The following is a letter from a young military aide-de-camp who was
in position to see a great deal of the great riots in Chicago.
_Chicago, July -- 18--_
MY DEAR FRIEND,--In your last you ask me to give you my experiences in
the affair of the other day here in Chicago, and although I played but
a small part, yet I do not mind adding my little quota to the volumes
of matter already written on the subject. To begin with, we at
headquarters had known for sometime that the turbulent elements were
organizing an opposition to Federal authority, and indeed after the
demoralization of the police power in the affairs of Monday and
Tuesday, the general issued his proclamation putting the city under
martial law. The people were ordered to keep within their own doors,
under penalty of shooting or drum-head court-martial, after seven
o’clock in the evening, and it was also explained that any domicile
harboring an active enemy was to be reduced by the sharpest means at
command. The reinforcements arrived on Tuesday, and militia and police
were embodied in our command. I had been out on a patrol with a troop
of the Third Cavalry late in the afternoon, and I reported to the
general that there was an ominous lull in the city, and that I feared
the enemy were to take some active measures. We had tried,
unsuccessfully, to locate the rifles looted from the gun-stores, and
also to find anything like a rendezvous of insurgents. The better
class of people had nearly all left the city, and what remained were
guarding their business property. Chicago streets, usually so teeming
with human life, were almost deserted. No smoke came from the big
chimneys, and the shops were shuttered and boarded up. A great many
honest people of small means were much put to it to obtain food, and I
cannot but tell you how I saw some of the troopers divide their
rations with the citizens. At the time we had no intimation of the
serious turn affairs would take on, but the remark of the general’s,
that “every soldier will die right in his tracks,” had gone the rounds
of the camps, and nerved the men to face the music. I was eating my
dinner in the Chicago Club when I thought I heard rifle-shots. This
was about nine o’clock, and the moon was shining on the Lake Front,
although the side streets were dark, since the lights were out all
over the city. In a minute more a squad of cavalry swept up the street
at full gallop. They were heading for the general’s tent, and I
grabbed my cap and ran down-stairs three steps at a time. As I made my
way along Michigan Avenue I could hear carbine-shots over in the city,
and shortly all the bugles giving “The Assembly.”
I got to headquarters, and met old Hewer of the Seventh, and it was
his troops which had come in; he told me they were then standing off a
mob, which was returning the fire down in the city.
I got an order from the general to deliver to the lower section of the
camp, and getting on my “wheel” (which is better for this work than a
horse), I pulled out. I delivered my order to Colonel Loftowne, and
then waited to observe things, as I was to report back to
headquarters. Rawball’s battery went into “action front,” two
sections to a street. They were loaded, and then down on the next
corner came the order through the still night to fire. A terrific
flash illuminated the black square, and then with a howl down the long
street went the 2-3/4 inch, and far down in the darkness I could see
her explode; then all was silent. The signal-rockets were going from
the top of the Auditorium, and I saw the answering upward sweep of the
balls of fire as they were replied to farther down the street. We were
on the extreme right, which was below the Art Building, and were
ordered to move for an attack on the streets of the city _en échelon_.
The guns limbered up, and, escorted by two companies of infantry, we
passed into the dim light. At the corner of Wabash Avenue we halted.
Four or five blocks down we could both hear and see rifle-firing,
evidently directed on our camp, and also a great crowd. At this
juncture we heard a most awful explosion, dull and not like a
rifle-canon. “Dynamite!” we all exclaimed in a breath.
“Cut the fuse to zero! Fire!” And with a terrific crash the missile
sped on its way. “I think that street will be clear for a spell,”
drawled the captain, in his delicious old Georgia manner, as he got
his guns in motion. We could hear the occasional boom of a 3-inch and
the loud grinding of the Gatlings, and we knew it was enfilading our
fire. The rifle-fire was silenced down the city, and the mob, as we
judged by the noise, was running away. Over in the direction of the
post-office we then heard rifle-shots.
“That’s that outpost of the Twenty-seventh guarding the building,” we
said to each other. It fairly crackled now--“giving ’em hot stuff.”
“Halt!” came the command, and the men stopped. “We will wait here for
orders.”
“What do you suppose that report was?” we asked each other as we stood
on the curbing.
“It must have been dynamite. I know the sound of this ordnance too
well to be mistaken,” commented the captain of artillery. “What’s
that? Hark!” as a clatter sounded on the pavement in our rear. “It’s a
horse coming at full speed. Spread out, men, and stop him.” And, sure
enough, a frightened cavalry horse came charging into the midst of the
infantry, and was only stopped after he had knocked down two men.
“He only has a halter on; he’s got away from the picket line; here,
boys--here comes another.” This one in turn was stopped, and two more
which followed directly. Detailed men were sent back with the horses,
while I went also to make my report. As I sped on ahead I was startled
by a shot, and with a sputter I heard the bullet go to pieces at my
feet. I looked around, and from the dark of a window came a flash and
another sputter.
“D---- him, he is firing at me,” I ejaculated, and I made the pedals
fly. I had no idea of stopping, but I thought I could remember the
building; and thinks I, “I am not after game, but whoever you are,
I’ll hunt you up, my lad.”
At headquarters everything was bustle.
“Some one exploded a big dynamite bomb right in the street, in front
of the Fifth Infantry camp,” said Captain Moss to me, “and killed four
men and wounded a dozen more. Some of the cavalry horses broke away
from the picket lines and stampeded,” he went on.
The hospital tents were ablaze with light, and I knew that the
surgeons were at their grewsome work.
I reported for orders, and shortly was given one to deliver at my old
post. Back I sped, and came near tumbling into a big hole, which I
knew had been made by the dynamite bomb. I will go down another street
and cross over, so as to avoid that fellow who potted at me, I
reasoned; but before I turned off I saw the two infantrymen and the
four old cavalry horses coming along.
“Oh, lieutenant,” they called, and I went up to them. “We saw that
fellow shoot at you, and McPherson held the horses and I slipped down
the dark side of the street and located him. He stuck his head out of
the window, and I rested across a door-post and let him have it.”
“Did you hit him?”
“Well, you kin bet! He came out of that window like a turkey out of a
pine-tree. A little slow at first, but kerflop at last.”
So I took the street of my late enemy, and had a look at a dark object
which lay on the sidewalk under the house I had located. In response
to the order I bore, the infantry advanced to develop any opposition
which there might be. Men were thrown out in front, and the heavy body
marched in rear. We had proceeded this way for some blocks with no
sound but the dropping rifle-fire some quarter of a mile to our left
and behind us, when we began to find men huddled in doorways, who were
promptly taken prisoners and disarmed, and sent to the rear. Some bore
rifles and all had revolvers, and a hard-looking set they were. The
artillery fire had demoralized them, and whatever they were to have
done they had abandoned after the first shell had gone shrieking and
crashing down the street.
“They’ll get a drum-head in the morning, and it won’t sit ten
minutes,” mused an officer. “I suppose they are anarchists. Well, they
ought to like this; this is a sort of anarchy. It’s the best we have
got in our shop.”
These words were scarcely spoken before a blinding flash lit up the
street as lightning might. A tremendous report followed, and I was
knocked down right over my bicycle, which I was trundling. I was up in
an instant, and with a ringing clash an object had fallen at my feet
and struck my leg a smart blow, which pained me considerably. I
reached down and picked up a Springfield rifle barrel without lock or
stock. A dynamite cartridge had been exploded in our front. The
infantry hesitated for a moment. Many men had been flung on their
backs by the force of the concussion. “Forward!” was the command, and
dropping my bicycle, I followed the dark figures of the infantry as
they made their way down the sides of the streets. Half a block ahead
was a great hole in the pavement, and the sidewalk was littered with
cobble-stones and débris from the walls of the surrounding buildings.
The bomb had been exploded over the advance-guard, and had destroyed
it utterly. Which building had it come from? We stood in the doorways,
and held our breath and waited. A stone dropped in the street with a
crash. A tiny light appeared in one of the upper windows of a tall
narrow office building. It disappeared instantly, and all was dark.
Two men put their heads out of the window. “See-e!” I hissed, as a
soldier drew up his rifle. All was quiet. The two heads peered down
the street, and then whispered together, when shortly we caught the
hollow echo of the words, “D---- ’em, they don’t want any more.”
“Now run for it,” said the captain in command, who was a big fellow,
and we all scampered off down the street to our main body. What we had
discovered was reported to the battery commander. He swore a great
oath.
“Bring that gun up here to this side; boost her on to the sidewalk.
Come, get hold here, you fellows; lend us a hand; run her along a
little; train her on that doorway. Now fire!” And then, in a high
voice, “Captain, let your men cover that house with rifle-fire, and
detail some men to break into a store and get inflammables.”
The big gun went with a deafening crash, and the doorway was in
slivers. A dropping rifle-fire rained into the windows. Crash went the
big gun after a minute, but the building was dark and silent, as
though holding their sputtering toys in contempt.
“I’m going to burn that building. Send a man to call out the fire
department!” roared the old captain, who had now lost all his
drawling, and was bellowing like a bull. After a time infantrymen came
along with their arms full of bottles and cans of kerosene, and I know
not what else. They had broken into a drug-store, and told the
proprietor, who was found there in the darkness with his three clerks,
to give them the most inflammable substances at his command.
The squad of infantry formed on the side of the street occupied by the
ill-fated house, and as the big gun crashed and the rifle-fire
redoubled, they dashed down the street and swarmed into the building.
“Keep up that rifle-fire!” howled the senior officer. It was bang!
bang! bang! for a full minute, when a flash of light lit up the
doorway, and with a rush out came the squad, and made its way to us on
the run.
“We have fired the elevator shaft,” said a young officer, breathing
heavily with excitement. The doorway was very light now, and shortly
the second-story windows over it showed yellow. Windows farther up the
tall building began to redden and then to glow brightly. It was ten
minutes now since the first gleam of fire, and the rifles had ceased.
The building was now ablaze. A huge roaring was heard, and the black
smoke poured from the hall windows, while the side windows were yet
dark. A harsh yelling came from the window where I had seen the little
match struck, and the thick black smoke eddied around and hid it all.
“By sections--forward--trot--march,” and with a dash we moved forward
past the roaring furnace and down into the darkness below.
“My orders were to move forward,” muttered the old captain, as he bit
at a plug of tobacco.
It was now nearly twelve o’clock, and I could hear a great deal of
small-arm firing down the city on my left in front, and also the boom
of cannon away on the other side of town. Shortly a note was handed me
by an adjutant, and I was to go to a command on a street nearly in
front of headquarters. I sped along, and shortly met men by twos and
threes, wounded men going to camp, and two fellows sitting on the
curbing. “Where is Captain B----’s command, my men?”
“Right on down the street--me bunkie’s got it,” was all I heard as I
shot along.
The rifle-fire grew, and the crash of a Hotchkiss came at intervals.
Then I made out a small infantry reserve, and then the guns. I found
the captain, and delivered my note.
“Wait by me,” said the captain, as he went into a doorway and read the
order by scratching matches on his pantaloons, and the Hotchkiss
nearly broke my ear-drums. “Wait a minute or so,” said the captain, as
he crushed the note into his trousers-pocket.
I waited, and a “kid” of the reserves, whom I knew, greeted me and
explained. “They are in the depot, and we are going to carry it by
storm in a minute.”
Again the Hotchkiss went, and “Come on!” rang the order as the men
moved forward. It was the captain, and he wanted me to “wait a
minute,” so, thinks I, I will wait near him; and pulling my bicycle
into a dark doorway, I waited along by the captain, near the head of
the procession. As we moved out from the protection of the street the
report of a Hotchkiss nearly threw me from my pins, and then we ran
silently under a rather hot fire from the windows and doorways. I
heard the balls strike--a dull slap--and a man stumbled forward ahead
of me and dropped. I sprang over him, and was soon out of fire, and
with the little column passed through the big doorway under which I
had so often passed with my gripsack and on the _qui vive_ for a
hansom-cab driver. There was a tremendous rattle of fire, the bullets
struck the stonework viciously; the hollow pat sounded, and men sank
reeling and lay prone under my feet. We piled in and returned the
fire. It was all smoke now; nothing distinguishable. “Come on!” came a
voice which interlarded itself with the reports, and we went on
wildly. We were now out of the smoke, and then I saw, by the light of
a fire, figures running. A man fired in our faces. He was sitting up;
a bayonet went into him, and he rolled over, clutching his breast with
his hands. “The house is on fire!” came the cry, and the infantry
continued to discharge on the retreating figures. A great flash
lighted everything, and as my senses returned, it came over me “that
was a bomb.” I passed my hand over my eyes. The building was on fire.
I could see men lying around me breathing heavily and groaning. I got
up; a voice said, “Get these men out of here!” “Get these men out of
here!” I echoed, as I grabbed a big Irish sergeant, and supporting him
under the arms, I strove forward. The living soldiers took hold of the
dead and wounded comrades, and bore them back through the smoke and
into the street. The station was now on fire, and every one was
highly excited, for these bombs made strange work, and were very
demoralizing. They did no particular good to the enemy beyond that
point, since they did not stop our advance, and they also demoralized
the enemy quite as much as ourselves. There seemed to be no further
opposition to the troops. I went back to head-quarters, got my horse,
and received permission to go with a detachment of cavalry. We pulled
out up Michigan Avenue. We were to scout and make a junction with
stock-yard troops out to the south of the city or in Washington Park.
The moon was going down, and there was no sound but the clattering of
the troops and the jingle of the sabres. We passed a large squad of
police, with their lanterns, moving out south to protect private
residences and arrest prowlers. Ahead of us we heard three
revolver-shots, and galloping forward, we were hailed by a voice from
a window. “They have been trying to break into my house, catch them;
they are running up the street.” The road here was very wide, with two
rows of trees in the centre and narrow grass-plots.
“Come on!” shouted the captain, and spurring up, we moved forward.
“There they are, captain: can’t you see them?” spoke the old first
sergeant, as he drove his horse forward to the captain’s side.
We rode over the grass-plot, and, sure enough, forms were seen to run
up the steps of houses and behind shrubbery.
“Dismount!--shoot them down!” came the command, and the men sprang
forward with a rush. A revolver flashed, and was followed by a dozen
carbine-balls, and from the blackness of a high front stoop rolled a
figure grunting and gasping. Shot after shot rang through the
darkness, and the troopers routed the vermin from step and shrubbery,
until shortly it ceased.
“Captain, here is Foltz--he’s been shot; and McInerny--he’s shot too.”
I sprang up the steps of a great stone mansion and pounded on the door
with the butt of my six-shooter. A window was raised and a head peered
out. “What do you want?”
“We are United States cavalry, and we have two wounded men. Open your
doors; we want you to put them to bed,” and the window went down with
a bang. Shortly the bolts were drawn, the door opened, and an old
gentleman with white hair and carrying a lamp appeared.
“Certainly; bring them right in, captain,” said the old gentleman, and
the two men were carefully lifted and borne in by their comrades. I
helped to carry one man up-stairs, and to take off his great boots and
to strip him.
“Is there a doctor near here, sir?” I asked.
“Right across the street; will I send my man?”
“Yes, and a-running, too,” replied a comrade, who was stanching the
blood on the man’s chest with a bed-sheet.
We laid the man out, and I paused to note the splendor of the
apartment, and to think it none too good for a brave soldier. The
doctor came shortly, and I left the house. The troop was mounted and
moved on. From a mansion across the street came a shot and loud
shouting. We rode up and dismounted. There was a light in the front
room and the door was open. The captain sprang up the steps, followed
by ten or twelve men. As we entered we saw a half-dozen of the most
vicious-looking wretches I have ever seen. They were evidently drunk,
and did not comprehend the import of our presence. One man raised a
champagne-bottle and threatened the captain. A carbine flashed--the
report was almost deafening--and the drunken man dropped the bottle,
threw up his hand, turned half round, and sank with a thud.
“Take these men out and shoot them, sergeant.” And the now thoroughly
terrorized revellers, to the number of six, were dragged, swearing and
beseeching, to the pavement, and I heard shots.
The room we were in was magnificent, but in the utmost disorder. The
floor was strewn with broken bottles, vases, and bric-à-brac.
A form appeared in the door. It was a woman. She was speechless with
terror, and her eyes stared, and her hands were clutched. We removed
our hats, and the woman closed her eyes slowly.
“Look out, captain, she’s going to faint!” I cried.
The captain slapped his hat on with a crush.
“That’s what she’s going to do,” he said, as he stood like a
football-rusher before the ball is put in play.
“Grab her!” I shouted; and, with a bound, the captain made a high
tackle just as the lady became limp. Out in the hall I jumped, and
yelled, “Oh, you people up-stairs there, come down; come running; the
lady has fainted; we are soldiers; come down; come down; come down,
somebody!” And from the upper darkness a white-robed figure glided
past me into the lighted room.
“Oh, I’m so glad!” she said, as she swept up to the rather engaging
scene of the beautiful woman and the captain, who was “not glad,”
judging from his disconcerted air; and to make a story short, we left
the house.
As we mounted we could see the darkness beginning to gray, and knew
that morning would come shortly.
“It’s been a nasty night’s work, but if it once comes daylight I’ll
leave nothing of these rioters but their horrible memory,” mused the
old captain.
“There is a glow in the sky off there--don’t you see?” I added.
“Fire! Oh, I’ve expected that.”
As the light grayed I could see the doors of majestic residences open,
windows broken, and débris trailing down the steps.
“Looted.”
“There are people ahead--trot!” said the captain, half turning in his
saddle. The bray of the trumpet was followed by the jingle of the
forward movement.
The captain pulled off to the side and shouted, “No prisoners, men--no
prisoners!” And the column swept along.
We could make out more human forms, all running by the side of the
road. There were more and more fugitives as we drew nearer.
“Come on,” sang out the first lieutenant, as he put his horse into a
gallop and drew his six-shooter; and shortly we were among them,
scattering them like chaff and firing revolver-shots into them. Up the
side streets they went, scampering, terrorized.
“I guess they will keep that gait for a mile,” said the lieutenant, as
he turned grinning to me. “That is the outfit which has been looting
down Michigan Avenue. I wish the light would come, and we’ll give ’em
hot stuff.”
At Washington Park we dismounted, and shortly were joined by B Troop
from Hordon’s command. They told us they had been fighting all night,
and that the stockyards and many buildings were on fire. They had
encountered opposition, which seemed to be armed and to have some
organization, but, laughing, he said, “They couldn’t stand the ‘hot
stuff.’”
After this we made the ride back. It was now light, and as we rode
slowly, men dismounted at intervals, and did some pretty work at
rather long ranges with the carbines. The enemy would see us coming,
and start to run up side streets, and then, riding forward, we
dismounted and potted at them, I saw a corporal “get a man” who was
running upwards of six blocks away--it was luck, of course. The police
were now seen posted along at intervals, and were going into houses to
tell the people of the order to remain in-doors for twenty-four hours
more, which was the latest from headquarters, and I suppose was
intended to give the police and troops an opportunity to seek out
armed insurgents.
I got back to camp, dismounted, and, being hungry, bethought me of the
Auditorium for breakfast. I didn’t think, after the pounding the hotel
had gotten in the early evening previous, that they would come out
strong on an early breakfast, but they did fairly well. You remember
Ed Kennedy, the popular clerk there--well, he was shot and badly
wounded while behind the desk, after the bomb drew our fire. He will
get around all right, I am told.
I saw some of the execution of those hundreds of prisoners next day,
but I didn’t care to see much. They piled them on flat-cars as though
they had been cordwood, and buried them out in the country somewhere.
Most of them were hobos, anarchists, and toughs of the worst type, and
I think they “left their country for their country’s good.” Chicago is
thoroughly worked up now, and if they keep with the present attention
to detail, they will have a fine population left. The good citizens
have a monster vigilance committee, and I am afraid will do many
things which are not entirely just, but it is the reaction from
lawlessness, and cannot be helped. They have been terribly exasperated
by the rioting and license of the past. Of course, my dear friend, all
this never really happened, but it all might very easily have happened
if the mob had continued to monkey with the military buzz-saw.
Yours faithfully, JACK.
[Illustration: “WE WERE NOW OUT OF THE SMOKE”]