miners with the weight of the world upon their backs. And cruel are their strikes. Miners are accustomed to cruelty. They know no other law. They are like primitive men struggling in his ferocious jungle—for himself, for his children, for the race of men.
The miners of Logan County were again on strike in 1923. I was with them. The jails were full of strikers, with innocent men who protested the conditions of their lives. Many of them had been months in jails. Their wives and little children were in dire want.
"Can't you do something for us, Mother," they pleaded.
A delegation of their wretched wives and half-starved children came to me. "For God's sake, Mother, can't you do something for us!"
I took the train for Charleston and went to see Governor Morgan. He received me courteously.
"Governor," I said, "listen—do you hear anything?"
He listened a moment. "No, Mother Jones, I do not."
"I do," said I. "I hear women and little boys and girls sobbing at night. Their fathers are in jail. The wives and children are crying for food."
"I will investigate," said he. He looked me straight in the eye and I knew he would keep his promise.
