There was a movement amongst the crowd; consternation was depicted on most faces, malicious satisfaction on many; the overseer attempted a scornful smile, but got no further than a sickly grin.
“You,” continued Uncle Ernst, for the first time turning to the culprits, “take your things and leave the yard at once! And you others, let this serve as a warning to you and a reminder of what, indeed, you must all have known long ago, that I am not to be trifled with, and that when I say a thing I mean it—and now go back to your work!”
A good many of the men turned at once and began to disperse; but others—a few from almost every group—remained, and as the ranks thinned drew closer together, as if to afford each other protection. Those too who had moved away at first now stopped again, turned back, and also drew together, so that in a few minutes the throng was divided into two parts; the last mentioned, who for the present were more amenable and conciliatory, were by far the larger number; but the others—of whom there might be about thirty, were evidently the bolder and more determined. Reinhold moved to his uncle’s side.
“What are you waiting for?” asked Uncle Ernst, “what do you want?”
From the group of malcontents who had now clustered thickly together, a man stepped forward, not one of the three; a young man who would have been handsome if his youthful countenance had not been marred and distorted already by evil passions. His pale, bold eyes had a watery look, as if he were already too much addicted to the bottle. He waved his hand as if he were standing on a platform to speak, and with great fluency began:
“We wish to know, Herr Schmidt, why we should not be socialists and communists too, if we choose; who is to forbid us to enter the ranks of the army of workers who are marching against the hardhearted middle classes to win back the rights which are so shamefully withheld from us? We wish to know—”
“Silence!” thundered Uncle Ernst; “silence, wretched boy! and blush for shame if you have any shame left in you!” Uncle Ernst advanced a few steps, and the lad retreated before him like a jackal before the lion, and slunk back into the knot of men which had drawn still closer together. “What are you standing there for, laying your heads together and muttering and threatening? Do you think that I fear you any more than I fear this wretched boy, whom I took from the streets, and clothed, and fed, and sent to school, and who wants to know now why I withhold his rights from him! His rights? Your rights? To keep honestly to what you have promised, what you have pledged yourselves to by your own signatures, that is your right—neither more nor less! Who forced you to sign your names?”
“Hunger!” cried a rough voice.
“You lie, Carl Peters!” cried Uncle Ernst; “and if you did suffer hunger it was because you are a sot and carry the money which belongs to your wife and children to the gin palace.”
“We are all socialists, every man of us!” called another voice from the crowd.
“Then you are all liars and cheats, every man of you!” cried Uncle Ernst. “You lied when you signed your names to what you knew you would not and could not keep! You have cheated me every day and every hour that you worked for me, when you knew that I would not tolerate in my house or my yards anyone who is pledged to your insane principles; but that I would drive them out of my house or my yard as I do now all of you that stand there!”
A sullen murmur sounded through the crowd, and some single loud threatening shouts were heard. Uncle Ernst sprang with one bound straight in front of the knot of men.
“Be off with you!” he thundered; “be off with you at once!”
The foremost fell back upon those who stood behind them. Evidently no one had courage to proceed to action. They gave way gradually; the knot began to separate.
“Be at the office in half an hour to be paid off!”
The men were gone and the overseer with them. Uncle Ernst turned to Reinhold.
“There is a specimen for you of your fine Prussian discipline, which impressed you so greatly during the war; there is an instance of the last new German truth and honesty as it is learned in Bismarck’s school.”
“But uncle, excuse me, what has Bismarck to do with all this?”
“What has he to do with it?” Uncle Ernst stood still. “What has he to do with it? Who was it who gave the rule that might came before right? Or, if he did not say it, who gave such effect to it in his actions that the accursed maxim has become the leading principle with men nowadays, on which they regulate their conduct—both active and passive? Who has taught our good simple folk how a man may live in perpetual conflict with those whom it has chosen as its representatives, and grasp at his objects over the heads of these representatives?—how an army of followers may be created, and a docile party say ‘Amen’ to everything, or say anything else that is needed to attain these objects? Did you not
