DECLARATION OF WAR
FOR a moment, it looked as though summary vengeance would be taken upon
the special delegate. But the detectives were equal to the occasion. One
of them snapped a pair of handcuffs on the wrists of the cowering man,
while the other snatched out a revolver and faced the shrieking mob.
“Stand back!” he cried, and when Bassett pressed on, caught him by the
collar and flung him away. “Let the law deal with this man. Don’t make
fools of yourselves! You’ll be sorry for it afterwards!”
“He’s right!” shouted Mr. Schofield. “Keep your heads, men! Bassett, sit
down!” and he caught the engineer, who was literally foaming at the
mouth in a spasm of hate and anger, and flung him into a chair.
The frenzy was over in a moment; cooler heads went about among the crowd
counselling patience, and, in the end, Nixon was led away between the
two detectives, a very different man from the self-assured, impudent
fellow who had entered the room a short time before. Mr. Schofield
accompanied them, having first seen that one of the detectives secured
the packet of bills from Bassett to hold for evidence. And it may be
added here, in passing, since Nixon will not again appear in the pages
of this story, that he was, in due course, brought to trial, convicted
of blackmail and sentenced to a term of years in the penitentiary.
* * * * *
There was a moment’s silence after Nixon and his captors had left the
hall. None of the engineers followed them, but lingered behind, looking
inquiringly into each others’ faces, for they seemed to feel that there
was still something to be said.
Bassett seemed to feel so, too, for as soon as Mr. Schofield and the
detectives left the room, he made his way to the door, closed it
carefully, and placed a man on guard beside it.
“Now you stay there,” he said. “We don’t want no more interruptions.”
That done, he strode to the other end of the hall and mounted the
platform.
“Now, boys,” he said, “we’ve certainly had an eye-opener. Most of you
were against me half an hour ago, but maybe you feel different now.
We’ve allers known that there was some scoundrels among these special
delegates, but I guess there’s goin’ t’ be one less now, an’ anyway none
of ’em would dare try t’ work the same thing twice. I move that the
secretary be instructed to send an account of this thing to the grand
secretary, at once, an’ ask fer another delegate t’ be sent down.”
“Second the motion!” shouted some one, and it was carried with a roar.
“And now,” concluded Bassett, “I guess there ain’t nothing more to be
said at present. But this thing ain’t ended yet—not by no manner o’
means.”
“No, it ain’t!” shouted one of the men. “An’ there’s another thing.
After this, we’re back of Rafe Bassett—hey, boys?”
“You bet!” came the chorus.
And when Bassett stepped down from the platform, it was in the guise of
a hero. Everyone wanted to shake his hand and to protest undying
devotion. He was enthroned more firmly than ever in control of the
lodge, and everyone was anxious, as the saying is, to get into the
band-wagon.
Bassett was right in saying that the incident was not closed. Indeed, it
seemed that it had scarcely begun.
Nixon’s arrest and exposure created the biggest kind of a sensation.
Newspapers described it under display heads, commented upon it
editorially, and battledored and shuttlecocked it around until every
phase of it was exhausted. But, curiously enough, while every compliment
was paid Mr. Schofield for exposing Nixon, the whole affair seemed
rather to incline the public to sympathize with Bassett.
“This exposé,” as one paper expressed it, “in no way affects the merits
of the case. Indeed, it rather indicates that, without a bribe, the
special delegate would have reported in Bassett’s favour. While the
courage of the P. & O. in undertaking to expose the scoundrel cannot but
be commended, the public should not permit this grand-stand play, as it
were, to obscure the main issue. Whether the road was wrong, or whether
Bassett was wrong, is a question whose solution we must await with an
open mind.”
The labour papers were much more outspoken. While all of them rejoiced
ostentatiously in the detection and punishment of Nixon, they also took
care to add that the fact that the railroad had to bribe Nixon in order
to get a favourable report from him proved beyond a doubt that its case
was a bad one.
“This entire occurrence,” one of them continued, and not the most rabid
by any means, “moves us to inquire on how many occasions have the
railroads used bribery in order to accomplish their ends? No one can
doubt that the use of money for this purpose is habitual with them, and
we should not forget that the bribe-giver is as guilty as the
bribe-taker. No bribe is ever given to accomplish an honest purpose, and
the great corporations, which know so well how to take advantage of the
weaknesses of poor human nature, are more to be despised and abhorred
than the pitiable victims whom they have tempted to their ruin.”
It was in Mr. Round’s office at Cincinnati that Mr. Schofield was shown
this utterance, and the general manager watched him as he read it, a
cynical smile upon his lips.
“You see what’s coming, don’t you?” he inquired, when Mr. Schofield
looked up.
“What _is_ coming?”
“A strike—and public sympathy is going to be on the other side.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. I’m afraid we made a mistake, Schofield, in peaching on
Nixon.”
“Do you know,” said the superintendent, “I felt a sort of presentiment
of that sort when I started in to give him away. I came mighty near not
doing it.”
“I wish you hadn’t. Why didn’t you heed the presentiment?”
“Well,” answered Mr. Schofield, slowly, “in the first place, we had
mapped out the plan to follow, and I didn’t quite feel like discarding
it on my own motion. And in the second place—well—I’m almost ashamed to
tell you—just as I shut my mouth and got ready to sit down, I remembered
young West’s face as it looked when I spoke of bribery to him. Somehow,
I just had to go on.”
“It was scarcely the time to heed a young idealist,” said Mr. Round,
dryly. “But I’m not blaming you—the mistake was mine, and I take the
responsibility for it. I flattered myself that I adopted the course I
did from purely utilitarian motives, but I’m inclined to suspect that
West’s enthusiasm had something to do with my decision. You can’t mix
railroading and impractical idealism, Ed.; the railroading will suffer
every time.”
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Schofield, “I’m afraid it will. It certainly has this
time.”
“We’ve got to make the best of it, and do what we can to set things
right again. That’s mighty little. About all we can do is to get ready
for the strike, and to hope that the strikers will make some fool move
early in the game that will disgust thinking people. They’re pretty sure
to, and that’s what I’m counting on to help us win out.”
“And in the meantime?”
“We’ll keep our trains moving!” and Mr. Round closed his jaws with a
snap. “Here’s what I’m counting on. The engineers and firemen will
strike sure—the conductors and brakemen probably. The hardest to replace
will be the engineers, and I’m already getting some extra ones under my
hand. Within a week, I think we’ll have all we need, if we can protect
them. The firemen and brakemen won’t be so hard to get—there’s always a
lot hanging around who don’t belong to the union, and as for
conductors—well, I’m going to put as many men from these offices and
yours on the job as can be spared. Clerical work can wait a while. Our
secret service is lining up a lot of dependable men to be used as
special deputies, and in a week I think I’ll have everything in shape.
The only thing is,” he added, sadly, “we won’t have the public with us
from the start.”
“Of course, if it lasts long enough, there’ll be trouble,” observed Mr.
Schofield.
“That’s what I expect—that’s what I’m hoping for—for that’s what is
going to win us public sympathy. As soon as any trouble develops that
our men can’t handle, we’ll call for the state troops. The governor will
be with us,” he added; “that’s one mercy.”
“But I thought,” began Mr. Schofield, with a vivid remembrance of the
rabid anti-corporation campaign the governor had made, “I thought he was
all the other way.”
“He’s seen a light,” said Mr. Round, briefly, and while he made no
further explanation, it is safe to assume that it was this same light,
discovered by the governor soon after taking his seat, which led him
eventually to the senate of the United States.
“At any rate,” said Mr. Schofield, glancing at his watch and rising,
“I’m glad to know that you’ve got everything so well in hand. I fancy
the engineers will hustle things along as fast as they can.”
And they did, for the engineers realized, as well as the railroad, the
value of public opinion. Another delegate was sent from headquarters
without delay, and, fully cognizant of the way the wind was blowing,
announced that a strike would be called at once, if Bassett was not
reinstated.
The next morning, the delegate, accompanied by a local committee, waited
upon Mr. Schofield. The interview was short and to the point.
“I have gone over the case,” said the delegate, who was a very different
individual from Nixon, “and I find that you exceeded your rights in
discharging Bassett.”
“So there’s no use to argue the point, then,” said Mr. Schofield.
“None whatever.”
“Of course your decision was thoroughly unbiased?”
“Thoroughly so,” answered the delegate with perfect composure.
“Well?”
“We demand that Bassett be reinstated at once.”
“And we unqualifiedly refuse.”
“Very well, sir. You know, I suppose, that there is then only one course
open to us?”
“I suppose you mean you’ll call a strike?”
“Much as we regret to do so,” said the delegate with unction, “that is
what we shall have to do.”
“I have a picture of your regret,” said Mr. Schofield, grimly. “I’m
going to have it framed. When will the strike begin?”
“At noon to-morrow,” answered the delegate.
“You’ve figured this thing out? You know what it will mean to the men?”
“What will it mean?”
“It will mean that they’ll have to begin at the bottom again, so far as
this road is concerned. They’ll never get their old places back.”
“Is that a threat?” asked the delegate, flushing.
“No; it’s a statement of fact.”
“Well, I guess we can take the consequences. Of course, you’ve figured
it out from your side?”
“Thoroughly,” Mr. Schofield answered. “You say the strike begins at noon
to-morrow?”
“Yes.”
“All trains on the road, I suppose, will be taken on to their
destinations?”
“They will be taken to the terminus of the division.”
“And there will be no disorder or attempt to interfere with the
operation of the road?”
“Not if we can help it,” replied the delegate, smiling grimly. “The
brotherhood is always on the side of law and order. Come on, boys,” and
he led the committee from the room.
Two minutes later, Mr. Schofield had Mr. Round on the wire.
“I was just notified,” he wired, “that the strike will be called at noon
to-morrow.”
“All right,” flashed back the general manager. “We’ll be ready for them.
Will get orders forward to you soon as possible.”
“O. K.,” clicked Mr. Schofield. Then he sent his stenographer to summon
Mr. Plumfield and Allan West, and devoted the few minutes before they
appeared to the study of the time-card.
“Well, boys,” he began, when they were seated, “I suppose you know
there’s going to be a strike.”
“Yes,” nodded Mr. Plumfield, “it’s all over the place.”
“It starts at noon to-morrow. The engineers will go out and I suppose
the firemen will, too, right away. But how about the conductors and
brakemen?”
“I don’t believe the conductors will go out without orders from
headquarters,” said the train master reflectively. “And maybe they won’t
get orders. You know they have been mighty careful recently about
engaging in any sympathy strikes.”
“Yes, I know they have, and I suppose the brakemen will stay as long as
the conductors do. But it’s going to be quite a job to get engineers and
firemen to move our trains. We’ve got a total of sixty-two regular
trains in both directions every day, and thirty-eight of them are
passengers.”
“But a lot of them are suburban trains running between Cincinnati and
Loveland,” put in Allan.
“Yes,” agreed the superintendent, consulting the time-card. “Twenty of
them are. Of course they can be doubled back and forth, and some of them
can be taken off, if necessary. But there must be no interference with
the road’s through traffic. At 12.15 to-morrow—fifteen minutes after the
strike commences—Number Four, our through flier, leaves Cincinnati—and
it’s going to leave on time, if I have to take it out myself. I haven’t
forgotten how to run an engine, George.”
“Neither have I,” laughed the train master; “nor how to fire, either.
But that’s only one train.”
“Mr. Round has been getting some men together on the quiet. He knew this
thing was coming, and did his best to get ready for it. I only hope he’s
got enough.”
“Of course we’ll win,” said Allan, hopefully.
“If we don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying,” answered Mr. Schofield
grimly. “There’s Mr. Round,” he added, as the sounder on his desk
wakened suddenly to life.
“It’s Round,” chattered the instrument, when Mr. Schofield had given the
go-ahead signal. “I have ten crews here ready for duty. They will live
for the present in our offices. I will send eight more crews to
Wadsworth to-night. Arrange to lodge and board them in the
freight-house, also instruct local officer to swear in ten deputies to
protect them—more if necessary. Get as many more local men as you can.
You ought to be able to get a good many firemen among men out of work.
Eight crews will arrive at Parkersburg from east to-night. If any
symptom of trouble, notify sheriff. If he won’t act promptly, notify me
and I’ll get troops. Strikers must be kept away from new men at any cost
and company’s property protected. Arrest for trespass any found on
company’s property. Round.”
“O. K.,” Mr. Schofield clicked back. “I understand. Good work. That
makes a total of twenty-six crews,” he added, turning to his companions.
“And if by crews, he means conductors and brakemen too, we’re pretty
well fixed for the present. What do you think about getting local men,
George?”
“I wouldn’t do it unless it’s absolutely necessary,” answered the train
master. “You can’t keep local men shut up, and as sure as we let them go
home, the strikers will get them. It will be inviting trouble right
away.”
“I don’t know but what you’re right,” agreed Mr. Schofield, after a
moment’s thought. “We’ll let that go for the present. I’ve got plenty to
do as it is,” and he hastened away to give the orders necessary to
prepare the freight-house for the reception of the new men.
Fifty cots were secured, a cook-stove, tables and chairs, some light
bed-clothing and a lot of tin dishes. Rude shelves were nailed up along
the wall and a supply of canned vegetables, ham and bacon, coffee,
sugar, condensed milk, molasses, flour, cornmeal, potatoes and other
staples piled upon them, or heaped along the floor beneath. A cook from
a small up-town café was hired and the superintendent did not forget to
order in a case of tobacco, some decks of cards, dominoes, checkers, and
a lot of illustrated papers. For the success of almost any
strike-breaking depends on keeping the strike-breakers amused, in seeing
that they are well-fed, and in taking care that they hold no
communication with the strikers. Mr. Schofield proposed to take no
chances of failure in any of these directions.
While these preparations were being made, he called in the local
detective employed by the road—a tall, raw-boned fellow named Stanley, a
miracle of aggressiveness and nerve and with no little detective
ability—and explained the situation to him. An hour later, that worthy
marched into the mayor’s office at the head of ten husky men.
“I want to get these fellows sworn in, Your Honor,” he said. “I guess
you’ve heard about the strike.”
The mayor looked down from his desk in some perturbation. The railroad
element formed a very important portion of his clientele, and he was
anxious to do nothing to offend it.
“Now see here, Stanley,” he said, “you don’t need all this force. We’re
not going to have any fighting here. If you need help, I’ll furnish it.”
“Orders is orders, sir,” said Stanley. “I was told to git ten men, an’
I’ve got ’em.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Guard the company’s property, sir,” answered Stanley, promptly, for he
knew the proper answer.
“Is it in danger?” inquired the mayor, with irony.
“It will be after to-morrow noon, sir. Besides, we’re going to get in a
lot of strike-breakers to-night and we’re going to see that they’re not
interfered with. And then I’ve got to patrol the yards and keep out
trespassers. You see I’ve got a pretty big job on hand.”
The mayor considered gloomily for a moment; but he really had no choice
in the matter, so he reluctantly swore the men in, and handed each of
them a special officer’s badge.
“Now I just want to say one thing to you fellows,” he said, when this
ceremony was finished. “These badges and the oath you have just taken
give you authority to see that the law is observed—in other words, to
see that no right, either of property or person, is interfered with. But
they don’t give you a right to engage in a riot or to molest anybody who
isn’t molesting you. Above all, they don’t give you a right to use your
guns indiscriminately, and if any innocent person is hurt by you, some
of you are going to suffer. I’ll see to that. That’s all.”
Word of their presence at the mayor’s office had got about, and a little
crowd, principally of boys, awaited them outside. When they made their
appearance, they were greeted by a chorus of yells, mostly from the
aforesaid boys.
“Don’t mind ’em,” said Stanley, quietly. “It’s only a lot of kids,” and
he marched them off in the direction of the station.
The crowd followed, growing larger as it went, but it came to a halt
when the freight-house was reached and the deputies entered, closing the
door behind them. Two or three stones were thrown, but a couple of
policemen, sent by the mayor, soon arrived, and compelled the crowd to
disperse.
At nine o’clock that night, forty-eight strike-breakers alighted from a
special coach which had been attached to the east-bound flier, and were
conducted immediately to the freight-house. There was a crowd on the
station platform to see them alight, but no effort was made to interfere
with them, though again there was hooting and shouting. Train master and
superintendent watched this demonstration in silence, and then mounted
to their offices.
“What do you think of it?” asked the former.
“I don’t know,” answered Mr. Schofield, slowly. “But I’m afraid there’ll
be trouble. Just listen to that,” and he motioned toward the row of
saloons along the street opposite the yards.
Every one of them was ablaze with light, and every one was crowded,
apparently, from the jangle and roar of voices which came from them, and
which could be heard even above the noise of the yards. Evidently there
was much excitement in railroad-dom, and the prospect for peace upon the
morrow was not encouraging.
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