In the Heart of a Fool Part 65

Then his jaws closed in decision as he said: "Laura, that deed was done in blind rage by one who once risked his life to save mine. Then he acted not blindly but in the light of a radiance from the Holy Ghost in his heart! If I can help him now--can even share his shame with him--I should do it. And in this case--I think it will help the cause to make a fair confession of our weakness."

"But, Grant," cried the woman, "Grant--can't you see that the murder of these boys--these Harvey boys, the boys whose mothers and fathers and sweethearts and young wives and children are going about the streets as hourly witnesses against you and our fellow-workers here--will arouse a mob spirit that is dangerous?"

"Yes--I see that. But if anything can quell the mob spirit, frank, open-hearted confession will do it." He brushed aside her further protests and in another instant was on his feet defending his statement to the Valley Council. Ten minutes later the reporters had it.

At six o'clock in the morning posters covered South Harvey and the whole district proclaiming martial law. They were signed by Joseph Calvin, Jr., provost marshal, and they denied the right of a.s.sembly, except upon written order of the provost marshal, declared that incendiary speech would be stopped, forbade parades except under the provost marshal's inspection, and said that offenders would be tried by court-martial for all disobediences to the orders of the proclamation. The proclamation was underscored in its requirements that no meeting of any kind might be held in the district or on any lot or in any building except upon written consent of the owner of the lot or building and with the permission of the provost marshal. Belgian Hall was a rented hall, and the Wahoo Fuel Company controlled most of the available town lots, leaving only the farms of the workers, that were planted thick with gardens, for even the most inoffensive meeting.

And at ten o'clock Grant Adams had signed a counter proclamation declaring that the proclamation of martial law in a time of peace was an usurpation of the const.i.tutional rights of American citizens, and that they must refuse to recognize any authority that abridged the right of free a.s.semblage, a free press, free speech and a trial by jury. Amos Adams sent the workers an invitation to meet in the grove below his house. Grant called a meeting for half-past twelve at the Adams homestead. It was a direct challenge.

The noon extra edition of the _Times_, under the caption, "The Governor Is Right," contained this illuminating editorial:

"Seven men dead--dynamited to death by Grant Adams; seven men dead--the flower of the youth of Harvey; seven men dead for no crime but serving their country, and Grant Adams loose, poisoning the minds of his dupes, prating about peace in public and plotting cowardly a.s.sa.s.sination in private. Of course, the Governor was right. Every good citizen of this country will commend him for prompt and vigorous action. In less than an hour after the bomb had sent the seven men of the Harvey Home Guards to eternity, the Governor had proclaimed martial law in this district, and from now on, no more incendiary language, no more d.a.m.nable riots, miscalled parades will menace property, and no more criminal acts done under the cover of the jury system will disgrace this community under the leadership of this creature Adams.

"In his manifesto pulingly taking the blame for a crime last night so obviously his that mere denial would add blood to the crime itself, Adams says in extenuation that 'women were herded before the Cossacks like deer in the park,' while they were picketing. But he does not say that in the shameful cowardice so characteristic of his leadership in this labor war, he forced, by his own motion, women unfit to be seen in public, much less to fight his battles, under the hoofs of the horses in Sands Park this morning, and if the Greek woman, who claims she was dragooned should die, the fault, the crime of her death in revolting circ.u.mstances, will be upon Grant Adams's hands.

"When such a leader followed by blind zealots like the riff-raff who are insanely trailing after this Mad Mullah who claims divine powers--save the mark--when such leaders and such human vermin as these rise in a community, the people who own property, who have built up the community, who have spent their lives making Harvey the proud industrial center that she is--the people who own property, we repeat, should organize to protect it. The Governor suspending while this warlike state exists the right of anarchists who turn it against law and order, the right of a.s.sembling, and speech and trial by jury, has set a good example. We hear from good authority that the Adams anarchists are to be aided by another a.s.sociation even more reckless than he and his, and that Greeley county will be flooded by b.u.ms and thugs and plug-uglies who will fill our jails and lay the burden of heavy taxes upon our people pretending to defend the rights of free speech.

"A law and order league should be organized among the business men of Harvey to rid the county of these rats breeding social disease, and if courageous hearts are needed, and extraordinary methods necessary--all honest people will uphold the patriots who rally to this cause."

At twelve o 'clock crowds of working people began to swarm into Adams's grove. Five hundred hors.e.m.e.n were lined up at the gate. Around a temporary speaker's stand a squad of policemen was formed. The crowd stood waiting. Grant Adams did not appear. The crowd grew restless; it began to fear that he had been arrested, that there had been some mishap. Laura Van Dorn, sensing the uncertainty and discouragement of the crowd, decided to try to hold it. It seemed to her as she watched the uneasiness rising slowly to impatience in the men and women about her, that it was of much importance--tremendous importance indeed--to hold these people to their faith, not especially in Grant, though to her that seemed necessary, too, but at bottom to hold their faith firm in themselves, in their own powers to better themselves, to rise of their own endeavors, to build upon themselves! So she walked quickly to the policeman before the steps leading to the stand and said smilingly:

"Pardon me," and stepped behind him and was on the stand before he realized that he had been fooled. Her white-clad figure upon the platform attracted a thousand eyes in a second, and in a moment she was speaking:

"I am here to defend our ancient rights of meeting, speaking, and trial by jury." A policeman started for her. She smiled and waved him back with such a dignity of mien that her very manner stopped him.

When he hesitated, knowing that she was a person of consequence in Harvey, she went on: "No cause can thrive until it maintains anew its right to speech, to a.s.semble and to have its day in court before a jury.

Every cause must fight this world-old fight--and then if it is a just cause, when it has won those ancient rights--which are not rights at all but are merely ancient battle grounds on which every cause must fight, then any cause may stand a chance to win. I think we should make it clear now that as free-born Americans, no one has a right to stop us from meeting and speaking; no one has a right to deny us jury trials. I believe the time has come when we should ignore rather definitely--" she paused, and turned to the policeman standing beside her, "we should ignore rather finally this proclamation of the provost marshal and should insist rather firmly that he shall try to enforce it."

A policeman stepped suddenly and menacingly toward her. She did not flinch. The dignity of five generations of courtly Satterthwaites rose in her as she gazed at the clumsy officer. She saw Grant Adams coming up at a side entrance to the grove. The policeman stopped. She desired to divert the policeman and the crowd from Grant Adams. The crowd t.i.ttering at the quick halt of the policeman, angered him. Again he stepped toward her. His face was reddening. The Satterthwaite dignity mounted, but the Nesbit mind guided her, and she said coldly: "All right, sir, but you must club me. I'll not give up my rights here so easily."

Three officers made a rush for her, grabbed her by the arms, and, struggling, she went off the platform, but she left Grant Adams standing upon it and a cheering crowd saw the ruse.

"I'm here," he boomed out in his great voice, "because 'the woods were man's first temples' and we'll hold them for that sacred right to-day."

The police were waiting for him to put his toe across the line of defiance. "We'll transgress this order of little Joe Calvin's--why, he might as well post a trespa.s.s notice against snowslides as against this forward moving cause of labor." His voice rose, "I'm here to tell you that under your rights as citizens of this Republic, and under your rights in the coming Democracy of Labor, I bid you tear up these martial law proclamations to kindle fires in your stoves."

He glared at the policemen and held up his hand to stop them as they came. "Listen," he cried, "I'm going to give you better evidence than that against me. I, as the leader of this strike--take this down, Mr.

Stenographer, there--I'll say it slowly; I, as the leader of this movement of the Democracy of Labor, as the preacher preaching the era of good will and comradeship all over the earth, bid you, my fellow-workers, meet to preach Christ's workingman's gospel wherever you can hire a hall or rent a lot, to parade your own streets, and to bare your heads to clubs and your b.r.e.a.s.t.s to bullets if need be to restore in this district the right of trial by jury in times of peace. And now,"--the crowd roared its approval. He glared defiance at the policemen. He raised his voice above the din, "And now I want to tell you something more. Our property in these mills and mines--" again the crowd bellowed its joyous approval of his words and Grant's face lighted madly, "our property--the property we have earned, we must guard against the violence of the very master cla.s.s themselves; for under this infernal Russian ukase of little Joe Calvin, the devil only knows what arson and loot and murder--" the crowd howled wildly; a policeman blew his whistle and when the melee was over Grant Adams was in the midst of the blue-coated squad marching toward the gate.

At the gate, on a pawing white horse, sat young Joe Calvin. The crowd, following the officers, came upon the first squad of policemen--the squad that took Laura Van Dorn from the stand. The two squads joined with their prisoners, and back of the officers came the yelling, hooting crowd, pushing the officers along. As the officers came up, the provost marshal cried:

"Turn them over to my men here. Men, handcuff them together." In an instant it was done.

Then the cavalry formed in two lines, and between them marched Laura Van Dorn and Grant Adams, manacled together. Up through the weed-grown commons between South Harvey and the big town they marched under the broiling sun. The crowd trudged after them--trailing behind for the most part, but often running along by the hors.e.m.e.n and calling words of sympathy to Grant or reviling the soldiers.

Down Market Street they all came--soldiers, prisoners and straggling crowd. The town, prepared by telephone for the sight, stood on the streets and hurrahed for Joe Calvin. He had brought in his game, and if one trophy was a trifle out of caste for a prisoner, a bit above her station, so much the worse for her. The blood of the seven dead soldiers was crying for vengeance in Harvey--the middle-cla.s.s nerve had been touched to the quick--and Market Street hooted at the prisoners, and hailed Joe Calvin on his white charger as a hero of the day.

For the mind of a crowd is a simple mind. It draws no fine distinctions.

It has no memory. It enjoys primitive emotions, and takes the most rudimentary pleasures. The mind of the crowd on Market Street in Harvey that bright, hot June day, when Joe Calvin on his white steed at the head of his armed soldiers led Grant Adams and Laura Van Dorn up the street to the court house, saw as plainly as any crowd could see anything that Grant Adams was the slayer of seven mangled men, whose torn bodies the crowd had seen at the undertaker's. It saw death and violation of property rights as the fruit of Grant Adams's revolution, and if this woman, who was of Market Street socially, cared to lower herself to the level of a.s.sa.s.sins and thugs, she was getting only her deserts.

So Grant and Laura pa.s.sed through the ranks of men and women whom they knew and saw eyes turned away that might have recognized them, saw faces averted to whom they might have looked for sympathy--and saw what power on a white horse can make of a mediocre man!

But Grant was not interested in power on a white horse, nor was he interested in the woman who marched with him. His face kept turning to the crowd from South Harvey that straggled beside him outside of the line of hors.e.m.e.n about him. Now and then Grant caught the eyes of a leader or of a friend and to such a one he would speak some earnest word of cheer or give some belated order or message. Only once did Laura divert him from the stragglers along the way. It was when Ahab Wright ducked his head and drew down his office window in the second story of the Wright & Perry building. "At least," said Laura, "it's a lesson worth learning in human nature. I'll know how much a smile is worth after this or the mere nod of a head. Not that I need it to sustain me, Grant," she went on seriously, "so far as I'm concerned, but I can feel how it would be to--well, to some one who needed it."

Under the murmur of the crowd, Laura continued: "I know exactly with what emotion pretty little Mrs. Joe Calvin will hear of this episode."

"What?" queried Grant absently. His attention left her again, for the men from South Harvey at whom he was directing volts of courage from his blazing eyes.

"Well--she'll be scared to death for fear mother and I will cut her socially for it! She's dying to get into the inner circle, and she'll abuse little Joe for this--which," smiled Laura, "will be my revenge, and will be badly needed by little Joe." But she was talking to deaf ears.

A street car halted them before Brotherton's store for a minute. Grant looked anxiously in the door way, and saw only Miss Calvin, who turned away her head, after smiling at her brother.

"I wonder where George can be?" asked Grant.

"Don't you know?" replied Laura, looking wonderingly at him. "There's a little boy at their house!"

The crowd was hooting and cheering and the procession was just ready to turn into the court house corner, when Grant felt Laura's quick hand clasp. Grant was staring at Kenyon, white and wild-eyed, standing near them on the curb.

"Yes," he said in a low voice, "I see the poor kid."

"No--no," she cried, "look down the block--see that electric! There comes father, bringing mother back from the depot--Oh, Grant--I don't mind for me, I don't mind much for father--but mother--won't some one turn them up that street! Oh, Grant--Grant, look!"

Less than one hundred feet before them the electric runabout was beginning to wobble unsteadily. The guiding hand was trembling and nervous. Mrs. Nesbit, leaning forward with horror in her face, was clutching at her husband's arm, forgetful of the danger she was running.

The old Doctor's eyes were wide and staring. He bore unsteadily down upon the procession, and a few feet from the head of the line, he jumped from the machine. He was an old man, and every year of his seventy-five years dragged at his legs, and clutched his shaking arms.

"Joe Calvin--you devil," he screamed, and drew back his cane, "let her go--let her go."

The crowd stood mute. A blow from the cane cracked on the young legs as the Doctor cried:

"Oh, you coward--" and again lifted his cane. Joe Calvin tried to back the prancing horse away. The blow hit the horse on the face, and it reared, and for a second, while the crowd looked away in horror, lunged above the helpless old man. Then, losing balance, the great white horse fell upon the Doctor; but as the hoofs grazed his face, Kenyon Adams had the old man round the waist and flung him aside. But Kenyon went down under the horse. Calvin turned his horse; some one picked up the fainting youth, and he was beside Mrs. Nesbit in the car a moment later, a limp, unconscious thing. Grant and Laura ran to the car. Dr. Nesbit stood dazed and impotent--an old man whose glory was of yesterday--a weak old man, scorned and helpless. He turned away trembling with a nervous palsy, and when he reached the side of the machine, his daughter, trying to hide her manacled hand, kissed him and said soothingly:

"It's all right, father--young Joe's vexed at something I said down in the Valley; he'll get over it in an hour. Then I'll come home."

"And," gasped Mrs. Nesbit, "he--that whippersnapper," she gulped, "dared--to lay hands on you; to--"

Laura shook her head, to stop her mother from speaking of the handcuff,--"to make you walk through Market Street--while," but she could get no further. The crowd surrounded them. And in the midst of the jostling and milling, the Doctor's instinct rose stronger than his rage.

He was fumbling for his medicine case, and trying to find something for Kenyon. The old hands were at the young pulse, and he said unsteadily:

"He'll be around in a few minutes."

Some one in the crowd offered a big automobile. The Doctor got in, waved to his daughter, and followed Mrs. Nesbit up the hill.

"You young upstart," he cried, shaking his fist at Calvin as the car turned around, "I'll be down in ten minutes and see to you!" The provost marshal turned his white steed and began gathering up his procession and his prisoners. But the spell was broken. The mind of the crowd took in an idea. It was that a shameful thing was happening to a woman. So it hissed young Joe Calvin. Such is the grat.i.tude of republics.

In the court house, the provost marshal, sitting behind an imposing desk, decided that he would hold Mrs. Van Dorn under $100 bond to keep the peace and release her upon her own recognizance.

"Well," she replied, "Little Joe, I'll sign no peace bond, and if it wasn't for my parents--I'd make you lock me up."

Her hand was free as she spoke. "As it is--I'm going back to South Harvey. I'll be there until this strike is settled; you'll have no trouble in finding me." She hurried home. As she approached the house, she saw in the yard and on the veranda, groups of sympathetic neighbors.

In the hall way were others. Laura hurried into the Doctor's little office just as he was setting Kenyon's broken leg and had begun to bind the splints upon it. Kenyon lay unconscious. Mrs. Nesbit and Lila hovered over him, each with her hands full of surgical bandages, and cotton and medicine. Mrs. Nesbit's face was drawn and anxious.