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Updated: May 27, 2025
A few shivered not alone because they were thinly clad. He walked on, slowly, past other groups, turned the corner of West Street, where the groups were more numerous, while the number of those running the gantlet had increased. And he heard, twice or thrice, the word "Scab!" cried out menacingly. His eyes grew redder still as he spied a policeman standing idly in a doorway.
"Huh!" said Jimmie, and grinned. "What did you get?" "You belong to union in America?" countered the other. "You bet I do!" said Jimmie. "Vat sort of union?" "Machinists." "You been on strike, maybe?" "You bet I have!" "You got licked, maybe?" "You bet!" "You don't never scab, hey?" "Not much!" "You vat you call class-conscious?" "You bet! I'm a Socialist!"
A refusal of cooks and waiters to serve scab teamsters or teamsters' employers brought out the cooks and waiters. The butchers and meat-cutters refused to handle meat destined for unfair restaurants. The combined Employers' Associations put up a solid front, and found facing them the 40,000 organized laborers of San Francisco.
From across the street, between the Olsen and the Isham houses, came a shower of stones. Most of these fell short, though one struck a scab on the head. The man was no more than twenty feet away from Saxon. He reeled toward her front picket fence, drawing a revolver. With one hand he brushed the blood from his eyes and with the other he discharged the revolver into the Isham house.
"Served him right, too, the dirty scab," Maggie concluded. "But his poor wife!" was Saxon's cry. "She's not strong. And then the children. She'll never be able to take care of them if her husband dies." "An' serve her right, the damned slut!" Saxon was both shocked and hurt by the Irishwoman's brutality. But Maggie was implacable.
They felt a fundamental antagonism, not to you as an individual, but to you as a member of your class. From their Social Sinai they enunciate the eleventh commandment, 'Thou shalt not be a Scab!, and the other ten commandments do not seem to them so important. But you, they think, cannot feel this commandment as they do, so passionately, so fully.
"And the next scab that comes into my house won't get off so easy," said Mrs. Porter to her husband. "D'you understand?" "If you 'ad some husbands " began Mr. Porter, trembling with rage. "Yes, I know," said his wife, nodding. "Don't cry, Jemmy," she added, taking the youngest on her knee. "Mother's only having a little game. She and dad are both on strike for more pay and less work." Mr.
"'Boss, says Duckfoot, 'some folks 'low dis hoss am Frien'less, but hit ain'. Ef hits Frien'less, an' yo' puts yo' han' hyar on his belly dey is a rough-feelin' scab. Dis hoss am puffeckly smo-o then he stops 'n' begins to get ashy 'round the mouth. "'Well? says the colonel. 'What's the matter? "'Lawd Gawd, boss!
William Forgrave said that "the name of a 'scab' is very dangerous: men of this description have been hurt when out at night." He had been threatened, and joined the association from fear of personal injury. A vast deal more of evidence was given and eloquent speeches delivered by counsel, but the foregoing gives the sum and substance of the case.
Let the man who would scab on his fellows show his dirty face in that crowd! "Ye'll stand by the union?" "We'll stand by it!" "Ye'll swear?" "We'll swear!" She flung her arms to heaven with a gesture of passionate adjuration. "Swear it on your lives! To stick to the rest of us, and never a man of ye give way till ye've won! Swear! Swear!"
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