Solution Manual for Physics An Algebra Based

Approach Canadian 1st Edition McFarland Hirsch

OMeara 0176531866 9780176531867
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Chapter 5

Newton’s Laws of Motion

Exercises
r r
5-1 The forces acting on the ball are the force of gravity FG downward and tension T exerted

by the string upward.

r
5-2 The forces acting on the cheeseburger are the force of gravity FG downward and the
r
normal force FN exerted upward by the table.

r
5-3 The forces acting on the man are the force of gravity FG downward and the normal force
r
FN exerted upward by the floor of the elevator.

© Copyright 2016 by Nelson Education Ltd. 5-103

Physics: An Algebra-Based Approach

r
5-4 The forces exerted on the erythrocyte are the force of gravity FG downward, an upward
r r
buoyant force Fbuoyant , and an upward fluid friction force Ff .

r r
5-5 The forces acting on the girder are the force of gravity FG downward and tension T

exerted by the cable upward.

r r
5-6 The forces acting on the puck are the force of gravity FG downward, the normal force FN
r
exerted upward by the ice, and the horizontal friction force Ff exerted by the ice opposite

to the direction of motion.

r
5-7 The only force acting on the falling pen is the force of gravity FG downward.

r r
5-8 The forces exerted on the box are the force of gravity FG downward, the normal force FN
r
exerted upward by the floor, the horizontal friction force Ff exerted by the floor opposite
r
to the direction of motion of the box, and the tension T exerted by the rope at 30° above

the horizontal.

r
5-9 The forces exerted on the stove are the force of gravity FG downward, the normal force
r r
FN perpendicular to the ramp exerted by the ramp, the friction force Ff exerted by the
r
ramp opposite to the direction of motion of the box, and the tension T exerted by the

cable parallel to the ramp (at 20° above the horizontal).

5-104 © Copyright 2016 by Nelson Education Ltd.

 Chapter 5—Newton’s Laws of Motion

5-10 (a) With +y upward, FRy =  Fy = Fhand − FG = (19 − 19) N = 0 N

r
(b) FRy =  Fy = − FG = −19 N = − 19 N , and FR = 19 N downward

5-11 (a) With +y downward, FRy =  Fy = FG − Fair = (586 − 492) N = 94 N

r
 FR = 94 N downward
r
(b) FRy =  Fy = FG − Fair = (586 − 586) N = 0 N , and FR = 0 N

5-12 With +x forward and +y downward,

FRx =  Fx = Fpull − Ff = (72 − 69) N = 3 N

FRy =  Fy = FG − FN = (153 − 153) N = 0 N

r
 FR = 3 N horizontally forward

5-13 With +x in the direction of the horizontal air drag force, and +y upward,

FRx =  Fx = Fair = 0.354N

FRy =  Fy = Flift − FG = (3.74 − 3.27) N = 0.47 N

r
FR = FRx2 + FRy2 = (0.354)2 +(0.47)2 N = 0.59 N

r  FRy  −1  0.47 N 
Direction of FR : at tan −1   = tan   = 53 up from horizontal
 FRx   0.354 N 
r
 FR = 0.59 N at 53° up from horizontal

© Copyright 2016 by Nelson Education Ltd. 5-105

Physics: An Algebra-Based Approach

5-14 With +x in the direction of the horizontal component of the force exerted by the ground

on the feet, and +y upward,

FRx =  Fx = Ffeet,x = (6382 N) cos 28.3 = 5619 N

FRy =  Fy = Ffeet,y − FG = (6382 N) sin 28.3 − 538 N = 2488 N

r
FR = FRx2 + FRy2 = (5619)2 +(2488)2 N = 6.15  103 N

r  FRy  −1  2488 N 
Direction of FR : at tan −1   = tan   = 23.9 up from horizontal
 FRx   5619 N 
r
 FR = 6.15 103 N at 23.9° up from horizontal

5-15 With +x eastward and +y northward,

FRx =  Fx = (478 sin 54.0 − 412 sin 27.0) N = 199.7 N

FRy =  Fy = (478 cos54.0 + 412 cos 27.0) N = 648.1 N

r
FR = FRx2 + FRy2 = (199.7)2 +(648.1)2 N = 678 N

r F  −1  199.7 N 
Direction of FR : at tan −1  Rx  = tan   = 17.1 east of north
 FRy  648.1 N 
 
r
 FR = 678 N at 17.1° east of north

5-16 Since the force of gravity and normal force have equal magnitudes, the vertical

component of the resultant force is 0 N.

FRx =  Fx = Fpush + Fpull − Ff = 2 N

With +x eastward,

Substituting given values,

5-106 © Copyright 2016 by Nelson Education Ltd.

 Chapter 5—Newton’s Laws of Motion

Fpush + (252 − 412) N= 2 N, which gives Fpush = 162 N

5-17 With +x eastward and +y southward,

FRx = (56 N) cos 16= 53.8 N, but FRx =  Fx = T1x + T2x , and T1x = 27 N

Therefore, T2x = (53.8 − 27) N = 26.8 N

FRy = (56 N) sin 16= 15.4 N, but FRy =  Fy = T1y + T2y , and T1y = 0 N

Therefore, T2y = 15.4 N

r
T2 = T2x2 + T2y2 = (26.8)2 +(15.4)2 N = 31 N

r  T2y  −1  15.4 N 
Direction of T2 : at tan −1   = tan   = 30 south of east
 T2x   26.8 N 

5-18 With +x to the right, FRx =  Fx = FBx + FHx + FGx .

Therefore, FRx = (129 cos 72.0 − 111cos 70.1 + 0) N

= (39.86 − 37.78) N (keeping one extra digit)

= 2.08 N (still keeping one extra digit)

With +y upward, FRy =  Fy = FBy + FHy + FGy .

Therefore, FRy = (129 sin 72.0 − 111sin 70.1 − 11.6) N

= (122.7 − 104.4 − 11.6) N (keeping one extra digit)

= 6.7 N (still keeping one extra digit)

r
FR = FRx2 + FRy2 = (2.08) 2 +(6.7) 2 N = 7.0 N (still with one extra digit)
r
Thus, to the correct number of significant digits, FR = 7 N.

© Copyright 2016 by Nelson Education Ltd. 5-107

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random and unrelated content:
various societies reported on their work: vacations provided, seats in
stores, religious instruction, and so on. “We are the hands of the boss,”
said Minnie when her turn came. “What does he care for us? I say, Let
our hands be for him and our heads for ourselves. We must work for
bread now, but we must think of our future homes. What time has a
working girl to make ready for this? We never see a meal prepared. For
all we know, soup grows on trees.”
Minnie, who was headlined by the
press during a strike as a Joan of Arc
leading militant hosts to battle, had no
educational preparation for leadership;
no equipment beyond her sound good
sense and her woman’s subtlety.
Speaking once of the difficulty of
earning a living without training, she
told me that her mother could do
nothing but sell potatoes from a push-
cart in the street, “among those rough
people.” Then, repenting of her harshness, “Of course, some of those
people must be nice, too, but it is hard to find a diamond in the mud.”
Frequent and prolonged conferences at the settlement with Minnie and
Lottie, her equally intelligent companion, and with many others,
inevitably led to some action on our part; and long anticipating the
Women’s Trades Union League, we took the initiative in organizing a
union at the time of a strike in the cloak trade. The eloquence of the girl
leaders, the charm of our back yard as a meeting-place, and possibly our
own conviction that only through organization could wages be raised and
shop conditions improved, finally prevailed, and the union was
organized. One of our residents and a brilliant young Yiddish-speaking
neighbor took upon themselves some of the duties of the walking
delegate. When the strike was settled, and agreements for the season
were about to be signed by the contractors (or middlemen) and the leader
of the men’s organization, I was invited into a smoke-filled room in
Walhalla Hall long after midnight, to be told that the girls were included
in the terms of the contract.
Though its immediate object was accomplished, this union also proved
to be an ephemeral organization. For years I held the funds, amounting to
sixteen dollars, because the members had scattered and we could never
assemble a quorum to dispose of the money.
 When, in 1903, I was asked to
participate in the formation of the
National Women’s Trades Union
League, I recognized the importance of
the movement in enlisting sympathy
and support for organizations among
working women. To my regret I cannot
claim to have rendered services of any
value in the development of the
League. It was inevitable that its
purpose, as epitomized in its motto
—“The Eight-hour Day; A Living
Wage; To Guard the Home”—should
draw to it effective participants and
develop strong leaders among working
women themselves. Those who are
familiar with factory and shop
conditions are convinced that through
organization and not through the
appeal to pity can permanent reforms be assured. It is undoubtedly true
that the enforcement of existing laws is in large measure dependent upon
watchful trades unions. The women’s trades union leagues, national and
state, are not only valuable because of support given to the workers, but
because they make it possible for women other than wage-earners to
identify themselves with working people, and thus give practical
expression to their belief that with them and through them the realization
of the ideals of democracy can be advanced.

The imagination of New Yorkers has been fired from time to time by
young working women who have had no little influence in helping to
rouse public interest in labor conditions. My associates and I, in the early
years of the settlement, owed much to a mother and daughter of
singularly lofty mind and character, both working women, who for a
time joined the settlement family. They had been affiliated with labor
organizations almost all their lives. The ardor of the daughter continually
prodded us to action, and the clear-minded, intellectual mother helped us
to a completer realization of the deep-lying causes that had inspired
Mazzini and other great leaders, whose works we were re-reading.
More recently a young capmaker has stimulated recognition of the
public’s responsibility for the well-being of the young worker. Despite
her long hours, she found time to organize a union in her trade, not in a
spurt of enthusiasm, but as a result of a sober realization that women
workers must stand together for themselves and for those who come after
them.
The inquiry that followed the disastrous fire in the factory of the
Triangle Waist Company in March, 1911, when one hundred and forty-
three girls were burned, or leaped from windows to their death, disclosed
the fact that the owners of this factory, like many others, kept the doors
of the lofts locked. Hundreds of girls, many stories above the streets,
were thus cut off from access to stairs or fire-escapes because of the fear
of small thefts of material. The girls in this factory had tried, a short time
before the fire, to organize a union to protest against bad shop conditions
and petty tyrannies.
After the tragedy, at a meeting in the Metropolitan Opera House called
together by horrified men and women of the city, this young capmaker
stood at the edge of the great opera-house stage and in a voice hardly
raised, though it reached every person in that vast audience, arraigned
society for regarding human life so cheaply. No one could have been
insensitive to her cry for justice, her anguish over the youth so ruthlessly
destroyed; and there must have been many in that audience for whom
ever after the little, brown-clad figure with the tragic voice symbolized
the factory girl in the lofts high above the streets of an indifferent
metropolis.
Before the fire the “shirt-waist strike” had brought out a wave of
popular sympathy. This was due in part to the youth of a majority of the
workers, to a realization of the heroic sacrifices some of them were
making (an inkling of which got to the public), and in part also to
disapproval of the methods used to break the strike. Fashionable
women’s clubs held meetings to hear the story from the lips of girl
strikers themselves, and women gave voice to their disapproval of judges
who sentenced the young strikers to prison, where they were associated
—often sharing the same cells—with criminals and prostitutes. Little
wonder that women who had never known the bitterness of poverty or
oppression found satisfaction in picketing side by side with the working
girls who were paying the great cost of the strike. Many, among them
settlement residents, readily went bail or paid fines for the girls who
were arrested.

Cruel and dramatic exploitation of workers is in the main a thing of

the past, but the more subtle injuries of modern industry, due to
overstrain, speeding-up, and a minimum of leisure, have only recently
attracted attention. It is barely three years (1912) since the New York
Factory Law was amended to prohibit the employment of girls over
sixteen for more than ten hours in one day or fifty-four hours a week.
The legislation reflected the new compunction of the community
concerning these workers, though unlimited hours are still permitted in
stores during the Christmas season.
Few people realize what even a ten-
hour day means, especially when the
worker lives at a distance from the
shop or factory and additional hours
must be spent in going to and from the
place of employment. And in New
York travel during the rush hours may
mean standing the entire distance.
Working girls, in their own
vernacular, have “two jobs.” Those
who have long hours and poor pay
must live at the cheapest rate. Often
they are not able to pay for more than
part use of a bed, and however
generous may be the provision of
working girls’ hotels, the low-paid
workers are not able to avail
themselves of these. The girl who
receives the least wage must live down
to the bone, cook her own meals, wash
and iron her own shirt-waists, attend to
all the necessary details for her home
and person, and this after the long day.
The cheapest worker is also likely to be
the overtime worker, a fact that is most obvious to the public at
Christmas time.
The Factory Investigating Commission, appointed after the Triangle
fire to recommend measures for safety, was continued for the purpose of
inquiry into the wages of labor throughout the state and also into the
advisability of establishing a minimum wage rate. The reports of the
commission, the public hearings, and the invaluable contributions to
current periodicals are enlightening the community on the social perils
due to giving a wage less than the necessary cost of decent living; and as
the great majority of employees concerning whom this information has
been gathered are young girls, the appeal to the public is bound to bring
recommendations for safety in this respect. The dullness of life when
pettiest economies must be forever practiced has also been well pictured
in the testimony brought out by the commission.

In these chapters I have sought to portray the youth of our

neighborhood at its more conscious and responsible period, when the age
of greatest incorrigibility (said to be between thirteen and sixteen) has
been passed. Labor discussions and solemn conferences on social
problems may seem an incongruous background for a picture of youth.
Happily, its gayety is not easily suppressed, and comforting reassurance
lies in the fact that recreation has ever for the young its strong and
legitimate appeal; that art and music carry their message, and that the
public conscience which recognizes the requirements of youth is
reflected in the increasing provision for its pleasures. “Wider use of
school buildings,” “recreation directors,” “social centers,” “municipal
dances,” are new terms that have crept into our vocabularies.
 Though the Italians have brought charming festas into our city streets,
it was not until I admired the decorations that enhance the picturesque
streets of Japan, and enjoyed the sight of the gay dancers on the
boulevards of Paris on the day in July when the French celebrate, that it
occurred to me that we might bring color and gayety to the streets—even
the ugly streets—of New York. For years Henry Street has had its dance
on the Fourth of July, and the city and citizens share in the preparation
and expense. The asphalt is put in good condition (once, for the very
special occasion of the settlement’s twentieth birthday, the city officials
hastened a contemplated renewal of the asphalt); the street-cleaning
department gives an extra late-afternoon cleaning and keeps a white
uniformed sweeper on duty during the festivity; the police department
loans the stanchions and the park department the rope; the Edison
Company illuminates with generosity; from the tenements and the
settlement houses hang the flags and the bunting streamers, and the
neighbors—all of us together—pay for the band. Asphalt, when swept
and cleaned, makes an admirable dancing floor, and to this street dance
come all the neighbors and their friends. The children play games to the
music in their roped-off section, the young people dance, and all are
merry. The first year of the experiment the friendly captain of the
precinct asked what protection was needed. We had courage and faith to
request that no officer should be added to the regular man on the beat,
and the good conduct of the five or six thousand who danced or were
spectators entirely justified the faith and the courage.

A I H P H S ,C T
A S

The protective legislation, the new terms in our vocabulary, and the
dance on the street are but symbols of the acceptance by the community
of its responsibility for protecting and nurturing its precious possession,
—the youth of the city.
 CHAPTER XII
WEDDINGS AND SOCIAL HALLS

When we came to Henry Street, the appearance of a carriage before

the door caused some commotion, and members of the settlement
returning to the house would be met by excited little girls who
announced, “You’s got a wedding by you. There’s a carriage there.” It
was taken for granted in those days that nothing short of a wedding
would justify such magnificence.
In one way or another we were continually reminded of the paramount
importance of the wedding in the life of the neighborhood. “What!” said
a shocked father to whom I expressed my occidental revolt against
insistence upon his daughter’s marriage to a man who was brought by
the professional matchmaker and was a stranger to the girl; “let a girl of
seventeen, with no judgment whatsoever, decide on anything so
important as a husband?” But as youth asserts itself under the new
conditions, the Schadchen, or marriage-broker, no longer occupies an
important position.
 When we first visited families in the tenements, we might have been
misled as to the decline in the family fortunes if we judged their previous
estate by the photographs hung high on the walls of the poor homes, of
bride and groom, splendidly arrayed for the wedding ceremony. But we
learned that the costumes had been rented and the photographs taken,
partly that the couple might keep a reminder of the splendor of that brief
hour, and also that relations on the other side of the water might be
impressed with their prosperity.
Since those days the neighborhood has become more sophisticated,
and brides are more likely to make their own wedding gowns, often
exhibiting good taste as well as skill; though the shop windows in the
foreign quarters still display waxen figures of modishly attired bride and
groom, with alluring announcements of the low rates at which the
garments may be hired.
We were invited to many weddings, and often pitied the little bride
who, having fasted all day as required by orthodox custom, went wearily
through the intricate ceremony, reminiscent of tribal days. One bride to
whom we offered our congratulations accepted them without enthusiasm,
and added, “’Tain’t no such easy thing to get married.”
The younger generation, born in America, whose loyalty and affection
for their elders is unimpaired by the changed conditions, but for whom
the old symbols and customs have no longer a religious meaning, often
submit to the orthodox wedding ceremony out of deference to the wishes
of the parents and grandparents.

T O G

The ceremony in the rented hall (where it takes place owing to the
physical limitations of the home) loses some of its dignity, however
much it may have of warmth and affection. To the weddings come all the
family, from the aged grandparents to the youngest grandchildren.
Before the evening is over the babies are asleep in the arms of their
parents or under the care of the old woman in attendance in the cloak-
room.
At a typical wedding of twenty years
ago the supper was spread in the
basement of one of the public halls,
and the incongruities were not more
painfully obvious to us than to the
delicate-minded bride. The rabbi
chanted the blessings, and the “poet”
sang old Jewish legends, weaving in
stories of the families united that
evening. We were moved almost to
tears by the pathos of these exiles
clinging to the poetic traditions of the
past amid filthy surroundings; for the
tables were encompassed by piles of
beer kegs, with their suggestion of
drink so foreign to the people gathered
there; and men and women who were
not guests came and went to the
dressing-rooms that opened into the dining-hall. Every time we attended
a wedding it shocked us anew that these sober and right-behaving people
were obliged to use for their social functions the offensive halls over or
behind saloons, because there were no others to be had.
An incident a few days after my coming to the East Side had first
brought to my attention the question of meeting-places for the people. As
usual in hard times, it was difficult for the unhappy, dissatisfied
unemployed to find a place for the discussion of their troubles.
Spontaneous gatherings were frequent that summer, and in one of them,
described by the papers next morning as a street riot, I accidentally found
myself.
It was no more than an attempt of men out of work to get together and
talk over their situation. They had no money for the rent of a meeting-
place, and having been driven by the police from the street corners, they
tried to get into an unoccupied hall on Grand Street. Rough handling by
the police stirred them to retaliation, and show of clubs was met by
missiles—pieces of smoked fish snatched from a nearby stand kept by an
old woman. Violence and ill-feeling might have been averted by the
simple expedient of permitting them to meet unmolested. Instinctively I
realized this, and felt for my purse, but I had come out with only
sufficient carfare to carry me on my rounds, and an unknown,
impecunious young woman in a nurse’s cotton dress was not in a
position to speak convincingly on the subject of renting halls.
Later, when I visited London, I could understand the wisdom of non-
interference with the well-known Hyde Park meetings. It is encouraging
to note that common sense is touching the judgment of New York’s
officials regarding the right of the people to meet and speak freely.
Other occurrences of those early days pointed to the need of some
place of assemblage other than the unclean rooms connected with
saloons. Walhalla Hall, on Orchard Street, famous long ago as a meeting-
place for labor organizations, provided them with accommodations not
more appropriate than those I have described. When from time to time a
settlement resident helped to hide beer kegs with impromptu decorations,
we pledged ourselves that whenever it came into our power we would
provide a meeting-place for social functions and labor gatherings and a
forum for public debate that would not sacrifice the dignity of those who
used it. Our own settlement rooms were by that time in constant service
for the neighborhood; but it was plain that even if we could have given
them up entirely to such purposes, a place entirely free from “auspices”
and to be rented—not given under favor—was required. Prince
Kropotkin, then on a visit to America, urged upon me the wisdom of
keeping a people free by allowing freedom of speech, and of respecting
their assemblages by affording dignified accommodations for them.
 It was curious, when one realized it, that recognition of the normal,
wholesome impulse of young people to congregate should also have
been left to the saloon-keeper, and the young lads who frequented
undesirable places were often wholly unaware that they themselves were,
to use their own diction, “easy marks.”
A genial red-haired lad, a teamster by trade, referred with pride to his
ability as a boxer. In answer to pointed questions as to where and how he
acquired his skill, he said a saloon-keeper, “an awful good sport,”
allowed the boys to use his back room. Fortunately the “good sport’s”
saloon was at some distance; and, suggesting that it must be a bore to go
so far after a day’s hard work, I offered to provide a room and a
professional to coach them on fine points if James thought the “fellows”
would care for it. A call next morning at the office of the Children’s Aid
Society resulted in permission to put to this service an unused part of a
nearby building, and during the day a promising boxer was engaged.
James had not waited to inquire if I had either the room or trainer ready,
and appeared the next evening with a list of young men for the club.
Some weeks later a “throw-away,” a small handbill to announce
events, came into my hands. It read:
EAT ’EM ALIVE!
Grand Annual Ball of the ⸺⸺ of the
Nurses’ Settlement.[8]
 The date was given and the price of admission “with wardrobe”;[9] and
to my horror the place designated for this function was a notorious hall
on the Bowery, its door adjacent to one opening into “Suicide Hall,” so
designated because of several self-murders recently committed there.
There was a great deal of mystery about the object of the ball, and the
instructor, guileless in almost everything but the art of boxing,
reluctantly betrayed the secret. They had in mind to make a large sum of
money and with it buy me a present. They dreamed of a writing-desk. It
was a difficult situation, but the young men, their chivalrous instincts
touched, reacted to my little speech and seemed to comprehend that it
would be embarrassing to the ladies of the settlement to be placed under
the implication of profiting by the sale of liquor,—though this was
delicate ground to tread upon, since members of the families of several
of the club boys were bartenders or in the saloon business; but the name
of the settlement had been used to advertise the ball, and “there was
something in it.”
To emphasize my point and to relieve them of complications, since
they had contracted for the use of the place, I offered to pay the owner of
the hall a sum of money (one hundred dollars, as I recall it) if he would
keep the bar closed on the night of the dance; and I pledged the young
men that we would all attend and help to make the ball a success if we
could compromise in this manner. The owner of the hall, however, as
some of the more worldly-wise members had prophesied, scoffed at my
offer.
Public halls are the most common way of making money for a desired
end. Sometimes ephemeral organizations are created to “run” them and
divide the profits that may accrue. At other times, like the fashionable
“Charity” balls, the object is to raise money for a beneficent purpose. It
required some readjustment of the ordinary association of ideas to
purchase without comment the tickets offered at the door of the
settlement for a “grand ball,” the proceeds of which were to provide a
tombstone for a departed friend.

It was soon clear to us that an entirely innocent and natural desire for
recreation afforded continual opportunity for the overstimulation of the
senses and for dangerous exploitation. Later, when the question could be
formally brought to the notice of the public, men and women whose
minds had been turned to the evils of the dance-halls and the causes of
social unrest responded to our appeal, and the Social Halls Association
was organized.
Clinton Hall, a handsome, fireproof structure, was erected on Clinton
Street in 1904. It provides meeting-rooms for trades unions, lodges, and
benefit societies; an auditorium and ballroom, poolrooms, dining-halls,
and kitchens, with provision for the Kosher preparation of meals. In
summer there is a roof garden, with a stage for dramatic performances.
The building was opened with a charming dance given by the young men
of the settlement, followed soon after by a beautiful and impressive
performance of the Ajax of Sophocles by the Greeks of New York.
The stock was subscribed for by people of means, by the small
merchants of the neighborhood, and by settlement residents and their
friends. A janitress brought her bank book, showing savings amounting
to $200, with which she desired to purchase two shares. She was with
difficulty dissuaded from the investment, which I felt she could not
afford. When I explained that the people who were subscribing for the
stock were prepared not to receive any return from it; that they were
risking the money for the sake of those who were obliged to frequent
undesirable halls, Mrs. H⸺⸺ replied, “That’s just how Jim and me feel
about it. We’ve been janitors, and we know.” The Social Halls
Association is a business corporation, and has its own board of directors,
of which I have been president from the beginning.
Clinton Hall has afforded an excellent illustration of the psychology of
suggestion. The fact that no bar is in evidence, and no white-aproned
waiters parade in and out of the ballroom or halls of meetings, has
resulted in a minimum consumption of liquor, although, during the first
years, drinks could have been purchased by leaving the crowd and the
music and sitting at a table in a room one floor below the ballroom.
Leaders of rougher crowds than the usual clientele of Clinton Hall,
accustomed to a “rake-off” from the bar at the end of festivities, had to
have documentary evidence of the small sales, so incredible did it seem
to them that the “crowd” had drunk so little.
It has been a disappointment that the income has not met the
reasonable expectations of those interested. This is due partly to some
mistakes of construction,—not surprising since there was no precedent to
guide us,—largely to the competition of places with different standards
which derive profit from a stimulated sale of liquor, and also partly to the
inability, not peculiar to our neighbors, to distinguish between a direct
and an indirect charge. In all other respects the history of this building
has justified our faith that the people are ready to pay for decency. It is
patronized by five to six hundred thousand people every year.
 CHAPTER XIII
FRIENDS OF RUSSIAN FREEDOM

If spiritual force implies the power to lift the individual out of the
contemplation of his own interests into something great and of ultimate
value to the men and women of this and the generations to come, and if,
so lifted, sacrifices are freely offered on the altar of the cause, it may
truly be said that the Russian Revolution is a spiritual force on the East
Side of New York.
People who all through the day are immersed in mundane affairs, the
earning of money to provide food and shelter, are transfigured at its
appeal. Back of the Russian Jew’s ardor for the liberation of a people
from the absolutism that provoked terrorism lies also the memory of
pogroms and massacres.
Though I had agonized with my neighbors over the tales that crossed
the water and the pitiful human drift that came to our shores, I did not
know how far I was from realizing the depths of horror until I saw at
Ellis Island little children with saber-cuts on their heads and bodies,
mutilated and orphaned at the Kishineff massacre. Rescued by
compassionate people, they had been sent here to be taken into American
homes.
 The procession of mourners marching with black-draped flags after
the news of the Bialystok massacre, the mass-meetings called to give
expression to sorrow at the failure of Father Gapon’s attempt to obtain a
hearing for the workingmen on that “Bloody Sunday”[10] when, it will be
remembered, the priest led hosts of men, women, and children carrying
icons and the Emperor’s picture to his palace, only to be fired upon by
his order, are some of the events that keep the Russian revolutionary
movement a stirring propaganda in our quarter of New York, at least.
Our contact with the members of the Russian revolutionary committee
in New York is close enough to enable us to be of occasional service to
them, and some report of our trustworthiness must have penetrated into
the prisons, as the letters we receive and the exiles who come to us
indicate.
A volume might be written of these visitors. The share they have taken
in the revolutionary movement is known, and their coming is often
merely an assurance that hope still lives. The young women, intrepid
figures, are significant not only of the long-continued struggle for
political deliverance, but of the historical progress of womenkind toward
intellectual and social freedom.
When Dr. W⸺⸺ called upon me he was on his way to Sakhalin to
join his wife after nearly twenty years’ separation. For participation in an
act of violence against an official notorious for his brutality and
disregard even of Russian justice she had been sentenced to death, but
the sentence had been commuted to imprisonment in the Schlüsselburg
fortress, whither she was conducted in heavy chains, and where she
remained thirteen years. Later she was rearrested and sentenced to exile
for life. She had been for five years in the frozen Siberian village of
Sakhalin, when, in 1898, her husband, having seen their only son
established in life and settled his own affairs, obtained permission from
the government to join his wife in her exile.
In imagination I followed this cultured, impressive-looking man on his
long journey with a hope that was almost a prayer that the reunited
husband and wife would find recompense in their comradeship for all
that had been given up and that the woman’s fine spirit would make up
for whatever she might have lost through deprivation of stimulating
contact with her own circle in the world.
My interest caused me to follow their subsequent history. A few years
after Dr. W⸺⸺ had joined his wife they were permitted to remove to
Vladivostok. In 1906, after the October manifesto, there was a military
revolutionary movement in Vladivostok. The governor gave the order to
fire and Madame W⸺⸺, who, with her husband, was watching the
crowd, was killed by a stray bullet. Her son is now a lawyer in Petrograd.
Although separated from his mother nearly all his life he shows his
devotion to her memory and his sympathy with the cause by defending
the “politicals” who come to him.

The settlement from time to time affords occasions for conference on

Russian affairs between influential Americans and visiting Russians who
entertain hopes of reform by other than active revolutionary methods and
it has also given a hearing and found sympathetic friends for other
unhappy subjects of the Czar.
Echoes came to us of the persecution of the Doukhobors, a Russian
religious communistic sect, whose creed bears resemblance to that of the
Friends. Like the active revolutionists, these people had suffered
flogging, imprisonment, and exile, but in their case for espousing the
doctrine of non-resistance.
 In 1897, upon their refusal to take up arms, persecution again became
active. The Russian press was forbidden to allude to the subject, but a
petition was said to have been thrown into the carriage of the Empress
when she was traveling in the Caucasus, where the Doukhobors had been
banished, and her interest was aroused. By 1900 Tolstoi had succeeded
in fixing attention upon their plight, and arrangements were finally made,
chiefly through the efforts of Friends in England and America and the
devotion of Aylmer Maude, for their settlement in Canada.
In order to raise funds for the emigration of these peasants to Canada,
Tolstoi was persuaded to depart from his established principle and accept
copyright for “Resurrection,” but the Doukhobors refused to benefit by
the sale of a book which they did not consider “good.”
During the first years of their life in Manitoba things did not go well
with them, and the House on Henry Street became the headquarters for
some of their friends as they came and went from England. A young man
who, under the influence of Tolstoi, had given up his commission in the
army spent a winter in Canada helping them to lay out their farm lands.
When he visited us he paid full tribute to the sincerity of their
religious convictions, but somewhat ruefully lamented the fanatical
extremes to which they carried them. The Doukhobors, who believed
that all work should be shared, voted against one person milking their
single cow. “But the cow,” said the young ex-captain, “was not a
communist, and went dry.”
 Fraternal Greetings P Kropotkin

My association with the fortunes of the Doukhobors ended with a

slight incident some time later. A peasant, unable to speak any language
or dialect that we could command in the house or neighborhood,
presented a card at our door on which were written these three words,
“Kropotkin, Crosby, Wald.” When an interpreter was secured from Ellis
Island we learned that, hearing of the pilgrimage of the Doukhobors to
Canada, he had decided to follow them, and for clews had only the
remote connection of Kropotkin’s sympathy with Russian peasants,
Ernest Crosby’s devotion to Tolstoi, and some rumor of his and my
interest in these people. That he should have succeeded in finding me
seemed quite remarkable. He was sent to Canada, and subsequent letters
from him gave evidence of his contentment with the odd sect to which he
had been attracted.
After rather serious conflict between their religious practices and the
Canadian regulations, the Doukhobors are reported to have settled their
differences and to have established flourishing communistic colonies
where thousands of acres have been brought under cultivation.

The Friends of Russian Freedom, a national association with

headquarters in New York, is composed of well-known American
sympathizers, and, like the society of the same name in England,
recognizes the spirit that animates Russians engaged in the struggle for
political freedom, and is watchful to show sympathy and give aid.
An occasion for this arose about eight years ago, when the Russian
Government demanded the extradition of one Jan Pouren as a common
criminal. The Commissioner before whom the case was brought acceded
to Russia’s demands and Pouren was held in the Tombs prison to await
extradition. Then this insignificant Lettish peasant became a center of
protest. Pouren, it was known, had been involved in the Baltic uprisings,
and acquiescence in Russia’s demands for his extradition would imperil
thousands who, like him, had sought a refuge here, and would take heart
out of the people who still clung to the party of protest throughout
Russia. A great mass-meeting held in Cooper Union bore testimony to
the tenacity with which high-minded Americans clung to the cherished
traditions of their country. Able counsel generously offered their
services, and it was hoped that this and other expressions of public
protest would induce the Secretary of State to order the case reopened.
My own participation came about because of a request from the
members of the Russian Revolutionary Committee in New York that I
present to President Roosevelt personally the arguments for the
reopening of the case. An hour preceding the weekly Cabinet meeting
was appointed for my visit. I took to the White House an extraordinary
letter sent by Lettish peasants, now hard-working and law-abiding
residents of Massachusetts and New Hampshire. It read: “We hear Jan
Pouren is in prison, that he is called a criminal. We called him ‘brother’
and ‘comrade.’ Do not let him fall into the hands of the bloodthirsty
vampire.” To this letter were appended the signatures and addresses of
men who had been in the struggle in Russia and who, by identifying
themselves with Pouren, placed themselves in equal jeopardy should the
case go against him. They offered to give sworn affidavits, or to come in
person to testify for the accused. With the letter had come a considerable
sum of money which the signers had collected from their scanty wages
for Pouren’s defense. I also had with me a translation of the report to the
second Duma on the Baltic uprisings wherein this testimony, in reference
to the attempt of the Government to locate those involved in the
disturbances, was recorded: “They beat the eight-year-old Anna Pouren,
demanding of her that she should tell the whereabouts of her father.”
The President and the Secretaries concerned discussed the matter, and
I left with the assurance that the new evidence offered would justify the
reopening of the case. At the second hearing the Commissioner’s
decision was reversed and Russia’s demands refused, on the ground that
the alleged offenses were shown to be political and “not in any one
instance for personal grievance or for personal gain.”[11]

George Kennan, who first focused the attention of Americans upon the
political exiles through his dramatic portrayal of their condition in the
Siberian prisons, is still the eager champion of their cause. Prince
Kropotkin, who thrilled the readers of the Atlantic Monthly with his
“Autobiography of a Revolutionist”;[12] Tschaikowsky, Gershuni, Marie
Sukloff[13]—a long procession of saints and martyrs, sympathizers, and
supporters—have crossed the threshold of the House on Henry Street and
stirred deep feeling there. Katharine Breshkovsky (Babuschka, little
grandmother)[14], most beloved of all who have suffered for the great
cause, is to many a symbol of the Russian revolution.
Who of those that sat around the fire with her in the sitting-room of
the Henry Street house can ever forget the experience? We knew vaguely
the story of the young noblewoman’s attempt to teach the newly freed
serfs on her father’s estate in the early sixties; how her religious zeal to
give all that she had to the poor was regarded as dangerous by the Czar’s
government, and how one suppression and persecution after another
finally drove her into the circle of active revolutionists. Her long
incarceration in the Russian prison and final sentence to the Kara mines
and hard labor was known to us, and we identified her as the woman
whose exalted spirit had stirred Mr. Kennan when he met her in the little
Buriat hamlet on the frontier of China so many years ago.
And then, after two decades of prison and Siberian exile, she sat with
us and thrilled us with glimpses of the courage of those who answered
the call. Lightly touching on her own share in the tragic drama, she
carried us with her on the long road to Siberia among the politicals and
the convicts who were their companions, through the perils of an almost
successful escape with three students to the Pacific, a thousand miles
away. She told of her recapture and return to hard labor in the Kara
mines; of the unspeakable outrages, and the heroic measures her
companions there took to draw attention to the prisoners’ plight, and
how, despite these things, she looked back upon that time as wonderful
because of the beautiful and valiant souls who were her fellow-prisoners
and companions, young women who had given up more than life itself
for the great cause of liberty.
Her visit to America in 1905 was made at a time when the long-
cherished hopes of the revolutionists had some promise of realization. It
was deemed necessary to gain the utmost sympathy and support from the
comrades here, and she did indeed reawaken in the hearts of our
neighbors their most passionate desire for the political emancipation of a
country so well beloved from a government so well hated.
I accompanied Madame Breshkovsky to a reception given in her honor
by her fellow-countrymen, and her approach was the signal for a great
demonstration. They lifted her from the floor and carried her, high above
the heads of the people, to her chair. They sang “The Marseillaise,” and
the men wept with the women. Love and deference equally were
accorded to her noble character and fine perceptions. In addition to her
clear and far-sighted vision, her gift of quick and accurate decision and
her extraordinary ability as an organizer gave her, I was told, remarkable
authority in the councils of her party.
When I last saw her, at the close of her stay in this country, she
implored me never to forget Russia and the struggle there, and said, as
we separated after a lingering embrace: “Should you ever grow cold,
bring before your mind the procession of men and women who for years
have gone in the early dawn of their lives to execution, and gladly, that
others might be free.”
Upon returning to Russia she was arrested, and after almost three
years’ imprisonment in the Fortress of Peter and Paul, “that huge stone
coffin,” was sent to Siberia “na poselenie,” as a forced colonist. The first
letters that came to her friends from Siberia told of the journey to the
place of her exile in the Trans-Baikal, two or three hundred miles
northeast of Irkutsk. They traveled by train, on foot, in primitive carts, or
“crowded like herrings in a barrel” in boats that floated with the current,
having no other means of propulsion, and, finally, after nearly three
months spent on the way, reached the little island town of Kirensk,
surrounded by two rivers, “the immense and cold Lena and the less
majestic Kyrenga.”
A letter from a fellow-exile, written in August, 1910, tells of her
passing through his village in a company of two hundred and fifty
political exiles and criminals, surrounded by a numerous guard. “Among
the crowd in gray coats, under gray skies and rain, her imposing figure
struck everyone.” He notes how her first thought, after days of travel
through the pouring rain in a miserable cart, and nights spent in barracks
or around a bonfire in the open air, was for others, “our unfortunate
comrades.” “Their sufferings,” he adds, “do a terrible sore at her heart....
She formed the center of the party and the object of general attention, not
only of her political comrades, but also of the criminals and the soldiers
of the convoy. When I had traveled under escort to our exile some
months before everywhere we heard ‘Babuschka is coming. God grant us
to see her!’ The prisoners and the exiles in Siberia waited with reverence
to see the miracle woman. She kissed us all and cheered us all.”
Her attempted escape from Kirensk, recapture, and sentence to the
Irkutsk prison in the winter of 1913 are known to all the world. Her
letters to American friends from her Siberian exile revealed the heroic
soul. Her physical sufferings were only incidentally alluded to, as in one
letter where, in the quaint English acquired in America and by study
during her last imprisonment, she said: “My gait is not yet sure enough,
and it will take some time before my forces and my celerity rejoin me to
the point as to let me exercise my feet without the aid of anyone.”
Nevertheless, she continues quite undaunted, “I hope to restore my
health and to live till the day I see you again.”
 “B ,L G ”

The sufferings and deprivations of the young political exiles caused

her the greatest sorrow. It was, indeed, the only suffering she
acknowledged, although she deplored that reasonable conversation was
impossible, with the spies always within sight and hearing, and
expressed her “disgust” that they accompanied her whenever she went
out.
 In Kirensk there are over a thousand exiles forced to live on their
earnings and the small stipend received from the government. There is
little work to be had, and that little is rendered more uncertain by the fact
that the police shift the exiles about, seldom allowing them to remain in
one place for more than six months. Most of them are thus kept in a state
of semi-starvation. The magazines, books, and picture post cards which
Madame Breshkovsky received were used by her to extraordinary
advantage. Of some periodicals that I had caused to be sent her she
wrote: “They make a great parade in Siberia, going as far as Irkutsk and
Yakutsk, and some of them find resting-place in the libraries and
museums.” She taught English to the young “politicals” and reading and
writing to the illiterate native Siberians. “You understand my situation,”
she wrote: “an old mother who would serve every one of them. I aid, I
grumble, I sustain, I hear confessions like a priest, I give counsel and
admonition, but this is a drop in the ocean of misery.” And of herself
again: “How happy I am; persecuted, banished, and yet beloved.”
From the letters that have come to America and are shared by the
circle of her friends here I select one, written in answer to a request that
she send a message of her philosophy to the students of a women’s
college who had asked me to tell the story of the Russian revolution as
personified in her:

“October 20, 1913, Kirensk.

“Very dear and well-beloved Lillian:—
“Your letter, as well as the postal cards which you were good
enough to send me, were received by me several days ago, and
perhaps it is with the last mail that I send you this reply. Snow
already covers the mountainous borders of the superb Lena, and
frost will soon fill the waters with masses of ice, which will
interrupt all communications for two or three weeks, leaving us
isolated on our little island, entirely engulfed by cold, badly
treated by the north wind. I hasten, therefore, to thank you for
your indefatigable attention towards the old recluse who,
habituated as she is to pass her days now and again imprisoned or
exiled, rejoices, nevertheless, to find herself loved—to feel that
the most noble hearts beat in unison with hers.
“It is strange! Every time that I am asked to speak about myself
I am always confused and find nothing to say. It is very likely that
if I paid more attention to the exterior circumstances of my life
there would be enough to talk about that would fill more than a
book. But ever since my childhood I have had the habit of
creating a spiritual life, an interior world, which responded better
to my spiritual taste. This imaginary world has had the upper
hand over the real world in its details, over all that is transient.
“The aim of our existence, the perfecting of human nature, was
always present to my vision, in my mind. The route, the direction
that we ought to take in order to approach our ideal, was for me a
problem, the solution of which absorbed the efforts of my entire
life. I was implacable for myself, for my weaknesses, knowing
that to serve a divine cause we must sincerely love the object of
our devotion, that is to say, in this case, humanity.
“These meditations, and a vigorous imagination, which always
carried me far beyond the present, permitting me to inhabit the
most longed-for regions, combined to attract very little of my
attention to daily circumstances.
“Without doubt, I have had suffering in my life, as I have had
moments of joy, of happiness even. It is also true that the struggle
with my failings, with the habits engrafted by a worldly
education, have cost me more or less dearly. The misery of those
near to me tore my heart to the extreme. In a word, life has passed
in the same way as a bark thrown upon the mercy of a sea often
stormy. But as the ideal was always there, present in my heart and
in my mind, it guided me in my course, it absorbed me to such a
degree that I did not feel in all their integrity the influences of
passing events. The duty to serve the divine cause of humanity in
its entirety, that of my people in particular, was the law of my life,
—the supreme law, whose voice stilled my passions, my desires,
in short, my weaknesses....
“Since I live in my thoughts more than by emotion, it is my
thoughts that I have to confess more than the facts of my life.
These facts, to tell the truth, are sufficiently confused in my
memory, and often I would not be able to relate them in all their
details. Also, in conversing with those who care to listen to me, I
feel that I am monotonous, for it is always my ideas and my
abstract observations that I want to communicate to my listeners.
I have studied a great deal in order to understand even ever so
 little of the origin of the human soul, in order to understand more
or less its complexity of to-day. There lies my only strength, so to
speak, and I continue my study, knowing how complex my object
of study is, and what an innumerable quantity of different
combinations, of types, of low types, have been formed during
the long history of the laboratory where is prepared the supreme
fusion called the human soul.
“The esteem for the individual of the human species, and the
adoration of the intellectual treasure of this individual, ought to
form the center of all religion, of all knowledge, of all ideal. It is
only in venerating the human being as the most beautiful creation
of the world, it is only in understanding the beauty and the
indestructible grandeur of an intelligence illuminated by love and
knowledge, that the education of the young generations will bring
the desired fruits....
“Lillian, my friend, I hope to be understood by you ... I
embrace you. I kiss your two hands and thank you for your noble
and dear existence. To your entire settlement I send greetings.
“Your
“Katharine Breshkovsky.”

Madame Breshkovsky’s friends are to be found in every civilized

nation, and her influence, from an exile’s hut in an isolated village in the
Arctic Circle, has radiated to remote quarters of the globe. From her
prison at Irkutsk this woman, nearing her seventieth birthday, sends
messages of hope and cheer, proclaiming her unquenchable faith that the
cause is just, and therefore must prevail.

I would not have our profound interest in the Russian revolution

entirely explained by the fellowship we have had with those who have
participated in it, by the literature which has stirred hearts and minds
everywhere, or by our actual experience with innocent victims of
outrages. The continuance of a policy of suppression of freedom
infiltrates the social order everywhere, destroys the germination of new
forms of social life, and he who has not sympathy with the throbbing of
the human heart, and who does not revolt against injustice anywhere in
the world, who does not see in the gigantic struggle in Russia a world
movement for freedom and progress that is our struggle too, will not
comprehend the significance of the sympathy of the many Americans
who are friends of Russian freedom.