On the first morning in Anissberg, John and Mr. Fowler were having breakfast in the cottage arranged by Sir Marlin, and as soon as John had taken his first bite of the buttered bread, Sir Marlin entered.

"No offense, gentlemen, I apologize for yesterday's conflict, after all, you have been invited by Sir Jameson, who does not want to leave a guest with an unpleasant experience."

"We were at fault first." Mr. Fowler said.

"In that case, we're still friends, right? On behalf of Mr. Jameson, I thank you for coming to keep the law and order, but the workers have ceased for a few days, but this brief silence may be broken at some point. Anyway, get ready, gentlemen, and have your breakfast slowly, and then you can go for a walk in the streets, and I won't bother. ”

Mr. Fowler looked at his departing back with a weeping smile: "He himself is quite a good talker, but not so patient with others, as is the case with the whole town, the workers, and the politicians. ”

After dinner, John wandered alone through the streets of Anissberg, where he found that the main street was made up of two abandoned railroad tracks, one of which had an abandoned locomotive and several freight cars parked, and the other was empty, and there was a railway outside the city that was still in operation and an important artery, and the sound of trains chirping could be heard from time to time.

A little further on, John found that the houses of Annisberg were crowded but also layered, with bungalows and shops for freelance residents living down the hill; The gray-black houses on the mountainside are neatly aligned, and it is a gathering place for bachelors who come to work in the mines; On the top of the mountain, in addition to the temporary dormitory, there is a mine cave, and there are some mine carts and railroad tracks, which lead to the loading area at the bottom of the mountain. It has to be said that the logging industry in Anisberg is also very prosperous, and there is an endless stream of people who drive horse-drawn carts to transport wood every day.

Annisberg, a waterfront city that can be said to be the epitome of mining development in the west, unfortunately its water resources are heavily polluted, and according to residents, sewage has been continuously discharged into the river since the mine was established in 1850. Now, the laundry pool in front of the house and the northern part of the Lanahch River's Van Horn trading port are reddish-colored and oil-stained, colourful in the sun, and people here have to travel miles to the Kamasa River to get clean water.

Walking to the door of a gun shop, John saw a gentleman in a white suit and a white top hat not far away holding a book of paper selling something, and at first John thought he was selling newspapers, thinking that this was a good opportunity to learn more about Annisberg.

"Gentlemen and ladies, come and see, I have nothing to hide from my statement, my statement is science, and science is God. I swear to God that if I am not true, I will not die well. We were digging our own grave, digging a deep, dark pit for ourselves as fast as we could..."

Seeing some people gathered around, the pamphlet seller had the motivation to continue the speech.

"This is a kingdom built on greed, not science, not truth, but greed. We can't be possessed by desires, science can save this land, God can't, dreams can't. Knowledge is the only hope, and knowledge must first be seen with the eyes. It only takes a pair of eyes to see that we're doomed unless we change. ”

"The catastrophe at hand is this general strike, and your knowledge is useless." Someone joked.

Mr. Bai cast a questioning look at the man: "We are killing everything here. The ocean is black, the earth is boiling, the sky is gray, and what is all that? ”

"Look at this book, it's the future of the country. It's free, grab a copy. ”

The people who listened to Mr. Bai's speech gradually dispersed, and the residents were too busy with the heavy life to bother with these empty things, but John was different, he thought the gentleman was quite interesting, and took a copy.

"What is your name? My dear sir. Mr. Bai stared at John.

"John Milton."

"Thank you, Mr. Milton...... Thank you. After Mr. Bai finished speaking, he picked up his bag and left.

John took the book and looked at it, only to see that the cover had these words written on it.

Hope for the Future

Author: Malcolm McIntosh, Ph.D

John flipped through a few pages, and the content was exactly what Dr. Mackintosh had said, that John was a bookworm, but that he was not interested in these avant-garde ideas, which were not even broken metal.

On the way back to his lodgings, John suddenly heard some scattered gunshots on the mountain, the patrolling guards were all carrying their guns up the hill, the residents fled back to their homes, a siren pierced the sky, John realized that the strike was beginning to break out, so he pulled out the revolver he had with him and hurried to his lodgings.

As soon as he reached the door, John saw Sir Marlin beckoning Mr. Fowler to the house with a Winchester rifle and telling them to hurry out and perform their duties, and Mr. Fowler happened to see John approaching.

"Good boy, I thought something happened to you, everyone was waiting for you."

Coincidentally, while Mr. Fowler was speaking, a bullet flew over and hit the telephone pole between John and Fowler.

"We've got to hurry, gentlemen!" Sir Marlin shouted.

At a glance, there are about a dozen workers raising their guns to shoot, and there are few obstacles at the entrance of the mine, basically showing an open area, dealing with these people who are not very good at marksmanship is like catching turtles in an urn, but the first step is to find a suitable shelter to avoid being shot to death.

John spotted a row of wooden fences facing the mine, where the workers were shooting, and hid behind the wooden fence with a sliding step, and just as he pulled down the ram and raised his pistol, Mr. Fowler rushed over and pressed him down.

"John, I want you to be merciful to their men, as you can see, those workers are just like us who work for the big bosses, and even we have the right to quit the game, so why don't they? It's just that in order to support their families, they have to take extreme measures to change the rules of the game. ”

John agreed, knowing that Mr. Fowler sympathized with the striking workers, and so did himself, most of whom were already suffering from lung disease, so why should they suffer from bullets again.