Children of the Market Place Part 28

It is a clear sky with racing clouds that the statue stands against, and I almost imagine it swaying and moving, such is the illusory effect of the clouds. I enter the park and rest on a settee looking toward the lake.

Chicago has now a population of a million and a half--you will observe that this pa.s.sion for figures remains with me. To the south I can see the smoke of the steel mills; to the north the towers of granite, tile, and brick of the city, and all between populous quarters. Twenty miles of city north and south; ten miles of city east and west. I am on Douglas' ninety acres, ten of which he deeded to the University of Chicago. Its three-story college building stands to the west of me about one half a mile; abandoned now. The acres themselves have pa.s.sed to an insurance company on a mortgage. And in the general decay of Douglas'

memory and influences this seems fitting enough.

Of course, the Civil War was waged to free the negro; and to do it it was necessary to have a protective tariff, which came into being soon after Lincoln was elected, and has been the policy of the country ever since. Also for this emanc.i.p.ation it was necessary to revive the bank, and this was done during the war. Not long after the war was over--about two years--the trust known as the Standard Oil Company was organized.

Its moving spirit endowed the Douglas university and moved it to the Midway Plaisance. It has continued its uninterrupted graduating years from Douglas' time till now. It is still Douglas' university--at least as much so as this United States was Douglas' these United States. It is a university built out of tariff privileges and railroad rebates; while Douglas' university was built from land, which Douglas was foresighted enough to buy in antic.i.p.ation of Chicago's growth, and the increment in values produced by the Illinois Central railroad. Douglas was hotly denounced for crookedness and money grabbing in those days of 1858 by the Abolitionists and Free Soilers. Indeed much is said now in criticism of Mr. Rockefeller; but I believe it will pa.s.s. Besides he is not running for office, or trying to found an ocean to ocean republic; and hence criticism does not hurt him so much.

Below me and down behind a wall the tracks of the Illinois Central roar to the wheels of numerous trains, long trains of ten and twelve cars, sleepers, diners, parlor cars, bound straight for New Orleans and New York, either place reached in twenty-four hours from Chicago. I wish Douglas could see this. Still, would he like to know that the public have no access to the lake at any place where the tracks lie between the sh.o.r.e and this wall? Perhaps he would see that this occupancy correctly exemplifies the fate that the free-soil doctrine has met with throughout the country.

There are sounds of trowels, voices of workmen behind me. A group of masons and laborers is repairing Douglas' tomb; for it is not scrupulously cared for these days. Postprandial orators are frequently remarking amidst great acclaim that the hand on the dial of time points to Hamilton; and if government is as corrupt as the newspapers say it is, and if Hamilton stood for corruption in government, the hand on the dial undoubtedly points to him. At this moment a young man and woman come to a settee near me. The young woman asks her companion: "Who is that monument to?" "Douglas," he answers in staccato. "Who was Douglas?"

"A Senator or something from Illinois. But why change the subject? You have kept putting this off, and I have six hundred dollars saved now, and prospects are good. I would like to be ..." the rest is borne away by the wind. But I know it is the old theme. Soon his arm encircles her shoulders over the back of the settee. She looks at him and smiles. It is April! The men are repairing the mortar between the stones of Douglas' tomb. Two are masons, two are negro helpers. The negroes are as free as the whites; the whites are no freer than the negroes. They are all wanderers, looking for jobs without settled places, paying board as I do, or living in rented places. One of them may own his house. Some laborers do, not many. They are like the factory workers, the whole breed of workers throughout the land. The Civil War did not make them prosperous, or change their real status. It seems that the G.o.d of nature still rules, and that Darwin is his best prophet. These men are free to work or to starve. Some things have changed. It is no longer against the law to send abolition literature through the mail. But it is against the law to incite laborers to strike, whether they are white or black, and it is against the law for laborers, white or black, to organize themselves into unions. The slave owners were pretty well organized once, both financially and politically, but now the corporations are much better organized than the slave owners were. The negro did not dare to rebel against his master. And now the law prevents the laborer from organizing against the corporation. We have freedom now, but of a different quality. It has changed its base, but is there more of it?

A freight train goes by nearly a mile long. It is laden with coal, oil, iron. I can't believe that the soil is free. Coal and oil and iron have too much of it. I think of the banners borne in the campaign of 1860, when Baron Renfrew stood that night on the balcony of his hotel. He will soon be king of England and emperor of India. And some one--either the men who carried those banners or their sons--some one now has a complete overlordship of this United States.

Why did not these banners make free men and a free soil? I suspect that the banner of protection to American industries was as influential at least as the free soil banner. It was easy after the war to force the XIV Amendment on the country, to give citizenship to the negro so far as his color had kept him out of it. It remained for the courts to call the corporations citizens and to fit to their backs the coat of equal protection of the laws, which they told us was cut and sewed for the negro. Hence this long freight train with coal, oil, and iron--all very well, but where are the free men and the free soil that Reverdy's son died for?

Cries are now being uttered of capitalistic America. Also they say the Supreme Court is always the mouthpiece of the dominant influence. That was what was said when Taney decided that Dred Scott was not a citizen.

"The courts are tools of Satan, the Const.i.tution is a league with h.e.l.l,"

said Garrison. He burned a copy of the Const.i.tution on a public bonfire.

That could be done then, for slavocracy only interfered with free speech in the South. Now it is not so safe to criticize the Supreme Court anywhere in America. I myself think that coal and iron and oil are more powerful than cotton ever was, and more permeatingly dominant. It would not do to burn the Const.i.tution anywhere in this United and Standardized States. As for mocking the flag, one might be lynched on the spot.

The Filipinos have taken literally the Declaration of Independence, which is the platform upon which Lincoln was elected; and they are fighting us in the name of Lincoln. We have an army over there sustaining the honor of the flag, under William McKinley, President of the United States and Commander in Chief of its Army and Navy. Mr.

McKinley was a soldier in the war under Lincoln. He, therefore, knows something about military matters. He has demonstrated that he has something in his head beyond the theory of protection to American industries. He is demonstrating that he knows how to lift the United States out of its isolation, and to carry it beyond its place in the Western Hemisphere with nothing but satellites like the West Indies and Hawaii to be trailed by its gravitational movements. Also he learned how to put down rebellion in the Southern States, and that is the same thing, of course, as putting down rebellion in the Philippine Islands.

We have bought the islands. They are ours. They are farther away, to be sure, than Cuba which Douglas wanted for his ocean-bound republic. But though farther away, civilization, our duty, and the manifest destiny of old compel us to hold them. When Alcibiades embarked on his Sicilian expedition, it was said that Athens itself was sailing out of the Piraeus, never to return. And some think that when Admiral Dewey sailed into the harbor of Manila with his fleet he took the old America with him, never to return to these sh.o.r.es; and what was worse, it disappeared there out of his hands and is lost for good.

There is China, where we have set up a Federal judge. There is the trade of the Orient; the Philippine Islands themselves are rich in hemp. To get land for hemp is different from getting it for cotton--for I am sure hemp makes a better rope with which to strangle liberty.

But though the Const.i.tution has not reached the Islands, while the flag has, it may in time reach them. Meantime no mocking of that perambulating and capricious instrument! It contains the power to acquire islands, or the whole of China, by conquest or treaty; and the power to govern them as we choose, limited only by our ideas of Justice.

It would not do to let them have popular sovereignty, any more than it would have done in Douglas' day to let Kansas have popular sovereignty.

The right to prohibit or allow slavery in a territory goes with the right to extend the Const.i.tution with its XIV Amendment to the Philippine Islands, or not to extend it--and we have chosen not to extend it. Thus the extra const.i.tutional foundations of the Republican party have led to colonialism.

Douglas, in bronze, looks over the lake to the east--to what? Perhaps to the hills of Vermont and his youth, when no forecasting angel could have told him what could come to him and his country. Perhaps he knows now that free souls are better than free soil, since he never had much use for the kind of free soil that was shouted at him.

This morning's paper has long dispatches about the progress of our troops in the Philippines. Perhaps that is the reason why Douglas' back is to the west. Surely he does not mean that he turns his back upon the domain of Mexico and Oregon. It must be only upon the conquests of the new capitalism. I am glad, and more than glad, that negro slavery was abolished. It was nothing but a wooden plow anyway. Our new steel plows work much better and they have this advantage: they accomplish more, they are in themselves more of slaves, and they are creators of time and of greater wealth.

There are strikes over the land. Why? Are not men free? Yes, they are free to choose their work if they know how to do more than one thing, or if they are able to move from the place where they have been employed.

But they are not free to organize, to agitate for better wages, or to strike. What is this matter of freedom after all? It reminds me of the steps of a stairway. A step consists of a horizontal board and a vertical board and then another horizontal board. The first horizontal board is the present condition, and the second horizontal is the liberty that is desired, the vertical board is the difficulty in the way. One must overcome resistance to step up. When he does he has achieved the liberty to which he aspires. But he is standing on the same sort of a level that he did before. This stairway goes up indefinitely, and at last becomes lost in the sky of the future, like the beanstalk of Jack the Giant-killer. All this sounds quite materialistic, and as if I was without hope, but I am not materialistic, or despairing of the future. I know that matter cannot be explained without resorting to such concepts as force, causation, action, and reaction. And these are the ideas of the mind. And I think of matter and of history in terms of action and reaction. The mind of man is the most wonderful thing that we know anything about, and its secret is the secret of the universe. Having never been happy myself, I am not a disciple of eudemonism; but I see life as struggle and change; and though I do not know what it means, I know thought will not be at rest, that hopes will not cease, and that dreams of liberty will fascinate the minds of future Lincolns and Douglases.

The masons are eating their luncheon. I arise to go to Douglas' tomb.

The young woman says: "I wonder who that old man is? He has been sitting right there all morning."

I wonder myself who I am. I take my way feebly up the stone steps to the grated door of the tomb. I look through. There lies the sarcophagus which contains the bones of Stephen A. Douglas. There was no truer, braver man in his time, and no abler.

I put my spectacles on, for I cannot see well into the tomb. Yes, there are the words: "Tell my children to obey the laws and support the Const.i.tution." No, I do not subscribe to that. I believe in liberty and not law. Douglas' popular sovereignty was more liberty than it was law.

These words on his tomb must have been spoken by him with reference to the preservation of the Union. At any rate I do not believe in these words. I accept instead Walt Whitman's admonition to the States: "Obey little, resist much." What shall we obey at all, and where shall we resist? You must decide that for yourself, or ask those about it who still have the capacity for living.

I am old. Now I must go to luncheon and then take my afternoon nap.