by Carol Henry
“We’ll be okay,” Pansy said. “I do believe they have it under control now.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am dear. It can’t be any worse than waiting here for those Indians to come for us. Mark my word. This is the lesser of two evils.”
Emily had to agree.
Before they attempted another excursion across to the other side, two more ropes were tied to the raft to ensure it wouldn’t get washed away.
Emily, along with Mr. O’Leary, helped Marian Aderley and the boys onto the raft when it was their turn.
“Hang on to your boys, Marian. I’ll come along and give you a hand in a moment.”
Marian nodded. She clutched her sons, her face contorted with pain. Emily admired the woman’s determination, not wanting her sons to see the effort it took not to scream in pain with her own broken body. It took energy, and Marian had little to spare.
Emily joined them and gathered the youngest boy, still in a deep sleep, into her arms and held on tight.
The raft bounced wildly at first, but the men controlling the rope soon had it under control. At the water’s edge, the wounded were carefully lifted onto the dry bank.
“Thank you,” Emily said after one of the men lifted her out and carried her through the river to dry land.
She rushed to Marian and her children, hoping to be of assistance. She wrapped Jonathan in one of the blankets the men had retrieved from the train. The days might be extremely hot, but the night air held a chill. The boy needed warmth.
On and on the passengers and trainmen made their way across the churning river. Once on the other side, everyone gathered in a massive huddle, bedraggled, wet, tired, and muddied from their ordeal. They were safe for the moment. Not sure what to do now, they waited like corralled cattle.
Exhausted and frightened, no one spoke; the tension thick.
Total darkness set in.
“No fires,” someone shouted in the still night air. “We don’t want to alert the Indians.”
Emily remained huddled on the ground next to Elizabeth, Marian, and their children.
The conductor made his rounds, passing out additional blankets and water, asking everyone to remain calm.
“As soon as we get organized, we’ll climb out of the ravine and make our way to Silver Springs while it’s still cool. Do we have any volunteers to stand guard tonight?” he asked. “We’ll go in shifts.”
A number of trainmen, the conductor himself, a few engineers, as well as the porter and several passengers volunteered.
“Everyone else get some rest,” the conductor told them. “Try to keep as quiet as possible. If the Indians do come before we get started, they won’t see us along the river bank. They’ll most likely take what they want from the train and go back about their business. If we don’t interfere, no one will get hurt.”
Emily found sleep impossible even though she felt a bit safer knowing someone kept watch. She stared into the night and listened as the loud gurgling water rushed over the large stones and the frothy rapids splashing against the shore. She longed for Charles and her family. She tugged the blanket tighter around her shivering shoulders and huddled against the cold ravine wall. She looked up into the darkness of the night, surprised to find the big expanse of sky filled with nothing but twinkling stars. It would have been a wonderful night for sitting on the front porch with Charles by her side, swinging together, and wishing on each and every star.
She might not be on a front porch right now, but she sent up a few wishes, anyway.
As well as a few prayers.
Chapter Ten
Mason Aderley peered down at the engineers, the trainmen, and the brakemen.
“Shit. Between our men and the sympathizers, there must be at least five-hundred altogether. Including the tramps leeching in daily like mold on a crust of old bread,” Aderley spat.
He shook his head and shouted. “Damn it to hell, Charles. It won’t be long now.”
Charley joined him at the window and looked at the gathering mob. People pushed and shoved each other with disregard, their tempers flaring. The scene below was far from under control. Three policemen worked the crowd. Charley looked toward Market Street where the Blue Bottle was already doing a stroke of business. Two more officers appeared on the scene. Huh. Two weren’t near enough to contain the rowdy group congregated in front of the saloon.
Charley froze. Dear Lord. Did he just see Sergeant Mead swing his billy club and hit a man over the head? The poor soul had attempted to run across the tracks toward the roundhouse. Even from his vantage point, he could see blood ooze down the side of the man’s face.
Sergeant Mead caught up with the man and hit him again. Another spurt of crimson shot from the man’s face and splattered Mead’s uniform. The man fell to the ground in a limp heap. Mead wiped at his soiled shirt, as if oblivious to the man he’d just bludgeoned.
Charley shuddered.
“God help us, Charles. It’s begun.” Aderley swiped his hands over his face and sighed.
Charley had to agree. No going back now.
The angry crowd shouted at Sergeant Mead. Charley could tell Mead had no intention of acknowledging them. He beat on another man who was attacking him. Within seconds, the sergeant was overwhelmed and forced to the ground. Three policemen rushed in and broke up the angry brawl. When they drew their clubs in the air to beat the crowd back, Charley turned away. He could watch no longer.
He sank into a chair at the same time Aderley dragged his out from under his desk and sat. He shook his head as if it would dispel the sight from his mind. He shut his eyes. Tight. Heavy-hearted, he took a deep breath.
Aderley struck a match and lit a cigar. He drew on it, then exhaled. He repeatedly drew in and exhaled several more times before he tamped the embers out in the ash tray. He shoved his chair back from his desk. Charley jumped at the sound.
“John,” Aderley bellowed. “Get a message to Mayor Stokley right away. I need to talk to him. Now!”
He turned back to Charley, eyes blazing. “Stokley will know what to do. He has a way with mobs, and this one is out of control. The mayor led a police posse against the gas work strikers in ’72. That alone got him re-elected back in February.”
Charley didn’t know what to say. Dazed, he stood while Aderley continued.
“John,” Aderley called again, frustration ringing in his voice. “Did you hear me? I said send a message to Mayor Stokley. Get him on the line. I want to talk to him.”
Still no reply from Donahue. Aderley stormed from his office.
“Now where the hell did he go?” Aderley sat at Donahue’s desk and pounded on the telegraph, then strode back to his office.
Charley stood like an invisible statue, not knowing what to do. How to proceed.
Aderley opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a bottle. He poured a liberal amount in a shot glass and handed it to Charley. Charley stepped forward to accept the token, waiting for Aderley to pour himself a shot. Not bothering with a glass, he tipped the neck up to his lips and drank. Back at the window, he stared at the scene below. Charley downed his drink, slammed the glass on the desk, and then joined Aderley at the window again. He hoped like hell things would calm down before long.
As night fell, a progression of cumulus clouds filled the sky, covering what moonlight managed to spill through. A great whisper of urgency surrounded the entire town that penetrated to his bones. He stood at the window with Aderley as the torch-lit night grew brighter and brighter as more and more people arrived. By midnight he figured there must be several hundred lined up along the tracks.
A shrill of a whistle filled the night, signaling the approach of an in-coming train. The engineer blew his whistle several more times to clear the tracks. No one stepped away. God forbid, there were men, women, and even children keeping vigilance on the embankment next to those tracks. They hooted and hollered as if they were welcoming the circus to town.
“Where the hell is
Stokley?” Aderley hissed.
Charley had no answer.
By the time Mayor Stokley finally arrived, he issued a directive to the police sentries who had amassed in force. In a matter of minutes, they took charge and everyone scattered. The police cordoned off the depot.
But Charley figured it was too little, too late.
“I’ll wire George McCrary for more militia,” the Mayor, now standing beside Aderley, said. “We’ll get additional troops in place at once.”
“Is that necessary?” Charley asked the mayor. “Things look to be in control.”
“Good God,” Aderley exploded, his face mottled, his eyebrows raised. “I don’t think we need to call in the secretary of war for help.”
“We do for now,” the mayor confirmed. “But don’t fool yourself. It’s only temporary. I’ve contacted General Hancock. The men will be under his command. I’ll get in touch with the president and ask him to exert every constitutional power he has in order to restore and protect your property here. Once General Hancock arrives, he’ll put this strike down in a matter of hours.”
Aderley agreed. He had no choice if he wanted to end things as soon as possible. Aderley slumped in his chair, his head thrown back on the fine leather. Charley’s own neck and shoulder muscles were tight, but nothing would give him relief anytime soon.
“They may block a few more trains from making their daily runs, but when Hancock arrives, his troops will take care of the situation,” Mayor Stokley said, still looking out the open window.
Several hours later, all of them weary from lack of sleep and several shared shots of whiskey, Aderley stumbled to the window. Charley remained in his chair, wishing he were home with Emily. Then realizing she wasn’t there, that she was out west, he closed his eyes.
The roar of the crowd rushed in through the open window like a cyclone. Charley jumped to his feet and joined the others.
“Look down there, Mayor.” Aderley pointed out the window. “There must be over six hundred jammed elbow to elbow on Callow Hill Street Bridge.”
They stood in silence as the mob grew and voices rose. People pushed and shoved each other; several brawls ensued. From the rear, a brigade on horseback pushed against the tight-knit crowd.
“Ah, here comes the militia as ordered.” The mayor smiled.
Stunned, Charley couldn’t believe his eyes. “How many do you think there are?”
“Should be the three hundred requested. Look at the crowd resisting down there. With the extra men coming in to help, it won’t do them no good.”
The mayor was right. The militia charged the group with raised clubs and loaded guns. More heads were bloodied. Many fell to their knees while others scattered like dust in a wind storm. A thick puff of dense smoke rose into the air.
“Holy shit. They’ve set fire to an oil car.” Aderley turned, grabbed his black hat and clapped it on his head, then headed out the door. “Donahue,” he barked, forgetting his assistant wasn’t there. “Get the carriage. The whole station is under siege.”
The mayor and Charley forgotten, Aderley rushed down the stairs. Charley followed, the mayor right behind him. Aderley disappeared around the side of the building toward his private livery.
“Quick, Otis, get my buggy ready,” Aderley shouted. “There’s been an accident on the tracks. I need to go see what’s going on.”
When Aderley’s carriage rounded the corner, Mayor Stokley waved his hand for Aderley to hold up.
“Don’t these men know how lucky they are to be having work at all?” Aderley mumbled as Charley and the mayor jumped aboard. He clicked on the reins. “If it wasn’t for the trunk lines, they’d have been homeless long ago. No. Instead, they’re down there burning their very livelihood.”
No need for Charley to respond. He kept his eye on the crowd as the carriage bounded along the empty cobblestone streets. The Blue Bottle was empty for the first time in its entire existence, as if someone had put a cork in it and stopped the flow. The Women’s Christian Temperance Union would be here with bells on if they only knew. Even old Jasper Groegen wasn’t slumped over the hitching post outside, vying for space with the horses at the water trough after his usual indulgence at the bar.
A round of shots rang out in the afternoon air. Aderley’s horse slowed, but Aderley wrenched on the reins, and the horse picked up the pace.
They couldn’t escape the cries, the yelling and screaming. By the time his carriage stopped, the militia had forced everyone back, forming a hollow square around the inflamed oil car in order to protect the firemen and give them access. Black smoke billowed into the afternoon sky, thicker now, obliterating the bright blue overhead. Before Aderley could step down from the carriage, Charley was there.
“They’ve transferred six cars to safety but couldn’t get to the oil car,” he shouted at Aderley. “Damned contraption was blazing like hell. No one could get near the burning car. The militia just shot a bunch of men, too. Good Lord, the men were only trying to take care of the trains. They were doing their job. They didn’t set the car a’fire.”
Charley shifted from one foot to the other as if his feet were on fire. He glanced over at Mayor Stokley and gave the man a cautious look. An explosion filled the afternoon air. They both turned to see the oil car spit metal and flames a good fifty-feet into the air in slow motion. The loud explosion startled the horse, causing it to whinny and kick its feet in the air, the mayor still in the buggy. The horse bolted down the street several yards before Mayor Stokley had it under control, heading back toward Aderley’s office.
The oil car flew into the haze of smoke, then landed with a sickening clatter spitting flames and metal pieces in all directions. Charley ran toward the commotion, elbowing his way through the crowd, Aderley by his side. Three men engulfed in flames like a wooden shack on fire yelled in wretched agony as they ran toward the crowd for help.
“Charles, get in there and see what you can do,” Aderley yelled over the chaotic scene. Charley had already rushed forward. Another loud whoosh silenced the crowd. Charley stopped for only a split second before he ran to Johann Westmüller’s side.
“Roll. Get down on the ground and roll,” he yelled.
Fire crackled as flames licked at Westmüller’s clothes, now covered in oil, burning them right off the writhing man’s back. The stench of charred skin mixed with heavy smoldering oil filled the air.
Charley scanned the area. God Almighty. He couldn’t help them all.
“Someone help the others,” he yelled above the din, yanking his white soot-covered shirt off his back, the hand-sewn buttons flying off in all directions. “Fetch some blankets. Anything. Be quick about it.”
Despite the hot flames licking all around Westmüller’s body, Charley flew to his side. He grabbed his flaming, flailing arms and dragged him to the ground. The flames diminished, momentarily, but then flared straight through the thin cotton. A trainman shoved through the crowd and rushed forward with a blanket. Charley wrapped it around Westmüller, then rolled him on the ground until the flames died.
God, he hoped he wasn’t too late. He’d be surprised if Westmüller survived. The flames, now extinguished, hadn’t missed a single part of the prone man’s body. Paper thin charred flesh hung from his arms exposing raw, red tissue and bone. Charley turned away and swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. The stench burned his nose.
“Get this man to the doctor,” he ordered.
Several men ran to assist Westmüller. Charley wiped his hands over his face and sighed. He turned to see about the others and found Aderley standing just outside the ring of fire.
“See what else you can do here, then report back to me,” he shouted at Charley. “I’ll be in my office.”
Charley nodded, then checked to see who else needed help. He spied two bodies lying, charred, lifeless, and almost unrecognizable. Many stood by, stymied. Charley lifted his head as Aderley retreated. The boss had taken a chance coming to this area in the first place the way things
stood. Right now, even Charley wanted to take a pop-swing at Aderley for letting things go this far. Without Westmüller’s wages from the railroad, the man’s family was gonna be heading for the poor house, thanks to the doctor’s demand for compensation after this fiasco.
Not to mention the families of the other two dead men.
The damage done, the strikers started to disperse along the tracks. Weary now from the carnage, Charley leaned against one of the railcars. People wandered in a haphazard fashion down the tree-lined street. They got into their buggies and headed out. Still, plenty of others lagged behind and milled about as if they had no place to go.
The Blue Bottle would be finding it hard to keep up with business before long, what with so many militia and vagrants in the area. Tempers were still high. With all these sympathizers stoking the fires, wherever-the-hell John Donahue was right now, it was obvious the man had a big hand in all this.
****
Aderley paced his office while he waited for General Hancock and his staff to arrive. Mayor Stokley had put out the call over the wires as soon as he’d returned to Aderley’s office. It wouldn’t be long now. In the meantime, Donahue was nowhere to be seen. Charley knew Donahue instigated things at the tracks. The dirty rat better not show his face right now if he knew what was good for him.
By late afternoon, over a hundred marines from Baltimore rode the tracks into town. They set up positions along the bluffs and took control of the entire area. Charley sighed as Aderley continued to pace behind his desk.
“I have to get back to my office,” Stokley said. “I’ve ordered a Committee of Safety, and they’ll double the militia. By the end of the day, there should be another five-hundred armed men from the First Artillery. Order should soon be restored here.”
