pacific, a matter of 190 miles.
A remark many men have made to me I remember well: ‘Any man who really desires employment can readily obtain it.’ Well, if anybody ever says such a thing to you, please reply that I say, ‘It’s a Damn Lie.’ I went yesterday and to-day to 28 offices, stores and docks, and asked for any kind of work, and could n’t get it, and Jones did the same. Also we went 26 hours without food, and you fake it from me it’s a mighty unpleasant thing to do. This morning I walked up to a perfect stranger and said, ‘Give me a dollar.’ (I did n’t say, I want to borrow, but Give.) He gave. Jones and I had a drink apiece, 25 cents’ worth of food, and now at this writing have exactly ten cents for coffee and doughnuts for breakfast. In other words, just 50 cents’ worth of food in a day and a half. We have a bed, but remuneration for the hotel man is extremely hazy.
Now as to your letter. I also will never forget the fishing trips which, while not very productive of fish, were certainly most enjoyable occasions. It’s curious how certain unimportant occurrences stick in one’s memory while later much more important ones are entirely forgotten. I remember distinctly the first two years I fished with your father that I was greatly distressed to see how little interest you showed in the game. That first year, my son, was just twenty-five years ago. A good deal has happened since then.
With the rest of your letter I don’t agree. I guess it’s true that they don’t come back, and I guess I ’m down-andout for all time. I’m a sight, trousers torn and a week or ten days of beard which, I regret to say, is turning quite gray, giving me the appearance of a venerable old bum. I don’t know when you will receive this effusion because I don’t know when I will be able to buy envelope and stamp, but when I do I ’ll mail it. It seems hardly possible for one to seriously speak of the cost of a postage stamp, but I’m in dead earnest. Some drop for one who has held the rather important positions that I did, such a short time ago.
If it was n’t for that confounded will I guess I’d try the long swim to China. It’s months since I heard whether my kiddies were dead or alive.
Well, Old Fellow, if later there is anything to communicate I’ll send it along.

CAMP 59, GRAND TRUNK PACIFIC,
April 8, 1912.
To resume the story of my life: Shortly after I stopped writing you on Thursday last, I received a telephone message from the head stevedore of G. T. P. to report at midnight to discharge coal on S.S. Princess Ena. This was unexpected luck as Jones and I had seen him every time a ship was due. She actually docked at one in the morning, and when her aft-hold hatchcovers were taken off I immediately knew why the regular crew of stevedores had shied on the job. Hot coal. You would not know what you were up against, but it was an old story to me. Ten of us went into the lower hold and started loading the tubs. At two, an hour after we started, Jones fell over, and about twenty minutes later two others. Gas from the coal. Three of us stuck it out to the end, tenthirty Friday morning, whereupon I created quite a scene. On calling for our pay, 9½ hours at 35 cents an hour, we were told by the paymaster to call between three and four in the afternoon: I fainted and fell flat on my face in the snow. The fact was I was awfully hungry, my last meal having been on Thursday noon. The ten cents I mentioned I gave to Jones when he keeled over. Besides I was pretty dizzy from the fumes. I felt like a damn fool when I got up, and got. out of sight as quickly as possible.
When I reached our dump, I found Jones in bed, but he had saved my ten cents, only having spent his own; so I had coffee and doughnuts and went to bed. I ached so that I did n’t sleep much, and also I strained my back, but we were at the paymaster’s at three, and Jones collected 35 cents and I $3.35. Whereupon we were reckless, — we ate $1.10 worth of steak and coffee.
Saturday morning we were much cast down when the shipping agent (for men), who had half promised us a job, said no. We followed him around all morning (so did about 75 others), and finally he turned to a chap called Mac and said, ‘Can you use the lads?’ Mac looked us over and allowed he could. So at one we started and arrived at our destination at five. Four hours going 59 miles, hardly fast and furious. A firm of contractors are putting in a steel bridge with concrete, piers, abutments, etc., about 200 men on the job. After supper in the mess-house we approached the office guiltily. We knew we should have brought blankets with us, but after handing the Prince Rupert landlord the entire privy purse we still owed him $1.
After Jones had almost cried, the storeman handed each a perfectly good cotton blanket at $3.25 each, and we went to the bridge bunk-house. (Five in all, with different names.)
This house has only white men. (Whites evidently means Canadians, Americans, Englishmen,and Germans.) No bugs, thank God! and straw mattresses.
I hope, if yesterday was fine, that you and your wife walked from Massachusetts Avenue to Arlington Street, via Commonwealth Avenue. If so you probably saw some stunning sights. Boston, with the exception of Philadelphia and Los Angeles, has, I think, the best-looking women on the continent.
But though I worked the entire day with pick and shovel, I certainly saw a more stunning. We are on the Skeena River, a sizable stream, mountains on both sides as bold as I ever saw and infinitely more beautiful than the Rockies. Of course, this effect may have been heightened by a beautiful day, bright sun, and no wind. We are engaged in bridging the second perfect-looking fly-fishing stream I have ever seen (the other being Grand Lake Stream, in Maine), though I presume that when the snow begins to melt it will be a torrent.
This morning the same old snow and rain. Wet to the skin, of course. How I would like a pair of shoes, sweater, and oil-coat. If I had those then I would get a fly-rod and get some trout. (They look very much like landlocked salmon.) But as the prices they charge in the store are frightful (at least 100 per cent extra), it will be a week before I can get even the boots.
It was so wet this noon the companystopped work. This I did not like, as I could n’t have been wetter if in the river, and you are charged with your meals whether you work or not. The remuneration is as follows. Wages $3 for 10-hour day, less 90 cents for meals, $1 per month for doctor and $1 for hospital,
I hope that this very lengthy epistle will not bore you; it has at least helped me to pass some weary moments. Also I hope you can read it (the Camp 59 part). I am in my bunk (only one table, used by card-players) using the celebrated Weeks Dress-Suit Case for a back.
The surroundings are not at all bad. Forty-odd men listening to a phonograph. If they were not so afraid of poisonous fresh air and would n’t spit every second on the floor, I would be satisfied.
As our present job will probably last not over two weeks,
Address,
Prince Rupert, B. C.
H. D. P.

CAMP NO. 59,
GRAND TRUNK PACIFIC RY. BRITISH COLUMBIA,
April 15, 1912.
My DEAR——:
For some days I have meant to write you, but the present life I am leading makes it difficult to do anything except work and sleep.
I am with the pick-and-shovel gang, which work, I take it, takes the least intelligence of any known. We are called at six, breakfast at six-thirty, work at seven until noon, then again from one until six. The bunk-house I sleep in is so dimly lighted it is almost impossible to see to use a pencil, the one table being used nightly by four confirmed whist-players.
The work is not over-hard, but it is fearfully monotonous and uninteresting, but I must say the workman’s view of life is novel and gives one quite a different idea of the world. Somewhere about two hundred men are on this job, putting in concrete piers for a bridge, and also somewhat turning the course of the Skeena River (a stream about the size of the Kennebec). We have a babel of language, Canadians, Americans, Russians, Finns, Poles, Italians, etc., etc. The food is good and so far our bunk-house is free from vermin, but the one next to us is infested with both bed-bugs and lice, and we expect a visitation any day
Wages in this country are a good deal of a delusion and a snare; I am receiving three dollars a day which is, of course, nearly double what I would get in the East for similar work, but living is very expensive. Twenty-five cents for a ten-cent tin of Lucky Strike, nine dollars for a pair of shoes not worth over four, two dollars and a half for dollar overalls, etc., etc. For food, the contractors, Johnson, Carey, and Helmars, charge 90 cents a day, which, of course, one pays whether one works or not; and, of course, there is no Sunday here, as the work goes on seven days a week.
I object, as a workman, to a tenhour day; it is too long, as a man should have a little daylight in which to shave, wash his clothes, etc. In fact, I believe if the work stopped here at five in the afternoon, or a nine-hour day, as much would be accomplished, as the last hour distinctly drags, and every man is hoping for the whistle every minute.
I am really writing this letter on account of my son John. When you receive it, I will be thirty-six years old, working with my hands, with no prospect of improving my condition. Of course, there are chances for the man with a little money. I think with a thousand dollars one who knew the retail coal business could build up a very pretty tonnage in Prince Rupert, which bids fair to grow as fast as Vancouver, as it will be the western terminus of this railway. Without exception it has the finest harbor I ever saw, eight miles of landlocked water surrounded by high mountains, a hundred feet in depth right, up to the shore. Then the fish are here in almost inconceivable numbers, also great mineral wealth and much timber; but all this is for the capitalist and not for the working-man.
There is, however, a demand for skilled labor. For instance, carpenters receive 45 cents an hour and engineers (donkeys) 50 cents. As I in all probability will never see John again, I suggest you confer with my wife, with the view of letting John put in a few weeks in the summer learning some trade, so that if the worst comes to worst he would have something to fall back upon, and not find himself in the predicament I am in at present.
The chance to write this letter came through rather a nasty accident. The anchor-line on one of the bridge derricks broke about eleven this morning and the whole shooting-match pretty nearly went in the river. After dinner two other chaps and myself climbed out on the end (about forty feet above ground) to pass a line, when the leg fell. Both my companions were killed, one instantly, the other dying in about an hour. The bodies are lying at my feet, covered up with some meal-sacks. A good horse is worth $500, but a man nothing, in this country. When I felt the timbers going I jumped outwards and landed in the river, reaching shore some two hundred yards downstream in an eddy. As all the clothes I have were on my back, and I have no credit at the store, I am taking the afternoon off to dry out.
If any one dies or any new ones arrive in the family I would like to be advised. As the work I am on will not last over ten days at the outside, General Delivery, Prince Rupert, British Columbia, is my surest address. Will you please mail this letter to— —, as he seems to take some interest in my wanderings.
Yours,
H. D. P.

PRINCE RUPERT, B. C. April 19,1912.
DEAR —,
I am here as a witness in the Coroner’s inquest, held to determine the cause of the death of the two men who were killed. No new news. I’ve been pressing my nose against the ‘Gent’s Furnishing Stores,’ wishing I had the price of an $18 suit.
Have called on all the Civil and Mining engineers, with the hope of getting on some surveying party, but without success.
The future does not look very rosy as I write.
As ever,
H. D. P.

P.S. The harbor here is the most wonderful I ever saw or dreamed of.

SEELEY, B. C., G. T. P. R., May 7, 1912.
DEAR—,
After the Coroner’s inquest I went, back to camp. There I stayed until yesterday morning, working on rock and gravel, and only left on account of the vermin, which were something awful. I got covered with lice and fleas, and, as they were general in the bunk-house, bathing was only a temporary relief. I begged the superintendent for sufficient lumber to build a shack of my own, but was answered by, ‘ Stay in the bunk-house or get out so I got. Follows a diary of my days.

Monday, May 6. — Started up river at eight this A.M. Followed the grade of the new road (steam) as it seemed to be better hiking than on the wagon road, which was very wet. Passed twenty or twenty-five Italian laborers who seemed to be rather poor walkers, and then caught up to a more nondescript bunch. Four of them in all, one a Dominion Government policeman whose chief duties, apparently, are to stop the sale of liquor to the Indians; another a railroad contractor by the name of Corrigan, an Irishman who looked fifty, and who told me he was seventy-three years old. He said he had spent the past winter in Southern California and that he had been drunk for four months. As he was feeling exceedingly feeble, I guess, perhaps, he had. The third was a prospector, a man of fifty-five, who has spent twentyfive years in this country or north. I envied him his ability in carrying stuff on his back. His pack weighed about a hundred pounds, yet he only stopped to rest three times on our morning journey, a distance of fourteen miles. My own, which only weighs forty pounds, seemed fearfully heavy when we reached Seeley at noon. The fourth chap was a youngster who was looking for a chance to get on some survey.
After dinner I hiked on alone for New Hazelton, which is the headquarters of Messrs. Farrington, Weeks, and Stone, the contractors, who are building the railroad through B. C. for G. T. P. Arrived at four-thirty, pretty well played-out. Had a sponge bath in a hand-basin and changed my underclothes and socks. Then went out and bought a pair of trousers and a shirt. Hated like the devil to spend the money, but it seemed rather necessary. Had no trousers, having worn out the only ones I owned, and my second flannel shirt disappeared a week ago. If I could get my hands on the man that stole it there would be a near murder. On reading the last sentence over it might appear that I went almost naked, while as a matter of fact I have a pair of overalls.
Went to bed at seven-thirty, and, at once, I was reminded of an illustration in an old edition of Mark Twain’s Roughing It. The cut depicted Brigham Young’s bedroom, seventy beds for his wives. Mark goes on to say the bedroom was a failure because all the wives breathed in and out at the same time, and the pressure blew the walls down. My bedroom was an unfinished loft with some thirty-odd cots in it. I woke in the night and the snoring was strenuous.

Tuesday, May 7. — Twelve years ago to-day I left Boston for Washington to be married. My prospects at that time seemed to be bright and secure, but as the late lamented Dan Daly used to say, ‘Now look at the damn thing.’
Went to F. W. & S. offices at nine, and to my disgust found that Mr. Stratton, the general superintendent, had left a short time before for Seeley, and as he was the man I must see to secure any sort of a position, I packed up and hiked back to Seeley. Arrived at Seeley at twelve, had a bite and caught Mr. S., a gruff and short Irishman of fifty, on the steamer. He listened to me for five minutes and then said, ‘You see Pat Maloney and say I said to take you on.’ On inquiry I found that Mr. Maloney is chief auditor of the company; nobody seems to know his whereabouts, but he is somewhere up the line, — he may be here to-morrow and may not be for a week. I hope it’s to-morrow as the exchequer is running extremely low. As I write I have a pay check for $4.70, and $4.50 in cash. Meals are 50 cents each, and a bed $1. Seeley is the last, landing-place on the Skeena River for the G. T. P., as the river goes directly north from here, while the railroad is to go east. Supplies, of course, are very expensive. They come from Vancouver to Prince Rupert by water, Prince Rupert to Van Arsdal by rail, and from Van Arsdal to Seeley by river steamers which are stern-wheelers and small copies of the freighters one sees on the Mississippi.
These towns are amusing: Seeley has eleven board buildings and about twenty tents, and New Hazelton perhaps thirty frame buildings and as many tents, yet if you look at the realestate advertisements in the Vancouver newspapers you might imagine both places were about ready for street cars. New Hazelton, however, boasts of a branch of the Union Bank of Canada, which is at least picturesque, as it is a very fine log cabin.
In time a good deal of silver will come out. of this country, but up to the present the lack of transportation has precluded any shipments of ore. Mineral wealth, timber, anti magnificent scenery complete the entire resources of the region, and the scenery is n’t much of a help to the working-man.
Here endeth the present writing.

[The remaining ‘Letters of a Downand-Out ’ will be published in March.]