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lines of caste are tightly drawn。 All his days he toiled hard with his body；
and because he had opened the books； and been caught up by the fires of
the spirit； and could 〃write a letter like a lawyer；〃 he had been selected by
his fellows to toil hard for them with his brain。 He became a leader of
the fruit…porters； represented the dockers on the London Trades Council；
and wrote trenchant articles for the labour journals。
He did not cringe to other men； even though they were his economic
masters； and controlled the means whereby he lived； and he spoke his
mind freely； and fought the good fight。 In the 〃Great Dock Strike〃 he
was guilty of taking a leading part。 And that was the end of Dan Cullen。
From that day he was a marked man； and every day； for ten years and
more； he was 〃paid off〃 for what he had done。
A docker is a casual labourer。 Work ebbs and flows； and he works or
does not work according to the amount of goods on hand to be moved。
Dan Cullen was discriminated against。 While he was not absolutely
turned away （which would have caused trouble； and which would
certainly have been more merciful）； he was called in by the foreman to do
not more than two or three days' work per week。 This is what is called
being 〃disciplined；〃 or 〃drilled。〃 It means being starved。 There is no
politer word。 Ten years of it broke his heart； and broken…hearted men
cannot live。
He took to his bed in his terrible den； which grew more terrible with
his helplessness。 He was without kith or kin； a lonely old man；
embittered and pessimistic； fighting vermin the while and looking at
Garibaldi； Engels； and Dan Burns gazing down at him from the blood…
bespattered walls。 No one came to see him in that crowded municipal
barracks （he had made friends with none of them）； and he was left to rot。
But from the far reaches of the East End came a cobbler and his son；
his sole friends。 They cleansed his room； brought fresh linen from home；
and took from off his limbs the sheets； greyish…black with dirt。 And they
brought to him one of the Queen's Bounty nurses from Aldgate。
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She washed his face； shook up his conch； and talked with him。 It was
interesting to talk with himuntil he learned her name。 Oh； yes； Blank
was her name； she replied innocently； and Sir George Blank was her
brother。 Sir George Blank； eh？ thundered old Dan Cullen on his death…
bed； Sir George Blank； solicitor to the docks at Cardiff； who； more than
any other man； had broken up the Dockers' Union of Cardiff； and was
knighted？ And she was his sister？ Thereupon Dan Cullen sat up on his
crazy couch and pronounced anathema upon her and all her breed； and she
fled； to return no more； strongly impressed with the ungratefulness of the
poor。
Dan Cullen's feet became swollen with dropsy。 He sat up all day on
the side of the bed （to keep the water out of his body）； no mat on the floor；
a thin blanket on his legs； and an old coat around his shoulders。 A
missionary brought him a pair of paper slippers； worth fourpence （I saw
them）； and proceeded to offer up fifty prayers or so for the good of Dan
Cullen's soul。 But Dan Cullen was the sort of man that wanted his soul
left alone。 He did not care to have Tom； Dick； or Harry； on the strength
of fourpenny slippers； tampering with it。 He asked the missionary kindly
to open the window； so that he might toss the slippers out。 And the
missionary went away； to return no more； likewise impressed with the
ungratefulness of the poor。
The cobbler； a brave old hero himself； though unaneled and unsung；
went privily to the head office of the big fruit brokers for whom Dan
Cullen had worked as a casual labourer for thirty years。 Their system
was such that the work was almost entirely done by casual hands。 The
cobbler told them the man's desperate plight； old； broken； dying； without
help or money； reminded them that he had worked for them thirty years；
and asked them to do something for him。
〃Oh；〃 said the manager； remembering Dan Cullen without having to
refer to the books； 〃you see； we make it a rule never to help casuals； and
we can do nothing。〃
Nor did they do anything； not even sign a letter asking for Dan
Cullen's admission to a hospital。 And it is not so easy to get into a
hospital in London Town。 At Hampstead； if he passed the doctors； at
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least four months would elapse before he could get in； there were so many
on the books ahead of him。 The cobbler finally got him into the
Whitechapel Infirmary； where he visited him frequently。 Here he found
that Dan Cullen had succumbed to the prevalent feeling； that； being
hopeless； they were hurrying him out of the way。 A fair and logical
conclusion； one must agree； for an old and broken man to arrive at； who
has been resolutely 〃disciplined〃 and 〃drilled〃 for ten years。 When they
sweated him for Bright's disease to remove the fat from the kidneys； Dan
Cullen contended that the sweating was hastening his death； while Bright's
disease； being a wasting away of the kidneys； there was therefore no fat to
remove； and the doctor's excuse was a palpable lie。 Whereupon the
doctor became wroth； and did not come near him for nine days。
Then his bed was tilted up so that his feet and legs were elevated。 At
once dropsy appeared in the body； and Dan Cullen contended that the
thing was done in order to run the water down into his body from his legs
and kill him more quickly。 He demanded his discharge； though they told
him he would die on the stairs； and dragged himself； more dead than alive；
to the cobbler's shop。 At the moment of writing this； he is dying at the
Temperance Hospital； into which place his staunch friend； the cobbler；
moved heaven and earth to have him admitted。
Poor Dan Cullen！ A Jude the Obscure； who reached out after
knowledge； who toiled with his body in the day and studied in the watches
of the night； who dreamed his dream and struck valiantly for the Cause； a
patriot； a lover of human freedom； and a fighter unafraid； and in the end；
not gigantic enough to beat down the conditions which baffled and stifled
him； a cynic and a pessimist； gasping his final agony on a pauper's couch
in a charity ward；〃For a man to die who might have been wise and was
not； this I call a tragedy。〃
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CHAPTER XIVHOPS AND
HOPPERS
So far has the divorcement of the worker from the soil proceeded； that
the farming districts； the civilised world over； are dependent upon the
cities for the gathering of the harvests。 Then it is； when the land is
spilling its ripe wealth to waste； that the street folk； who have been driven
away from the soil； are called back to it again。 But in England they
return； not as prodigals； but as outcasts still； as vagrants and pariahs； to be
doubted and flouted by their country brethren； to sleep in jails and casual
wards； or under the hedges； and to live the Lord knows how。
It is estimated that Kent alone requires eighty thousand of the street
people to pick her hops。 And out they come； obedient to the call； which
is the call of their bellies and of the lingering dregs of adventure…lust still
in them。 Slum； stews； and ghetto pour them forth； and the festering
contents of slum； stews； and ghetto are undiminished。 Yet they overrun
the country like an army of ghouls； and the country does not want them。
They are out of place。