The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 29, 1900, Page 18

THE SUNDAY CALL gree gs £ Dow re mer ar g g s when ke 4 ri £ r » - w w p fune X a heap r " ; - £ wagons we i ste, who was one of the proprie it vegetable farm m h or »ugh board s p a solitary tern. He hung gzinst the side of the shed, whe ed dismally with the dis- courage of dirt and smoke Baptiste went to a large tank and turned on the water. “We washa da veg.” he said explanatorily. “trima da leaf, washa da dirt, maka da vegetabool clean, sella da mark.” Some of the men began washing the vegetables, plunging their arms into the g the Vegetable I cort m wagonload 1e same way, were dried gra ier, by a great grabbing the onions aw ¥ the table, and by the 1gh the smoky. dirty antern he‘sc d and ly, the long par- nd regular thuds basketful he 1l cut into large tin across the pouring a broken w pping with dull 2 floor. A great they were nd put into 2 with them under the Ital whe thful idled them and de Sea v, in ind in eing Then hands v Ly d hen e his Remarks 1a 1s watching very clean, too a while I held them all into the pepper and supper was all stew. clean ro lid he dumpe wing up with salt Then cooking of the teapotful of water the top of made, except for the The put large v the middle to 1 and when it tipped to one side on e it was left convenient the broken lid of the stove he ‘took a f equent whirst. twisted wire from a nail, secured the loop X . a tin pitcher ne erd to the bail of the teapot and ge, with i it to a nail on th all. After ith it was no more trouble with the L some eigh nches in diameter sour and dark-looking inde Outside tt en were working—working We r night was cool, great : rolled from their ¢ was sitting on an - x entirely prostrated work sles were growin = ) ] r and the wagons wers whiff 5 I 1 th with the packs of ks v s. Lea prepared. The the stew boiling with nolsy monotony and the men work- ing fviolently. At 10 o'clock there was nothing left but the waste of refuse ve; etables upon the ground floor, and the last packs were being put on the wagons. Incidentally the demijohn had becn re- filled and was again getting low. Baptiste brought out some long canvas coverings, and the wagons, heaped high with rolypoly cabbages, bursting sacks of turnips and a miscellany of other green things, were bound over ‘with the can- vases and the packs were made snug and firm. Only an occasional burst of the strange tongue now and then had broken ' silence, but the time for temporary release had come and there egan a gen- eral babble of ltalian gibberish, which continued until a shrill whistle from the kitchen announced the completion of the stew. Then they filed in and took their places along the sides of the big pine plank that served as a table, a long bench on either side of it. The stew was there—three large tin pans of it, and a crockery platter filled with it for ourselves. There were forks for all and a knife apiece for us. They ate the ut of the pans, and ate as only hungry Italians can eat. In the middle of the board was the twin of the demijohn m the shed, and it, too, was filled with vin ordinafre. And it was rapidly emptied. pot that had been anchored turn- ut some steaming hot tea in large carthen bowls, and into his bowl of tea cach Italian mixed a generous por tion of the same vin ordinaire. Vin ordi- naire is the life of the Italian, and with- out it even his tea is worthless. We tried it mildly with the tea and found it not half bad. There was no conversation, for there ‘Wwas no common tongue between guest and host. . We found it hard to make them comprehend, and observed that it seemed difficult for them to make each other un- derstand. Theirs is the stupidity of work —much hard, heavy work—and unlimited red wine. Across the table there was a big-eyed, wondering fellow of some twen- ty years, who stared in amazement. To catch his eye meant to see them open even wider and stare more wonderir We were to him very strange creatures, in- deed—after the strangeness of an escaped wild creature of another clime Presently the stew was all gore and the last of the claret going. The men's heads were drooping heavily upon their coarse, loose shirt bosoms, and their feet, with the coarse, water-soaked boots, were sild- floo! leaned table, Peirita his ng out the forward upen the in his hands and only a shock of bristiy bl Baptiste turned to “Taka da sleep. da sleep. W horse. driva now. 8i?" It was thelr rest to crawl into their rou cep conveniently upon the hard benches, and went out into the moonlit gardens. upon face buried . unkempt hair w. tree hour. Taka clock. hitcha Taka da Two. a.da 2 aa ce da ho r. We left rh bunks or s them Across the way, on another slope, a Guaint little church pointed its sp up- ward. The windmills. all about moved quietly, or with an occasional creak, and the wind swept softly over the acres of growing things. Little Italy slept. At 2 o’clock we returned to the cabin in time to hear a wondr guccession of cound. It was Bapti alarm. The horses were quickly and the wagons Mned up—three of them. We rode with Baptis I sat on the key box, with feet dangling in midair. Reside me t my companion, submitiing to a continual battery of the aggressive turnips behind him beat the horses us te's harnessed Baptiste swore and rey jumped about and firally started off up the road at a jog trot. Then we got into the procession—a procession of a hundred wagons. The the Ingleside gar- miles out of the ith wagons came from dens, some from twelv . and they were all jogging along a rattle and bang. the odors of onions, ca bages and all kiads of green things jolt- ing out and permeating the atmosph whiffe. Now. and then a wagon d us, the driver beating his beasts in- ssantly, and he threw hard turnip them. But most cf them drove joggingly and slept—slept as they drove, leaning sideways upon a sack of string beans or with heads drooped forward upon thelr chests, Baptiste did not sleep. . “Da alla time sleep,” said he. ‘“Some- time falla offa da wag—I no sleepa, no, falla, breka da neck.” But his head hung low, and Baptiste had naught to say. He was tired, very tired. Down the long line of eucalyptus trees the procession trotted, and up again. and over the hills—dragging onward, the driv- ers, wineladen, sleeping, cursing drowsily and beating from force of habit as they, at Of the Road io the Market. slep: for miles. and the long Mission road, where the rattle of the | dred wagons on the cobble: filled the'air with noisy din. It was the moment owsily on thelr when people turn ¢ i frown, if they have not e make forcible remarks. fening. or 3 o'clock when t turned Into Mis the rumbling in a long % tracks. Saloons were all along the and now and then a drunken mam reeled out with a snatch of ribald so; fell heavily beside a staggering woman ed for a ride, lows eno noise was de 1 to It was afl ion street. line beside way. A PPOSt. called to bu lips Once a Baptiste and or Bap- tiste waved her to the wagons behind. He had no room. Drinka da wine,” he oman drinka too much, aska da ride. Evra da morn, taka one, two, tree worr aska da ride—I giva da ride On down h the busier part the town, where pewsboys cried out in the growing light and milk wagons rattied off through the streets, then down through the scenes of daytime traffie, now still and unpopulated, save for the lagszing fisher- men returning from their night's work There the procession broke up and t hundred wagons branched off to differc markets. btiste’s three continued to the wharf and into the large ma at the foot of Broadway. 'We climbed da n from the wagon and watched them as they prepared to unload. There was much Italian wrangling and Baptiste waved his hands wildly. “I no order da - oniene, I bringa da onione for da odda mark. Cabbaga, tur- nup, carrota dees mark: onione odda mark Still they wrangled. We were hungry and our feet were weary with much dansg- ling. Six miles is a long stretch when « sits on a hard jockey box with feet hang- ing in midair and with hard turnips jog- ging one from behind with every cobble stone. We sought a restaurant and left Baptiste to his onion quarrel. He would not be through with his unloading and his return ride until ten o'clock and then he would get the other three hours of his daily six-hour sleep. That would com- plete one day of his six days’ work to the week. Then would come Saturday, the vest day—which means to the Itallan to eamsters of San Francisco ES OF EXPERIENCES AMONG TRUCK BND TELLS OF EY OF WINDMILLS. ha some co cially t loads work, carry a total of fr k -t of the 1 oal f horsepower of work n two and a recruited tribes, and wea differeat postoffices ir for c by thes distance traveled beiy miles per m . the cost less than tem of forw s at night by re- lays of carriers has been greatly extend- €d; the night services now represent totay distance traveled of some 300 miles per month. The postmen travel in pairs, anq are armed with rifles, ag lions are frequently encountereda i o