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Broadway and shout, have suddenly lost my voice. I can only report
in a whisper!
My chief looks at me in concern. “For God’s sake, girl,” he says,
“go somewhere and go to bed!”
CHAPTER III
Her Country’s Call
One Thousand Women Wanted! You may read it on a great
canvas sign that stretches across an industrial establishment in
lower Manhattan. The owner of this factory who put it there, only
knows that it is an advertisement for labour of which he finds himself
suddenly in need. But he has all unwittingly really written a
proclamation that is a sign of the times.
Across the Atlantic I studied that proclamation in Old World cities.
Women Wanted! Women Wanted! The capitals of Europe have been
for four years placarded with the sign. And now we in America are
writing it on our sky line. All over the world see it on the street-car
barns as on the colleges. It is hung above the factories and the coal
mines, the halls of government and the farm-yards and the arsenals
and even the War Office. Everywhere from the fireside to the firing
line, country after country has taken up the call. Now it has become
the insistent chorus of civilisation: Women Wanted! Women Wanted!
But yesterday the great war was a phenomenon to which we in
America thrilled only as its percussions reverberated around the
world. Now our own soldiers are marching down Main Street. But
their uniforms still are new. Wait. Soon here too one shall choke with
that sob in the throat. Oh, I am walking again in the garden of the
Tuileries on a day when I had seen war without the flags flying and
the bands playing. It was dead men and disabled men and hospitals
full and insane asylums full and cemeteries full. “You have to
remember,” said a voice at my side, “that all freedoms since the
world began have had to be fought for. They still have to be.”
So I repeat it now for you, the women of America, resolutely to
remember. And get our your Robert Brownings! Read it over and
over again, “God’s in his heaven.” For there are going to be days
when it will seem that God has quite gone away. Still He hasn’t.
Suddenly in a lifting of the war clouds above the blackest battle
smoke, we shall see again His face as a flashing glimpse of some
new freedom lights for an instant the darkened heavens above the
globe of the world. Already there has been a Russian revolution
which may portend the end of a German monarchy. In England a
new democracy has buckled on the sword of a dead aristocracy. And
a great Commoner is at the helm of state. But with all the freedoms
they are winning, there is one for which not the most decorated
general has any idea he’s fighting. I am not sure but it is the greatest
freedom of all: when woman wins the race wins. The new democracy
for which a world has taken up arms, for the first time since the
history of civilisation began, is going to be real democracy. There is a
light that is breaking high behind all the battle lines! Look! There on
the horizon in those letters of blood that promise of the newest
freedom of all. When it is finished—the awful throes of this red agony
in which a world is being reborn—there is going to be a place in the
Sun for women.
Listen, hear the call, Women Wanted! Women Wanted! Last
Spring the Government pitched a khaki colored tent in your town on
the vacant lot just beyond the post office, say. How many men have
enlisted there? Perhaps there are seventy-five who have gone from
the factory across the creek, and the receiving teller at the First
National Bank, and the new principal of the High School where the
children were getting along so well, and the doctor that everybody
had because they liked him so much.
And, oh, last week at dinner your own husband had but just
finished carving when he looked across the table and said: “Dear, I
can’t stand it any longer. I’m going to get into this fight to make the
world right.” You know how your face went white and your heart for
an instant stopped beating. But what I don’t believe you do know is
that you are at this moment getting ready to play your part in one of
the most tremendous epochs of the world. It is not only Liège and
the Marne and Somme, and Haig and Joffre and Pétain and
Pershing who are making history to-day. Keokuk, Iowa, and
Kalamazoo, Mich., and Little Falls, N. Y., are too—and you and the
woman who lives next door!
THE NEW WOMAN MOVEMENT
Every man who enlists at that tent near the post office is going to
leave a job somewhere whether it’s at the factory or the doctor’s
office or the school teacher’s desk, or whether it’s your husband.
That job will have to be taken by a woman. It’s what happened in
Europe. It’s what now we may see happen here. A great many
women will have a wage envelope who never had it before. That
may mean affluence to a housefull of daughters. One, two, three,
four wage envelopes in a family where father’s used to be the only
one. You even may have to go out to earn enough to support
yourself and the babies. Yes, I know your husband’s army pay and
the income from investments carefully accumulated through the
savings of your married life, will help quite a little. But with the ever
rising war cost of living, it may not be enough. It hasn’t been for
thousands of homes in Europe. And eventually you too may go to
work as other women have. It’s very strange, is it not, for you of all
women who have always believed that woman’s place was the
home. And you may even have been an “anti,” a most earnest
advocate of an ancient régime against which whole societies and
associations of what yesterday were called “advanced” women
organised their “suffrage” protests.
To-day no one any longer has to believe what is woman’s place.
No woman even has anything to say about it. Read everywhere the
signs: Women Wanted! Here in New York we are seeing shipload
after shipload of men going out to sea in khaki. We don’t know how
many boat loads like that will go down the bay. But for an army of
every million American men in Europe, there must be mobilised
another million women to take their places behind the lines here
3,000 miles away from the guns, to carry on the auxiliary operations
without which the armies in the field could not exist.
In the department store where you shopped to-day you noticed an
elevator girl had arrived, where the operator always before has been
a boy! Outside the window of my country house here as I write, off
on that field on the hillside a woman is working, who never worked
there before. At Lexington, Mass., I read in my morning paper, the
Rev. Christopher Walter Collier has gone to the front in France and
his wife has been unanimously elected by the congregation to fill the
pulpit during his absence. Sometimes women by the hundred step
into new vacancies. The Æolian Company is advertising for women
as piano salesmen and has established a special school for their
instruction. A Chicago manufacturing plant has hung out over its
employment gate the announcement, “Man’s work, man’s pay for all
women who can qualify,” and within a week two hundred women
were at work. The Pennsylvania railroad, which has rigidly opposed
the employment of women on its office staffs, in June, 1917,
announced a change of policy and took on in its various departments
five hundred women and girls. The Municipal Service Commission in
New York last fall was holding its first examination to admit women to
the position of junior draughtsmen in the city’s employ. The Civil
Service Commission at Washington, preparing to release every
possible man from government positions for war service, had
compiled a list of 10,000 women eligible for clerical work in
government departments.
Like that it is happening all about us. This is the new woman
movement. And you’re in it. We all are. I know: you may never have
carried a suffrage banner or marched in a suffrage procession or so
much as addressed a suffrage campaign envelope. But you’re
“moving” to-day just the same if you’ve only so much as rolled a Red
Cross bandage or signed a Food Administration pledge offered you
by the women’s committee of the Council of National Defence. All
the women of the world are moving.
“Suffrage de la morte,” a Senator on the Seine has termed the
vote offered the French feminists in the form of a proposition that
every man dying on the field of battle may transfer his ballot to a
woman whom he shall designate. And the French women have
drawn back in horror, exclaiming: “We don’t want a dead man’s vote.
We want only our own vote.” Nevertheless it is something like this
which is occurring.
And we may shudder, but we may not draw back. It is by way of
the place de la morte, that women are moving inexorably to-day into
industry and commerce and the professions, on to strange new
destinies that shall not be denied.
There on the firing line a bullet whizzes straight to the mark. A
man drops dead in the trenches. Some wife’s husband, some girl’s
sweetheart who before he was a soldier was a wage earner, never
will be more. Back home another woman who had been temporarily
enrolled in the ranks of industry, steps forward, enlisted for life in the
army of labour.
Dear God, what a price to pay for the freedom the feminists have
asked. But this is not our woman movement. This is His woman
movement, who moves in mysterious ways His ends to command.
We may not know. And we do not understand. But as we watch the
war clouds, we see, as it were in the lightning flash of truth, the
illuminated way that is opening for women throughout the world. It is
westward to us that this star of opportunity has taken its course
directly from above the battlefields of Europe.