It
is cheering news that comes from the head managers of some of the leading
industries both in Canada and the United States that notwithstanding
disarrangement of business on account of the war, they expect to keep open
their factories as far as possible, and that married men are to have the
preference in being employed. The closing down of factories in the war zone
will of necessity create demand from this country to supply the waste created
by war. The manufacturers have had many years of prosperity and good profits,
and even if they were to keep the factories going at the bare cost, they would
be the gainers in the end, for they would be in better shape when the war
clouds roll by to open up with renewed force. There are thousands of men out of
employment today who were not prepared for the closing of the factory doors;
while, fortunately, there are thousands who laid by a trifle each pay day who
are now able to pull through the hard times by strict economy. Judging from the
late government report of the chartered banks in Canada, there is now close
upon one thousand millions of dollars on deposit in the banks, and over
$800,000,000 of that amount are the savings of the thrifty when times were good
put away a portion each pay day. It is estimated by a very conservative manager
of one of the local banks that there is not less than $35,000,000 on deposit in
the savings banks and post office in this city, and nearly all of this are the
savings of the workingmen and women who had the forethought to lay by a little
as they went along for the proverbial rainy day, that comes sooner or later in
every industrial city. Hamilton depends upon its factories to support the
workers, and the more saving they are doing during the days of prosperity and
plenty of work, the more independent the workman is when the factory door
closes. The manufacturers have been reaping a large harvest during the past ten
years in the history of Hamilton; they can certainly afford to use some of the
profits in running their industries, even on half time, for the benefit of the
workers. There is no scarcity of money in the banks, and with one hundred
millions of dollars to fall back upon, the financial condition of Canada should
be in a very comfortable condition.
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For the fourth time in the history of
Hamilton as an incorporated city has the cry of war been heard in the streets,
and the recruiting officers have been calling for men to accept the King’s
shilling and go forth to the field of conflict. The war of 1812 was of an
earlier date, when this town was known as the Head of the Lake, and the
population was so small that few, if any, saw service. Seventy—even years ago
the rebellion of 1837 brought out the patriots to protect the flag from the
followers of William Lyon Mackenzie, and they made short work of it. The next
call for soldiers was for the One Hundredth regiment, when the recruiting
sergeant, accompanied by a fifer and a drummer, beat up for recruits in the
streets of Hamilton. This was war in earnest, and many a young man donned the
ribbon and took the Queen’s shilling. The Fenian in 1866 was the next thriller
to appeal to the patriotism of young and old men, and the Thirteenth Royal
regiment saw service. There was no beating up for recruits then, as more men
wanted to go than there was a demand for. The boys smelled powder and had a
taste of war, just enough to whet their appetites and make them wish that the
Fenians would only stand up to the work and have it out in true soldier
fashion. The boys of the Thirteenth tell the story that when the bullets were
whistling at Ridgeway, a sergeant was hunting for a tree behind which he could
play sharpshooter, when he heard a plaintive voice yodeling :
Oh, why was I a soldier
To fight for any royal Guelph,
When I might have been a butcher
In business for myself ?
Going closer to a tree that was no
larger than a sapling, he espied a member of his company hugging it very close;
and indeed the young soldier was about as slim as the tree, so that it was not
very inviting to the fat sergeant. The sweet singer kept on yodeling, and the
sergeant was so impressed with the sentiment of the song that he carefully entered
it in his diary, and so it has come down to the present day. What is remarkable
about the story is that the yodeler has been successfully engaged in the
butcher business ever since the cruel war was over. The next call was for the
South African war, and Hamilton was heroically represented on many a
battlefield in the Boer country.
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And now the war cloud has grown to
huge proportions in a very few days. The month of July opened as peacefully on
the world as a calm summer day, when all at once a storm broke and war was
declared by Germany. It began out of a little scrap between Servia and Austria,
owing to the assassination of a prince of the royal blood, and at once the
whole world plunged into it. It had come sooner or later, for all Europe seemed
to be in a state of uneasiness owing to the preparations being made by some of
the powers. It was the old story of two boys in a threatening attitude, one
daring the other to knock the chip from his shoulder. War is the sport of kings
and rulers, but it is death to the man who has to do the fighting in the ranks.
The pity of it is the large army of widows and orphans, the wives and children
of the private soldiers slain in battle, who are to be the future sufferers.
Man is a fighter by nature, and when the war drums beat he wants to answer the
call promptly. We had a sample of this during the past week; the old soldiers
who had done service in past wars for Queen and country were the first to
respond, and the first detachment to leave this city was made up entirely of
men who knew what war means. ‘War is hell’ and they know it by past experience
but the tap of the drum and the blare of the rumpet started the warm blood in
their veins, and they were the first to respond to the call when the recruiting
office was opened. ‘Brave boys are they, they rush at their country’s call and
yet, and yet, we can never forget how many brave boys must fall.’ That was one
of the songs of the civil war in the United States half a century ago, when
this old Muser and hundreds of thousands more, were on the firing line,
thinking of the loved ones at home and wondering should they ever meet again.
Now and then some soldier went into battle with a presentiment that he would
not come out alive, and the chances are ten to one that he never got a scratch.
It is a good thing that every man thinks he is bulletproof; and while he may be
standing in line waiting for the command to open fire or charge the enemy, with
his heart in his mouth, yet, when the first volley is fired, he forgets the
danger and stands up to duty like a man. They talk about bravery and coolness
in battle. It sounds well, but it is the fighting nature of the man, when he
gets warmed up to the sound of whistling bullets, that wins battles.
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When the recruiting sergeant beat up
for recruits in Hamilton nearly sixty years ago for the One Hundredth regiment,
there was a fascination in the tap of the drum and the shriek of the fife that
made it easy for the sergeant to get his quota. The Queen’s shilling and the
bunch of red, white and blue ribbon caught the thousand men required to fill
the ranks, and the One Hundredth sailed for glory, but never got there, as
peace was declared by the time they reached the shores of Great Britain. It
takes about a man’s weight in lead to kill one soldier in battle in these days
of improved weapons, so that in the days of the old flintlock muskets more
dependence was put on bayonet charges to rout the enemy. In the civil war in
the United States with the improved Springfield rifle, the bayonet charge
became a lost art. At the beginning of the war, the federal army was mainly
equipped with what was known as the Belgium musket, for the United States had
not yet learned the need of arsenals for the making of rifles for its soldiers.
In the last few years, every government has been improving its deadly
implements of war, till now a rifle will carry a bullet far beyond the sight of
the man who fires it, and there seems to be no limit to the power of cannon on
land or sea. If ‘war is hell’ in General Sherman’s time, what must it be now to
the man on the firing line with all of the improvements in death-dealing
implements that the scientist and the inventor have added to its horrors? Away
back in 1866, the Royal Thirteenth had a slight inkling of war when they stood
on the firing line at Ridgeway. The boys who volunteers for South Africa had
all the glory that was coming to them in the conflict with a hostile army that
was expert with the gun and accustomed to the lay of the country. But the
present war is the climax of all the wars of the past century in the number of
men engaged and in the superiority of arms and equipment. In the civil war in
the united States at the battle of Gettysburg, the federal army had 35,000 men
killed and wounded in the three days’ fighting. If the reports that come to us
of the losses of the German and Belgian armies in the preliminary skirmishes
seem serious, with only those two nations engaged, what will the slaughter be
when the combined armies get into the conflict? ‘War is hell,’ but only when
the bully comes out with a chip on his shoulder. The chip must be knocked off.
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With all the advantages of the present
day mechanical schools and public schools there is no excuse for a boy to be
ignorant of books or of the means of earning a living when the time comes for
him to make his own way. Boys nowadays seem to be averse to learning a trade,
and in a measure the parents are responsible. The mother does not fancy her boy
working at a trade, as his father had to, but wants him educated for one of the
learned professions. Many of them think that their boys, to become rich or
famous, must be a lawyer, a doctor or a minister, or at least a clerk in some
office or in a bank. They do not welcome the kind of opportunity that presents
itself to the hand of him that is versed in manual labor. Here is a story of a
newsboy whose way of thinking was different. He had sold papers on a street
corner for thirteen years – let us say on the corner of King and James streets.
He was the main support of his invalid father, his mother and the younger members
of the family. He was a wide-awake boy, and during his hours of selling papers,
his mind was active in taking in the everyday occurrences that surrounded him. Probably
his handling of newspapers was an incentive to him to read and study, for he
had not the privilege of attending school, his labor to support the family
requiring his time when other boys of his age had the good fortune of being
able to attend school. What he lacked in opportunity during the daytime, he made up at night, and
when other boys of his class were out in the streets at night, he was a close
student in his humble home, reading and studying such books as he was able to
borrow or get from the public library. There was no technical then for him to
take advantage of. That newsboy had spent his early life in a city, and its
surroundings did not appeal to him; his greatest desire was to live in the
country and become an independent farmer. To the end he took up the study in
scientific agriculture, and faithfully he pursued it till he acquired such an
elementary knowledge that he was prepared to begin with the practical part.
His brothers and sisters had grown up
and were able to do their part in support of father and mother, and this gave
the newsboy more time to pursue his studies. Mind you, he had never given up
his business of selling papers during these years of preparation and study. The
time came at last when he was ready to make the soil yield at once his health
and a living. He was not ashamed of the noble ambition to become a farmer, and
thus provide a home in the country for his invalid father and for the loving mother
who had encouraged him during all the years of his sacrifice and toil. He had a
little money that he was able to save during his newsboy days and with it
bought a small farm on time for the balance of the price. Today his farm has
increased in the number of acres, and as he works it on scientific principles,
it yields him large profits. He has no failure in crops. Many struggling
doctors, lawyers, preachers have missed their calling through a false idea of
their parents that one kind of labor is gentlemanly and another is not. The
world does not care for these nice distinctions. It recognizes you for what you
are worth, and rates a capable farmer or mechanic above a genteel loafer, who
lives on the earnings of his good father. And this little story of the newsboy,
true in every particular, reminds us that Hamilton’s generosity has provided a
means whereby any industrious boy can work during the day to pay his board, and
relieve his old father and mother of the care and responsibility of his
support. In the course of the next three or four weeks, the technical school
will again open its night classes for the training of boys in the rudiments of
a practical education in mechanics and electricity. There are a dozen different
studies to select from, any one of which will prepare a boy for an independent
manhood, and had our newsboy the advantages of the boy of the present day, it
would have made his preparatory studies easier. Fathers, mothers, think it over
and send your boy to the technical school to spend time when he will have to
enter the battle of life. Go up to the technical school, and see what it is
doing, and have a talk with Prof. Witton. He will tell you more about the
advantages of manual training for your boy than the writer can tell in a column
of the Spectator. The school room is a safer place for your boy during the long
winter evenings than the street corners.
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