When the first news of the Act of
Annihilation reaches the Independence Party’s
Headquarters, Trueman is out on an important mission,
a conference with the American Mothers’ League
for the Abolition of Child Labor. This League,
it is believed, can influence scores of thousands of
voters.
A telephone call from Benson brings
Trueman back to the headquarters. On the way
down town he hears loud cries in the street.
“Get y’er Extra!
All about the big murders!” the newsboys are
calling in front of the headquarters. Trueman
buys a paper. He reads about the murder in Central
Park. “This is an unfortunate occurrence,”
he says, half aloud. “The people will put
more credence in the assertions of the Magnates, that
there are anarchists working to disrupt the Government.”
Once in the rooms of the Campaign
Committee he receives the messages direct from the
Javelin office over a special wire.
He is as ignorant of the true condition
of affairs as any of the public. What to think
of the wholesale destruction of the leading magnates,
is a riddle to him.
“WILKES-BARRE, PA., Octh.
Gorman Purdy was murdered in his house
at 2 o’clock this afternoon, by Carl Metz.
After shooting Purdy, Metz committed suicide.
Come to Wilkes-Barre at once. Miners are threatening
to sack the palaces on the esplanade. Ethel is
in great danger.
MARTHA.”
This telegram is handed to Trueman.
He reads it; re-reads it. The full import flashes
upon him. He knows the character of the miners;
knows that there is an element which will take advantage
of every opportunity to commit acts of violence.
He pictures Ethel at her home, besieged by the mob
of miners.
“I must get to Wilkes-Barre immediately,”
he declares.
“Mr. Benson, will you telephone
to the Inter-State Railroad and ask when the next
train leaves for Wilkes-Barre? If there is not
one within an hour, ask if it is possible to engage
a special. I must reach Wilkes-Barre as quickly
as possible.
“Here, read this,” and
he hands his secretary the telegram.
“Send this message to Martha
Densmore. Address it, ’Sister Martha, Care
of the Mount Hope Seminary, Wilkes-Barre, Pa., I leave
for Wilkes-Barre at once.’ If you can find
out the time the train will leave, state it in the
message to Martha.”
In five minutes Benson returns to
inform Trueman that the Keystone Express will leave
at 3.30 P.M. This gives Trueman thirty minutes
to catch the train. He hurries to the street
and jumps into a cab.
“Drive to the Twenty-third street
ferry as fast as you can. I’ll give you
an extra dollar if you make the four o’clock
boat,” he tells the cab driver.
“All right Mr. Trueman,”
replies the man, who recognizes the people’s
candidate. “You’ll get the boat.
Don’t worry about that.”
From Twenty-third street and Broadway
the cab starts. It turns west on Twenty-fourth
street. Then the driver whips up his horse.
At Eleventh Avenue a freight train is passing.
It will delay Trueman for five minutes. He jumps
from the cab.
“Mr. Benson will pay you,”
he calls to the cab-man. The train moves down
the street at a slow rate of speed.
Trueman jumps on a car, climbs across
it and jumps to the street. At a run he makes
for the ferry house.
As he passes the gateman he throws
down a silver piece for ferry fare and rushes toward
the boat. Half a minute later the boat draws out
of the slip. When he enters the train, Trueman
seats himself in the smoking-car. The man next
to him is reading a late extra which he has bought
at Cortlandt street.
Glancing over the man’s shoulder,
Trueman reads of the deaths of financiers, statesmen,
manufacturers. All have met sudden and violent
deaths, and in each instance there is announced the
suicide or accidental death of an unknown companion.
Under a seven-column head, printed
in red, is a suggestive paragraph. It asks if
the wave of annihilation can have any connection with
the Committee of Forty. And as if to answer the
interrogation affirmatively, the paragraph concludes
in these words:
“On the cards of six of the
men whose bodies have been found with the murdered
multi-millionaires, reference to the Committee of Forty
is made point-blank. One asserts: ’In
the future, arrogant capitalists will not sneer at
the protestations of a committee of the people.
As a deliberative body the Committee of Forty was
impotent; as the avenger of the downtrodden, it will
never be forgotten.’ Another bears this
strange inscription: ’When anarchy seems
imminent, take courage, for an honest leader will
deliver you from harm.’
“There are two cards which quote
direct from the Scriptures: ’The wicked
in his pride doth persecute the poor: let them
be taken in the devices that they have imagined.’
This gives the motive which supplied the assassin
of the Sugar King with courage to commit a double crime.
He was a religious fanatic. The name George M.
Watson was scribbled on the back of the card.
This is the name of one of the Committee of Forty.
“The other card reads:
’And the destruction of the transgressors and
of the sinners shall be together, and they
that forsake the Lord shall be consumed.’”
Here is a matter which sets Trueman
thinking. He knows every member of the Committee
of Forty; they are men who would not take part in a
dastardly crime.
But is this terrible annihilation
to be looked at in the light of an ordinary crime?
“Metz is a member of the committee.”
Trueman resolves this thought for several minutes.
The train rolls on at a rapid rate;
the towns of Jersey are entered and passed so quickly
that no idea of the excitement that is stirring them
can be formed. It is not until Trenton is reached
that Trueman hears the news of the deaths of still
other prominent men.
He buys a paper and returns to his
seat. This extra contains the details of the
threatened uprising in Wilkes-Barre, and the statement
that the Committee of Forty has converted itself into
a Syndicate of Annihilation.
When the train reaches Philadelphia
a battalion of the State Militia goes on board.
The Major in command has instructions to report to
the Sheriff of Luzerne County. This means that
the militia is to be handed over to the Magnates.
As the train is about to leave the
depot a telegram is received at the dispatcher’s
office, which causes a delay. A freight on the
Wilkes-Barre division has jumped the track. The
wrecking train is called for. After the departure
of the wrecking train the express pulls out. The
accident has occurred thirty miles east of Wilkes-Barre.
It causes the Keystone to be two hours late.
During his enforced wait, Trueman
improves the time by telegraphing to New York.
He gets from Benson the latest details of the news;
the full import of the terrible atonement dawns upon
him. The Committee of Forty had come to the conclusion
that it must meet force with force. This was
a step which Trueman would never have sanctioned.
He realizes that the opprobrium for the act of the
committee will be placed on him. He has been
associated with the committee; has been the one candidate
which it indorsed. And for all that he has known
absolutely nothing of its intention to carry out a
wholesale annihilation.
“Who will believe that I am
not an accomplice?” he asks himself.
“I have but one way to clear
my name of such an imputation. I must stand out
as the advocate for rational action. I must bring
the people, those who know me and who will obey my
wishes, to unite to suppress anarchy.”
As this thought shapes itself, the
words on the card of one of the committee obtrude
themselves on Trueman: “When anarchy seems
imminent, take courage, for an honest leader will
deliver you from harm.” Is there something
prophetic in these words?
Reinforcements are arriving on trains
that are obliged to stop in the rear of the express.
One of the new arrivals is a part of the infamous
Coal and Iron Police. As these men are familiar
with the mining district, the Sheriff of Luzerne requests
that they be placed on the Keystone and rushed through
first. This request is complied with. When
the train starts, after the track is cleared, the three
hundred and fifty members of the Coal and Iron Police
have exchanged places with the militia.
From the intemperate speech of the
men, Trueman foresees that the conflict between the
miners and the police will be sanguinary. He
resolves to keep the two bodies of men apart, if anything
in his power can effect this result.
As the twilight deepens the train
reaches the ten-mile grade that leads to Wilkes-Barre.
The powerful engine responds to the utmost of its
capacity and begins the ascent at a speed of fifty
miles an hour.
“We shall be doing business
in fifteen minutes,” remarks one of the Coal
and Iron Police, as he pulls his rifle from under the
seat.
“Thank God, we don’t have
to stand up and receive a shower of sticks and stones,
as the militia did in the old days. We have the
right on our side now, and we can shoot without waiting
to be shot,” asserts a dyspeptic clerk, who
has quit his desk for “a day’s shooting.”