The Coal War (41 page)

But they knew the old Swede was a remarkable man, because he had read so much, he could tell them things about their own countries, which many of them, being ignorant peasants, had never heard before. He could tell the Greeks about episodes in their history, both ancient and modern, he could tell the Bulgars about their long struggles with the Turks, he could tell the Italians about Garibaldi, who had not been afraid to appeal to the utter-most heroism in his followers. He had not offered them higher wages and “prosperity”; he had said, “Men, I bring you wounds and death!”

—And then would come vehement arguments; for Garibaldi had been a fighter, and so had Leonidas, and all the other heroes; they had not told their followers to stay quiet and suffer whatever their enemies did! The old man would try to explain, that the world had moved on, that there might be other methods of gaining one's ends in a democracy. But you could not get Greek and Bulgarian and Italian peasants to see that. Democracy had no meaning to them, they had no votes and no share in government; to them the tyranny of the “G.F.C.”, manifested through gunmen and militia, was exactly the same thing as the tyranny of Austrian and Turk.

[21]

The old Swede came into Hal's tent after supper. He had something to say; and Hal, seeing how feeble he was, made him lie down on the cot—on his face, because of the bruises on his back.

What he wanted was to persuade Hal to go away from Horton. He said frankly what he did not say to the others, that he had become convinced that the tent-colony was to be destroyed, and he thought that Hal's life was too valuable to be thrown away. It sounded like harsh doctrine, but it was a fact nevertheless, that ignorant and helpless working-people would have to be sacrificed by thousands in this class-war; but a man who could think, who had the rare gift of leadership—he ought to be saved. How many young men were there who had money and education, who were willing to come and help the workers in their struggles? Such a man was like a watcher on a hill-top, he could spy out the pathway ahead, and speak words of warning and guidance to the marching host of labor.

Hal had not thought much about the possibility of losing his own life in this struggle; he had been so wrought up about what was happening to other people that he had really forgotten himself. But Edstrom insisted that he could no longer count on the “mystic spell” to protect him; the militia were so enraged that they would kill him as quickly as the next man. And besides, if it came to a fight, the bullets would fly promiscuously, and would not be considerate of what they struck. Hal had been on the ground long enough to know everything, and now the thing for him to do was to go up to Western City, and use his power to stir the public conscience.

Mary Burke came in, to get her patient and put him to bed in the hospital-tent. Hearing Edstrom's argument, she backed it up with intense conviction. But Hal would not give in. It was indeed “harsh doctrine”, that he was to consider himself too good to share the dangers of his friends! Could he say that he had more right to life than Mary herself? Could he be sure that in the long run he would be of more use to the working-class?

Outside, as they talked, there came to them the voices of some of the children, and suddenly Little Jerry opened the flap of the tent and peered in, to say good-night to his pal and play-fellow. And there was another argument! Who could look into the eager eyes of that child, and watch his quick mind unfolding, and say what possibilities of service to the working-class might be hidden in him?

Little Jerry entered. He had been to the school-tent, where Mrs. Olson had an hour of story-telling before bedtime—thus doing her part to keep up the morale of the community, to banish night-mares from little children's sleep. The Dago mine-urchin had been hearing a thrilling tale about a thing called a “geenee”, which came out of a bottle, and spread all over the sky, and might be compelled to do a man's bidding, if only the man knew the spell. “Jesus,” said Little Jerry, “how I wisht I had one o' them geenees!”

“What would you do with him?” inquired Hal; and the youngster's imagination was turned loose in Arabian Nights' fashion. That “geenee” would come out of his bottle and proceed to the militia-camp; he'd go tramping on the tents, and scattering destruction; he'd smash them militiamen like they was cockroaches! You bet when they seen him on the ball-ground, they wouldn't come to bother no games!

“An' I'd send him to get that feller Jesus Christ,” declared Little Jerry. “He'd lift him up by the back of his neck, and take him and do him like they done Mr. Edstrom!”—This was not some new and terrifying kind of blasphemy of Little Jerry's invention; it was merely the established manner of reference to Lieutenant Stangholz!

Hal laughed and told his little friend about a new kind of “geenee” which Mr. Edstrom proposed to raise up. It was a slow process, bringing into being this labor genius, but some day he would be big enough to take “Jesus Christ” and all the rest of the gunmen and soldiers—and not smash them or torture them—but put them to doing their share of honest work in coal-mines. And with this new and more modern form of fairy story, Hal broke up the argument, and strolled home with the Dago mine-urchin, and went into the tent to say how-dy-do to Rosa, and to take a peep at the little black-eyed Dago doll.

They could only whisper, for Big Jerry lay asleep on his cot, and sleep was not so easy for him, since his long torturing in prison. Little Jerry had learned to go about on tip-toe, for his father was apt to be cross; it was very distressing, for he had never been that way before. Like many another child, Little Jerry made the discovery that heroism and martyrdom, in their familiar domestic aspects, are not at all the romantic and picturesque things they are portrayed in the books!

[22]

The next day chanced to be Sunday, the Greek Easter. The Greeks were accustomed to make much of this holiday, celebrating it with old ritual and festivities, after the fashion of the German Christmas. They got out their national costumes, which every man had brought with him from the old country; they hoisted Greek and American flags, and in the bright sunshine of an April morning they turned out in the square in the midst of the tent-colony to dance their national dances. It was a grand festivity for everyone. The Greeks had a big new tent which they set up on the edge of the field, and they prepared a banquet to which all the strikers were welcome. There was music and sandwiches and coffee, and a ball-game in the afternoon, and dancing and singing in the evening.

But all that day the militiamen were prowling about, interfering with the fun. The ball-game took place in an open field which the strikers had rented and paid for; they were amusing themselves in a harmless way, and surely they had a right to be let alone. But the militiamen came, as they always did to these ball-games; they stood by the base-lines and jeered at the bad plays, and when no one paid attention to them, they began aiming their rifles, pretending to shoot the players. Finally one of them stuck out his bayonet and tripped a base-runner; and so the game had to be stopped.

Hal went off to appeal to Captain Harding, who happened to be at the Horton station, making arrangements for the train on which his company was to be carried to Western City next morning. Hal got him on the telephone, and was able to have the soldiers ordered away from the ball-ground. They went, jeering. “You play your game today; we'll play ours tomorrow!” That remark spread among the strikers, and at night, while the dance was on, there came a rumor that the militiamen were surrounding the tents, and were about to make an attack. The dance broke up in confusion, and the Greeks took turns mounting guard all night with guns in their hands.

In the midst of events such as this, needless to say Hal had had no time to make love to Mary Burke; he did not even have time to think about the matter as he had promised. He would see her in dreadful agitation—not for herself, but for all these helpless women and children. He would realize afresh the devilishness of what was going on here, and would go over to the Horton station, and with militia brutes standing by, glowering at him, would send telegrams to Wilmerding and Lucy May and Governor Barstow—he even sent one to Peter Harrigan, who read all his mail, and so, no doubt, his telegrams!

Early the next morning came Lieutenant Carroll with a squad of men. There was a strike-breaker being held in the colony against his will, the Lieutenant declared, and he had orders to fetch the man. The Lieutenant gave the name, a Greek name; and Louie was called, and said that the man was not in the colony, had not been for a long time. He was a cripple; why should anybody want to hold him against his will? The Lieutenant shook his fist in Louie's face and called him a liar; the man was there, and they would have him without delay.

The officer went to the telephone and called Major Curran, his superior. The Major spoke to Louie, and told him to come to the militia encampment to see him. The other Greeks gathered about their leader, urging him not to go; it was a trap, they were trying to get him out of the way before they attacked. Hal and Mrs. Olson were summoned, and they also advised Louie not to go—because they saw the excitement under which the Greeks were laboring, and knew that Louie was the only one who could restrain them. But Louie finally said that he would meet the Major at the railway-station, which was half-way to the militia-camp.

Hal walked out part of the way with him, discussing the situation. Even in the midst of the excitement and alarms, some of the Greeks had been able to remember that this was Easter Monday, and they were dancing in the square with music—a violin, a mandolin and a flute. The mournful wailing of the flute followed the two men as they walked, and Louie changed his step to it, noticing the music, even while he was talking about the saloon-keeper Major of Militia, and what he might be meaning to do to the tent-colony.

They stopped on a slight rise of ground and looked about them. They could see over to the militia-encampment, and remarked that the troopers were saddling their horses and fastening on their cartridge-belts. Suddenly came the call of a bugle, drowning out the music. It came from Water-tank Hill, an elevation which commanded the tent-colony; and Hal looked and saw that two machine-guns had been transported to this hill during the night. “Look at that!” he exclaimed. “Can they really be going to attack us?”

Louie hurried over to the railroad-station to see Major Curran; and meantime Hal stood watching. He saw groups of the militiamen moving down the arroyo which led to the steel bridge crossing the railroad-track—another important position if there was to be fighting. In fact, it seemed to him that all the surrounding country was alive with khaki-clad figures. He stood hesitating; should he go over to the railway-station and appeal to the Major and his cousin? Or should he return to the tent-colony and help keep the strikers in hand?

[23]

Five minutes must have passed after Louie had reached the depot, when suddenly Hal was startled to hear a loud explosion from somewhere back of the militia-camp. It was followed by a second explosion, then by a third. He did not know what to make of the sounds; it transpired afterwards that three bombs had been made by Lieutenant Stangholz and set off under his orders, for a signal to members of the new “Troop E”, stationed up in the canyons at the coal-camps. The meaning of the signals was that there was trouble, and that the troopers were to come down to Horton. But to the strikers, ignorant people, a prey to terror, these signal-bombs were some form of artillery which the militia had brought up, and were using against them.

Instantly, it seemed, the tent-colony was swarming like a bee-hive; the Greeks poured out with guns in their hands, making for the railroad-cut and the steel bridge. Looking toward the depot, Hal saw Louie running, frantically waving a white handkerchief and shouting. Hal ran towards him. “Major Curran say all mistake!” he cried. “Don't want to fight! Want ever'body come back!”

“Why has he posted those machine-guns?”

“Don't know. He say ever'body stop, don't make no more trouble.” But it was too late. At that moment came the whir of the machine-guns on Water-tank Hill, directed upon the colony, and the tents were riddled by a hail of bullets. The frenzied women and children rushed out into the streets, scattering in every direction.

Hal and Louie dashed towards the colony. The first person they met was Kowalewsky, to whom Louie repeated his breathless sentences. Major Curran had promised that there should be no violence. He must search for the missing man, but he would try to do it decently; the strikers might trust him. Louie rushed off, waving a white handkerchief, in pursuit of the strikers, with the Polish organizer following him, and bullets from the machine-gun kicking up spurts of dust about his feet.

Hal plunged into the tents, to get the women and children into the cellars which had been dug for their protection. The first tent he came to was that of the Burke family, where he found Mary gathering the children and getting them down through a hole in the floor. Old Patrick was at the bottom, catching them in his arms. They lifted Mrs. Jonotch down, no easy task, for she was a considerable bulk; then all her children were piled in, one after another, and Tommie Burke and Jennie, and Mrs. Ramirez, a Mexican woman, and her children.

So the cellar was filled, and still there were women and children screaming and crying. Mrs. Zamboni, the Slavish widow, was almost insane with fright, and Hal took her by the arm, and carrying or dragging all her children, they went down the street to the tent of the Minettis, where there was also a cellar. As they entered the tent, a bullet struck a china bowl and sent the fragments flying; the children set up terrified yells.

“Jump down! Jump down!” cried Hal to Rosa, and he helped her into the cellar, and handed her the little baby and the second child. “Where's Big Jerry?” he cried.