Dutch finally emerged from the warehouse, Ms. Dorothea by his side. Outside, a vast, undulating sea of women had converged. They murmured amongst themselves, those who knew each other whispering nervously, those who didn't standing rigid with apprehension. The moment Dutch and his entourage appeared, a sudden, profound silence fell. Every eye, wide with a potent mix of fear and desperate hope, fixated on them.
Dutch felt the immense pressure of their collective gaze. He wasn't entirely certain these women wouldn't erupt into a furious melee when the time came to select the few for this coveted quota, especially after the intoxicating details of the benefits he intended to bestow upon them. But they were here, and recruitment would proceed.
Dutch stepped slightly to the side, allowing Ms. Dorothea to take center stage. As the designated face of women's rights, thrust forward by powerful families and a frequent presence before the citizens, she was the natural choice to preside. More critically, her prominent role now would inextricably link her—and by extension, the three noble families—to both women's rights and Dutch's venture, guaranteeing maximum gratitude and reputation.
She aimed to become the undisputed spokesperson for Dutch's female workforce, ensuring that in the future, any woman seeking work would instinctively think of Ms. Dorothea. This way, when women finally gained the right to vote, Ms. Dorothea's family would be the ultimate beneficiaries.
"Ladies, please, silence! I am Dorothea, and today I have gathered each and every one of you here for..." Ms. Dorothea's speech ignited the air, a blaze of passionate rhetoric, relentlessly hammering home a single, central idea: that through the tireless efforts of Dorothea, Ann, and Ms. Alice, and with the unparalleled sponsorship of the great benefactor Arthur, these four champions had collectively secured profound benefits for their fellow women. The core message revolved around one thing: the towering reputation of Dorothea, Ann, and Alice.
The effect was instantaneous and explosive. These impoverished women, who rarely concerned themselves with the abstract concept of women's rights, erupted into a thunderous, excited roar! They chanted Ms. Dorothea's name, their voices ragged with fervent gratitude, proclaiming the boundless greatness of the women's rights movement. Ms. Dorothea's strategic gambit had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.
"Now, please welcome our Mr. Arthur, to commence the recruitment of female workers!"
Ms. Dorothea's half-hour speech, a mesmerizing torrent of carefully crafted words, finally concluded. Dutch stepped forward.
"Ladies, I am Arthur. Perhaps, I will be your future employer. Ms. Dorothea has already detailed all the requirements, so I will add little more. Recruitment officially begins now. First, I ask: are there any among you proficient in garment making and skilled in the use of sewing machines? If so, please, step forward."
Following Dutch's command, a dozen or so women, seemingly in their forties, slowly, nervously, squeezed their way through the dense crowd. They approached, their eyes a complex blend of desperate hope and profound self-doubt.
"You all know how to operate sewing machines and make clothes?" Dutch asked the small group.
"I know both, Mr. Arthur! I used to work in a clothing factory, sir, but it shut down, and I was left with nothing!"
"Me too, Mr. Arthur! My mother taught me everything. I desperately wanted to find work making clothes, but now… clothing factories refuse to hire female workers, so I…"
The women eagerly pressed forward, each recounting her experiences, her skills, a desperate fear gripping them that Dutch might deem them dishonest, perhaps dismissed, and thus, refuse them.
In this era, female laborers were surprisingly abundant. By 1850, 15% of women were already in the workforce, and now, that figure had climbed to at least 30%. Moreover, most American women still primarily managed their homes, caring for husbands and children, supplementing meager incomes by making or mending clothes.
Nearly everyone possessed basic sewing skills, which was why they dared to apply. The reason for the small number who stepped forward now was largely due to their unfamiliarity with sewing machines—not everyone could afford such a luxury.
Dutch looked upon the dozen or so women with genuine satisfaction, nodding repeatedly, his voice soothing. "Excellent, ladies, you are all hired! From this day forward, you will train the other female workers in our factory, teaching them to master the sewing machine, enabling them to craft clothes independently!"
He then addressed the wider multitude. "Alright, ladies, in addition to these seventeen skilled female workers, I also need to recruit one hundred and thirty-three ladies who possess basic garment-making skills. There are many of you, and the number of positions available in this initial wave is small. But rest assured, I will continue to recruit more in the future, so I ask for your patience."
Dutch then unveiled the full, breathtaking scope of his offer. "As for the recruited female workers, I will provide a salary of twenty-five dollars a month, with food and lodging fully provided. You will each have a comfortable six-square-meter room for your daily life, and if you have family, they too can move in.
If your men are able-bodied, they can be hired by the factory as loaders and transporters, earning fifty dollars a month. If your men are skilled with firearms, they can also be hired as our factory's escort gunmen. I will pay them one hundred dollars a month, and should they tragically fall during transport, I will provide a personal subsidy of five hundred dollars to their family, and other family members will be given priority for recruitment into the factory.
All recruited ladies will gather at the train station at 5 PM this afternoon. Our Ms. Ann has generously provided free train travel for your journey. We will depart for Valentine as soon as we are assembled, so please, come as quickly as possible. We will not wait for latecomers."
The moment Dutch's words echoed through the crowd, the entire scene erupted into a deafening roar!
"Oh, my God! Mr. Arthur, I can work! I can!"
"Oh! Mr. Arthur, you are a saint! Please, let me come! I can sew clothes! I only need twenty dollars! I only need twenty dollars!"
"Oh, I'll take fifteen dollars! Fifteen dollars is more than enough for me! Mr. Arthur, you are truly great!"
The women below were beyond boiling; they were a raging inferno of desperate hope. And who could blame them? The conditions Dutch offered were simply too good to be true.
For context, Downs' son in the game, toiling in the mine without food or lodging, earned a mere fifty cents a day. Thirty dollars a month, with food and lodging provided—this meant that entering Dutch's factory would instantly catapult their lives from utter poverty to the status of a relatively wealthy family. Not only would their lives become abundant, freed from the daily scramble for survival, but they could even work for a few more years, accumulate substantial savings, and truly achieve prosperity. This was a direct, step-by-step leap across class boundaries.
And those whose men were skilled marksmen, or retired veterans, surged forward, scrambling, shouting, desperate to sign up. One hundred and thirty dollars a month for two people combined—this was nothing short of becoming a middle-class family in a single, audacious leap! No one could refuse this. They would fight tooth and nail for it.
Even the male onlookers outside, who had dismissed the women's initial frenzy, now erupted in clamor. A man who had just seen his wife arrive, his face twisted with fury, rushed forward, intent on grabbing her and slapping her senseless for even entertaining the idea.
But before his hand could descend, he heard Dutch's booming voice, the incredible benefits promised from within the warehouse. The angry curses on his lips twisted, contorted, into something entirely different.
Misogyny GONE! Reduced to ashes!
"Fuck! You… damn! My wife can! My wife can work! Oh, God, my wife's garment-making skills are excellent! Please, my good sir, hire her!"