Only once does she glance down the track to see the train. Its great
headlight looks like a beacon. It is approaching nearer and nearer.
"Have they started the car?" Martha wonders. She can hear the rumble of
the train, but not a sound from the road above.
"The train will reach this spot first," she cries aloud. "The miners are
waiting for it to get nearer to them."
Acting upon a sudden impulse, she runs up the track a distance of a
hundred yards. There are rocks lying on the side of the track nearest
the mountain.
One, two, three big rocks she places on the track.
A faint cheer reaches her.
"They have started the car," she laughs hysterically.
"It will not harm the Keystone. No, it will stop here."
Another and another rock is placed on the rails.
She knows that these boulders are a poor impediment to a wildcat car;
but they are the only things available.
A whirring sound rings in her ears. It is the car rolling down the grade
with the velocity of a thunder-bolt.
In a minute or two at the most, the car will be upon her.
Still she does not falter. The second pyramid must be completed.
Again she turns to look down the track. The headlight of the engine
seems to be upon her. It is, in fact, just crossing the culvert.
A glance at the pile of rocks makes them appear insignificant.
"They will never be able to stop the car," she moans.
Then with a final effort she tugs at a boulder larger than any of the
others. She has it on the rail when the whistling of the engine startles
her.
The engineer has seen the lower pyramid of rocks on the track and has
whistled "down brakes."
The train is stopping; it will be saved, for one of the two obstructions
will derail the motor-car.
Sister Martha starts to run down the track. She has not taken a dozen
steps when the juggernaut dashes into the pyramid of rocks.
Instantly there is a flash and an explosion, that shakes the mountain.
Great ledges of rock slide from the overhanging crags.
In a shower of splintered stone, Martha is literally entombed. Her life
is sacrificed on the altar of devotion. She has lived a Christian and
dies a martyr.
But the Keystone Express is saved.
Its passengers and crew, when they recover from the fright occasioned by
the explosion, hasten from the cars. Trainmen are sent up the track to
investigate. Brakemen are also sent down the track to carry the news to
the station.
One of these men stumbles across Widow Braun. He returns to the train
carrying her.
From her, Trueman and the other passengers, including the Coal and Iron
Police, learn of the plot to wreck the train and of the heroic effort
made by Sister Martha and the widow herself, to avert the calamity.
Trueman starts in quest of Sister Martha. Accompanied by one of the
trainmen with a lamp, he reaches the scene of the explosion.
The trainman discovers the body of Martha.
Bending over the prostrate body Harvey Trueman weeps. It is the manly
expression of deep emotion.
"She died to save my life and the lives of the hundreds on the train.
Was there ever a more noble sacrifice? It cannot be that she has given
her life in vain. I must do the work she has begun. If I can prevent the
miners from committing acts of violence it will atone for the loss of
Sister Martha."
From the top of the mountain, Trueman catches a glimpse of the torches
and miners' lamps. The miners are moving toward the town. Trueman is
familiar with every inch of ground about Wilkes-Barre. He has played on
the mountain as a boy. He now recollects a by-path which will bring him
to the town in advance of the miners who are on the wagon road.
"Have the body of Sister Martha taken to the Mount Hope Seminary," he
says to the trainman, and away he speeds for Wilkes-Barre.
The Coal and Iron Police are thrown into utter consternation. They dare
not advance upon the town in the darkness for fear that there is another
plot to destroy them.
The captain orders them to march across the mountain so as to enter the
town from a direction opposite to that by which they are expected. To
affect this detour will delay their arrival several hours, but their own
safety is more to be considered than that of the townspeople.
And the miners? They have heard the explosion and believe that the Coal
and Iron Police have been sent to their doom.
With the police out of their way there is nothing to check the miners in
the accomplishment of their design to recover the body of Carl Metz.
It is the radical element that has conceived the idea of wrecking the
train. They take full control of the miners and lead the way to join
their comrades on the Esplanade. As they pass through the streets
hundreds of men and women who have known nothing of the plot to wreck
the train, fall in line and march on in the procession. The number of
miners and townspeople soon reaches the thousands. By the time they
arrive at the Esplanade there are ten thousand in line.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AT THE DEAD COAL KING'S MANSION.
Along the Esplanade the hurrying thousands begin to move in the
direction of the Terrace; miners who have been in the shafts for
eighteen hours; yard-hands from the railroads; iron founders, naked save
for their breeches, have quit their furnaces; townspeople whom fear
impels to see what the night will bring forth; this heterogeneous horde
presses on to the scene of the murder.
It is a night that lends an appropriate setting to so strange and
uncanny an event. The sky is leaden except for a streak on the western
horizon where the fading, sinister light of the sun gives token of a
stormy morrow. Through the walled banks, the river rushes turbulently,
swollen by recent rains; its waters tinged by the dyes and other refuse
from the city above.
On the further bank, the groups of breakers and foundries loom up as
vague shadow creations. From fifty chimney mouths thick black smoke
curls unceasingly; now soaring to a considerable height, now driven down
to earth by fitful gusts of wind. In their sinuous course these
smoke-clouds resemble the genii of fable, who spread over the earth
carrying death and devastation.
In sharp contrast to this picture is the Avenue of Opulence on the side
of the river which boasts of the Esplanade. Here is a line of fifty
palatial residences; the homes of the owners of a hundred mines and
factories and the task-masters of fifty thousand men, their wives and
their progeny.
Clustered about the breakers and furnaces are the squalid huts and
ramshackle cottages of the operatives; there too, a little removed from
the river are the caves in which the Huns and Scandinavians dwell, even
as their prehistoric ancestors dwelt before the light of civilization
dawned.
Nero thrumming his violin from the vantage point of the crowning hill of
Rome, had no such portraiture of the degradation of humanity as that
which the Magnates nightly view from their balconies. A stranger would
be struck with surprise that the thousands should be huddled in dens
that wild animals would find uninhabitable, while the sons of greed and
avarice flaunt their trappings of mammon from the hilltops.
This is the arena in which is to be enacted a scene of this great drama.
The actors, the audience are gathering.
Mingled sounds of strange nature are on the air. The murmur always
present where multitudes are assembled runs as an undertone; the sharp
notes of frightened women and terrified children rise as the tones of an
oratorio; steady, full, vibrant are the sounds of the men's voices.
On the countenances of the men can be read the exultation of their
hearts, that at least one of their tyrants has encountered his Nemesis.
Faces here and there are wreathed in smiles, as though their possessors
were hastening to a fete. Some are grave, for the thought of the
retribution that the Magnates will demand, and which they knew so well
how to secure, is enough to bring a pallor to the cheek. There are men
in the eddying thousands who have felt the hot lead of Latimer and
Hazleton burn into their backs and the recollection makes them shudder.
They are again upon a highway, but is this a protection against the
violence of their masters? They are now, as then, unarmed, but is this a
safeguard against the rifles of the hirelings?
From the bridge that connects the shores of the river, to the mansion of
the Coal King, is a distance of two miles. The broad avenue affords an
excellent concourse and down it the throng fairly runs. They traverse
the distance in twenty minutes.
An army advancing into an enemy's country could not preserve better
order. Far in advance of the main body of the toilers is the vanguard, a
group of twenty of the acknowledged leaders of the men. It is at their
suggestion that the cowed wretches have mustered up courage enough to
cross the bridge and enter upon the interdicted boulevard. So it is
incumbent upon them to show no trepidation.
Immediately behind them are the more adventurous ones, followed by the
women and children, who, like angels, tread where men fear to go. The
great mass of the crowd is composed of the workmen of the town. The
faint-hearted and the cowardly bring up the rear. When the marble steps
that lead up to the mansion are reached, the vanguard halts. The impetus
of the entire line is arrested as if by magic. An unheard, invisible
signal is obeyed, the signal of fear. Then the men in advance beckon to
the people to come forward.
A score of young men respond as if to a summons for volunteers, and in
their wake press the multitude.
The tumult ceases. The moment for action is approaching and men
concentrate their attention on what is being done by the leaders.
"I have come for the body of Carl Metz," shouts Foreman O'Neil, from the
foot of the terrace; his voice ringing with a tone of defiance.
"I have come for the body, and if you do not bring it out we will go in
after it."
This ultimatum is addressed to the private detective who stands on the
piazza of the Coal Magnate's palace, as a sentinel.
He does not seem disconcerted at the sight of so great a number of
people. On the contrary his mouth curls in a derisive smile.
"O, you had better all go back to the breakers," he retorts. "We will
see that Metz's body is buried."
Then he pauses, waiting to see the effect his words will produce. On and
on comes the tidal wave of humanity. If it is not checked soon it will
deluge the palace.
"I will shoot the first man who sets a foot on this piazza," defiantly
cries the detective, at the same time drawing his revolver. "Get back to
your breakers. If the superintendent sees you on this side of the river,
you'll all get _sacked_," he adds as a threat more terrible than the
shooting of one of them.
"We don't want to make trouble," explains O'Neil. "All that we ask is
that we may take the body of Metz and give it decent burial. Has the
superintendent said we could not have it?"
Mr. Judson, the superintendent of the Giant Breakers, appears at the
door. He steps out on the piazza.
A sullen roar greets him.
"Until the coroner has disposed of the case," he begins, "no one will be
permitted to touch the body. You have heard my decision. Now go back to
your work."
The recollection of the treachery practiced on them in the riot of 1900,
when their dead fellow-workmen were put in crates and buried by the
police at night, without religious rites, comes to the minds of all.
They have sworn then that never again would they be cheated of the right
to bury their martyred brothers.
"Give us the body," cry a hundred voices in chorus.
"Go on, go on," shout the pressing thousands. "Go in and get it."
The forces for a storm have been gathering since the first tidings of
the tragedy reached the people.
When they heard that Carl Metz, the foreman of the Keystone furnace, had
killed Gorman Purdy and had then ended his own life, they were
dumbfounded. Then as a lightning flash the information had spread that
Metz had left a note explaining that he had killed the tyrannical Coal
Magnate for the good of mankind. This word of explanation had clarified
the confused thoughts in the minds of all. They read in that message
their emancipation. The hour to strike a blow for their long lost rights
had come.
The opposition offered by the detective and Judson, proves to be the
shock needed to precipitate the storm.
By a single impulse the crowd rushes up the terrace. Its advance is
irresistible. Both Judson and his hireling see the futility of
attempting to resist the mob. They, therefore, withdraw within the
house. As they enter they close the massive oak doors. Even as the doors
swing to, the weight of a dozen powerful shoulders is thrown against
them.
For a moment the advance is checked.
Turning to the windows, the infuriated men shatter them one by one, and
like the sea pouring into a breach in a ship, they enter the house. One
of the first to enter runs to the doors and flings them open. "Come in!"
he shouts. "This is ours for to-day."
A marble staircase leads from the first floor to the one above. This
marvellous masterpiece had been made in Europe and imported. It cost two
hundred thousand dollars--more than the appraised value of the two
thousand hovels of the crowd that now trample upon its polished steps.
Up this staircase the impetuous leaders run. At the head of the stairs
is the library, the room in which the tragedy has been enacted.
On the floor in this room is the body of Metz. It has not been
disturbed.
The body of the Magnate has been removed to his bed-room to be prepared
for burial.
O'Neil and two members of the Committee of Labor take up the prostrate
form of their friend and make their way toward the door. It is not their
intention to commit any violence in the house. Yet, as is always the
case when men are under high mental tension, there is an element that
cannot resist the instinctive craving of the animal spirit for blood.
"The sewer was good enough for Metz," exclaims an ironworker,
ferociously. It's good enough for Purdy."
"Where is Purdy's body?"
This question now presents itself to the invaders. It serves as the
keynote for future action.
"Let's find it," suggests the ironworker. And the search of the mansion
is begun.
Anticipating that the crowd might demand the body of the
multi-millionaire, his faithful attendants have hurriedly removed it to
the top of the building. It is concealed in the apartments of the chief
butler. A superficial hunt fails to reveal its place of concealment.
This intensifies the eagerness of the people to find it. They are
positive it was on the premises, for the crowd without completely
surrounds the palace.
Again are the gorgeous furnishings of the forty rooms thrown
helter-skelter. Costly cabinets that refuse to yield to first pressure,
are wrenched open. The frightened butler and the corps of other servants
are impressed into the search. They are compelled to give up the keys to
all closets and rooms. As case after case of silver and gold service are
disclosed, the vulture element pounces upon them. For every piece there
are fifty contestants, and the result is a wild scrimmage which prevents
any one getting so much as a spoon without paying dearly for it.
Half an hour of vain search heats the tempers of the men to the fever
point. Those with the butler finally threaten him with instant death if
he does not disclose the whereabouts of the body, and reluctantly he
obeys. Hounds falling upon their quarry could not exhibit more ferocity
than the mob as it pounces upon the corpse.
Gorman Purdy had been seated in his library when his last summons came.
He was attired in full evening dress. On his shirt bosom, over the
heart, is a spot of blood. It shows where the bullet had found its mark.
A hurried consultation is held. It is decided that the body be carried
to the Potter's field and thrown into the open grave that is kept for
paupers.
Three men pick up the body and start to leave the house.
All this while the impatience of the throng outside has found vent in
ribald jests.
"One dead millionaire is better than an army of workmen," jeers one man.
"He has come to life and has offered to arbitrate," sneers another.
"Bring him out!" is the incessant cry of the thousands.
And now the cortege appears. O'Neil and three committeemen carry the
body of Metz. They pass between an avenue of men, who give way
deferentially.
On reaching the Esplanade the pall-bearers pause. They face toward the
bridge and wait for the procession to form. Then the trio who carry--or
to be precise, drag the body of Purdy--emerge.
A great shout is given as the masses catch a glimpse of the body of the
man who in his lifetime was their unmerciful master.
Darkness has supplanted the twilight. Now the contrast between light and
shade is sharp. At intervals of fifty feet along the Esplanade, wrought
iron gothic flambeaux support powerful electric lights. Objects beyond
the immediate radius of the lights are indistinguishable. The windows of
all the palaces are all closed and barricaded. From across the river the
accustomed flare of the furnaces is missing. The fires are extinguished.
The uncouth countenances of the men and women can be studied in
intermittent flashes as they pass under the strong glare of the lights.
The utter absence of men and women of gentility makes the procession
seem like the invasion of the Huns into the Empire. Among the thousands
there are descendants of those very men who made the legions of Rome
flee in terror. The torch of progress is again in the hands of the
uncultured, and as history proves the race is to undergo another
evolution.
That it is to be effected by internecine revolution none doubts. The
march of carnage is on. Whither will it tend?
A leader of genius is wanted. The plastic emotions of the multitude will
yield to his command.
Already the peaceable character of the visitation of the humble to the
habitation of the haughty, has changed to one of violence.
O'Neil has been able to create the storm, but he lacks the capacity to
direct it. The man of might has stepped forward and has been hailed as
chief.
Just as the body of Purdy is to be brought down the terrace the sound of
distant cheering is heard. It comes from the direction of the bridge.
The men who have hold of the millionaire's body, drop it.
Do the shouts come from the militia?
With ever-increasing magnitude the cheering continues. Whatever the
object may be, it is approaching the palace.
A reflex movement in the crowds indicates that danger is upon them.
"It's the Pinkertons!" is the terror-stricken cry that arises.
CHAPTER XXIX.
PEACE HATH HER VICTORIES.
Now the shouting swells into a general outburst of enthusiasm. "Trueman!
Trueman!" are the words that reach the ears of the men at the foot of
the terrace.
It is not the militia then, that is swooping down upon the people to
crush them for demanding the body of their dead; it is not the
Pinkertons. It is the champion of the people come to their aid!
Breathless from the three miles he has traversed at a run, Trueman sinks
exhausted on the stone steps in front of Purdy's house.
The excited leaders cluster about him and tell him of the events that
have transpired during the afternoon and early evening. "It was four
o'clock when we first heard that Metz had shot and killed Purdy. The
news spread to all the mills and furnaces," explains Chester, one of the
yard hands of the local depot.
"Some one started the story that the police had been instructed to bury
Metz secretly for fear there would be trouble if he was given a public
funeral. You know there was a note found on him which said he had killed
Purdy for the good of the workingmen."
"Yes," breaks in O'Neil, "the folks all over town said they were bound
to see Metz given decent burial. A committee came to me and asked if I
would head a procession to come here and demand the body. We came and
were refused it. Then we broke into the house and got Metz's body.
"Some one started the cry, 'Find Purdy's body and bury it in Potter's
field!' This set the crowd crazy. I could not prevent their seizing it."
Harvey Trueman listens to the stories of the men. He realizes that no
half-measure can be proposed. It will either be necessary for him to
acquiesce to their plan to throw the multi-millionaire's body into the
Potter's field or else oppose them to the last point.
With the knowledge of the various events that have occurred he can
estimate the effect that such an act of violence will have upon the
country. Should the people of the other mining districts hear that the
miners of Wilkes-Barre have risen in revolt against their masters it may
precipitate a general uprising.
The deaths of the leading financiers and manufacturers throughout the
country have made a panic inevitable. If to this is added rioting, the
country will be plunged into a state of veritable anarchy. Why should
not Wilkes-Barre be the centre of this national movement for a peaceable
solution of the question of the rights of labor? One clear note of
confidence sounded amid the general babel may serve as the signal for
rational action.
Reasoning thus, he determines to make a grand effort to convert the
crowd to moderation.
As he passed through the larger cities on his way to the town he heard
that the people of Wilkes-Barre were up in arms. The militia have been
ordered out and will arrive at any moment. The Coal and Iron Police are
crossing the mountain and will show no mercy to the miners. If they find
the people engaged in mischief, the story of past massacres will be
repeated.
"Come with me," says Trueman to his lieutenants. They move quickly up
the steps to the piazza of the magnate's palace.
Here Trueman turns to the crowd.
The cheering and shouting has been kept up during the two or three
minutes that he has been resting. The people have again massed
themselves about the grounds surrounding the house.
"Speech! speech!" they cry.
Trueman raises his hands before his face and lowers them in a sign for
silence. The buzz of the thousands is instantly hushed. In a clear full
voice that increases in volume as he proceeds, he begins his
never-to-be-forgotten oration.
"Women and men of Wilkes-Barre:
"That you are; testified in claiming the body of the man who sacrificed
his life that you might live as freemen in this land of equal rights
none can deny; that you should be moved to seek revenge upon the body of
the man who has of all men been the most intolerant, tyrannical and
merciless to you and the hundreds whom death has claimed, during the
past twenty years, is nothing more than human.
"I believe, as have the philosophers and statesmen of all ages, that the
people can do no wrong; for the voice of the people is, in fact, the
voice of God."
As these words fall upon the ears of the multitude a great shout is
given. Men wave their hats; women flutter their vari-colored shawls,
which serve them as headgear; the sense of righteousness is awakened in
them.
"With an abiding faith in the justice of the Almighty, you have bided
your time; tolerance has ever been your actuating principle; reason has
dictated every appeal that you have made to your masters.
"To-day you feel that the hour for your deliverance has come; that the
fetters have fallen from your wrists. You stand here as emancipated men
of a great nation. That your hearts should be filled with rejoicing,
shows that you are alive to the importance of the occasion.
"Metz, who this day sacrificed his life for you, is worthy of your
admiration. He is one of the world's heroes, one of its martyrs. It is
for you to say if he shall have a monument worthy of his memorable act.
"The peoples of all ages have had their heroes and their martyrs. The
progress of the world is marked by the monuments that have commemorated
the deeds of these men.
"It remains for you to erect a monument for the martyr of the Twentieth
Century.
"Shall it be of brass or of enduring granite?
"Either of these would be a prey to the long lapse of time.
"You may choose as a monument, a mound that shall endure as long as the
world rolls through space; you may convert those piles of brick and iron
on the further side of the river into a mass of ruins; you may set the
indignant torch to this fine line of palaces.
"Whatever you do you may be sure that your example will be the signal
for your fellow workmen throughout the land."
"Burn down the breakers!" cries a thousand voices.
"Those breakers as they stand to-day are fit only to be destroyed,"
continues Trueman.
"They have consumed a pound of human flesh for every ton of coal that
fed them. They have afforded money to a few Plutocrats, with which to
satisfy the rapacious desires of greed; they have been the source of
revenue that made these palaces possible. Those breakers have given you
in return for your long days of toil, only enough to keep life in your
bodies; they have bound you to this spot with fetters stronger than
those of steel. If you should flee from this bondage you would find
starvation awaiting you on the roads."
These sentences have an electrical effect upon the audience. The passive
temperaments of the men and women are being quickened.
"Should you destroy the breakers and furnaces, and these homes of your
oppressors, your own losses would outweigh those of the millionaires.
"Yet your acts would be justifiable.
"Do not move till I have delivered the message I bear.
"I come to you with tidings that will make the blood in your veins flow
faster in a delirium of joy.
"I come to tell you that your fellow workmen in every state in this
Republic are to-day emancipated, even as you yourselves have been. The
sword has been wrested from the hands of tyrants, and has been placed in
the hands of the people.
"The centuries that have come and gone since Christianity was first
preached have seen the sword turned upon the humble, the meek, the
worthy. Now it is to be turned upon the craven few who have fattened at
the expense of the many.
"At the very hour when Melz sent Gorman Purdy to his doom, avenging
angels, disguised as men, were abroad in our land weeding out the seed
of iniquity.
"In San Diego, California, Senator Warwick was killed by the hand of a
man who, when he had rid the earth of the most avaricious man who ever
worked a mine, completed the chapter by taking his own life.
"Henceforth men will not slave in the mines of California or elsewhere
for the sole benefit of misers. The miner will enjoy the fruits of his
labor. He will make significant the words 'The laborer is worthy of his
hire.'
"In St. Louis at the same hour, the owner of the grain elevators, in
which is stored the crops of the great plains, there to be kept until
the needs of the people shall place an exorbitant price upon every
bushel, was smothered to death in the hold of one of his own ships. With
him died the martyr who had succeeded in bringing a just retribution
upon the head of an insatiate oppressor.
"Henceforth bread shall not be made a product of speculation. The hungry
mouths of women and children shall not go unfed that the stock broker
and the grain speculator may amass fortunes.
"The Cotton King of Massachusetts, who has kept men and women out of
employment, and in their stead has worked children in his mills, was
killed in his office as he refused the fifth appeal for an advance of
three cents a day in the pay of the six thousand half-grown children,
most of them girls, who tended his looms and spindles for pauper wages.
"The man who thus abolished for all time the further slaughter of
innocents, went to eternity with the dragon he had slain. The mill owner
went to expiate his sins; the martyr to receive his reward.
"And in New York, the city which I have just left, the ruler of the
Nation's money, the President of the Consolidated Banker's Exchange,
died in a pot of molten lead which he had been brought to hope would be
turned into gold under the touch of an alchemist. The lust of gold that
in life had been his only incentive, proved the means of his undoing.
"Bond syndicates will no longer be formed to corner the people's money,
that millions may be squeezed from the public treasury.
"My fellow-countrymen, this is indeed a great day.
"The full story cannot be told you at a single meeting.
"Know that you are once again free men, not in name only, but in
reality; that your children will never suffer the degradation through
which you have passed.
"The story of your deliverance you will soon know in its entirety.
To-night I can only give you a summary."
"Tell us all! Tell us everything!" thunder the astonished masses. They
forget Metz and Purdy in the presence of this greater news.
"I have only just learned the true facts of this remarkable movement.
The representatives of the people who met in Chicago six months ago to
formulate plans for the protection of labor, found that little could be
accomplished against the combined wealth of the Trusts.
"A permanent committee of forty was elected to carry out the purposes of
the convention. For several weeks the committee occupied itself in
routine work. Its sub-committees reported that they could make no
headway.
"Then at one of the meetings a committeeman named Nevins proposed that
inasmuch as the committee had to deal with a wily and unscrupulous foe,
it constitute itself into a secret body.
"At the first secret meeting he submitted the plan which was carried
into effect to-day.
"It required that every one of the forty men should pledge himself to
rid the world of one of its chief tyrants. He proved to the satisfaction
of the men that by so doing they would be securing the blessings of
liberty and happiness to mankind.
"He counselled them to strip their acts of any semblance of selfishness
by sacrificing themselves with their vanquished enemies.
"At this moment the news is being flashed around the world that the
forty tyrants and the forty martyrs have been gathered to their Maker in
a single day.
"Again is the message that was first uttered in the Garden of Eden sent
to the world: 'Labor is the God-given heritage of man.' Nor shall anyone
keep man from his inheritance.
"To you, men and women of this Trust-ridden community, is given the
opportunity to reap the full benefit of to-day's atonement.
"That you should waste your efforts on the mere gratification of
revenge, was but natural when you did but know of the result of one deed
in the plan of emancipation. Then it might have been enough that you
should destroy the breakers and tear down these palaces.
"But now that you have heard of the National blow that has been struck
for you, all thoughts of violence must be swept from your minds. Now you
must realize that a greater triumph awaits you than to watch the flames
lick up the property of your tormentors.
"That property is now yours!
"These breakers, furnaces, factories; these houses, the mines beneath
the earth's surface, the lands above them, all, all, are yours. It needs
but for you to take possession of your own; for you to enjoy the full
measure of the profit of your labor.
"Return to your homes, filled with rejoicing that you have not been
called upon to stain your hands with blood; that your rights have been
restored through the sacrifice of forty men to whom you and your
posterity shall give immortal fame.
"You will have to work as hirelings only until you yourselves place your
government in the hands of trusted men of your own selection.
"Fraud will no longer seek for public office; avarice will no longer
scheme to gain possession of the world's wealth for the satisfaction of
inordinate desires; inhumanity will no longer vaunt itself in our mills,
our mines, our fields, for to-day the edict has been sent to the world
that death awaits those who shall again seek to enslave labor. There
will be forty martyrs ready for another sacrifice. Who will dare to be
their foe?
"Choose your leaders with care; see that they are sincere in their
determination to work your will.
"When this is done the hovels you now live in will be supplanted by
decent homes; the poor food you now eat will be kept for your swine;
your children will grow up to manhood and womanhood without having had
their minds and bodies stunted by premature toil.
"A Republic of universal happiness and comfort will be yours.
"Such a Republic will be a monument to endure for all time to the memory
of Carl Metz and his thirty-nine co-workers, to the honor of yourselves
and to the security to future generations of the liberty that this
Republic will afford all men.
"Pick up the body of Metz, and I shall help you bury it. I leave the
body of Purdy for whomsoever may be inclined to care for it.
"Men of Wilkes-Barre, again I tell you, to-day you have been delivered
from serfdom. Act as men, not as brutes.
"Choose some one to be your leader and let him direct you until to each
of you is given the opportunity to vote for the laws that you may
desire.
"With blare of trumpet and with tap of drum
Barbaric nations pay to Mars his due,
When victory crowns their arms. To him they sue
For privilege to war, though Mercy's thumb
Bids them as victors, rather to be mum,
And show a noble spirit to the foe;
To vaunt not at their fellow-creature's woe:
O'er victory only doth the savage thrum!
They conquer twice who from excess abstain;
The gentle nation that is forced to war,
In triumph seeks to hide, and put afar
All vestiges of carnage, and restore
Peace in the land, that men may turn again
To worthy toil, as they were wont before.
"Labour is your heritage; return to it."
He ends in a tumult of enthusiasm.
The multitude has been led from one emotion to another with such
rapidity that they are fairly bewildered.
Two things only are clear in all minds. Trueman, the man who has become
their most faithful champion, assures them that now they are to be free;
that they are to be made the sharers in the wealth they create; he also
tells them to select a leader.
By a spontaneous decision Trueman is the name that comes to every lip.
"Trueman! Trueman! You are the man to lead us."
The cry "Trueman!" sweeps through the crowd. It rises in an acclaim the
like of which has never been heard before.
Men rush toward the orator and pick him off his feet. He is placed on
the shoulders of the stalwart miners whom his eloquence and logic has
won, and is borne in triumph at the head of the procession that goes to
bury Carl Metz.
The millionaire's corpse lies on the steps of his late mansion. Clinging
to it in the desperation of outraged womanhood, is Ethel. She had crept
from the house while the eloquence of Trueman's words held the mob
enraptured.
As Trueman is being borne in triumph down the steps his eyes rest on the
terrible picture presented by the dead magnate and his daughter. In an
instant the champion of justice forms a resolve. His heart and mind have
a common impulse--Purdy's body must be saved from desecration; it must
be buried with that of Metz.
"Pick up that body," he orders of the men who surround him. "It must be
buried with Metz."
In his voice there is a ring of command that none dares to question. As
the miners stoop to lift the corpse Ethel utters a cry of anguish that
pierces the hearts of even the most hardened men. It is the wail of
humanity protesting against anarchy.
By a vigorous effort Trueman frees himself from the miners who are
carrying him on their shoulders. He is at the side of Ethel in a moment.
"Do not be frightened. I am here and will protect you and your father's
remains."
His words are spoken in a loud decisive tone and reach the ears of the
crowd that press around the corpse.
Yielding to his indomitable will Ethel arises. She wavers an instant;
then stretches out her arms toward her protector.
Trueman seizes the delicate hands and draws her to his side.
"You are safe in my charge," he whispers to her soothingly. "Come with
me and you shall witness your father's burial. If it is done now the mob
will be pacified and will cease to clamor for vengeance."
Ethel walks by his side in silence.
The magnate's body is picked up and placed on the improvised litter of
boards which serves to support the body of Metz. In silence the
procession moves on toward the town.
The battle for moderation is won.
CHAPTER XXX.
A DOUBLE FUNERAL.
It is in an utterly hopeless frame of mind that Ethel walks beside
Harvey Trueman. She cannot conceive that one man will have sufficient
power over the passions of the multitude to prevent a violent
demonstration when the graveyard is reached.
"They will tear my father's body to pieces," she sobs.
"Take my word for it, there will be no disorder," Trueman assures her.
He walks with Ethel at the head of the motley crowd that only an hour
ago was clamoring for the body of Purdy; this same crowd is now
transformed into an orderly procession. The absence of music, or of any
sound other than the tramp of feet on the smooth hard roadway, makes the
procession unusual. There is deep silence, save for the occasional words
that are spoken by the principal actors.
"This is a sad reunion, Ethel; one that could never have been predicted.
When we parted that afternoon, two years ago, you said you never wished
to see me again. I have remained away, until now. You are not sorry that
I have come to protect you. Tell me that you are not." Harvey's words
are spoken earnestly; he has kept the love of all the months of
separation pent up in his heart. Now he is in the presence of the one
woman in all the world, he adores. Her imperfections are not unknown to
him; he has felt the sting of her long silence, broken only by her
telegram sent at the hour of his triumph in Chicago; yet for all this be
feels his heart throb as quickly as in the old days.
"O, Harvey, can you forgive me for my heartlessness?" she asks in a
faint whisper.
"I could not decide against my father that horrid day, when you and he
parted enemies. And after you had departed I was urged by all my family
and friends to put you out of my thoughts; I was told that you had sworn
to be an enemy to all men and women of wealth; that if I were to
communicate with you it would necessitate my disowning all my home ties.
I am only a woman--a woman born to wealth. How could I foretell that you
are not an enemy to the rich, but a true friend of humanity?"
"Then you know me by my true character and not as I am depicted by the
Plutocrats?" Trueman asks, joyfully.
He has heard the word "Harvey," and feels the exultation of the lover
who hears his name pronounced in endearing tones by the woman he loves.
"Yes, I know you as you really are and I have felt the power of your
words; it was not to the mob alone that you spoke. I stood in the shadow
of my father's palace and heard your words. Harvey, you made me feel a
deep pang of sympathy for my fellowmen and women."
The events of the day have been of such a momentous nature that it is
not strange that Ethel should collapse. She has sustained the shock of
her father's murder; the visitation of the citizens, bent on vengeance;
then the unexpected appearance of Harvey Trueman.
She clings to her companion's arm, struggling to control her emotions.
When she ceases to speak a great sob escapes her; then she begins to cry
hysterically.
Trueman cannot bear to hear her heartbreaking sobs. With the impulse of
a father soothing a child he lifts her from the ground, and holding her
in his strong embrace, strides on at the head of the cortege.
When the town is reached the perfect order of the procession is
preserved. It winds through unfrequented streets to the bridge; crossing
the river it continues until checked by the closed gates of the
cemetery.
At the sight of so vast an assemblage and at such an unheard of hour,
the gate-keeper flees in terror. Two or three men enter the house to
emerge with the keys of the great gates and a lamp.
By the fitful rays of this single lamp the movements of the burial party
are conducted.
"Where shall we bury the bodies?" O'Connor asks Trueman.
"As near the gates as possible. I should suggest that the grave be dug
in the circle of the main driveway. The grave of Metz and Purdy will
become one of the most famous in Pennsylvania; it should not be put in
an obscure place."
So the circle is decided upon as the proper place for the common grave
of the millionaire transgressor and the martyr.
As the throng passes through the gates many of the men seize spades and
picks, implements which they know only too well how to use.
It does not take twenty minutes to dig the grave.
When the work is completed, the fact dawns upon the minds of the leaders
that they have neglected to provide a coffin for the bodies.
"What shall we do for coffins?" one of the grave-diggers asks, as he
smooths over the edges of the grave.
"Give them soldiers' burial," suggests one of the bystanders.
"Here, take my shawl," says a shivering woman, as she pulls a thin faded
gray shawl from her shoulders.
Her suggestion is followed by a score of other trembling wretches. The
strangest shroud that ever wrapped mortal remains is used in the
interment.
The bodies of Metz and Purdy are still being carried by the miners. Now
a priest who has accompanied the funeral from the time it crossed the
bridge, is escorted through the crowd to the edge of the grave.
"Will you conduct the burial service over these two bodies?" Trueman
asks of the man of God.
"Neither was prepared for death," protests the priest.
"That is all the more reason for your offering up prayers for their
souls."
"Were they of my faith?" inquires the priest.
"They are dead now and faith has nothing to do with the matter. We want
you as a Christian to pronounce the words of the burial service over
these bodies."
"One of these men was a murderer," further protests the priest.
"Which one?" demands Trueman.
"They say Mete killed German Purdy," is the response.
"And a hundred men within call of us will tell you that Gorman Purdy
killed fifty men in his time," retorts a bystander. These words, so
bitter yet so just, would be cruel indeed for the ears of Ethel Purdy;
but she has lapsed into semi-consciousness. Harvey still holds her in
his arms; he seems oblivious of the burden he has borne for more than a
mile and a half.
"I cannot go through the forms of the church over the grave of these
men," the priest declares emphatically. "It would be a sacrilege. But I
will say a prayer for their departed spirits."
On the tombs that range in a wide semi-circle from the entrance, the
crowd has taken points of vantage. Those who cannot force their way to
the inner circle about the grave, stand aloof, yet where they can
observe the simple, impressive ceremonies.
In a thin, querulous voice the prayer is asked. It is such an invocation
as might have been uttered over the remains of two gladiators. Blood is
upon the head of each; the prayer craves forgiveness. As the priest
concludes, the bodies are wrapped in the shawls and lowered into the
grave.
While the earth is being replaced, Trueman speaks to Ethel. She
partially revives, and seems to understand that her father's body is
being interred. When this thought has been fully grasped she realizes
that she is being supported in Harvey's arms. She makes an instinctive
effort to escape from his clasp; an instant later she looks up into his
face and asks: "You will not leave me?" She pauses. "Give my millions to
the people. I hate the thought of money. Only tell me that you will not
desert me!"
"No, my darling," comes the whisper, "I shall never be parted from you
again, so long as we live. The priest could not perform the burial
service; he can, however, make us man and wife."
As he speaks, Harvey places Ethel gently on her feet.
Standing side by side at the grave which holds victor and vanquished in
the great war for the recovery of the rights of man, Harvey Trueman and
Ethel Purdy present a strange contrast. He is the acknowledged leader of
the plain people; she is the richest woman in America. For him, every
one within reach of his voice has the deepest love and admiration; for
the hapless woman beside him, there is not a man or woman who would turn
a hand to keep her from starving.
If the men and women of Wilkes-Barre can be made to sanction the union
of Trueman and Ethel Purdy, is there any reason to doubt that the
question of social inequalities can be settled without bloodshed?
Trueman determines to venture his election, his future, his life, to win
the greatest triumph of his career, a wife whom the world despises as
the favorite of fatuous fortune.
With a voice vibrant with emotion he addresses the multitude. Now by
subtle argument, now by impassioned appeal he pictures the conditions
that made Ethel's life so utterly different from theirs; how it was
impossible for her to sympathize with them when she had known no sorrow,
when her every wish had always been gratified. He pictures her as she
appears before them; a daughter whose father has been stricken, as if by
a blow from Heaven; a woman left friendless; for the friends of
prosperity are never those of adversity. Thus he awakens a feeling of
pity in the hearts of the people for the woman they have so recently
reviled. Pity gives place to love as he tells them that Ethel Purdy
wishes to give to the citizens of Wilkes-Barre the millions that her
father has hoarded; when he concludes by telling them that she is to
become his wife, an acclaim of rejoicing is given.
The priest, this time without reluctance, pronounces Harvey Trueman and
Ethel Purdy man and wife.
"Go to your homes, my good brothers and sisters," Trueman counsels, "for
to-morrow you enter upon your inheritance through the speedy channel of
voluntary restoration; you are blessed of all men and women, perhaps,
because you have long been the most grievously sinned against.
"Let no one commit an act of violence. It is from you that the country
is to take its signal; you have curbed the hand of anarchy. What you
have done will strengthen others to be patient. No one will have to wait
longer than the next election to have wrongs set right."
The silence that awe induces takes possession of the people. They
disperse quietly to their homes. At two o'clock there is no one on the
streets.
The Coal and Iron Police, who have been lost in the mountains, enter the
town at that hour to find it, to all appearances, deserted.
Harvey and Ethel accompany the priest to the parish house, where they
remain for the night.
All the events of the afternoon and night have been telegraphed abroad.
When morning dawns the people of the country and the world at large read
of the uprising of the miners of Wilkes-Barre, of the attempt to wreck
the train bearing the militia; of the rescue by Sister Martha at the
sacrifice of her life; the stirring scene at the palace and the final
obsequies and marriage ceremonial. All are known to the world. In the
chaotic state of the public mind, this example of reasonable action is
needed. Spread by the power of the pen, it wins man's greatest victory,
a victory of peace.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE NEW ERA.
From every section of the country the news of the pending election gives
promise of a victory for the Independence party. The people have
accepted the assurances of Harvey Trueman that he will not countenance
violence on the part of the radical element of either the people or the
Plutocrats. His conspicuous action at Wilkes-Barre is an incontestible
proof of his sincerity, and also demonstrates that the masses are not
desirous of reverting to an appeal to force in order to regain their
rights. If the man whom the public hails as a deliverer can be elected,
all the evils of the Trusts and monopolies, it is believed, can be
settled amicably.
So strong has the sentiment in favor of the Independence party become,
that for days before the election great parades of the workingmen in the
principal cities celebrate the coming victory of the people.
Yet the subsidized press maintains a defiant position, and gloomily
predicts that anarchy will prevail upon the announcement of the election
of the Independence party's candidates.
This foreboding has little or no effect on the minds of the earnest
workers; they are ready to trust their interests to men who have proven
themselves honest champions of right, rather than suffer the bondage
imposed by the Magnates.
Trueman, since the hour of his marriage, has spent much of his time in
Wilkes-Barre. He decides that it is better for him to guide the closing
days of the campaign from his home.
After settling the estate of Gorman Purdy, and turning over to the
workingmen the mines, furnaces and breakers that were owned by the late
Coal King, Harvey and his wife go to live in a comfortable villa in the
suburbs.
By her voluntary surrender of the $160,000,000 which the criminal
practices of Gorman Purdy had amassed, Ethel becomes the idol of the
people, not only of Wilkes-Barre, but of the entire country. She gives
substantial proof of the sincerity of her promise made at the grave of
her father. This act of altruism does much to avert any reaction of the
turbulent elements of the large cities.
The prospect of regaining the public utilities by purchase and the
establishment of governmental departments to control them in the
interests of the people as a whole, is made bright by the magnificent
example that is furnished by the towns of Pennsylvania.
Harvey Trueman establishes the leaders of the Unions as the managers of
the mines and breakers. Under his direction the profits of the business
are divided proportionately among all the inhabitants of the town in
which the works are located; those who work receive as their wage
one-half of the net proceeds from the sale of their products. The
remaining fifty per cent, is turned into the public treasury.
Had the millions of the Purdy fortune been distributed to the people by
a per capita allotment, each man and woman of Wilkes-Barre might have
been made independently rich. But this would defeat the ends which Ethel
and Harvey wish to attain. They desire to see every citizen prosper
according to his or her personal effort. So when every one in
Wilkes-Barre is set to work at a profitable trade or occupation, the
residue of the fortune, some $125,000,000, is used to establish a
similar system of co-operation in neighboring mining districts.
In the thirty days that intervenes between the acts of annihilation and
the election, two hundred and fifty thousand miners and other operatives
in Pennsylvania are benefiting by the disbursement of the Purdy
millions. This army of prosperous men makes the state certain of going
to the Independents. The electoral votes of the Keystone state, it is
certain, will decide the election.
As an object lesson which speaks more eloquently than words, Harvey
adopts a suggestion which Sister Martha had made at the opening of the
campaign and which had not been used because of lack of funds.
Biograph pictures of happy and contented miners in Pennsylvania, under
the co-operative system, showing them at their work and at their decent
homes, surrounded by their families, well fed, and clothed, are obtained
in manifold sets. To contrast with these, there are pictures taken from
the actual scenes in other parts of the country, showing women harnessed
to the plow with oxen; women at work in the shoe factories, the tobacco
factories, the sweat-shops. Pictures of the children who operate the
looms in the cotton mills and the carpet factories are obtained to be
contrasted with those which exhibit children at their proper places in
the school room and on the lawns of the city parks.
The pomp of the Plutocrats and the destitution of the masses is
portrayed by these striking contrasts.
With this terrible evidence the Independents carry their crusade into
every city. The principal public squares of the cities are used to
exhibit the biograph pictures. Night after night the crowds congregate
to view the pictorial history of the Plutocratic National Prosperity.
That which arguments cannot do in the way of weaning men from party
prejudice the picture crusade accomplishes.
One of the side lights of the great drama that is being enacted is the
sentiment that develops for the Committee of Forty. Memorial societies
in the states from which the several committeemen hailed, are formed to
give the martyrs, as the forty are now called, a decent burial.
Thirty-nine of the martyrs are thus honored by public interment.
The one missing committeeman is William Nevins. He is supposed to be
buried in the wrecked tunnel under the English channel. It is impossible
to repair the damage done by the explosion; futile efforts are made by
sub-marine divers to locate the exact point at which the break in the
tunnel was made. The action of the water has totally obliterated the
breach. So to the public this watery grave must remain the resting place
of the genius who conceived the plan for the restoration of the rights
of man.
All of the details of the committee come to light through the papers
found on the body of Hendrick Stahl, secretary of the committee. The
fact that Nevins was alone responsible for the plan of annihilation and
that Trueman knew absolutely nothing of it, is incontestibly
established.
This takes away the last argument of the Plutocrats who seek to connect
Trueman with the act of Proscription.
And Nevins? What of him?
He has not kept his pledge to the committee by dying with the
Transgressor who was assigned to him. His pledge to God, to follow the
committee the day after the atonement, has not been kept.
When October fourteenth dawned, the news of the uprising of the people
of Wilkes-Barre and of the part played by Trueman and Ethel, were read
by Nevins from the cable dispatches at Calais.
A fear arose in his heart that the plan for the election of Trueman
might fail. He delayed ending his life and hastened to New York. Upon
his arrival he went as a lodger to a room in a lofty Bowery hotel. From
this watch-tower he reviewed the political field. "I shall redeem my
pledge to-morrow," he said to himself each day.
The night would find him irresolute, not for his fear of death, but for
the dread that some unexpected occurrence might arise to thwart the
people in their effort to carry the election by the peaceable use of the
ballot.
On the flight before the election Nevins hastens to Chicago. In the
crowd at the Independence Headquarters he mingles unobserved. "What news
have you from California?" he asks of one of the press committee. This
is thought to be the pivotal State. At least this is the claim made by
the Plutocrats.
"The indications are that the State will go against us."
"And why so?"
"Because we have not been able to send speakers there, and the
Plutocrats wrecked the train which was conveying the biograph pictures.
You know the Press of the slope, with but few exceptions, are owned by
the Magnates and suppress every bit of news that would be detrimental to
them. They have distorted the acts of the Committee of Forty. Out in
California the great mass of the people look upon the Independents as a
party of Anarchists."
"Trueman can be elected without California, can he not?"
"Elected! Why, he will carry forty States."
"You really believe it?" asks Nevins, earnestly.
"I would wager my life on it," is the instant reply.
Nevins hurries from the headquarters and goes to his room. He writes a
letter to Trueman, setting forth his hopes that the interests of the
people will ever remain Trueman's actuating principle. With absolute
fidelity he tells of the struggle he has undergone since the day he sent
Golding to his death, and his reason for procrastinating in ending his
life.
When the letter is finished Nevins reads it with evident satisfaction.
"Now I will go to the committee," is his resolve.
A pistol lies on the table. He picks up the weapon. There is no
hesitancy in his manner. Death has been a matter which he has
contemplated for months, and it holds no terror for him.
"If I have sinned against Thee, O, God," he murmurs, "death would be too
mild a punishment for me. I would deserve to be everlastingly damned, to
live on this earth and bear the denunciation of my fellowmen.
"My death, like those of the committee who have already fulfilled their
pledge, is not suicide, but part of the inevitable price of liberty."
The pistol is raised to his temple. Then a thought flashes upon him.
"Your death will come as an ante-climax to the election. It may be the
means of defeating the Independents."
This thought causes him to lower the pistol.
"To-morrow," he mutters.
At daybreak Nevins is at the headquarters and remains near the chief
operator, eager for every detail of the election.
"What is the weather prediction?" he inquires.
"Generally clear; light local rains on Pacific seaboard."
"I am most intensely interested in the result of the election," Nevins
confided to the operator, to explain his presence at headquarters. "I
have come all the way from San Francisco to congratulate Trueman on his
election."
"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Mr. Trueman is at his home in
Wilkes-Barre."
"Well, I shall telegraph him my congratulations. I want to be the first
man in the United States to send him an authoritative message confirming
his election. If you can arrange to let me have the news first, when it
comes in, and will send my message, I shall be glad to pay you for the
service."
"I have the wire that will send him the news," the operator states as he
pats a transmitter on the desk before him. "What do you call a fair
payment for the message?"
"Twenty-five dollars."
"I'll send your message."
Nevins gives the required sum, and sits at the elbow of the man who is
to flash the news of victory to Trueman.
In Wilkes-Barre the day has dawned auspiciously. Trueman is among the
first to perform his duty as a citizen. After voting he returns to his
home.
With his wife at his side he reads the dispatches that come in by a
private wire from headquarters.
"I am happier to-day than I ever was in my life before," Ethel tells
him. "And I know that you will be elected."
"I hope your words come true. But whether I am President or not my
campaign has not been in vain. I have won the fairest bride in the
world, and she and I are doing a real good with a fortune that might
have been a curse."
"Now I can understand the words that are a mystery to so many of the
rich: 'It is more blessed to give than to receive,'" Ethel says, as she
places her hand on her husband's shoulder. "Now I can appreciate the
emotion that impelled you to give the one thousand dollar check to the
miner's widow." As they sit together, through the long day, they discuss
what they will do for the improvement of the people, there is no
provision for the repayment of anti-election promises to the managers of
trusts; no talk of rewarding henchmen with high offices.
By five in the afternoon the messages begin to announce the forecast in
the extreme Eastern states.
"Rhode Island has polled the largest vote in its history. The
Independence Party claims the state by fifteen thousand." Harvey reads
this with an incredulous smile.
"We can hardly hope to carry Rhode Island," he declares frankly.
"You told me only yesterday that Fall River is going wild over the
biograph pictures," Ethel protests.
"The rural vote in Maine is believed to have caused the state to go to
the Independents," is the next message that causes Harvey to doubt his
senses.
"New Jersey washes its hands of trusts. Trueman carries Newark, Trenton,
and Jersey City by overwhelming majorities."
Thus the story of state after state is wired to Wilkes-Barre.
"Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio are claimed to have voted for the people's
candidate. The Plutocrats ridicule the assertion, yet have no figures to
quote."
At nine o'clock the returns by election districts in the populous
cities, begin to arrive.
"In 1238 districts, Greater New York, Trueman leads by a clear majority
of 75,000." Harvey reads without comment.
Ten minutes later, this message is received: "Total of 2200 election
districts, Greater New York, Trueman's majority 180,000. This makes the
state Independent by a safe margin of 100,000."
Harvey Trueman feels for the first time since his nomination that he
will be elected. Joy is written on his face.
"Pennsylvania casts its vote for Trueman and co-operation."
It is eleven-thirty. The proverbial "landslide" of politics has
occurred. Already the townspeople of Wilkes-Barre are surging about the
villa, cheering their champion.
A dozen times Harvey goes to the window to bow his acknowledgments.
Ethel is excited, almost hysterical. With a woman's quick perception she
realizes that her husband has triumphed.
Again they stand at the elbow of the telegraph operator who is receiving
the messages.
"Chicago--" then there was a break.
"Trueman, have Trueman come to the instrument. Answer. Is Trueman at
your elbow?" This message is sent by the operator at headquarters. He
has indicated that it is a private message and only the word Chicago is
written.
"What's the matter?" asks Trueman, who has noticed the pause.
"It's all right, sir; the operator want's you to get this message
immediately." There is another pause.
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS,
INDEPENDENCE PARTY HEADQUARTERS.
To HARVEY TRUEMAN, Greeting:
"You are elected President of the United States by popular
acclamation of forty States. I congratulate you. Keep your
faith with the people; place them always above the dollar;
remember that your office was bought by the blood of patriots,
as true as the founders of the Republic; that you owe it to the
majority to keep their rights inviolate. I go to inform the
Committee of Forty that the Revolution of Reason is victorious.
WILLIAM NEVINS."
As Trueman reads these words and grasps their meaning, Nevins, at the
other end of the wire, in distant Chicago, redeems his pledge and drops
dead.
The curtain falls on the Tragedy of Life. The struggle for mere
existence that has retarded mankind from creation, is at an end. Man
enters into possession of his God-given inheritance, _equal
opportunity_, with a valiant leader, and the fairest land in the world
in which to begin the building up of a Republic that insures to all men
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.