THE MEMOIRS
OF
AN AMERICAN CITIZEN
[Illustration]
THE MEMOIRS
OF
AN AMERICAN CITIZEN
BY
ROBERT HERRICK
AUTHOR OF "THE WEB OF LIFE," "THE REAL WORLD,"
"THE COMMON LOT," ETC.
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1905
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY.
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published July, 1905.
Norwood Press
J.S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
TO
WILL PAYNE
"O Commander of the Faithful," said the other, "shall I tell thee
what I have seen with my eyes or what I have only heard tell?"
"If thou hast seen aught worth telling," replied the Khalif, "let us
hear it: for report is not like eye-witness."
"O Commander of the Faithful," said the other, "lend me thine ear
and thine heart."
"O Ibn Mensour," answered the Khalif, "behold I am listening to thee
with mine ears, and looking at thee with mine eyes, and attending to
thee with mine heart."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE LAKE FRONT IN CHICAGO 1
II. THE HARRISON STREET POLICE COURT 12
III. JASONVILLE, INDIANA 19
IV. THE PIERSONS 37
V. A MAN'S BUSINESS 53
VI. FIRST BLOOD 61
VII. THE BOMB 74
VIII. THE TRIAL OF THE ANARCHISTS 82
IX. ANOTHER BOOST 98
X. LOVE 104
XI. MARRIAGE 124
XII. AN HONORABLE MERCHANT 134
XIII. THE WILL OF A WOMAN 149
XIV. THE FIRST MOVE 167
XV. THE ATLAS ON THE FLOOR 175
XVI. THE STRUGGLE 185
XVII. NO GOSPEL GAME 196
XVIII. THE STRIKE 204
XIX. DENOUNCED 211
XX. TREACHERY 219
XXI. A SQUEEZE 230
XXII. JUDGMENTS 237
XXIII. HAPPINESS 252
XXIV. WAR 265
XXV. THE LAST DITCH 276
XXVI. VICTORY 288
XXVII. DOUBTS 293
XXVIII. A NEW AMBITION 304
XXIX. THE SENATORSHIP 315
XXX. THE COST 327
XXXI. FURTHER COST 336
XXXII. THE END 347
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"Feeling that I had come to the end of things in Chicago
mighty quick" 12
"I believe she would have let me kiss her had I wanted to
then" 24
"Earning mighty little but my keep" 25
"'I guess she don't want much to see you'" 30
"'I want you to take this'" 34
"'Ma Pierson's'" 38
"The Enterprise Market" 44
"'That's Strauss!'" 49
"'Do you hear?' the Irishman roared" 58
"My part was to drive a wagon for Dround at fifteen a
week" 59
"'What do you know about sausage?' he asked" 65
"'All right,' he called out, 'we'll take his deal'" 71
"His long arms twitched with horror" 78
"From another man it might have been just slobber, but
Henry I. Dround meant it, every word" 88
"'My! I tell you I'll be glad to get home to-night'" 94
"Big John was one of the first to welcome me back" 96
"The door of the inner office was pulled back and Strauss
himself walked into the room" 102
"'Why, of course, you are the Mr. Harrington who--But
you have changed!'" 106
"She was reading me like a book of large print" 116
"'I have been offering your young man some advice, Sarah'" 119
"I could see that they would come together very soon" 126
"'You aren't much troubled with scruples, Van!'" 137
"'I paid the right people ninety-five hundred dollars. Now
what are you going to do about it?'" 142
"'Young feller, do you reckon you can buck up against me
and the Strauss crowd with that one-horse rig?'" 153
"'I think you could put up the right kind of a fight,' she
remarked quietly" 160
"That comedy took place on the court-house steps according
to law" 172
"I pointed out the great currents of world trade" 181
"The black rocks starting right out of the water" 189
"'When the time comes that you want help, when you cannot
go on alone--'" 194
"He undertook to give me a lesson then and there on the
rights of the anarchist" 208
"'You have done something the taste of which will never
get out of your mouth'" 223
"'When a man comes out of the alley and puts a pistol in
your face, and asks for all the money you have on you,
you don't wait to see where you hit him, do you?'" 228
"'Only this,' I said slowly, 'I don't sell out to you'" 234
"'Couldn't you find any one else to do your dirty work but
your own brother?'" 242
"Somehow years had gone by in that evening" 249
"'No, child, you are wrong! There is no truth in your cruel
words'" 259
"To-day I should like to slip back once more to the bum that
landed in Chicago--unattached, unburdened, unbound" 271
"It was a messenger boy with a delayed telegram" 275
"'For this is the last ditch, sure enough!'" 278
"'If you grasp them in a strong hand, they will become
diamonds'" 284
"'There isn't enough money coined to bring me to him'" 292
"'And we are the crowd that's got the combination to the
safe'" 312
"Men paused to read the bulletin, and I stopped, too" 321
"'He's the man who sold scraps and offal to the Government
for canned beef--'" 322
"'So you see there is nothing, Van, that you can give me
that I should want to take'" 333
"'Do you remember how I used to wash while you wiped,
when we wanted to get out buggy-riding, May?'" 341
"'It was good sausage, Slo! At least it was when _we_
made it'" 350
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I
THE LAKE FRONT IN CHICAGO
_I sleep out--A companion--Hunting a job--Free lunch and a bad
friend--Steele's store and what happened there--A positive young
woman--Number twelve_
It was a raw, blustering September night when I rounded up for the first
time at the lake front in Chicago. There was just a strip of waste land,
in those days, between the great avenue and the railroad tracks that
skirted the lake. In 1876 there were no large hotels or skyscrapers
fronting a tidy park; nothing but some wooden or brick houses, and,
across the tracks, the waves lapped away at the railroad embankment. I
was something more than twenty, old enough, at any rate, to have earned
a better bed than a few feet of sand and sooty grass in a vacant lot. It
was the first night I had ever slept out,--at least, because there was
no place I had a right to go to. All that day I had been on the tramp
from Indiana, and reached the city with only a few cents in my pockets.
I was not the only homeless wanderer by any means. Early in the evening
a lot of bums began to drop in, slinking down the avenue or coming over
from the city through the cross streets. It was early in the season;
but to-night the east wind raked the park and shook gusts of rain from
the low clouds, making it comfortable to keep moving. So we wandered up
and down that sandy strip, footing it like dogs on the hunt for a hole,
and eying each other gloomily when we passed.
Early in the evening a big wooden building at the north end was lighted
up, and some of us gathered around the windows and hung there under the
eaves watching the carriages drive up to the door to leave their
freight. There was a concert in the hall, and after it began I crawled
up into the arch of a window where I was out of the rain and could hear
the music. Before the concert was over a watchman caught sight of me and
snaked me to the ground. He was making a round of the building, stirring
up the bums who had found any hole out of the reach of the wind. So we
began once more that dreary, purposeless tramp to keep from freezing.
"Kind of chilly!" a young fellow called out to me.
"Chillier before morning, all right," I growled back, glad enough to
hear a voice speaking to me as if it expected an answer.
"First night?" he inquired, coming up close to me in a friendly way.
"'Tain't so bad--when it's warm and the wind don't blow."
We walked on together slowly, as though we were looking for something.
When we came under the light of the lamps in the avenue we eyed each
other. My tramp companion was a stout, honest-looking young fellow
about my age. His loose-fitting black clothes and collarless shirt made
me think that he too had come from the country recently.
"Been farming?" I ventured.
"Pine Lake, across there in Michigan--that's where I come from.
Hostetter, Ed Hostetter, that's my name."
We faced about and headed toward the lake without any purpose. He told
me his story while we dragged ourselves back and forth along the high
board fence that guarded the railroad property. He had got tired of
working on his father's farm for nothing and had struck out for the big
city. Hostetter had a married aunt, so he told me, living somewhere in
Chicago, and he had thought to stay with her until he could get a start
on fortune's road. But she had moved from her old address, and his money
had given out before he knew it. For the last week he had been wandering
about the streets, hunting a job, and looking sharp for that aunt.
"We can't keep this up all night!" I observed when his story had run
out.
"Last night I found an empty over there in the yards, but some of the
railroad fellers got hold of me toward morning and made me jump high."
A couple of tramps were crouching low beside the fence just ahead of us.
"Watch 'em!" my companion whispered.
Suddenly they burrowed down into the sand and disappeared. We could hear
their steps on the other side of the fence; then a gruff voice. In a few
moments back they came, burrowing up from under the fence.
"That's what you get!" Ed grunted.
Well, in the end we had to make the best of it, and we camped right
there, hugging the fence for protection against the east wind. We
burrowed into the loose sand, piling it up on the open side until we
were well covered. Now and then a train rushing past shook us awake with
its heavy tread. Toward morning there were fewer trains, and though it
began to mist pretty hard, and the water trickled into our hole, I
managed to get some sleep.
At daylight we got up and shook ourselves, and then wandered miserably
into the silent streets of the downtown district. Between us we had
fifteen cents, and with that we got some coffee and a piece of bread at
a little shanty stuck on the side of the river. A fat man with a greasy,
pock-marked face served us, and I can see him now as he looked us over
and winked to the policeman who was loafing in the joint.
After our coffee we began the hunt for an odd job, and Ed talked of his
hopes of finding that aunt--Mrs. Pierson. We kept together because we
were so lonesome, I suppose, and Ed was good company--jolly and
happy-hearted. That night we slept on the back porch of an empty house
'way south, where the streets were broad, and there were little strips
of green all about the houses. The owners of the large house we picked
out must have been away for the summer. Toward morning we heard some one
stirring around inside, opening and shutting doors, and we made up our
minds there were thieves at work in the house.
Ed stayed to watch, while I ran out to the avenue to get some help. It
was a long time before I could find a policeman, and when we got back to
the house there was Hostetter sitting on the curbstone hugging his
belly. One of the thieves had come out of the house the back way, and
when Ed tried to hold him had given him such a kick that Ed was glad to
let him go. The officer I had brought evidently thought we were playing
some game on him or weren't quite straight ourselves, and he tried to
take us to the station. We gave him a lively chase for a couple of
blocks; the last we saw of him he was shaking his fist at us and cussing
loud enough to wake the dead.
That day was much like the one before, only worse. The weather was mean
and drizzly. I earned a quarter lugging a valise across the city, and we
ate that up at breakfast. At noon we turned into one of the flashy
saloons on State Street. We hoped to be overlooked in the crowd before
the bar while we helped ourselves to the crackers and salt fish. We were
making out pretty well when a man who was standing near the bar and
drinking nothing spied us and came over to the lunch table.
"Wet day," he observed sociably.
"That's about it," I replied cautiously, looking the man over.
He wore a long black coat, a dirty light-colored waistcoat, and a silk
hat, underneath which little brown curls sprouted out. He fed himself
delicately out of the common bowl, as if the free lunch didn't tempt his
appetite.
"Seeing the town?" he asked next, looking pointedly at Ed's dirty
shoes.
"Some part of it, I reckon," Ed laughed.
"Looking for a job?"
"You bet we're looking!" Ed growled back. "Know where we can find it?"
Before long we were on easy terms with the stranger. He insisted on
paying for beer all around, and on the strength of that Ed and I made
another raid on a platter of beans. Dinner that night didn't look very
promising.
"It seems to me I know of the very thing for you young fellers," our
friend finally remarked, and we pricked up our ears.
He said he had a friend in one of the large stores on State Street, who
had found fine places for some young men he had recommended. They were
making big money now. Ed's eyes began to glisten. But suddenly another
idea struck our good friend. He lowered his voice and drew us to one
side. Would one of us like a fat job, where there wasn't much work
except special times--a gay kind of place, where we could see something
of life? Ed was pretty eager, but I rather suspected what he was after.
"I guess the other place is more what we want," I said.
"Ain't up to snuff just yet?" he giggled. "Wait a week or two, and you
will be as quick as the next one."
As we made no reply, and I was moving toward the door, he remarked:--
"Sure, it's stopped raining! Let's be moving up the street, and see what
my friend can do for you."
So we started up State Street with the man in the silk hat. At the door
of a big dry-goods store, where we had tried unsuccessfully that morning
to obtain work, he remarked:--
"We'll just look in here. I know a man in the gents' underwear
department, and p'r'aps he can help you."
I didn't think it very likely, for I hadn't much faith in our smooth
acquaintance. But there was nothing better to do. So we all passed in
through the heavy doors of Steele & Co.'s establishment. Even on that
rainy afternoon the place was pretty well filled; mostly with women, who
were bunched together at certain counters. We had some trouble in
following our guide, who squirmed into the thick of every jam. I began
to think that, having talked big to two green young fellows, he now
wanted to give us the slip. But I determined, just to tease him, he
shouldn't get out of our sight as easily as he thought to.
The "gents' underwear" department, as I happened to have observed in the
morning, was on the State Street side, near the door which we had just
entered. Nevertheless, our friend was leading us away from that part and
seemed to prefer the most crowded aisles, where "ladies' goods" were
displayed. At the glove counter there was a press of women who were
trying to get near a heap of ninety-eight-cent gloves. Our guide was
just ahead of us at this point, and near his elbow I noticed an old
gentleman and a young lady. The latter, who was trying on a pair of
gloves, kept asking the old gentleman a string of questions. He was
smiling at her without taking the trouble to reply. The girl was pretty
and nicely dressed, and I suppose I must have looked at her hard, for
she suddenly glanced up at me and then turned her back and faced the
counter. As she turned I noticed something white drop from her hand, and
I pressed closer to her to pick it up. It was a little handkerchief. As
I reached down I saw a thin hand stretch out around the young lady's
waist and then give a little jerk. I had just straightened myself with
the handkerchief in my fingers when I heard the young lady exclaim:--
"Father! My purse has gone!"
"Why, why!" the old man stammered. "Your purse has gone? Where could it
have gone to?"
Just then some one grabbed my arm, and a voice said in my ear:--
"Not so slick as that, young feller!"
A man who looked like an official of the store had hold of me.
"Don't make any fuss, and hand over that lady's purse," he added in a
low voice.
"I haven't got her purse. I was just going to give her this
handkerchief, which I saw her drop," I protested, holding up the silly
thing I had picked from the floor.
"That's all right," the man said with a grin. "And now hand over the
purse, too."
He began to feel my pockets, and, of course, I resented his familiarity,
and, like a country jake, kicked up a muss then and there. A crowd began
to collect. The floor-manager rushed up at this point, and between them
I was hustled across the store and into one of the private offices. The
first thing I heard when I got there was the old gentleman just behind
me, stuttering, too much excited to talk plain.
"Yes, yes, my daughter's purse! She just lost it!"
"That's all right," I said. "And I saw the fellow who took it...."
"I saw this man take it," I heard the girl say to the manager.
"Yes, yes, my daughter saw the thief take her purse," the old man put in
excitedly.
"I was watching him all the time," said the man who had laid hold of me
first. "He came in at the State Street entrance a few minutes ago with a
green one and an old sneak. I didn't think he had the time to pass the
stuff over."
I was cool now, and laughed as the manager and the detective went
through my pockets carefully.
"The old one's got the stuff fast enough," the detective remarked
disgustedly. "Shall we have this one locked up, Mr. Marble?"
"You'll do it at your risk!" I put in loudly.
"Where's the young woman?" the manager demanded.
"It happened just while my daughter was buying a pair of gloves," the
old man began to chatter. "You were asking me, my love...."
The young woman looked a little confused, I thought, and not so sure of
herself. But she answered the manager's questions by saying promptly:--
"He must have taken it!"
"You saw him?" the detective questioned.
"Yes--I must have seen him--I saw him, of course!"
"I don't believe you could have seen me, ma'am," I said with a grin,
"for you had just turned your back on me."
"How did you know that?" she asked triumphantly.
"I know it because when I first began to look at you, you didn't like
it, and so you turned your back on me to show it."
"You know too much, young man," the manager remarked. "You'll prosecute
him?" he added, turning to the old man.
"Prosecute? Why, yes, of course," he stammered; "though, if he hasn't
the purse--"
"Come on, m'boy," the detective said to me. "You and I'll take a stroll
down the street and find a good night's lodging for you."
* * * * *
That was before the day of patrol wagons. So the detective locked his
right arm securely in my left, and in this intimate fashion we walked
through the streets to the police station.
When we reached that foul-smelling pen we were kept waiting by a large
"order" that had just been rounded up from a gambling-house in the
neighborhood. There were about twenty men and women in this flock. They
were filing, one by one, before the desk-sergeant. I had never heard
such a family gathering of names. They were all Smiths, Browns, and
Joneses, and they all lived a good way from town, out in the
fifty-hundreds, where there are many vacant lots. At the end of the file
there was a little unshaven Jew, who seemed very mad about it all. He
was the only one who had any money; he gave up a fat roll of bills that
took the officer some time to count.
"I know who did this!" the Jew sputtered at the man behind the desk.
"And I can make it hot for some of youse, all right."
"That's good," the sergeant replied pleasantly. "Another time you'll
have the sense to know when you are well off."
I thought this was fatherly advice addressed to the Jew for his moral
health. I congratulated myself that I had fallen into clean hands. So
when my turn came, I said to the desk-sergeant confidentially:--
"I am quite innocent!"
"Is that so, m'son?" he remarked pleasantly.
"They haven't any right to arrest me. I was--"
"Of course, of course! Keep all that for his Honor to-morrow morning.
What's your name, m'son?"
"E.V. Harrington," I replied quite innocently.
"And where do you hail from?"
"Jasonville, Indiana."
It did not occur to me then that, guilty or innocent, it made no
difference after I had given my real name and home. Thanks to the
enterprise of metropolitan journalism, the folks in Jasonville, Indiana,
would be reading at their breakfast to-morrow morning all about how Van
Harrington had been taken up as a thief.
"Here!" the fat sergeant called out to one of the officers, after I had
handed over to his care the few odds and ends that I still had about me;
"show the gent from Indiany to number twelve."