ChristmasDinner1895

A Christmas Dinner Won In
Battle
by Stephen Crane, 1895

Tom had set up a plumbing shop in the prairie town of Levelville as
soon as the people learned to care more about sanitary conditions
than they did about the brand of tobacco smoked by the inhabitants
of Mars. Nevertheless he was a wise young man for he was only one
week ahead of the surveyors. A railroad, like a magic wand, was
going to touch Levelville and change it to a great city. In an
incredibly short time, the town had a hotel, a mayor, a board of
aldermen, and more than a hundred real estate agents, besides a
blue print of the plans for a street railway three miles long. When the
cowboys rode in with their customary noise to celebrate the fact that
they had been paid, their efforts were discouraged by new
policemen in uniform. Levelville had become a dignified city.

As the town expanded in marvelous circles out over the prairies,
Tom bestrode the froth of the wave of progress. He was soon one of
the first citizens. These waves carry men to fortune with sudden
sweeping movements, and Tom had the courage, the temerity and
the assurance to hold his seat like a knight errant.

In the democratic and genial atmosphere of this primary boom, he
became an intimate acquaintance of Colonel Fortman, the president
of the railroad, and with more courage, temerity and assurance, had
already fallen violently in love with his daughter, the incomparable
Mildred. He carried his intimacy with the colonel so far as to once
save his life from the flying might of the 5:30 express. It seems that
the colonel had ordered the engineer of the 5:30 to make his time
under all circumstances; to make his time if he had to run through
fire, flood and earthquake. The engineer decided that the usual rule
relating to the speed of trains when passing through freight yards
could not concern an express that was ordered to slow down for
nothing but the wrath of heaven and in consequence, at the time of
this incident, the 5:30 was shrieking through the Levelville freight
yard at fifty miles an hour, roaring over the switches and screaming
along the lines of box cars. The colonel and Tom were coming from
the shops. They had just rounded the corner of a car and stepped
out upon the main track when this whirring, boiling, howling demon
of an express came down upon them. Tom had an instant in which
to drag his companion off the rails; the train whistled past them like
an enormous projectile. "Damn that fellow--he's making his time,"
panted the old colonel gazing after the long speeding shadow with
its two green lights. Later he said very soberly: "I'm much obliged to
you for that, Tom old boy."

When Tom went to him a year later, however, to ask for the hand of
Mildred, the colonel replied: "My dear man, I think you are insane.
Mildred will have over a million dollars at my death, and while I don't
mean to push the money part of it too far forward, yet Mildred with
her beauty, her family name and her wealth, can marry the finest in
the land. There isn't anyone too great for her. So you see, my dear
man, it is impossible that she could consider you for a moment."

Whereupon Tom lost his temper. He had the indignation of a good,
sound-minded, fearless-eyed young fellow who is assured of his
love and assured almost of the love of the girl. Moreover, it filled him
with unspeakable rage to be called "My dear man."

They then accused each other of motives of which neither was
guilty, and Tom went away. It was a serious quarrel. The colonel told
Tom never to dare to cross his threshold. They passed each other
on the street without a wink of an eye to disclose the fact that one
knew that the other existed. As time went on the colonel became
more massively aristocratic and more impenetrably stern. Levelville
had developed about five grades of society, and the Fortmans
mingled warily with the dozen families that formed the highest and
iciest grades. Once when the colonel and Mildred were driving
through town, the girl bowed to a young man who passed them.

"Who the deuce was that?" said the colonel airily. "Seems to me I
ought to know that fellow."

"That's the man that saved your life from the 5:30," replied Mildred.

"See here, young lady," cried the colonel angrily, "don't you take his
part against me."

About a year later came the great railway strike. The papers of the
city foreshadowed it vaguely from time to time, but no one
apparently took the matter in a serious way. There had been threats
and rumors of threats but the general public had seemed to view
them as idle bombast. At last, however, the true situation displayed
itself suddenly and vividly. Almost the entire force of the great
P.C.C. and W. U. system went on strike. The people of the city awoke
one morning to find the grey sky of dawn splashed with a bright
crimson color. The strikers had set ablaze one of the company's
shops in the suburbs and the light from it flashed out a red minous
signal of warning foretelling the woe and despair of the struggle that
was to ensue. Rumors came that the men usually so sober,
industrious and imperturbable were running in a wild mob, raving
and destroying. Whereupon, the people who had laughed to scorn
any idea of being prepared for this upheaval began to assiduously
abuse the authorities for not being ready to meet it.

That morning Tom, in his shirt sleeves, went into the back part of his
shop to direct some of his workmen about a certain job, and when
he came out he was well covered by as honest a coating of grime
and soot as was ever worn by journeyman. He went to the sink to
dispose of this adornment and while there he heard his men talking
of the strike. One was saying: "Yes, sir; sure as th' dickens! They
say they're goin' t' burn th' president's house an' everybody in it."
Tom's body stiffened at these words. He felt himself turn cold. A
moment later he left the shop forgetting his coat, forgetting his
covering of soot and grime.

In the main streets of the city there was no evident change. The
horses of the jangling street cars still slipped and strained in the
deep mud into which the snow had been churned. The store
windows were gay with the color of Christmas. Innumerable turkeys
hung before each butcher's shop. Upon the walks the business men
had formed into little eager groups discussing the domestic
calamity. Against the leaden-hued sky, over the tops of the
buildings, arose a great leaning pillar of smoke marking the spot
upon which stood the burning shop.

Tom hurried on through that part of town which was composed of
little narrow streets with tiny grey houses on either side. There he
saw a concourse of Slavs, Polacks, Italians and Hungarians,
laborers of the company, floundering about in the mud and raving,
conducting a riot in their own inimitable way. They seemed as
blood-thirsty, pitiless, mad, as starved wolves. And Tom presented a
figure no less grim as he ran through the crowd, coatless and now
indeed hatless, with pale skin showing through the grime. He went
until he came to a stretch of commons across which he could see
the Fortmans' house standing serenely with no evidences of riot
about it. He moderated his pace then.

When he had gone about half way across this little snow-covered
common, he looked back, for he heard cries. Across the white fields,
winding along the muddy road, there came a strange procession. It
resembled a parade of Parisians at the time of the first revolution.
Fists were wildly waving and at times hoarse voices rang out. It was
as if this crowd was delirious from drink. As it came nearer Tom
could see women--gaunt and ragged creatures with inflamed
visages and rolling eyes. There were men with dark sinister faces
whom Tom had never before seen. They had emerged from the
earth, so to speak, to engage in this carousal of violence. And from
this procession there came continual threatening ejaculations, shrill
cries for revenge, and querulous voices of hate, that made a sort of
barbaric hymn, a pagan chant of savage battle and death.

Tom waited for them. Those in the lead evidently considered him to
be one of their number since his face was grimed and his garments
dishevelled. One gigantic man with bare and brawny arms and
throat, gave him invitation with a fierce smile. "Come ahn, Swipsey,
while we go roast--"

A raving grey-haired woman, struggling in the mud, sang a song
which consisted of one endless line:

"We'll burn th' foxes out,
We'll burn th' foxes out,
We'll burn th' foxes out."

As for the others, they babbled and screamed in a vast variety of
foreign tongues. Tom walked along with them listening to the cries
that came from the terrible little army, marching with clenched fists
and with gleaming eyes fastened upon the mansion that upreared so
calmly before them.

When they arrived, they hesitated a moment, as if awed by the
impassive silence of the structure with closed shutters and barred
doors, which stolidly and indifferently confronted them.

Then from the centre of the crowd came the voice of the
grey-headed old woman: "Break in th' door! Break in th' door!" And
then it was that Tom displayed the desperation born of his devotion
to the girl within the house. Although he was perhaps braver than
most men, he had none of that magnificent fortitude, that gorgeous
tranquility amid upheavals and perils which is the attribute of people
in plays; but he stepped up on the porch and faced the throng. His
face was wondrously pallid and his hands trembled but he said:
"You fellows can't come in here."

There came a great sarcastic howl from the crowd. "Can't we?" They
broke into laughter at this wildly ridiculous thing. The brawny,
bare-armed giant seized Tom by the arm. "Get outa th' way, you
yap," he said between his teeth. In an instant Tom was punched and
pulled and knocked this way and that way, and amid the pain of
these moments he was conscious that members of the mob were
delivering thunderous blows upon the huge doors. Directly indeed
they crashed down and he felt the crowd sweep past him and into
the house. He clung to a railing; he had no more sense of balance
than a feather. A blow in the head had made him feel that the ground
swirled and heaved around him. He had no further interest in rioting,
and such scenes of excitement. Gazing out over the common he saw
two patrol wagons, loaded with policemen, and the lashed horses
galloping in the mud. He wondered dimly why they were in such a
hurry.

But at that moment a scream rang from the house out through the
open doors. He knew the voice, and like an electric shock it aroused
him from his semi-stupor. Once more alive, he turned and charged
into the house as valiant and as full of rage as a Roman.
Pandemonium reigned within. There came yells and roars,
splinterings, cracklings, crashes. The scream of Mildred again rang
out; this time he knew it came from the dining-room before whose
closed door four men were as busy as miners with improvised pick
and drill.

Tom grasped a heavy oaken chair that stood ornamentally in the hall
and, elevating it above his head, ran madly at the four men. When he
was almost upon them, he let the chair fly. It seemed to strike all of
them. A heavy oak chair of the old English type is one of the most
destructive of weapons. Still, there seemed to be enough of the men
left for they flew at him from all sides like dragons. In the dark of the
hallway, Tom put down his head and half-closed his eyes and plied
his fists. He knew he had but a moment in which to stand up, but
there was a sort of grim joy in knowing that the most terrific din of
this affray was going straight through the dining-room door, and
into the heart of Mildred and when she knew that her deliverer was
---- He saw a stretch of blood-red sky flame under his lids and then
sank to the floor, blind, deaf, and nerveless.

When the old colonel arrived in one of the patrol wagons, he did not
wait to see the police attack in front but ran around to the rear. As
he passed the dining-room windows he saw hiswife's face. He
shouted, and when they opened a window he clambered with great
agility intothe room. For a minute they deluged each other with
shouts of joy and tears. Then finally the old colonel said: "But they
did not get in here. How was that?"

"Oh, papa," said Mildred, "they were trying to break in when
somebody came and fought dreadfully with them and made them
stop."

"Heavens, who could it have been?" said the colonel. He went to the
door and opened it. A group of police became visible hurrying about
the wide hall but near the colonel's feet lay a body with a white still
face.

"Why, it's--it's----" ejaculated the colonel in great agitation.

"It's Tom," cried Mildred.

When Tom came to his senses he found that his fingers were
clasped tightly by a soft white hand which by some occult power of
lovers he knew at once.

"Tom," said Mildred.

And the old colonel from further away said: "Tom, my boy!"

But Tom was something of an obstinate young man. So as soon as
he felt himself recovered sufficiently, he arose and went unsteadily
toward the door.

"Tom, where are you going?" cried Mildred.

"Where are you going, Tom?" called the colonel.

"I'm going home," said Tom doggedly. "I didn't intend to cross this
threshold--I----" He swayed unsteadily and seemed about to fall.
Mildred screamed and ran toward him. She made a prisoner of him.
"You shall not go home," she told him.

"Well," began Tom weakly yet persistently, "I----"

"No, no, Tom," said the colonel, "you are to eat a Christmas dinner
with us tomorrow and then I wish to talk with you about-- about--"

"About what?" said Tom.

"About--about--damnitall, about marrying my daughter," cried the
colonel.