Harper's Round Table, August 27, 1895 Part 3

CORPORAL FRED.[1]

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.

CHAPTER VI.

Ten minutes later, while police and firemen, both protected by the First Battalion, were devoting their energies to checking the flames that were rapidly sweeping through the great repair shops, and the other two battalions of the regiment were clearing the blazing freight-yards of the last skulkers of the mob, the surgeon had established a temporary field-hospital in the open enclosure between the main entrance and the yards. Thither had been driven the two ambulances, conspicuous by the red cross of Geneva. Here, feebly moaning, lay poor Jim, kicked and clubbed into most unrecognizable pulp. Here beside him knelt Fred, still praying for tidings of his father. Slinking away from the scene of their recent triumph the rioters fled before the solid ranks of the troops, only to regather, though in smaller force, and resume the work of pillage and destruction farther along the line. And now the Colonel began to appreciate the full effect of orders to serve under police instruction. First he had to send Major Flint with his battalion to report to Police Captain Murray a mile away in one direction. Then Major Allen with the second was despatched far out to Prairie Grove. Ten minutes more and a third detachment was demanded to a.s.sist Police Sergeant Jaeger, now struggling with the strikers at the elevators along the ca.n.a.l, and when ten o'clock came the Colonel with his staff, his hospital, and something like a dozen officers and men, whose heads were cut by stones and coupling-pins, had just one company left in his immediate command. "B" had gone to the Prairie Avenue crossing, where a mail-train was stalled, and "L," Fred's own, was posted at the storage warehouse, half a mile northward. Fred himself still remained by his brother's side, while police and firemen, lantern-bearing, were searching through what was left of the long line of repair shops in vain quest of the old foreman. With Fred, too, by this time were his mother and sister Jessie. Poor little Billy, led home by sympathizing women, had told his story, and the brave wife and mother, leaving to the elder daughter the duty of caring for the house, had taken Jess and made her way through the now scattering crowd, through the still blazing yards, through the friendly lines of National Guardsmen, over the well-known pathway to the shops, there to take her place by her stricken first-born's side, tearfully, prayerfully waiting for tidings of the husband and father, even while devotedly tending the son. By 10.15 the flames about the buildings were extinguished, and the firemen turned their attention to the blazing ruins in the yards. And now the searching parties were raking through the burned-out sections of the shops in the belief that there, and only there, could old Wallace be found. Time and again, as some one came out from the grimy gateway, the sorrowing woman lifted her white, piteous face in mute appeal. Jessie, weeping sorely, was clasping Jim's blood-stained, nerveless hand. Fred had gone to join the searchers. Far down the tracks toward Prairie Grove the glare of new conflagrations reddened the skies. From up the yards near the warehouses came stories of fresh gatherings of the mobs. The police thought more soldiers should be sent there, and the Colonel said he had but one company left. Out in front of the shops an elevated iron foot-bridge crossed the freight-yards. It had been red hot in places until the firemen turned their streams and cooled it off. Then Fred's friend, the signal sergeant, with a couple of men, had mounted it, and sent their night torches swinging. "Hurrah for Colton," said the Colonel. "That boy's worth his weight in gold," for presently a bugler came running up to report the sergeant had established communication with Prairie Grove, and soon after with Captain Wagner's post far up the tracks. The first message from below told of fresh fires and outbreaks, as was to be expected. The first from above set the Colonel's eyes adancing.

"Police report rioters gathering in force about the Amity Wagon-Works.

Twelve loaded cars on their tracks there. Think they mean mischief."

"Hullo!" cried the Colonel. "Where's Corporal Wallace?"

And poor, sad-faced Fred, just back from unsuccessful searching, and now kneeling by his mother's side, promptly sprang to his feet and approached his commander.

"What's in those cars at the Amity Works, corporal?

"New wagons, sir. Loaded yesterday and ought to have started last night, but they couldn't get anything out."

"I can't bear to take you away from your mother, my lad, until we hear of your father; but I feel sure, somehow, that he is safe, and the doctors tell me your brother will recover, though he may be laid up some time. It is more than likely we'll be called on for more duty presently, and if we are"--and here he glanced keenly at the young fellow from under the brim of his scouting hat.

"I'm ready, sir," said our corporal, grimly. "I'd welcome a chance," he added, as he glanced back at the group about his brother's battered form, at his mother's white face, and Jessie's weeping eyes; and just then Jim feebly rolled his bandaged head from side to side, and his swollen lips were seen to be striving to form some words. Eagerly the mother bent her ear to catch them. All others ceased their low-toned chat; all eyes seemed fastened on them--anxious mother and stricken son.

Only she to whom his earliest baby lispings were intelligible, inexpressible music could understand his meaning now.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DID FATHER--GET HOME SAFE?"]

"Did father--get home safe?"

Then Jessie's sobs broke forth afresh, and a young railway man, whose bruises the surgeon had been dressing, could stand it no longer. He was one of the striking trainmen, and knew Jim well.

"Mrs. Wallace," he cried, struggling to his feet and coming towards her, "I'm a Brotherhood man and bound to them in every way, but I can't stand this. I know what's happened, though I had no hand in it, as G.o.d's my judge! The old man's safe, ma'am--safe and out of harm's way, though I don't know where. Jim wrapped him in his own coat with our badge on it, and run him out through the south gate when they burst in here. I saw him. There were only a few fellows down there, and he got him out all right, and made him promise to keep away. I saw the old man cross the street into the lumber-yards, and gave Jim my word I wouldn't peach. I'm no traitor to our fellows, but I couldn't see the old man hurt." (And here his eyes wandered to where Jessie crouched beside her brother.) "I tried to keep 'em off from Jim, but he would go back and brave them, and there were men among them no one could influence after old Stoltz said his say. I got these," he added, half in shame, "battling against our own people, trying to save him, but they were far too many for both of us. They were madlike, and most of them were black-guards we'd not be seen with any other time. They downed him, and nearly kicked the life out of him, because he wouldn't say which way the old man went or where he'd hid him."

Then, at least, the old foreman was not in the ruins--might, indeed, have escaped from the rioters. Yet Mrs. Wallace was not much comforted.

Again and again she implored Jim to say whether he had designated any particular place as his father's refuge; but Jim had drifted off again into the borderland between the other world and this. His ears were deaf to her appeal. If father had been spared, she said, surely he would have made his way home to rea.s.sure them. In vain Fred pointed out that to do so he must again venture through the mile-long yard of rioters, firing cars, and mad with glut and triumph. He would surely have been recognized, and by that time every striking switchman and trainman knew it was he who held the throttle of the first engine to essay to break the morning's blockade--more than enough to ruin him. They might not themselves use violence, but they or their women would point him out to the bloodhounds in the mob--men who were ready for any deed of violence, no matter how brutal or cowardly, and the brave old fellow would have met the martyr's fate at their hands.

"He never would have gone and left poor Jim to go back and face them all alone," cried Mrs. Wallace, breaking down at last; and then Fred had to tell her that Jim was himself a leader in the strike, a personal friend of Steinman, and completely influenced by him. Neither father nor Jim believed that they would a.s.sault one of their own Brotherhood, the man whose contributions had exceeded those of any other, and whose heart had been hot for action days before. They did not realize that men are turned to tigers at the touch of blood or riot, and that for lack of other material--just as the mob of Paris guillotined their own leaders when gentler blood was all expended--so would these mad dogs turn for victims upon their kind.

"Go you and search," said Inspector Morrissey to two of his bluecoats.

"You know every hiding-place about here. Find him, or trace of him quick as you can."

And the wearied officers turned away. They had had a wretched time of it, for over thirty hours, and not a wink of sleep. Scattered by twos and threes they had been expected to preserve the peace even though repeatedly cautioned not to use force. An important election was close at hand. The city officials, now seeking re-election, had forfeited long since the respect of the educated cla.s.ses of the community, and their only hopes lay now with the great ma.s.s of the populace in which the strikers were largely represented, and from which their supporters and sympathizers were without exception drawn. It would not do to club or intimidate, and thereby offend these thousands of voters, and the police, brave and determined individually, and long schooled in handling the "tough" element, now found themselves absolutely crippled and hampered, first by a feeling of personal friendship for many of the railway men themselves, second by absence of either support or approval when it came to handling the rioters. Not until the mob had burst all bounds, and the safety of the great city was at stake did the officials realize the tone of the torrent they had turned loose, and then gave reluctant, half-hearted orders to suppress the riot even though somebody had to be hurt. When at last the city troops were marched to the several scenes, the wearied police took heart again, and many of them went to work with their old-time vim.

Just before eleven o'clock Jim was tenderly lifted into one of the regimental ambulances, and with his mother and Jess carefully driven over home, where sympathizing neighbors gathered and ministered to one and all. Half a dozen of Jim's a.s.sociates, strikers themselves, but appalled and disgusted now at the contemplation of the result of their folly, established themselves as a guard at the cottage, while others eagerly, fearfully joined in the search for the honored old Scotchman who, with too good reason, many feared, had fallen a victim to the fury of the rioters. Farley, Jim's brakeman, had not been seen for hours, and this was significant. Fred, leaving his brother safely stowed away in bed, with all possible comfort secured for the night, kissed his mother's tear-stained face and told her he must go. She clung to him shuddering a moment, yet could not say no. He was a man now, just twenty-one, and knew his duty. Had not the Colonel said there was further work ahead?

It came, quickly enough. A man in a buggy with a prancing, frightened horse, was eagerly importuning the imperturbable gray-mustached Colonel, as Corporal Fred returned to his post, and the conversation was more than interesting.

"I _have_ appealed to the police. They say they're powerless. They've got all they can do now. There's two companies of your regiment right there near them within four squares. Colonel, if you will only order them to go with me we can disperse that mob, and save the plant, cars, and all."

"How many rioters are there, Mr.--Mr. Manners?"

"There must be five hundred; five hundred at least, and they've set fire to the cars twice, and driven off the firemen and police."

"But, Mr. Manners, two companies of _tin_ soldiers can't drive away five hundred strong men; and I understand you spoke of my men to-day as such."

"Don't kick a man when he's down, Colonel. I may have said something foolish--any man's liable to make mistakes; but four hundred thousand dollars' worth of property is burning up there, and my watchmen are being stoned and killed. We discharged some bad characters last week, and they're heading the mob now."

"Yes, this does seem to give your discharged men a chance. Now there were two or three given their walking papers to-day," continued the Colonel, with provoking coolness, his lips twitching under his handsome gray mustache.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Colonel, don't rub it in! I'll make it all right with those men. Just think what's happened to the Amity Works all the time you've been keeping me waiting and begging."

"I know what's been happening, Mr. Manners," said the veteran officer, calmly, "and you don't know what wouldn't have happened but for the prompt action of the very regiment you saw fit to ridicule, and the very men you kicked out of their clerkships because they obeyed the order to turn out, as _it_ turned out, to save you and your works. I ordered two companies there twenty minutes ago. The mob scattered at their coming, and not a dollar's worth have you lost. I only kept you here out of danger for a while, and now, if you please, Corporal Wallace of my headquarters party--with whom possibly you're acquainted--will conduct you safely back. Jump into the gentleman's buggy, corporal. Your uniform will pa.s.s him through our lines without detention. Good-night, Mr.

Manners. Next time we send a summons to the works, it'll probably be for Sergeant Wallace, and I hope to hear of no further objection on your part."

And despite sorrow for Jim and anxiety about his father, Corporal Fred couldn't help feeling, as he drove with his abashed employer swiftly through the dim yet familiar streets, that life had some compensation after all.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 821.

FIGHTING THE ELEMENTS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

"I tell you the steamship is a wonderful machine."

That was the exclamation of Mr. Powers as he sat on the deck of the _St.

Petersburg_. Away above him towered the three funnels from which the brown smoke went swirling away to leeward. Away below him throbbed the giant quadruple-expansion engines, turning the twin screws over nearly ninety times a minute, and hurling the ma.s.sive fabric forward through the sea of sapphire and silver twenty-one knots an hour. Little Harry Powers, who sat beside his grandfather, thought the steamer a fine thing too, but he was not quite so much impressed with it as was the old man, because he had not lived in the days when there were no steamers.

"No buffeting head winds and head seas for months at a time now,"

exclaimed Mr. Powers. "Steam is invincible."

"Um--yes, generally," said Captain Ferris, who was going over as a pa.s.senger to bring out from Gourock a new yacht.

"Why not always?" asked Mr. Powers.

"Well, in order to answer that question," replied the Captain, thoughtfully, "I must tell you that some steamers are not as large and powerful as others."