—1900—
OR,
THE LAST PRESIDENT
BY
INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD,
Of the New York Bar.
Copyright, 1896, by INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD.
The Trade Supplied by
THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,
New York.
The Chicago Platform assumes, in fact, the form of a
revolutionary propaganda. It embodies a menace of national
disintegration and destruction.
GARRET A. HOBART.
CHAPTER I.
That was a terrible night for the great City of New York—the night of
Tuesday, November 3rd, 1896. The city staggered under the blow like a
huge ocean liner which plunges, full speed, with terrific crash into a
mighty iceberg, and recoils shattered and trembling like an aspen.
The people were gathered, light-hearted and confident, at the evening
meal, when the news burst upon them. It was like a thunder bolt out of
an azure sky: “Altgeld holds Illinois hard and fast in the Democratic
line. This elects Bryan President of the United States!”
Strange to say, the people in the upper portion of the city made no
movement to rush out of their houses and collect in the public squares,
although the night was clear and beautiful. They sat as if paralyzed
with a nameless dread, and when they conversed it was with bated breath
and throbbing hearts.
In less than half an hour, mounted policemen dashed through the streets
calling out: “Keep within your houses; close your doors and barricade
them. The entire East side is in a state of uproar. Mobs of vast size
are organizing under the lead of Anarchists and Socialists, and threaten
to plunder and despoil the houses of the rich who have wronged and
oppressed them for so many years. Keep within doors. Extinguish all
lights.”
Happily, Governor Morton was in town, and although a deeper pallor
overcame the ashen hue of age as he spoke, yet there was no tremor in
his voice: “Let the Seventh, Twenty-second and Seventy-first regiments
be ordered under arms.” In a few moments hundreds of messengers could be
heard racing through the silent streets, summoning the members of these
regiments to their Armories.
Slowly, but with astonishing nerve and steadiness, the mobs pushed the
police northward, and although the force stood the onslaught with
magnificent courage, yet beaten back, the dark masses of infuriated
beings surged up again with renewed fury and strength. Will the troops
be in time to save the city? was the whispered inquiry among the knots
of police officials who were directing the movements of their men.
About nine o’clock, with deafening outcries, the mob, like a four-headed
monster breathing fire and flame, raced, tore, burst, raged into Union
Square.
The police force was exhausted, but their front was still like a wall of
stone, save that it was movable. The mob crowded it steadily to the
north, while the air quivered and was rent with mad vociferations of the
victors: “Bryan is elected! Bryan is elected! Our day has come at last.
Down with our oppressors! Death to the rich man! Death to the gold bugs!
Death to the capitalists! Give us back the money you have ground out of
us. Give us back the marrow of our bones which you have used to grease
the wheels of your chariots.”
The police force was now almost helpless. The men still used their
sticks, but the blows were ineffectual, and only served to increase the
rage of the vast hordes now advancing upon Madison Square.
The Fifth Avenue Hotel will be the first to feel the fury of the mob.
Would the troops be in time to save it?
A half cheer, a half cry of joy goes up. It is inarticulate. Men draw a
long breath; women drop upon their knees and strain their eyes; they can
hear something, but they cannot see as yet, for the gas houses and
electric plants had been destroyed by the mob early in the evening. They
preferred to fight in the dark, or by the flames of rich men’s abodes.
Again a cheer goes up, louder and clearer this time, followed by cries
of “They’re coming, they’re coming.”
Yes, they were coming—the Twenty-second down Broadway, the Seventh down
Madison avenue, both on the double quick.
In a moment or so there were a few bugle calls, and a few spoken
commands rang out clear and sharp; and then the two regiments stretched
across the entire square, literally from wall to wall, in line of
battle. The mob was upon them. Would this slender line of troops, could
it hold such a mighty mass of men in check?
The answer was a deafening discharge of firearms, a terrific crack, such
as some thunder bolts make when they explode. A wall of fire blazed
across the Square. Again and again it blazed forth. The mob halted,
stood fast, wavered, fell back, advanced again. At that moment there
came a rattle as of huge knives in the distance. It was the gallant
Seventy-first charging up Twenty-third street, and taking the mob on the
flank. They came on like a wall of iron, bristling with blades of steel.
There were no outcries, no cheers from the regiment. It dealt out death
in silence, save when two bayonets crossed and clashed in bearing down
some doubly-vigorous foe.
As the bells rang out midnight, the last remnants of the mob were driven
to cover, but the wheels of the dead wagons rattled till daybreak.
And then the aged Governor, in response to the Mayor’s “Thank God, we’ve
saved the city!” made answer:
“Aye, but the Republic——.”