Author's Note: For a Social Studies assignment, we had to write a RAFT which stands for Role (little girl in working in a cigar factory in the mid 1800s), Audience (I suggested that it would be a small excerpt in the MAPS test), Format (short story) and Topic (Child Labor life). I ended up writing about a little girl who works in a cigar factory who is forced to work long hours for a small pay. We studied how some of the kids in the 1800s had harsh bosses who forced them to work faster, little pay, horrible conditions and long hours. That was my basic inspiration to tell about a part of her life.
“Listen up,
imps,” Boss commanded, “Get in line for pay.”
The sight of
him made me cringe; Boss was a malicious cheapskate who didn’t pay well. He had
a long gray beard and had a ring of hair that surrounded his huge bald spot atop
his head. Us children were petrified when he came to check in on us while we
were working.
I fell into
line next to my best friend, Madeline, taking her hand to comfort her. She’s
even more terrified of Boss than I; she has not quite gotten used to him.
There were
five children in front of us. Then there was four. Then three. Then two. Then
one. I gulped, trying to make my fear disappear.
I let Madeline
go first. Holding out a shaky hand, Boss dropped a few coins in her hand. She
walked stiffly back to the hallway to wait for me.
Watching her, I knew she wasn’t alright, which
worried me. My hand was quivering and I reached out until I was an inch away
from his wrinkled, bony hand. The cigar smoke smell reeking from him made my
stomach queasy. As soon as those few precious coins dropped in the palm of my
hand, I bolted out the door.
My brother
Jerry was also waiting for me. Tipping his cap he said, “Hello, sister. 'Tis
our day off; shall we go to the food market?”
I smiled. I
was glad to have my brother with me, since we’re under both under 10, don’t
have to work on Sundays. Jerry will soon turn 10, so he will be working 7 days
a week before I know it.
Sunday is the
one day we do not have to work in the cigar factory where Boss punishes us
severely if we are working too slow. The thought send shivers down my spine as
I touch the bruises that blacken my arms from leather whips.... It is reliving
to be outside the factory because the smell of tobacco leaves often overwhelms
my lungs, giving me awful head pains and the smoke is utterly horrible,
invading your lungs, nearly suffocating them at every breath you take of the
intoxicated air. There are not outhouses, so it gets messy and we
don’t really have the time to clean or bathe. Really, we’re living in our own filth, it's disgusting.
The factory is
made up of barns that hold tobacco leaves and the workers. There’s a small
shanty for all of the children who are sent to work who never see their
parents, like Madeline, Jerry and I. My and Madeline's job is to carry the
tobacco leaves in big woven baskets to the men and women who roll them into
cigars. Jerry helps unload the tobacco plants when they arrive from the farms.
We have two
older twin sisters, Lillian and Geraldine. They work at a cotton gin factory a
few miles away; we hardly ever see them, we cannot write, for we have no money left
to send it on the wagons. It saddens me, if only my sisters could tell me what
Mother was like before she had fallen ill.
With no
parents to provide for us, my sisters, who were already working at the time, sent us to work
regrettably, with no choice. Now with the little money we are given, we find
discounted spoiled food from the store. The owner of the factory, thankfully, gives
us one very small meal a day; however, it’s barely enough to suffice my 14 hour
days. I eat a little, work from seven in the morning to nine at night, eat the leftovers
from breakfast, sleep and restart my day.
Sometimes
Madeline and I talk about what it would be like if we were wealthy enough to
live and play at home. I told her that I wished that as Father worked, Mother
made hats in a beautiful boutique and my siblings and I helped about the
housework and even went to school. I know if I had my dream life, I would be well
off, able to start and support family.
Madeline,
Jerry and I combined our money to buy two large stale bread loafs that we got
cheap, for the baker pities us. We knew we cannot eat the bread today; we
must save it to help our appetite this week.
Settling down
into my bed of hay tonight, I can't help but think about my future and
what it holds for me. Will it be good? Will I get married and raise a family?
Perhaps one day I can earn enough money on my low wages, just enough to run
away, the three of us.
