"Bulletin"San Antonio, Texas, 12 | 26, 1890."Reported that the 6th and 9th Cavalry were ambuscaded yesterday by Sioux Indians under Crazy Horse, and completely wiped out of existence. Custer's Little Big Horn massacre outdone. Not a man escaped."
"Bulletin
"San Antonio, Texas, 12 | 26, 1890.
"Reported that the 6th and 9th Cavalry were ambuscaded yesterday by Sioux Indians under Crazy Horse, and completely wiped out of existence. Custer's Little Big Horn massacre outdone. Not a man escaped."
I chuckled with fiendish glee as I posted this on the bulletin board and then started for breakfast. I thought some soldier would read it, tell it to the men of his company, and in that way the fun would commence. My scheme worked to perfection, because some of the men of G Company, (mine was D) had seen me stick it up and had come post haste to read. I started the ball rolling in my own company and in about a minute there were fifty men around me all jabbering like magpies as to the result of this awful massacre. Of course, the regiment would be hurried north forthwith—no other regiment could do the work of annihilation so well as the 18th. Oh! no. Of course not!
Said my erstwhile friend and bunkie "Hickey" Flynn: "Av coorse, Moiles will be after sendin' a message to Lazelle to bring the Ateenth fut up at once, and thin the smashin' we will be after givin' them rid divils will make a wake look sick."
"Aw cum off, Hickey," said Sullivan, "phat the divil does yez know av foightin' injuns? Phat were ye over in the auld sod? Nathin' but a turf digger. Phat were ye here before ye 'listed? Dom ye, I think ye belong to the Clan na Gael and helped to murther poor Doc Cronin, bad cess to ye."
A display of authority on the part of the top sergeant prevented a clash and the jaw-breaking contest proceeded. By this time the news had spread and the entire garrison were talking. Just as I was about to tell them that it was a fake pure and simple, I happened to glance towards my office, and Holy Smoke! there was my captain standing on his tiptoes (he was only five feet four) reading that confounded bulletin. I hadn't counted on any of the officers reading it. Generally they didn't get up until eight o'clock and by that time I would have destroyed the fake report.
The officers' club was in the same building as my office and the captain had come down early, evidently to get a—to read the morning paper (which came at4P. M.) and his eye lighted onmy bulletin. I saw him read it carefully, and then reaching up he tore it from the board and as quick as his little legs would carry him, he made a bee line for the commanding officer's quarters. I knew full well how the colonel would regard that bulletin when he found out it was a fake. I was able to discern a summary court-martial in my mind's eye, and that would knock my chances for a commission sky-highwards—because a man's military record must be absolutely spotless when he appears for examination. What was I to do? Just then I saw the captain go up the colonel's steps, ring the bell, and in a moment he was admitted. I felt that my corpse was laid out right then and there and the wake was about to begin.
A few moments later the commanding officer's orderly came in, and looking around for a minute, caught sight of me and said:
"Corporal, the commanding officer wants to see you at his quarters at once," and out he went. "Start the band to playing the 'Dead March in Saul,'" thought I, "because this is the beginning of a funeral procession in which I am to play the leading part." I walked as slowly as I could and not appear lagging, but I arrived at my crematory all too soon. I rapped on the door and in tones that made me shiver was bidden by the old man tocome in. The colonel was standing in the middle of his parlor, wrapped in a gaudy dressing gown, and in his hand he held my mangled bulletin. Right at that minute I wished I had never heard a telegraph instrument click.
"Corporal," said the colonel, "what time did you receive this bulletin?"
"About six-fifteen, sir, immediately after reveille," I replied with a face as expressionless as a mummy's.
"Why did you not bring it to me direct as you have heretofore done?"
"Well, sir, I didn't think you were awake yet, and I did not want to disturb you."
"Have you any later news, corporal?"
"No sir, none, but I haven't been back to the office since, sir." Gee! but that room was becoming warm!
"Are you certain as to the truth of this awful report?"
"It is probably as authentic as a great many stories that are started during times like these—that is all I know of it, sir." (Lord forgive me.)
"It seems almost too horrible to be true, and yet, one cannot tell about those Sioux. They're a bad lot—a devilish bad lot"—this to my captain—and then to me: "You go back to your office, corporal,and remain very close until you have a denial or a confirmation of this story and bring any news you may receive to me instanter. That's all corporal."
The "corporal" needed no second dismissal, and saluting I quickly got out of an atmosphere that was far from chilly to me.
Now, by my cussed propensity for joking, I had involved myself in this mess, and there was but one way out of it, and that was to brazen it out for a while longer and then post a denial of the supposed awful rumor.But the denial must come over the wire, so when I reached my office I called up Spofford and told old man Livingston what I had done and what I wanted him to do for me, and in about half an hour he sent me a "bulletin" saying that the previous report had happily proved unfounded and the 6th and 9th Cavalry were all right. This message I took at once to the colonel and as he read it he heaved a big sigh of relief, but he dismissed me with a very peculiar look in his eye.
The next evening as I was passing the colonel's quarters on my way to deliver a message to the hospital, I heard him remark to another officer, "Major, don't you think it is strange that the papers received to-day make no mention of thatfrightful report received-here yesterday morning relative to the supposed massacre of the 6th and 9th Cavalry?"
No, the major didn't think it a bit strange. Maybe he knew that newspaper stories should be takencum grano salis, and then maybe he knew me.
There were no more "fake reports" from that office.
CHAPTER XXIIPRIVATE DENNIS HOGAN, HERO
It was while I was sitting around a barrack-room fire that I picked up the following story. There were a number of old soldiers in my company—men who had served twenty-five years in the army—and their fund of anecdote and excitement was of the largest size.
On Thanksgiving Day, 187—, Private Dennis Hogan, Company B, 29th United States Infantry, the telegraph operator at Fort Flint, Montana, sat in his dingy little "two by four" office in the headquarter building, communing with himself and cussing any force of circumstances that made him a soldier. The instruments were quiet, a good Thanksgiving dinner had been enjoyed and now the smoke from his old "T. D." pipe curled in graceful rings around his red head.
Denny was a smashing good operator and some eighteen months before he had landed in St. Louis dead broke. All the offices and railroads werefull and nary a place did he get. While walking up Pine street one morning his eye fell foul of a sign:—
"Wanted, able-bodied, unmarried men, between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five, for service in the United States Army."
In his mind's eye he sized himself up and came to the conclusion that he would fill all the requirements. Now, he hadn't any great hankering for soldiering, but he didn't have a copper to his name and as empty stomachs stand not on ceremony, in he went and after being catechized by the recruiting sergeant, he was pounded for thirty minutes by the examining surgeon, pronounced as sound as a dollar, and then sworn in "to serve Uncle Sam honestly and faithfully for five years. So help me God." The space of time necessary to transform a man from a civilian to a soldier is of a very short duration, and almost before he knew it he was dressed in the plain blue of the soldier of the Republic. He was assigned to B company of the 28th United States Infantry stationed at Fort Flint, Montana. The experience was new and novel to him, and the three months recruit training well nigh wore him out, but he stuck to it, and some two months after he had been returned to duty, he was detailed as telegraph operator viceAdams of G Company, discharged. There he had remained since.
At four o'clock on the afternoon in question Denny was aroused from his reverie by the sounder opening up and calling "FN" like blue blazes. He answered and this is what he took:
"Department Headquarters St. Paul, Minn."November 26th, 187—"Commanding Officer,"Fort Flint, Montana."Sioux Indians out. Prepare your commandfor instant field service. Thirty days' rations;two hundred rounds ammunition per man. Wirewhen ready."By command of Major General Wherry.(Signed)Smith,"Assistant Adjutant-General."
Denny was the messenger boy as well as operator and without waiting to make an impression copy, he grabbed his hat and flew down the line to the colonel's quarters. That worthy was entertaining a party at dinner, and was about to give Hogan fits for bringing the message to him instead of to the post adjutant; but a glance at the contents changed things and in a moment all was bustle and confusion.
For weeks the premonitory signs of this outbreakhad been plainly visible, but true to the red-tape conditions, the army could not move until some overt act had been committed. The generous interior department had supplied the Indians with arms and ammunition and then Mr. Red Devil under that prince of fiends incarnate, Sitting Bull, started on his campaign of plunder and pillage.
At eight o'clock that night Colonel Clarke wired his chief that his command was ready, and at midnight he received orders to proceed the next morning at daylight, by forced marches up to the junction of the forks of the Red Bud, and take position there to intercept the Indians should they attempt to cross. Two regiments from the more northern posts were due to reach there at the same time, and the combined strength of the three commands was supposed to be sufficient to drive back any body of Indians. There was little sleep in Fort Flint that night.
Now, Hogan wasn't much of a success as a garrison soldier, but when a chance for a genuine fight presented itself, all the Irish blood in his nature came to the surface, and after much pleading and begging, the adjutant allowed him to join his company, detailing Jones of D Company as operator in his stead. Jones wasn't as good an operatorby far as Denny, but in a pinch he could do the work, and besides, he had just come out of the hospital and was unable to stand the rigors attendant upon a winter campaign in Montana.
Denny went to the company quarters in high glee and soon had his kit all packed. Some weeks before he had been out repairing the line and when he returned to the post he had left a small pocket instrument and a few feet of office wire in his haversack. He saw these things and was about to remove them, when something impelled him to take them along. What this was no one ever knew. Perhaps premonition.
The next morning just as the first dim shadows of early dawn stole over the snow-clad earth, the gallant old 29th, five hundred strong, swung out of Fort Flint, on its long tramp. From out of half-closed blinds on the officer's line gazed many a tear-stained face, and up on "Soapsuds Row" many an honest-hearted laundress was bemoaning the fates that parted her from her "ould mon."
The weather turned bitter cold and after seven days of the hardest kind of marching they reached and crossed the Red Bud just below the junction of the two forks. A strong position was taken and every disposition made to prevent surprise.The expected re-enforcement would surely come soon and then all would be safe.
The next day dawned and passed, but not a sign of that re-enforcement. That night queer looking red glows were seen at stated intervals on the horizon—North, West and East on the north side of the river, and to the South on the other bank did they gleam and glow. Colonel Clarke was old and tried in Indian warfare and well did he know what those fires meant—Indians—and lots of them all around his command. His hope now was that the two northern regiments would strike them in the rear while he smashed them in front.
The next morning, first one, two, three, four, an hundred, a thousand figures mounted on fleet footed ponies appeared silhouetted against the clear sky, and it wasn't long before that little command of sturdy bluecoats was surrounded by a superior force of the wildest red devils that ever strode a horse or fired a Winchester rifle. Slowly they drew their lines closer about the troops like the clinging tentacles of some monster devilfish, and about eleven o'clock,Bang!and the battle was on.
"Husband your fire, men. Don't shoot until you have taken deliberate aim, and can see the objectaimed at," was the word passed along the line by Colonel Clarke.
Behind hastily constructed shelter trenches the soldiers fought off that encircling band of Indians, with a desperation and valor born of an almost hopeless situation. Ever and anon, from across the river came the ping of a Winchester bullet, proving that retreat was cut off that way. The Indians had completely marched around them.
Where was the re-enforcement? Why didn't it come? Was this to be another Little Big Horn, and were these brave men to be massacred like the gallant 7th Cavalry under Custer? As long as his ammunition held out Colonel Clarke knew he could stand them off, but after three days of hard fighting, resulting in the loss of many brave men, the situation was becoming desperate. Fires could not be lighted and more than one brave fellow went to kingdom come in filling the canteens at the river's bank. Most of the animals had been shot, many of them being used for breastworks.
Colonel Clarke was inspecting his lines on the early evening of the third day, and had about made up his mind to ask for a volunteer to try and get beyond the Indian lines and carry the news to Fort Scott, sixty miles away, to call for re-enforcements. Six troops of the 11th Cavalry werestationed there under his old friend and classmate, Colonel Foster. He knew the character of the regular army chaps well enough to be certain they would come to his assistance, if it were a possible thing. If all went well with his courier in three days' time they would be there.
The word was passed along the line and in a few seconds he had any number of officers and men who were willing and ready to take the ride. Just as the colonel had decided to send 1st Lieutenant Jarvis on this perilous trip, Hogan appeared before him, saluting with military precision, and said with a broad Irish brogue:—
"Axin' yer pardin' kurnel, but Oi think Oi kin tell ye a betther way. The telegraph loine from Scott to Kearney runs just twenty-foive moiles beyant here to the southards. Up at the end of our loines on the other side of the river is a deep ravine. If Oi kin get across with a good horse and slip through the Indian loines on the other soide, I can, by hard roidin' reach this loine in two or three hours. I have a pocket instrument wid me and can cut in and ask for re-enforcements from Fort Scott. If the loine is down I can continue on to the post, and make as quick time as any of the officers; if it is up it will be a matther of a short toime before we are pulled out of thishole. Plaze let me thry it kurnel. Lieutenant Jarvis has a wife and two children, and his loss would be greatly felt, whoile I—I—well I haven't any wan, sir, and besoides, I'm an Irishman, and you know, kurnel, an Irishman is a fool for luck." This last was said with a broad grin.
Colonel Clarke was somewhat amazed at this speech, but he studied reflectively, with knitted brows for a moment, and then said, "All right, Hogan, I'll let you try it. Take my horse and start at three o'clock in the morning. Do your best, my man, do your best; the lives of the remainder of this command depend on your efforts. God be with you."
"If I fail kurnel, it will be because I'm dead, sir."
Shortly before three o'clock in the morning, Denny made ready for his perilous ride. The horse's hoofs were carefully padded, ammunition and revolver looked after, the pocket instrument fastened around his neck by the wire, so if any accident happened to the horse he would not be unnecessarily delayed, and all was ready. He gave his old bunkie a farewell silent clasp of the hand and then started on his ride that meant life or death to his comrades. The horse was a magnificent Kentuckian and seemed to know what wasrequired of him. Carefully and slowly Hogan pushed his way to the place opposite the ravine, and then giving his mount a light touch with the spurs, he took to the cold water. The stream was filled with floating ice but was only about fifty yards wide and in a few minutes he was safely over, and climbing up the other bank through the ravine. Finally, the end was reached and he was on high ground. Resting a minute to see if all was well, he started. So far, so good, he was beyond the Indian lines. He was congratulating himself on the promised success of his mission when all at once, directly in front of him he saw the dim shadowy outlines of a mounted Indian. Quick as a flash Denny pulled his revolver and another Indian was soon in the happy hunting ground. This caused a general alarm and Hogan knew he was in for it. Putting his spurs deep in his horse's flanks away he went with the speed of the wind. A perfect swarm of Indians came after him, yelling like fiends and shooting like demons. On! on! he sped, seemingly bearing a charmed life because bullets whizzed by him like hail. He was not idle, and when the opportunity presented itself his revolver spoke and more than one Indian pony was made riderless thereby.
Suddenly he felt a sharp stinging pain in hisright shoulder, and but for a convulsive grasp of the pommel with his bridle hand he would have pitched headlong to the earth.
No, by God! he couldn't fail now. He must succeed, the lives of his comrades depended on his efforts. He had told Colonel Clarke he would get through or die, and he was a long way from dead yet. Only an hour and a half more and he would have sent the message and then all the Indians in the country could go to the demnition bow wows for all he cared.
Hearing no more shots Denny drew rein for a moment and listened. Not a sound could be heard, the snow had started to softly fall and the first faint rays of light on the eastern horizon heralded the approach of a new-born day. Ah! he had outridden his pursuers. Gently patting his faithful horse's neck, he once more started swiftly on, and when he was within a few miles of the line he chanced to glance back and saw that one lone Indian was following him.
Now it was a case of man against man. In his first flight and running fight he had fired away all his ammunition save one cartridge. This he determined to use to settle his pursuer, but not until it was absolutely necessary; and putting spurs to his already tired horse, he galloped on.
The Indian was slowly gaining on him and he saw the time for decisive action was at hand. Ahead of him but one short half mile was that line, already in the early morning light he could see the poles, and if the god of battles would only speed his one remaining bullet in the right direction, his message could be sent in safety and his comrades rescued. His wounded right arm was numb from pain and his left was not the steadiest in the world, but nothing venture, nothing have, and just then—Bang!and a bullet whizzed by his head. "Not this toime, ye red devil," Denny defiantly shouted. A second bullet and he dropped off his horse. Quickly wheeling about, he dropped on his stomach, and taking a careful aim over his wounded right arm, he fired. The shot was apparently a true one and the Indian pitched off head first and lay still.
With an exultant shout Hogan jumped up and started for the line. Nothing could stop him now. Loss of blood and the intense cold had weakened him so that his legs were shaky, the earth seemed to be going around at a great rate, dark spots were dancing before his eyes; but with a superhuman effort he recovered himself and was soon at the line.
The wire was strung on light lances, and ifDenny were in full possession of his strength he could easily pull one down. He threw his weight against one with all of his remaining force—but to no avail. What was he to do? But sixteen feet intervened between him and that precious wire.
The faithful, tired horse, when Denny jumped off, had only run a little way and stopped, only too glad of the chance to rest. He was now standing near Hogan, as if intent on being of some further use to him. Suddenly Denny's anxious eyes lighted on the horsehair lariat attached to the saddle. Here was the means at hand. Quickly as he could he undid it, and with great difficulty tied one end to the pommel and the other to the lance. Then he gave the horse a sharp blow, and,Crash!down went the lance.
Making the connections to the pocket instrument as best he could with one cold hand, he placed the wire across a sharp rock and a few blows with the butt of his revolver soon cut it. The deed was done.
Private Dunn, the operator at Fort Scott, opened up his office bright and early one cold morning and marveled to find the wire working clear to Kearney. After having a chat with theman at Kearney about the Indian trouble, he was sitting around like Mr. Micawber when he heard the sounder weakly calling "FS." Quickly adjusting down he answered and this is what he took.
"Commanding Officer,"Fort Scott, Montana."29th Infantry surrounded by large bodyhostile Sioux just north of junction of the forksof the Red Bud. Colonel Clarke asks for immediatere-enforcements; ammunition almost gone;situation desperate. I left the command at threeo'clock this morning.(Signed.)Dennis Ho—."
Then blank, the sounder was still and the line remained open. The sending had been weak and shaky, just as if the sender had been out all night, but there was no mistaking the purport of the message.
Dunn didn't wait to pick up his hat but fairly flew down the line to the commanding officer's quarters. The colonel was not up yet, but the sound of animated voices in the hallway caused him to appear at the head of the stairs in his dressing gown.
"What is it, Dunn," he asked.
"A message from the 29th Infantry, sir, saying they are surrounded by the Sioux Indians and want help."
Colonel Foster read the message, and exclaimed,
"My God! Charlie Clarke stuck out there and wants help! Dunn, have the trumpeter sound 'Boots and Saddles.' Present my compliments to the adjutant and tell him I desire him to report to me at once. Kraus,"—this to his Dutch striker who was standing around in open-mouthed wonderment—"saddle my horse and get my field kit ready at once. Be quick about it."
A few men had seen Dunn's mad rush to the colonel's quarters and suspected that something was up, so they were not surprised a few minutes later to hear "Boots and Saddles" ring out on the clear morning air. The command had been in readiness for field service for some days, and but a few moments elapsed until six sturdy troops were standing in line on the snow-covered parade. A hurried inspection was made by the troop commanders and then Colonel Foster commanded "Fours right, trot, march," and away they went on their sixty-mile ride of rescue. A few halts were made during the day to tighten girths, and at six o'clock a short rest was made for coffee.
The sound of the firing across the river shortly after Hogan left the 29th was plainly heard by his comrades and many a man was heard to exclaim, "It's all up with poor Denny." But the firing grew more distant and Colonel Clarke had hopes that Hogan had successfully eluded his pursuers and determined to hold on as best he could. He knew full well that the Indians would be extraordinarily careful and that it would be folly for him to attempt to get another courier through that night. That day was indeed a hard one; it was trying to the extreme. Tenaciously did those Indians watch their prey. Well did they know by the rising of the morrow's sun the ammunition of the soldiers would be exhausted and then would come their feast of murder and scalps; Little Big Horn would be repeated.
About two o'clock, Colonel Clarke, utterly regardless of personal danger, exposed himself for a moment and Chug! down he went, shot through the thigh by a Winchester bullet. Brave old chap, never for one minute did he give up, and after having his wound dressed as best it could be done, he insisted on remaining near the fighting line. Lieutenant Jarvis was shot through the arm, Captain Belknap of E Company was lying dead nearhis company, and scores of other brave men had gone to their last reckoning. Hanigan, Hogan's bunkie, was badly wounded, and out of his head. Every once in a while he would mumble, "Never you mind, fellers, we will be all right yet, just stand 'em off a little while longer and Denny will be here with the 11th Cavalry. He said he'd do it and by God! he won't fail."
As the shades of the cold winter evening crept silently over the earth, the firing died away, and the command settled down to another night of the tensest anxiety and watching. Oh! why didn't those northern regiments come? Did Hogan succeed in his perilous mission? Depressed indeed were the spirits of the officers and men.
About nine o'clock Lieutenant Tracy, the adjutant, was sitting beside his chief, who was apparently asleep. Suddenly, Colonel Clarke sat up and grabbing Tracy by the arm said, "Hark! what's that noise I hear?"
"Nothing sir, nothing," replied Tracy; "lie down Colonel and try to rest, you need it sir"—and then aside—"poor old chap, his mind's wandering."
"No, no, Tracy. Listen man, don't you hear it? It sounds like the beat of many horses' hoofs,re-enforcements are coming, thank God. Hogan got through."
Just then, Crash! Bang! and a clear voice rang out, "Right front into line, gallop, March!Charge!" and those sturdy chaps of the 11th Cavalry true to their regimental hatred for the Indians, charged down among the red men scattering them like so much chaff. Then to the northwards was heard another ringing cheer, and the two long-delayed regiments came down among the Indians like a thunderbolt of vengeance. Truly, "It never rains but it pours." The 29th, all that was left of it, was saved, and when Colonel Foster leaned over the prostrate form of his old friend and comrade, Colonel Clarke feebly asked, "Where is that brave little chap, Hogan?"
"Hogan? Who is Hogan?" asked Foster.
"Why, my God, man, Hogan was the man that got beyond the Indian lines to make the ride to inform you of our plight. Didn't you see him?"
"No, I didn't see him," and then Colonel Foster related how the information had reached him.
A rescuing party was started out and in the pale moonlight they came upon the body of poor Denny lying stark and stiff under the telegraph line, his left hand grasping the instrument and thekey open. A bullet hole in his head mutely told how he had met his death. Beside him lay the Indian, dead, one hand grasping Hogan's scalp lock, the other clasping a murderous-looking knife. Death had mercifully prevented the accomplishment of his hellish purpose.
Hogan's shot had mortally wounded the Indian in the left breast, but with all the vengeful nature of his race, he had crawled forward on his hands and knees, and while Hogan was intent on sending his precious message, he shot him through the head, but not until the warning had been given to Fort Scott. Denny's faithful horse was standing near, as if keeping watch over the inanimate form of his late friend.
They buried him where he lay, and a traveler passing over that trail, will observe a solitary grave. On the tombstone at the head is inscribed:
"DENNIS HOGAN,"Private, Company B,"29th U. S. Infantry."He died that others might live."
CHAPTER XXIIITHE COMMISSION WON—IN A GENERAL STRIKE
The time spent as a soldier in the ranks passed by all too swiftly. The service was pleasant, the duty easy, and the regiment one of the best in the entire army. I don't know any two and a half years of my life that have been as happy and peaceful as those spent in the ranks of the American Army. When the proper time came my recommendations were all in good shape and I was duly ordered to appear before an august lot of officers and gentlemen at Fortress Monroe, Virginia, to determine my fitness to trot along behind a company, sign the sick-book, and witness an occasional issue of clothing. One warm June afternoon I bade good-bye to the men who had so long been my comrades, and journeyed to the eastwards. I was successful in the examinations, and on a Sunday morning early in August, myself, in company with twelve other young chaps, received the precious little parchment in which the President of the United States sends greetings and proclaims to all the world:—
"That reposing especial confidence and trust in the valor, patriotism, and fidelity of one John Smith, I have made him a second lieutenant in the regular army. Look out for him because he hasn't much sense but I have strong hopes as how he will learn after a while."
"... Dennis, lying under the telegraph line, his left hand still grasped the instrument""... Dennis, lying under the telegraph line, his left hand still grasped the instrument"
The apprenticeship was finished and the chevrons gave way to the shoulder straps.
This time I thought surely I had heard the last of the telegraph, never again was I going to touch a key. I had been at my first station just about two months when one morning I appeared before the Signal Officer of the post and plaintively asked him to let me have a set of telegraph instruments. He did, and it wasn't long before I had a ticker going in my quarters. There was no one to practice with me, so I just pounded away by myself for an hour or so each day, to keep my hand in. I have yet to see a man who has worked at the business for any length of time who could give it up entirely. It's like the opium habit—powerful hard to break off. I have never since tried to lose sight of it.
In 189- one of those spasmodic upheavals known as a sympathetic strike spread over thecountry like wild fire, and it wasn't long before the continuance of law and order was entirely out of the hands of the state authorities in about ten states, and once more the faithful little army was called out to put its strong hand on the throat of destruction and pillage. Troops were hurriedly despatched from all posts to the worst points and the inefficient state militia in several states relegated to its proper sphere—that of holding prize drills and barbecues.
Owing to the fact that the army cannot be used until a state executive acknowledges his inability to preserve law and order, and owing also to the fact that the executives in one or two of the states were pandering to the socialistic element, saying they could enforce the laws without the assistance of the army, this strike had spread until the entire country except the extreme east and southeast was in its strong grasp, and the work cut out for the army was doled out to it in great big chunks. Men seemed to lose all their senses and the emissaries of the union succeeded in getting many converts, each one of which paid the sum of one dollar to the so-called head of the union. Snap for the aforesaid "head," wasn't it? It was positively refreshing to the army at this time to have at its head a man who did not know what it was to panderto the socialists, and one who would enforce his solemn oath, "To enforce the laws of the United States," at all hazards. United States mail trains were being interfered with; the Inter-State Commerce law was being violated with impunity, and various other acts of vandalism and pillage were being committed all over the land—and the municipal and state authorities "winked the other eye."
Way out in one of the far western posts was a certain Lieutenant Jack Brainerd, 31st U. S. Infantry, serving with his company. Jack was a big, whole-souled, impulsive chap, and before his entrance to the military academy, had been a pretty fair operator. In fact, being the son of a general superintendent of one of the big trunk lines, he was quite familiar with a railroad, and could do almost anything from driving a spike, or throwing a switch to running an engine. The first three years succeeding his graduation had been those of enervating peace; all of which palled on the soul of Lieutenant Jack to a large degree. The martial spirit beat high within his breast, and he wanted a scrap—he wanted one badly.
The preliminary mutterings of this great strike had been heard for days, but no one dreamed that anarchy was about to break loose with the strengthof all the fires of hell; and yet such was the case. On the evening of July 4th, a message came to the commanding officer at Fort Blank, to send his command of six companies of infantry to C—— at once to assist in quelling the riots. The chance for a scrap so longed for by Lieutenant Brainerd was coming swift and sure. The next morning the command pulled out. The trip was uneventful during the day, but at night a warning was received by Major Sharp, the grizzled battalion commander, who had fought everything from manly, brave confederates to skulking Indians, to watch out for trouble as he approached the storm centre. There were rumors of dynamited bridges, broken rails, etc. The major didn't believe much in these yarns, but—"Verbum Sap."—and the precautions were taken. The next morning at five the train pulled into Hartshorne, eleven miles out from C——. This was the beginning of the great railroad yards and evidences of the presence of the enemy were becoming very apparent. A large crowd had gathered to watch the bluecoats and it was plain to be seen that they were in full sympathy with the strikers. "Scab" and a few other choice epithets were hurled at the train crew, and when they were ready to pull out the train didn't go. The conductor went forward andfound that the engineer had refused to handle his engine because Hartshorne was his home and the crowd had threatened to kill him if he hauled that load of "slaves of Pullman" any further. When Major Sharp heard of it his little grey eyes snapped and he growled out:—
"Won't pull this train, eh! Well, damn him, we'll make him pull it. Here, Mr. Brainerd, you take some men and go forward and make that engineer take us through these yards. If he refuses you know what to do with him."
Do? Well, I reckon Jack knew what to do all right enough. He took Sergeant Fealy, a veteran, and three men and went forward. The engineer, a little snub-nosed Irishman, was at his post with his fireman, a good head of steam was on, but nary an inch did that train budge. A big crowd of men and women stood around jeering and laughing at the plight of the bluecoats. Pushing his way through the crowd, Jack climbed up into the cab closely followed by his little escort.
"Sergeant Fealy," he said in a voice loud enough to be heard a block, "get up on that tender, have your men load their rifles, and shoot the first d——d man that raises a hand or throws a missile. And you," this to the engineer, "shove that reverse lever over and pull out."
"But, my God, lieutenant," expostulated the engineer, "this is my home and if I pull you fellers out of here they'll kill me on sight—besides look at the track ahead. I'd run over and kill a lot of those people."
"There's no 'buts' about it. This train is going in or I'll lose my commission in the army; besides if these people haven't sense enough to get out of the way let 'em die."
Mr. Engineer started to expostulate farther but the ominous click of a .38 Colt's was incentive enough to make him stop and then he shoved her over and gave her a little steam—just a coaxer.
"Here, you blasted chump, that won't do," and with that Brainerd reached over and yanked the throttle so that she bounded away like a hare; at the same time he gave her sand. It's a great wonder every draw head in the train didn't pull out, but fortunately they held on. The crowd on the track melted away like the mists before the summer's sun, and beyond a few taunting jeers no overt act was committed. The engineer didn't relish the idea of a soldier running his engine and became somewhat obstreperous. Brainerd grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and landed him all in a heap in the coal. Then he climbed up on the right-hand side of the cab and took charge ofthings himself. There were myriads of tracks stretching out before him like the long arms of some giant octopus, but all traffic was suspended on account of the strike and the main line was clear. The train flew down the line like a scared rabbit and in thirty minutes reached the camp at Blake Park. I had arrived there that morning from the south for special service and when I saw Brainerd climb down off of that engine his face was smutty, but his eyes twinkled and he came towards me with a broad grin and said,
"Hello, Bates, where in thunder did you spring from?"
There wasn't much time for talking because the great city was groaning beneath the grasp of anarchy, and until that power was broken, there would be no rest for the weary.
The situation that existed at this time is too well known to require any explanation here. The state and city authorities were powerless; the militia inefficient and many a citizen bowed his head and thanked God on that warm July morning for the arrival of the regulars. Only twenty-one hundred of them all told, mind you, against so many thousands of the rioters, and yet, they were disciplined men and led by officers who simply enforced orders as they received them. No matterwhere or what the sympathies of the men of a company might be, when the captain said "Fire," look out, because the bullets would generally fly breast high. The situation resembled the Paris Commune, and but for the timely arrival of the small body of bluecoats, another cow might have kicked over another lamp, and the frightful conflagration of 1871 have been more than duplicated. But the "cow" was slaughtered and the "lamp" extinguished.
The morning after Brainerd arrived he was detailed on special service and ordered to report to me, and together we worked until the trouble was over. Just what this service was need not be recorded, but one thing sure, railroads and the telegraph figured in it quite largely. In fact the general superintendent of the Western Union Telegraph Company placed the entire resources of the company at my disposal. A wire was run direct to Washington, lines run to all the camps, and Jack and I each carried a little pocket instrument on our person.
Although the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers did not go out in a body, there was quite a number of them who would not pull trains for fear of personal violence from the strikers. One old chap, Bob Redway, by name, had known MajorMcKenney of our battalion, in days gone by, when he was pulling a train on the N. P., and the major was stationed at Missoula. Bob wandered into camp one afternoon to see his old friend and just at that time a company was ordered to the southern part of the city to stop a crowd that was looting and burning P. H. Railway property. As usual the engineer backed out at the last moment. The major turned to Redway, and said, "See here, Bob, you're not in sympathy with these cutthroats, suppose you pull this train out."
"All right, major, I'll pull you through if the old girl will only hold up. She's a stranger to me, but I reckon she'll last."
Brainerd and I were to go along and do some special work around the stock-yards, and soon we were shooting down the track like a flyer. At 62nd street we passed a sullen looking crowd and when we reached 130th street, we were flagged by the operator in the tower, and informed that the mob in our rear was starting to block the track by overturning a standard sleeper. They were going to cut us off. We cut the engine loose, put fourteen men up on the tender, and Brainerd and I started back with them. The engine was going head on, having backed out from the city, and Bob let her put for all she was worth. Just at 62ndstreet there is a long sweeping curve and we were coming around it like a streak of blue lightning, when all at once we saw the crowd just in the act of pulling the sleeper over on our track. There was no time to lose and the command "Fire" was sharply given. "Bang," rang out the Springfields, one or two of the mob dropped to the ground, the rest let go of the ropes and ran like scared cats, and the car tottered back in its original place. Redway had shut off steam and was slowing down under ordinary air, when all at once there was a dull deafening roar, and then for me—oblivion. I was only stunned and when I regained consciousness looked around and saw the men slowly regaining their feet. Redway was not killed, but the shock and concussion of the detonation of the dynamite made him lose his speech and he was bleeding profusely at the nose and ears. The cowcatcher, headlight and forward trucks of the engine were blown to smithereens, but fortunately the boiler did not burst and there she stood like some powerful monster wounded to the death. The mob, imagining that their fiendish work had been complete, became emboldened and rapidly gathered around the little body of bluecoats. It began to look rocky, and Brainerd came limping over to me and said, "Bates, I'm pretty badlybruised about the legs, and can't climb, but if you're able, for God's sake climb that telegraph pole and cut in and ask department headquarters to send us down some help. I'll form the men around the bottom of the pole and shoot the first damned man or woman that throws a missile. We're in a devilish bad box."
I took the little instrument, nippers and wire and up I went. There were side steps on the pole so the ascent was easy. What a scene below! Five or six thousand angry faces, besotted, coarse and ill-bred looking brutes, gazing up at me with the wrath of vengeance in their hearts; and held at bay by a band of fourteen battered and bruised bluecoats, a wounded engineer and fireman, commanded by an almost beardless boy. Well did that mob know that if those rifles ever spoke there would be a number of vacant chairs at the various family boards that night. The wire was soon cut, the main office gave me department headquarters and in thirty minutes' time that mob was scattering like so much chaff before the wind, and with a ringing cheer, two companies of the —th Infantry came down among them like a thunderbolt. We were saved and took Redway back to camp with us. That evening the major came over to see him. Poor chap! he couldn't speak but he motionedfor a pencil and paper and this is what he wrote:—
"Don't worry, major, I'm all right. My speaking machine seems to have had a head end collision with a cyclone, but if you want me to pull any more trains out my right arm is still in pretty good shape." Bob hung to us all through the trying weeks that followed and in the end some of us succeeded in getting him a good position in one of the departments in Washington.
Far up in the Northwest things were in a very bad shape. Everything was tied up tight; mail trains could not run because there were no men to run them; "Debsism" had a firm grasp; and even though many of the trainmen were willing to run, intimidation by the strikers caused them to go slow.
At one place, call it Bridgeton, there was an overland mail waiting to go out, but no engineer. Here's where the versatility of the American soldier came in. Major Clarke of the —th Infantry, had four companies of his regiment guarding public property at Bridgeton and he sent word by his orderly that he wanted a locomotive engineer and a fireman. Quick as a flash he had six engineers and any number of men who could fire. He chose two good men and then detailed Captain Stilling'scompany to go along as an escort. Orders were procured at the telegraph office for the train to run to Pokeville, where further orders would be sent them. When the crowd of loiterers and strikers saw the preparations they jeered in derision. They had the engineer and fireman corralled, but their laugh turned to sorrow when they saw a strapping infantry sergeant climb into the cab and after placing his loaded rifle in front of him, he grasped the throttle and away they went—much to the disgust of Mr. Rioter. They didn't like it worth a cent, but as one striker put it, "What's the use of monkeyin' with them reg'lars? When they gets an order to shoot, they're just damned fools enough to shoot right into the crowd. Milish' fire in the air, because as a rule they have friends in the crowd and don't care to hurt 'em."
Pokeville was one hundred and two miles from Bridgeton and the run was carefully made and without incident. When the volunteer engineer and Captain Stillings, who was playing conductor, went to the office for orders, they found the place deserted. A sullen-looking crowd was looking on and appeared to enjoy the discomfiture of the soldiers. They had put the operatorawayfor a while. Pressing up near the sides of the train they became somewhat ugly and Captain Stillingsbrought out his company, and lining them up alongside of the track he turned to his 1st lieutenant and said:
"Mr. Mitchell, I'm going into this telegraph office. If this crowd gets ugly I want you to shoot the first damned man that moves a finger to harm anybody."
But without an operator orders could not be procured, and without orders the train could not go. Captain Stillings was in a quandary, but all at once he stepped out in front of his company and said in a loud tone, "I want an operator."
"I'm one, sir," said Private O'Brien, quickly stepping forward and saluting.
"Go in that office and get orders for this train."
"Yes, sir," replied O'Brien, and in a minute another bluecoat was helping the train on its way. If Captain Stillings had wanted a Chinese interpreter he could have gotten one—any old thing. The train had no further mishaps, because everything necessary to run a railroad was right here in one company of sixty-two men belonging to the regular army.
July slipped away and it was well into August before we returned to our posts and the old grind of "Fours right," and "Fours left."