And these were but the advanced guard of the little army of regulars
that, welcomed with glad acclaim by every law-abiding, order-loving
citizen, came pouring into Chicago all through that day and for some
days that followed, their very presence bringing assurance of peace and
safety to thousands and thousands of anxious householders, and confusion
and dismay to the leaders of the mob. Believing as had these latter
that, despite the vast and valuable Federal properties in the heart of
the city, despite the fact that some of the railways involved were at
that very moment under the wing of the Federal courts, despite the laws
of the general government affecting the working and management of every
one of over a dozen great trunk lines centring in Chicago, Uncle Sam
would be ass enough to confide them all to the care of State authorities
notoriously dependent upon the masses, and that he would not venture to
protect his property, sustain his courts, enforce his laws, demand and
command respect and subordination, or even venture upon his own, except
at the invitation and permission of a hesitant State government, there
had been little short of triumph and exultation in the camp of the
American Railway Union until this fatal July morning. Now their wrath
was frantic.
And Elmendorf was madder than ever. The general and his staff reappeared
in the midst of the concentration. Their coming was announced. After
vainly haranguing the stolid officials at head-quarters upon the
enormity of their conduct in declining to see the fearful blunder made
by their President and commander-in-chief, after attempting to harangue
a battalion of dusty infantry in the vague hope that, inspired by his
eloquence, they might do something the enlisted men of the United States
never yet have done, no matter what the temptation,--revolt against
their government and join the army of the new revolution,--and being
induced to desist only when summarily told to "Go on out of that!
or----" while a bayonet supplied the ellipsis, poor Elmendorf flew to
the station, to be the first to meet the general on his return and to
open his eyes to a proper conception of law, order, and soldierly duty.
Even here those minions from head-quarters were ahead of him. Three or
four officers were already on the spot awaiting their chief, and
Elmendorf felt convinced that they had come solely to prevent his
getting the ear of the commander. Even as they waited and a curious
crowd began to gather, numbers of strike sympathizers among them, down
the broad steps from the street above came the tramp, tramp of martial
feet, and in solid column of fours, in full marching order, every man a
walking arsenal of ball cartridges, a battalion of infantry filed
sturdily into the grimy train-shed, formed line, facing the murmuring
crowd, and then stood there in composed silence "at ease." Then the
little knot of staff-officers and newspaper men was presently joined by
Lieutenant-Colonel Kenyon, commanding the --th Infantry, one battalion
of which had just taken position as indicated; and to him came others,
officers of the battalion. Again did Elmendorf raise his voice in appeal
for the rights of his fellow-men.
"Colonel Kenyon," he declaimed, his shrill tones distinctly audible
above the hoarse murmur of voices in the rapidly augmenting throng, "you
have been so considerate as to listen to a humble outsider before this,
and to express appreciation of some, at least, of the views I have felt
constrained to express. You are, as I understand, the commanding officer
of the regiment that has just arrived in this city. You are an officer
sworn to maintain the Constitution of the United States; and is not your
very presence here--you and your men--in glaring violation of that
Constitution?"
Here the few officers who had joined their commander, all strangers to
Elmendorf, turned upon him in astonishment. The newspaper men chuckled
and nudged each other companionably. Some of the staff turned away,
plainly indicating that they had already had to listen to too much of
that sort of thing. Kenyon looked him curiously over.
"Mr. Elmendorf, do you ask that question in your sober senses, or only
as a jocular reminder? Those identical words were addressed to me by an
irate gentleman in Virginia in '62." So far from being irritated, old
Kenyon seemed to find amusement in drawing his interlocutor out.
"Ah, but, my dear sir, there the whole State--the whole South--was in
armed rebellion against the Federal government. Here is neither
insurrection nor rebellion. Here, honest, law-abiding, patriotic men, as
loyal to the Union of States as ever you could be, are exerting their
prerogative as men, their rights as citizens, to obtain justice for
themselves and their brethren at the hands of a defiant and oppressive
monopoly. They have done no wrong, violated no law, and yet here you
come with bayonets and ball cartridges to intimidate, if not to shoot
down in cold blood, husbands and fathers and peaceable citizens who are
only pleading for justice at the hands of their employers."
"Some mistake here, Mr. Elmendorf. Your leaders have already declared it
a rebellion. The husbands and fathers we are here to look after are the
amiable parties who stove in our car-windows and soaped our rails and
let drive such pygmy projectiles as coupling-pins, a wild switch engine
or two, and blazing freight-cars at us as we came in awhile ago."
"Our people are in no wise connected with that," cried Elmendorf. "All
this alleged violence is the work of lawless classes whom we cannot
control, or of the emissaries of the railways themselves. It has been
grossly and purposely exaggerated."
"Oh! Then all this rioting is done by outsiders, not by your friends the
strikers, who heartily condemn the whole business, do they?"
"Most assuredly. We have forbidden violence in any and every form."
"I see. And yet the rabble and the railway folks have insisted on it.
Well, now, how grateful you ought to be to the President for ordering us
here to help you suppress them! Really, Mr. Elmendorf, I am glad to find
we are on the same side of this question, after all." But here a shout
of laughter drowned Kenyon's words and drove Elmendorf frantic.
"You don't understand," he almost shrieked. "It is our people who are
intimidated,--beaten back in the moment of victory." And then some of
the crowd, now thronging the open space in front of the battalion, began
to cheer. A man pushed through, handed Kenyon a telegram, and whispered
a few words in his ear. Kenyon glanced quickly around upon the
multitude now surging close about the group, and stepped back a few
paces to read his despatch. Elmendorf followed, eager to resume his
harangue. Kenyon uplifted his hand. "Pardon me now, Mr. Elmendorf. I
have business to attend to." But Elmendorf was wild with excitement and
wrath. He had been laughed at,--he, the mover of millions. Here were
already a thousand fellow-citizens at his back, and more coming. From
the freight-yards up and down the tracks, from the docks, the elevators,
the neighboring saloons, they were swarming to the scene. There in
double rank stood the four compact little companies of regulars in the
business-like rig of blue and brown, resting on their arms, chatting in
low tones, or calmly surveying from under the broad hat-brims the
gathering crowd. To their right and left, up and down the long vista of
train-sheds, letting themselves down from overarching bridges, or
pushing boldly past the feeble railway police, hundreds of tough-looking
citizens were slowly closing in. Back of the battalion, separated from
it by only two tracks, were long files of passenger and Pullman cars,
behind which and on whose platforms, in knots of half a dozen, other men
were gathering. It was the general superintendent of the road who had
spoken to Kenyon and was now exchanging a few words with the chief
quartermaster of the department. Dozens in the crowd pushed forward
instantly, newspaper men as a matter of business, others from
curiosity, as Kenyon opened his despatch. A burly, gray-haired major was
quickly at his side, and a tall young subaltern, the adjutant of the
regiment. One brief glance over the paper, and the commander turned to
his right. "Clear the station," was all he said. Major Cross touched his
hat, an eager light shooting across his frank, soldierly face, and
strode quickly back to the line. A mere gesture brought the four company
commanders to him. Not a dozen words were spoken, but in an instant the
swords of the officers leaped from their scabbards, and then, obeying
some low-toned commands, the right and left flank companies, simply
lifting their rifle-butts, enough to clear the ground, changed front to
right and left respectively, thus bringing them facing the outer ends of
the train-sheds. About a dozen men, led by a sergeant, broke suddenly
away from the eastward flank of each of the two companies thus moved,
and, without so much as an audible word, scattered away to the
passenger-cars, covering a hundred yards of their length in a dozen
seconds. Then under the cars dove some of the lot, up the steps sprang
others, and away before them scattered the intruders. A long brick wall
hemmed the yards in at the eastern side, and there, dividing into two
parties in the same prompt, business-like way, the squads drove before
them north or south every one of the late lookers-on, some grinning,
some scowling and swearing, some remonstrating, but all going. Up from
the throats of the dense throng in front of the battalion went a chorus
of jeers and laughter. It is always fun to one part of a street crowd to
see some other part of it, especially if it occupied a better point of
view, driven from its enviable ground. The moment the space behind their
new alignment was thus cleared, the flank companies each threw forward
another squad of eight, which, promptly shaking itself out into a long
thin rank and fixing bayonet as it went, marched straight at the thin
crowds which had entered the station along the right of way. A solid
platoon followed in support, and in less time than it takes to tell it
the populace was on the move.
Then came the turn of the centre companies; and here a very different
problem presented itself. Leading up to the street was one broad
stairway in the middle of the great depot building, and one, somewhat
narrower, a hundred feet farther north, next to the baggage-rooms.
Between the tracks and the offices on this floor, enclosing a space
perhaps a hundred yards in length by ten in breadth, was a high iron
fence, pierced here and there with little turnstile gates, now closed,
and by three or four rolling gates, the main or centre one of which
stood open. This was directly opposite the broad stairway. It was this
through which the battalion had marched, the newspaper men and officials
had followed, and the crowd had speedily bulged. No good would result
from shoving back this protruding swarm of curious or combative
citizens, for the space behind the bars was packed solid. The crowd
began to grin and exchange jocular remarks. It would take a long time to
squeeze them back through the stairway, and meanwhile they could have
lots of fun, and Elmendorf a chance for a speech, so they began to shout
for him. He was still squeaking and gesticulating about the knot of
newspaper men and staff-officers, but Kenyon, climbing on a
baggage-truck, was calmly looking over the sea of upturned and often
leeringly impudent faces beyond the grating. Then he called Major Cross
to his side, and together they looked it over.
The crowd began to wax facetious. They knew the soldiers wouldn't shoot
so long as they were not shooting. They knew they wouldn't prod with
their bayonets men who manifestly couldn't get back. They thought they
had the regulars, in fine, where they couldn't do a blessed thing unless
the police would come and pull the crowd out from behind, and the police
were not interfering with the populace just then. An American street
crowd is gifted with a fine sense of humor, and the sight of these two
veteran officers perched on a baggage-truck and reconnoitring their
ground was full of suggestion. "Don't jump on us, major: we couldn't
stand them feet!" shouted one jovial tough. "A speech from
Old-Man-Afraid-Of-His-Dignity!" sang out a second. The gang guffawed,
and the officers went on with their conference utterly unmoved, deaf,
apparently, to the salutations. Then Kenyon climbed down and said a word
to the superintendent, who nodded appreciatively. The adjutant went one
way, the regimental quartermaster the other. Each took half a dozen men
from the supporting platoons of the flank companies, who had by this
time pushed the scattering throng beyond the yard limits and set their
guards at the entrances. Then the gray-headed, white-moustached major
whipped out his watch and held up his hand. There was a good deal of
chaff going on, but a half-silence fell on the throng.
[Illustration: "All that space in there will be needed in five minutes
from this time."]
"All that space in there will be needed in five minutes from this time,"
he said, in a quiet, conversational tone. "The way out is open, and you
will oblige me very much by quietly withdrawing. Begin the move back
there by the main staircase, and up there also, if you please, so that
these gentlemen who are crowded in here can follow you. Move at once,
and you'll be out in plenty of time."
Not a few on the outskirts did begin subordinately to move away, and a
dozen or more were already going up the steps, when the crowd gave
tongue. "Come back, there. Stay where you are. We've got as much right
here as they have," were the cries. And then the luckless Elmendorf was
seized with an inspiration. Bounding upon a baggage-truck, he waved his
hat and shouted, "Hear me, fellow-citizens. You have said right. We have
indeed more right here than these----" But here a muscular hand grasped
him by the seat of his trousers, and Elmendorf's speech wound up in a
shriek, as he was lifted backward off the truck, a big Irish sergeant
glowering at him as he landed him on _terra firma_. "I yield to force,"
screamed Elmendorf. "Go and tell it." And then between a couple of
brawny, unsympathetic soldiers he was rushed back, and, in the twinkling
of an eye, hustled into the smoking-compartment of a vacant Pullman and
there locked in, with a bayonet at the window. For a moment the throng
howled, but there was no forward impulse. The motionless line of the two
centre companies seemed to have a soothing effect, and still the major
coolly stood there, watch in hand. Two minutes passed, three, and not
ten men of the crowd had slipped away. Certain railway men and reporters
edged forward, away from the crowd. Certain of the crowd strove to
follow, but some men in plain clothing whipped open their coats,
displaying silver stars, and warned them back. Three minutes and a half,
and still the major stood calmly glancing over the crowd and then at his
watch, and then the corners of his mouth began to twitch, for he had
cast one quick glance up and down the line of that iron fence.
Unreeling something behind them as they reappeared, the squads that had
followed the regimental staff officers quickly trotted into sight again
at the upper and lower ends of the pen, and the outskirts of the crowd
"caught on" at a glance. They were manning the hose. Already the
gleaming nozzles were being screwed on, and the humor of the situation
became suddenly clouded. "Watch out!" was the cry from both ends of the
dense mass. Dozens of men at the north end who could readily escape were
already in rush for the upper stairway, but those at the south were less
lucky. A dense mass of fellow-citizens was wedged between them and the
exits, but rapidly the alarm was spreading inward from the flanks. "Four
minutes," said the major, grimly, though his lips were twitching like
mad. Then the upturned faces began to blanch, the crowd to heave and
swell, and a backward sway sent a hundred or more surging up the main
staircase. The next minute panic seemed to seize on all, for the jeers
gave way to shouts of fright and pain as men were squeezed breathless in
the crush; and then, tumbling over one another's heels, climbing one
another's backs in sheep-like terror, they fought for air and escape,
and the last coat-tails went streaming up the stairs sharp on time, as
Kenyon said, with the bayonets of the left centre company threateningly
close in their wake.
Once out in the open street, they strove to rally and encourage one
another and to shower defiance and stones at their assailants; but these
latter contented themselves with clearing a space for carriages about
the doors and calmly stationing their guards to hold it; and when, a few
moments later, the general's special train came steaming in, Elmendorf
raged in vain. There was neither orator nor deputation to meet him on
behalf of the strike-leaders. Not until after the chief had driven away
in his carriage was the agitator released from the hated confines of the
Pullman and bidden to go his way. Fuming with the indignity of his
position, he left, vowing that he would return if there was law in the
land, backed with warrants for the arrest of Kenyon for felonious
assault and false imprisonment; and Kenyon smiled and said the warrant
wouldn't surprise him in the least.
And then followed the stirring scenes of a riot week that showed not
only the depth and extent of the insurrectionary spirit among the
unlettered masses of the people, but also the wisdom of the President in
ordering the prompt concentration of regular troops in the heart of the
threatened city. Silently, in disciplined order, the various detachments
had marched to their stations. Silently, in disciplined order, puny in
points of numbers as compared with the vast mob of their howling
antagonists, they faced the throng, grimly peering from under their
slouched hat-brims, gripping with their brown, sinewy hands the muzzles
of the old trusty rifles, listening with utter amaze, with tingling
nerves, to the furious yells of "Down with the government!" "To hell
with the United States!" and wondering how long their fathers would have
stood such treason thirty years ago. Calm, grim, and silent, conscious
of their power, merciful in their strength, superb in their disdain of
insult, their contempt of danger, their indifference to absolute
outrage,--for maddened men showered the ranks with mud and gravel, and
foul-mouthed, slatternly women--vile, unclean harpies of the
slums--dipped their brooms in the reeking gutters and slashed their
filth into the stern, soldierly faces,--for hours, for days, they coolly
held that misguided, drink-crazed, demagogue-excited mob at bay,
reopening railways, protecting trains, escorting Federal officials,
forcing passage after passage through the turbulent districts, until the
fury of the populace wore itself out against the rock of their iron
discipline, and one after another the last of the rioters slunk to their
holes, unharmed by even one avenging shot. Fire and flame had wrought
their havoc, miles of railway lines and cars had been wrecked and
ruined, but otherwise the mad-brained effort had utterly failed of its
purpose, and for the third time had the regulars stood almost the sole
bulwark between the great city and absolute anarchy. True, the
regiments of the National Guard were at last ordered into service, but
not until after the presence of the Federal force had given assurance
that, whether the State officials liked it or not, the general
government would tolerate such insurrection no longer. True, the State
troops stood ready, eager to do their work, and some of them, at least,
so capable, so drilled and disciplined, that, left to the orders of
their own officers, they could and would have suppressed the riots. But,
there was the difference, even when called into action the most reliable
and experienced of the regimental commanders were practically deprived
of their commands; their regiments were broken up into pygmy detachments
and scattered hither and thither by companies and squads, covering
sometimes a tract of suburbs fifteen miles long and half as wide, while
the entire force was placed under the orders of a city official
notoriously in sympathy with the initial strike and seeking the
suffrages of the very class from which the mobs were drawn. The
extraordinary spectacle was seen of a veteran colonel with only half a
company to guard the head-quarters of the regiment in a remote and
dangerous spot, and absolutely forbidden to summon any of his own
regiment to his defence in case of emergency, except upon the advice and
consent of some official of the city police. Well was it for Chicago and
the nation that the President of the United States stood as unmoved by
the puerile protests of the demagogue in office as were his loyal
soldiery by the fury of insult, abuse, and violence heaped upon them by
that mob of demagogue-supporters.
"By heaven," said the editor of a great daily to old Kenyon at the close
of the week, "I never dreamed of such superb discipline, and under such
foul insult. I swear I don't see how you fellows could stand it."
"Oh," said Kenyon, grimly, "it wasn't half as hard to bear as what your
columns have been saying about us any time these last five years."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]