The buzz of excitement due to Chick’s appearance on the witness stand
had scarcely subsided, and the first question had not yet been asked
him, when a man, breathless and perturbed, entered the court-room,
pushed his way up to the table where the Barriscales were sitting,
and announced, in a loud whisper, that a riot was at that moment in
progress at the Barriscale mills. Immediately all was confusion.
People began hastily to leave the room, and the president of the court
martial, after consulting with his associates, and with counsel on both
sides, announced an adjournment until the following Tuesday.
There had, indeed, been a serious disturbance on the plaza in front
of the mills, but by the time the Barriscales reached there the
trouble was practically over. Two men, returning from their dinners
to their work in the shops, had been set upon by pickets of the
Industrialists and badly beaten. Supporters of both sides had hurried
to the scene, and the fracas had promised to be a bloody one when the
police, heavily reinforced by Barriscale guards, descended upon the
combatants, rescued the union workers, and clubbed their adversaries
from the plaza. But when the mob, frenzied and cursing, had been driven
back, the rioters left one of their number prone and bleeding on the
pavement, and that one was a woman, Marie Brussiloff, the boldest and
most bigoted leader of the local Industrialist army. She was lifted
up by the police, thrust into an ambulance, rattled away to the City
Hospital, and for many a day her comrades saw her no more. But her fate
aroused such a spirit of resentment and revenge as boded ill for the
forces of law and order, for the safety of capitalist property, and for
the lives of union workmen.
That evening as Donatello sat at his table in the office and press-room
of _The Disinherited_, he heard footsteps on the stairs and recognized
them. It was General Chick who was coming. No one else had quite the
same method of climbing the stairs.
When the boy came stumbling in, and the editor caught a glimpse of his
face in the lamplight, he was startled at its appearance. He had not
seen him before for two days. With the court-martial impending it had
been impossible for Chick to follow the routine of his regular tasks.
Now he stood there, his cap in his hand, white faced, trembling with
the excitement that was still on him, the pain of his unfortunate
position still mirrored in his eyes.
If there had been, in Donatello’s mind, any thought of rebuking his
dilatory employee, that thought disappeared when he looked at him. Any
one could see that the boy was suffering.
“Why, Chick!” he exclaimed, “what is the matter? Have you been sick;
yes?”
“No,” replied Chick stoutly; “I ain’t been sick; I been busy. I jest
come to say I’m goin’ to quit.”
“To quit? You mean you will leave my employ?”
“That’s what I mean. I can’t stan’ it here no longer.”
“The work; is it too hard?”
“No; that’s easy enough.”
“Is it that I have been unkind to you?”
“No; I ain’t got no fault to find the way I been treated. It’s account
o’ Lieutenant ’Cormack.”
“Has he asked you that you quit?”
“No; no! He ain’t asked nothin’. But if I hadn’t ’a’ be’n here I
wouldn’t ’a’ got into this trouble. If I hadn’t ’a’ heard what he said
here that night I wouldn’t ’a’ had to be a witness ag’inst him. Now
I’ve got to tell; and it’s goin’ to break him. I hadn’t no business to
come here in the first place.”
Chick dropped into a chair, put his elbow on the table and rested his
head in his hand. He was a picture of despair. Donatello gazed at him
curiously for a moment, and said nothing. But when he did speak his
voice was vibrant with sympathy.
“It is not you,” he said, “who should yourself accuse. You have done
nothing. If it is to blame, the fault is mine. It was I who asked him
that he come. It was I who brought him into contact with these men to
whom he spoke words. You have simply heard them. The law, it makes you
tell that which you have heard. How can fault be yours?”
He spread out his hands appealingly.
“I don’t know,” replied Chick, wearily. “All I know is I hadn’t ought
to ’a’ come here; and I’m goin’ to quit. That’s what I come for, to
tell you I’m goin’ to quit. An’ you don’t owe me nothin’. You’ve
treated me white; I want to be fair with you.”
Even if there had been any basis for contention, Donatello would not
have had the heart to argue the matter. The boy was suffering too
keenly, and it was evident that his mind was made up.
“It is as you will,” he said. “It must be so. If it is that I can
commend you to the future employer, you shall ask it. I will so
do--gladly.”
“You’re good to say that,” replied Chick. “But I won’t need no
recommend. I won’t never take no job in a printin’ shop ag’in.”
He was through with his errand and he rose to go. He appeared to be
dizzy, and Donatello, thinking he was about to fall, rose and reached
toward him a helping hand.
But the boy steadied himself without assistance and stood firm.
“It ain’t nothin’,” he said. “I used to have them spells; but I got
over ’em. I’ll git over these.”
He put on his cap, said good-night to his sometime employer, and left
the room. Donatello went with him to the head of the stairs and saw him
reach the bottom of the flight in safety, then he returned to his room.
But he did not immediately resume his work. He sat, for many minutes,
his chin in his hand, in deep thought.
The day following the outbreak at the mills was Saturday. From early
morning rumors of further trouble had filled the air. Yet everything
was quiet. No union workmen had been molested, even the pickets of the
Industrial workers had been withdrawn. People versed in the ways of
syndicalism predicted that it was the calm before the storm. They were
right.
At noon, information, carried by dependable spies, reached the Barriscale
headquarters to the effect that the cause of the Industrialists in
Fairweather had been taken up by their brethren in a neighboring city,
and that active and aggressive aid was to be immediately forthcoming.
Incensed at the treatment of their fellows by the police, angered that
one of their women should be wounded, they were to march in a body on
the Barriscale works, and demand reinstatement for their brethren, under
penalty of having the works taken over by the Industrialist army.
It was a desperate programme; it called for drastic measures of
prevention. The chief of police admitted that his force would be unable
to cope with such a body of marchers and rioters as the Industrialists
could undoubtedly muster. The state police had troubles of their own at
the coal mines and could not be spared. It was plain that the National
Guard must be looked to for protection.
An appeal to the Governor of the State by the mayor of Fairweather
resulted, after a considerable exchange of telegrams, in the giving of
authority to use the militia to prevent rioting.
It was late in the afternoon when the order came down through
regimental headquarters to Captain Murray to mobilize his men at the
armory, to hold them in readiness for immediate action, and to use
his discretion about putting them into the field. At seven o’clock
ninety-five per cent of the enlisted men were present at the armory and
under arms. They were lounging about the drill-hall, sitting in the
company room, indulging in athletic sports in the basement. Some one
said that the story of the proposed invasion was a false alarm anyway,
and that there would be nothing doing. At seven-thirty Captain Murray
jumped into a waiting automobile and started for his home, promising to
return inside of an hour. At half-past eight the telephone bell in the
officers’ quarters rang viciously again and again.
“Central must be having a fit!” said the second lieutenant putting the
receiver to his ear.
McCormack, facing him as he sat, saw his eyes widen and his face go
white. Brownell turned from the transmitter long enough to explain to
Hal:
“Murray’s been in a smash-up; badly hurt; taken to hospital!”
Then he asked some hurried questions of the person who was talking to
him, apparently obtained all the information he could, and hung up the
receiver. Hal still sat facing him with expectant and apprehensive eyes.
“That’s terrible!” exclaimed the second lieutenant.
“What happened?” asked McCormack.
“Why, there was an automobile collision down somewhere on Main Street.
Lewis just telephoned me. Tipped Murray’s car over, broke his leg,
smashed his ribs. He’s still unconscious.”
Brownell got to his feet and began pacing hurriedly up and down the
floor.
But Hal sank back in his chair, frightened, nerveless and speechless.
He knew that, with Captain Murray disabled, the command of Company E
would devolve upon him, and in his heart he knew that he was not fit to
be entrusted with that authority. No wonder his pulse fluttered, and
his breath came quick, and that he stared across the room with unseeing
eyes.
Brownell stopped now and then, in his hurried marching, to give vent to
his feelings of grief and anxiety, but McCormack, submerged in thought,
was still silent.
Some one knocked at the door and came in to give details, that he had
learned from an eye-witness, of the accident to Captain Murray.
Down-stairs the drill-hall buzzed with excitement and indignation. For
it was suspected that the injury to the captain was the result of a
plot to deprive the company of the services of its regular leader at
a critical time, and throw the command to an officer whose declared
sympathies were with the prospective rioters. There appeared to have
been no excuse for the accident. A car containing two strangers,
evidently of some foreign nationality, had deliberately collided with
Captain Murray’s automobile at the corner of Main Street and Maple
Avenue. The reckless drivers had been arrested and committed to the
lock-up, but would give no information concerning themselves or their
errand in the city. Barriscale was loud in his demand that a committee
should go to Lieutenant Brownell and insist on his assuming command
of the company; but the proposition was frowned down by most of the
enlisted men. In spite of all that they had heard and seen they still
had faith in the first lieutenant and were willing to go out under his
leadership.
At nine o’clock Brownell and McCormack commandeered a car and drove to
the hospital. But their visit was fruitless. Captain Murray could not
be seen. He was in a serious condition, semi-conscious, beginning to
suffer greatly. His wife and daughter were in the corridor with white
faces and tearful eyes, tormented with anxiety.
When the two commissioned officers returned to the armory they learned
that news had come over the wire confirming the rumor of an invasion.
It was definitely stated that a large number of radicals and terrorists
were secretly preparing to leave the neighboring city some time in the
night and march to Fairweather on a hostile errand. But they had not
yet started, and Fairweather was twelve miles away.
So, at ten o’clock, the Guardsmen took their shelter-tent rolls and
blankets, adjusted them for sleeping purposes, and flung themselves
down on the armory floor to rest until the command should come to “fall
in.”
Then some one inquired for Chick, and it was recalled that he had not
been seen at the armory all the afternoon and evening. Every one knew
that excitement like this would have been meat and drink to him. Why
was he not here?
Up-stairs, in the officers’ quarters, McCormack and Brownell were
again alone. The second lieutenant was reading up on field maneuvers.
The first lieutenant, torn with conflicting emotions and desires, was
pacing the floor. Suddenly he stopped, and faced Brownell.
“Joe,” he said, “you’ve got to take this company out when the time
comes; I can’t!”
Brownell looked up at him incredulously.
“What’s the reason you can’t?” he inquired.
“Because I’m not fit to. Because, after what they heard in court
yesterday, the boys will have no confidence in me. Because I’m under
court-martial, and ought to be under arrest. Because I’m afraid of
myself. If the worst comes to the worst there’ll be a conflict between
my duty to the Guard and the State, and my duty to those with whose
cause I sympathize. You know what I mean. Can’t you see how utterly
impossible it is for me to take command of this company?”
He held out his hands appealingly.
“No,” replied Brownell, promptly, “I can’t see. You’re the ranking
officer, and----”
Hal interrupted him impatiently:
“That doesn’t matter. I’ll go away. I’ll leave the city. I’ll make it a
necessity for you to assume command.”
Brownell began to show impatience.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind!” he exclaimed. “You’ll do your duty to
the State and the Guard and yourself. This gang of hoodlums? Why, man,
they’re not men looking for their jobs! They’re just common rioters and
bullies and criminals, bent on tearing the constitution of the United
States to bits, and throwing the pieces into the gutter. Look here! do
you know what you swore to do when you took your oath as a commissioned
officer? You swore to defend the constitution of the United States and
of this State against all enemies foreign and domestic. Now, go and do
it. It’s up to you. It’s the first chance you’ve had. Go and do it!”
“But, Joe, I know these people. I know what their aspirations are, and
I know they are sincere. Their leaders are my friends. How could I give
orders to shoot them down?”
Brownell sprang from his chair. At last his patience was exhausted.
“Friends!” he shouted savagely. “Your friends! These thugs! These
would-be murderers! And your own captain their first victim! Why, you
cringing coward you, your blood ought to boil in your veins when you
think of the crimes of which these traitors have been and want to be
guilty. Friends! Heaven save the mark!”
Hal did not get angry; he could not. He knew that Brownell was
castigating him because he loved him. He dropped into a chair by the
table and rested his head in his hands and was silent. Then his
comrade, knowing that he was suffering, took pity on him, and came over
and placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder.
“Forgive me, old man!” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. The thing
got on my nerves and I had to let go. But you’re dead wrong. You’re in
command of this company, and you’ve got to take it out.”
McCormack looked up wearily.
“At the risk,” he said, “of leading it into disaster and disgrace? Why
do you compel me to face such a temptation as this?”
Brownell’s hand tightened on Hal’s shoulder.
“Because,” he replied, “I know you and trust you. I know what things
lie at the bottom of your heart; red blood, pure patriotism, soldierly
pride, the honor of a gentleman. I was never so little afraid of
anything in my life as I am that you will either disgrace us, or
dishonor yourself.”
The first lieutenant did not reply. He was about to say something, but
his lips trembled, his eyes filled with tears, and he dropped his head
again into his hands and was silent.
Down-stairs all was quiet. The Guardsmen were sleeping. Through an open
window of the officers’ quarters there came the measured tramp of the
sentry on the flagged walk outside.
At midnight the sky was clear, the stars were shining, the street-lights
across the river gleamed like blazing jewels in the darkness. And over
the sleeping world hung still the portent of evil and the promise of
strife.
At five o’clock on Sunday morning the call came. Word was received at
the armory that a marching mob, three hundred strong, was approaching
the outskirts of Fairweather. At five-thirty, in command of Lieutenant
McCormack, Company E was on the plaza fronting the Barriscale mills.
Hot coffee and biscuits had been served to the men before leaving the
armory, and now, at ease, with arms stacked, sitting, standing, talking
in groups, the Guardsmen awaited the coming of the mob.
It is not to be supposed that there had been no discussion among the
enlisted men concerning the propriety and risk of being led into action
by Lieutenant McCormack. Even after Sergeant Barriscale’s failure to
have the men demand the temporary retirement of the first lieutenant,
the subject would not down. There were those who felt, and not without
reason, that it was taking too long a chance to permit an avowed
sympathizer with the disorderly element in the ranks of labor to lead
them on such an expedition as this. Barriscale, himself, was bitter in
his continued denunciation of such a programme.
“The man should have had a sufficient sense of decency,” he declared to
a little group that surrounded him on the pavement, “to have prevented
him from taking this company out. I don’t know what he intends to do,”
he added; “but if his orders, or his refusal to give orders, show that
he intends to let this mob have its way and work its will, I, for one,
will revolt. If the first lieutenant plays traitor and the second
lieutenant’s afraid to take hold, I’ll assume command of the company
myself; I’ve got a right to under the Articles of War, and I’ll arrest
McCormack and have him punished for treason and sedition. I tell you,
boys, the honor of this company and of the whole National Guard is at
stake this morning, and I’ll stop at nothing to save it.”
And there were those who agreed with him.
In order to place his men most effectively for service, McCormack had
concentrated them on the northerly side of the plaza to the right of
the entrance gates to the shops, and just in rear of the flagstaff
which in the early morning was still bare of the colors. This position
was still further strengthened by the fact that the troops covered
the mouths of the three streets leading from the central city and
converging at that point. Only the mouth of the street leading to the
south was unguarded. This was the street up which the marchers would
come, and across this street, a block away, the police had thrown a
platoon which, it was hoped, would prevent the mob from reaching the
mills or coming into contact with the militia.
Lieutenant McCormack, having made his plans, and having given final
instructions to his officers, sauntered across the corner of the plaza
to the mouth of the main street leading into the city, and leaned
against a lamp-post at the curb. He was not only deep in thought, his
mind was in a very tumult of emotions. He knew that he had reached
“the parting of the ways”; that he could no longer serve two masters,
that he must either “hate the one and love the other,” or “hold to the
one and despise the other.” The time had come when he must either give
undivided allegiance to the flag of his country, or fling himself,
body and soul, into the movement for the merging of the flags of all
countries into the red flag of social radicalism.
The sun, well above the crest of the hill range to the east, threw long
shafts of yellow light down through the open spaces of the streets,
and flooded the plaza with a carpet of shining gold. An apple tree in
a near-by yard was a pink and white marvel of beauty and bloom. All
around him birds were rioting in their spring-time songs.
Hal had the soul of an artist, and in any other mood he would have
breathed in the glory of the morning. But its splendor fell now upon
unseeing eyes, and its music upon ears that did not hear.
Lieutenant Brownell approached him and saluted.
“I am informed,” he said, “that the custodian of the flag here is about
to hoist it on the staff.”
McCormack returned the salute.
“You will bring the company to attention,” he said, “and do honor to
the colors.”
Two men came from the Barriscale offices with the flag, and ran the
ends of the halyards through the rings. The company was brought to
“attention,” and then to “present arms,” while the colors mounted the
staff.
As the banner rose, as it gave itself to the fresh morning air, as it
rolled itself out against the strong but gentle wind, as it flashed
back its glorious colors in the splendid sunlight, something gripped
Lieutenant McCormack’s heart. Perhaps it was a spirit of patriotism
that, heretofore lying dormant, now rose from the tragic struggle
that was going on in his own soul. He remembered that his father had
served under this flag, that his father’s father had fought for it,
that hundreds of thousands of men, on battle-fields, in fever camps,
in prison pens, on the decks of sinking ships, had died that it might
wave; that millions of hearts to-day beat faster as eyes dim with
patriotic sentiment looked up at it--why? Mistakes had been made under
it indeed, political crimes had been committed in its name; graft,
greed, unholy ambitions had flourished in its shelter, while the
deserving poor by thousands had toiled and sweat in the shadow of it,
and found no rest. And yet--and yet, until that far-off day shall come
when the hearts of all men shall be purged of selfishness and sin,
what nobler flag, what symbol of a better government, more free from
tyranny, more blest with liberty, more rich with opportunity, floats
anywhere in all the world? Day by day, year by year, rising out of
turmoil and tribulation and the constant struggle for better things, to
ever higher and broader planes of life and levels of true democracy,
what other people on earth have a greater right or a richer incentive
to love the one flag that protects their homes and thrills their
hearts, than the people of the United States of America?
The colors were at the top of the staff, the halyards were fastened to
the clamps, the company was brought to an “order arms,” and again to
a rest at will, and the period of waiting was resumed. But Lieutenant
McCormack’s eyes were still fixed on the flag. Somehow, suddenly,
there was a fascination in the sight of it that he could not resist;
his country’s flag, the flag of his ancestors, the symbol of the soul
of America; America, his home. That strange grip on his heart grew
tighter, firmer, deeper--was it pain, was it sweetness, was it one of
that trio of highest and noblest sentiments that stir humanity, love of
one’s own country as distinct from every other country in the world,
that caused his eyes to fill with tears as he stood with raised head
and gazed on the “Banner of the Stars”?
He was suddenly aware that some one was standing at his side, and when
he looked down he saw that it was General Chick. The boy, too, was
staring at the colors.
“Ain’t it beautiful?” he asked.
“Chick,” was the reply, “I feel this morning that that flag is the most
beautiful thing in the world, and that every American citizen should
love it.”
“And,” added Chick, “should ought to want to be a soldier an’ fight
under it. That’s what I’ve been wanting to be; but lately I’m kind o’
discouraged.”
“Why discouraged, Chick?”
“Oh, I’m afraid I won’t never git into the Guard now. It feels as
though somethin’s gone wrong inside o’ me.”
McCormack looked down at the boy, at his gray face, his hollow eyes,
his sunken cheeks, at the evidences of physical pain with which his
countenance was marked, and he felt a sudden pity for him.
“You’re not well, Chick,” he said; “you ought not to be here.”
“I know,” was the labored reply. “But I couldn’t help comin’. I heard
about it, an’ I got up an’ come away while the old woman was asleep.”
A wan smile spread over his face at the memory of his diplomatic
escape.
“I thought, mebbe,” he continued, “I might never see the boys ag’in--in
action; and I--wanted to see ’em.”
“Chick, you must go back home. You’re too ill to stay here.”
The boy ignored the command and asked a question.
“They ain’t through tryin’ you yet, air they?”
“No, the trial will be resumed next Tuesday. Chick, you----”
“Well, Mr. ’Cormack, if I should--should jest happen, you know--to die
before then, they couldn’t git nothin’ on you, could they?”
He was leaning against a tie-post at the curb, trembling and exhausted.
He looked up anxiously and wistfully at the lieutenant as he spoke.
McCormack bent down and put his arm around the boy’s shoulder and
turned his face toward the city.
“Chick, don’t talk that way. You can’t hurt me in a thousand years so
much as I’ve hurt myself many a time in a day. Now go back home and try
to get well. We can’t do without you in the Guard.”
A man came across the plaza from the Barriscale offices, and thrust
a written message into the lieutenant’s hands. It was to the effect
that the marchers were at the outskirts of the city; that they had
sacked provision and liquor stores on their way, were drunk, riotous,
boastful and destructive, and would reach the plaza in less than ten
minutes.
Even as McCormack finished reading the message he heard in the distance
the dull roar that presaged the coming of the mob.