North America 1773: Do Britain and America even deserve to be called great powers?

Chapter 66 The Mutual Aid Association is Established

Martha's body trembled slightly, and she understood completely.

What Li Wei needs is not a manager, but a shield, a perfect shield.

And her husband, this cowardly man, was the best choice to be this shield.

This is both dangerous and an opportunity to achieve great success.

Martha took a deep breath and pressed one hand firmly on her husband's trembling shoulder.

She looked at Li Wei, and it was at this moment that she, who had always seemed so gentle, made the decision for her husband.

"Mr. Li, we...we did it!"

Three days later, the official founding meeting of the "Boston Wharf Mutual Aid Association" was held in a huge tobacco warehouse that could accommodate thousands of people.

On the warehouse wall hung a huge banner that had just been made. On the black silk background, a ferocious oriental dragon was embroidered with gold thread—this was the name Li Wei used for all his businesses, the "Black Dragon Trading Company".

Mr. Boyle was dressed in a brand-new suit, his face was ashen, and his legs were trembling uncontrollably.

He walked up to the makeshift platform made of wooden crates, flanked by Finn and Seamus on either side.

Facing the sea of ​​people below, he read the inaugural address, which had been written by Fiona, in a trembling voice.

"Gentlemen... brothers! Today... today is a good day..."

After the opening remarks, he seemed to have exhausted all his strength, and could only lower his head and read aloud the clear and neat handwriting in a stiff, bookish tone:

"I, Arthur Boyle, am just an ordinary man like you, a baker. I stand here today not because I am stronger or smarter than you. It is because, like you, I want to eat my fill and provide a stable life for my family."

This simple and unadorned opening speech quieted down the somewhat restless crowd below the stage.

Mr. Boyle glanced up furtively and, finding no one laughing at him, grew a little bolder and continued reading:

"The rules of the Boston Dockside Mutual Aid Association are very simple. Here they are, four in total."

He stretched out his fingers, which were somewhat chubby from nervousness, and gestured with difficulty.

"Article 1: There will be work. From today onwards, all loading, unloading, and related work at the dock will be arranged by the Mutual Aid Association. We will queue according to the roster and group ourselves according to our strength. No one can cut in line or steal work. As long as you are a member, you are guaranteed a job."

A low murmur arose from the audience.

For these workers who were struggling to make ends meet, the promise of "guaranteed work" was more tempting than gold.

"Article Two: You'll get paid. The Mutual Aid Association has established uniform wage standards, clearly defining how much you should earn for each job. Wages are paid daily, never delayed. If any ship owner or boss dares to withhold even a shilling, the brothers in the Mutual Aid Association will get your money back for you!"

The murmurs among the crowd grew louder, and some people's eyes began to light up.

Being penalized for deducting wages is a daily routine they've long been accustomed to.

Mr. Boyle felt a surge of admiration emanating from the audience, and his voice finally stopped trembling.

"Article Three: Guaranteed. Bumps and bruises are common when working at the docks. From now on, if any member is injured while working, the mutual aid association will pay for your doctor's visit and medicine! While you're recovering, your wife and children will receive two black bread rolls from the mutual aid association every day—they won't go hungry!"

It was only when he said that this sentence that it exploded like a thunderclap in the crowd!

One worker excitedly grabbed his colleague's arm: "Did you hear that? He... he said to call a doctor!"

At the docks, a broken leg was tantamount to a death sentence; one would either die from the pain or from poverty and illness.

This promise struck a chord with their most vulnerable and fearful hearts.

"Article Four!" Mr. Boyle's voice rose involuntarily, and he even chose to speak off-script, simply pointing at the manuscript paper as he excitedly added.

"The most important thing! If... I mean if, a brother dies on the docks... the Mutual Aid Society will give your family a pension! Ten silver pounds! Enough for your children to grow up, enough for your wife and parents to live on!"

The entire warehouse fell into a deathly silence.

Ten silver pounds.

For most of them, it was an unimaginable fortune.

This promise made them realize for the first time that their lives had a price.

Mr. Boyle finally finished reading the manuscript. He let out a long sigh of relief, wiped the sweat off his face haphazardly with a handkerchief, and gave a stammering summary.

"These are the rules. As long as you work according to the rules, the mutual aid society will support you and your family... I... I'm done."

After saying that, he seemed completely exhausted and plopped back down in the chair behind him.

There were no cheers, no shouts.

After a moment of silence, a buzzing yet incredibly resolute roar erupted from below the stage.

"I'm in!"

Count me in!

"Damn it, ten silver pounds! My worthless life is worth something now!"

Finn stepped forward at the opportune moment, his loud voice drowning out all the noise.

"Listen up! Anyone who wants to join, line up now! Each person will receive a one-shilling annual membership fee and a Black Dragon Badge! From today onwards, we're one family!"

The crowd surged toward the tent like a tide.

In a corner of the warehouse, Lieutenant Hank, the representative sent by the Governor's Office, watched all of this with a cold eye.

He looked at the bread merchant president on the stage, who was drenched in sweat and almost collapsed.

Then I glanced at the accounting room next door, where the Irish woman was leading a few young men, calmly collecting membership fees, the wooden trays making a crisp and solid sound.

That evening, Lieutenant Hank wrote the following in his official report to the governor:

"A rudimentary but large-scale commercial guild has begun to take shape at the docks, and is expected to have a significant impact on the Empire's dock management and tax revenue in Boston. Its leader, the baker Boyle, is foolish and extremely greedy, lacks personal prestige, and is easy to control. It is recommended that he be incorporated into the tax system and restrained through economic means."

Just as Lieutenant Hank bypassed the Gage family and handed over the report directly, almost at the same time, Samuel Adams sent over the list he had promised.

Li Wei casually set aside the tax permit from the Governor's Office and took the list.

Instead of looking at it immediately, he also took the complete list that the mutual aid association had just compiled that day, which included all the members' fingerprints.

He placed the two lists side by side on the table and handed them to Fiona.

"Let's compare them."

Fiona's fingers flew across the two lists, and after a moment, she looked up.

"Sir, the list Mr. Adams sent is thirty-seven people shorter than the list we have in our membership register."

Li Wei tapped his knuckles lightly on the mahogany table.

"Unfortunately, it seems our business partner is testing the limits of the contract."

His voice was very soft, yet it made the candlelight in the study flicker.