The Coal War (42 page)

“He got gun; he go fight!” answered Little Jerry; and added, “I got gun too, I go fight!” He had a little air-gun which Hal had given him, and was starting out of the tent to follow his father, when Hal caught him by the arm. “I kill them militias!” he cried; but Hal handed him, kicking and screaming, to his mother.

Hal helped down Mrs. Zamboni and her swarm of children as they came. Then he rushed on to the next tent, where he found John Edstrom, weak and ill, but giving what help he could to women and children. Seeing that the trap-doors in some of the tent-platforms were no more than thirty inches square, Hal got an axe and knocked loose a few boards, so that those in the cellars might not be stifled.

While he was busied thus, Mary Burke came running up to him. “There's a crowd out there in the field!” she cried; and Hal, following her down the street, saw a great number of women and children huddled like a flock of frightened sheep.

“They must come in here,” he said, “and get under ground.”

“But there won't be room enough!” There had been more than twelve hundred people in the tent-colony.

Suddenly Hal thought of the well which was over by the railroad pump-house; twenty or thirty feet wide, and perhaps a hundred feet deep, with rickety stairs leading in a circle to the bottom, and several platforms on the way. He had considered this as a place of shelter in case of trouble. “Take the people there,” he said to Mary; and seeing Mrs. Jack David, he called to her to help, and the two women ran out into the field.

[24]

Meantime Hal went back to his task of getting those in the tents out of reach of the flying bullets. He came upon an Italian family, concealed in a packing-case in back of their tent; he dragged them out, and persuaded them to lie in a drainage trench. In another tent he found a Lithuanian woman crouching behind a stove, her eyes staring wildly, her teeth chattering so that she could not speak. She had shut her baby up inside the oven! Fortunately, there was no fire in the stove, but the child would have suffocated in a few minutes. Hal carried the child and dragged the mother, putting them into one of the rifle-pits which the Greeks had dug behind their tents.

Louie and Kowalewsky joined Hal, having run the gauntlet of fire once more. Louie had taken an even greater risk, running out toward the militiamen and waving his white handkerchief; but it had availed nothing—they had shot at him, wounding him in the arm, and putting bullets through his coat. He shouted to Hal that somebody was firing from the tent-colony and this was drawing the fire upon women and children; he and Hal raced about, searching for these men, shouting to them to desist. It was some time before Hal realized the truth—that the sound which they thought was firing from the tents was the bursting of explosive bullets. This use of explosive bullets was vehemently denied by the militia, but it was a point on which the subsequent testimony of witnesses was overwhelming. One of the bullets hit a stove near Hal, and splinters of steel cut his clothing and hands.

Mary Burke came in, breathless and gasping, having run all the way back from the well; she showed Hal where the heel of her shoe had been carried away by a bullet. She told him that sixty or seventy women and children were crowded onto the rickety underground platforms, which trembled when anyone moved. There being no more people left in the tents, Hal and Mary went to the cellar where they had put the Burke family. There was just room for two more to squeeze in, and there they stayed, packed like sardines, for hours, while the firing went on.

The sun beat down upon the tent, and in the course of the afternoon the hole, which was only six feet square, became stifling hot; the children were whimpering and the babies screaming, and it was necessary to get water for them. So Hal and Mary clambered out again. Thinking that the militiamen would not fire upon the tents if they realized that only non-combatants were in them, they ran to the hospital-tent. Hal put a red-cross badge upon his sleeve, and Mary Burke put on the white costume of a nurse. They knew that the militia-officers could see these signs through their field-glasses, but they found that they had only made themselves targets. As Mary went about, taking water to the children, the bullets followed her so that people begged her to stay away.

They went back to the shelter; but late in the afternoon little Jennie Burke fainted, and it was necessary again to get water. Hal started to go, but Tommie, with the eagerness of a boy, climbed out ahead of him. He limped with his lame foot across the tent, and the next instant came an explosion, and he fell upon the floor.

There was a moment's stillness; then the women screamed, and Hal caught hold of the platform and lifted himself out, and saw the horrible thing that had happened. The boy was lying in a pool of blood, the whole back of his head blown away by an explosive bullet.

“Don't come up! Don't come up!” he cried to Mary; and he lifted the body and carried it to one side, so that the blood and brains should not trickle down upon the people. Then he went back into the hole, and told what had happened, and caught Mary in his arms as she swooned away.

[25]

It was late in the afternoon when the firing showed signs of dying away. Hearing the shouts of men in the street, Hal decided to investigate, and climbed out. He saw a sight which struck a chill to his heart. The tents were on fire! And in a moment he saw why they were on fire. A militiaman in uniform was coming down the street, carrying in one hand a pail full of liquid, and in the other hand a broom; he stopped at one of the tents, and dipping three or four times into the pail, splashed the stuff over the canvas. Then he put a match to it, and the tent went up in a roaring blaze.

“What are you doing?” Hal shouted. “There are women and children in those tents!”

The man turned and stared at him. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded; and stepping across the street, he began to sling his broom upon a second tent. When Hal sprang toward him, making to interfere, the man whirled and stuck the broom into his face. Hal recoiled, and the man struck another match. At the same moment a second militiaman ran out of the tent, carrying an armful of clothing.

Hal saw another man approaching the tent of the Burkes, also with a broom and pail. “There are people in there, down in the cellar!” he shouted.

“Well, get them out, and be quick!” said the man, with an oath. And he pulled back the flap of the tent. “Come up out of there!” he cried. “Be quick about it, if you know what's good for you.”

“Have you got orders to burn these tents?” Hal demanded.

“Sure thing!” was the answer. And looking inside, the man saw old Patrick Burke. “What the hell you doing in there?”

“I'm trying to get out my children.”

Hal turned, and looking down the street, saw Lieutenant Carroll and a group of men, some of them in uniform, some of them not. He knew this officer for a ruffian, but he could not believe that he would permit the burning up of women and children. He ran to him and made a frantic appeal. The Lieutenant's response was to leap into the tent and proceed to throw the people out as if they had been grain-sacks.

“Hold on!” cried Patrick Burke. “I've got a boy killed here!”

“God damn you, you old red-neck!” cried Carroll. “I know who you are—you've done as much shooting as anybody!”

“I never done no shooting!” protested the old man. “I never had a gun.”

“I've got a notion to kill you right here!” replied the Lieutenant, with a string of unprintable oaths. Then he saw “Red Mary” climbing out of the hole, followed by her sister Jennie, who had got her picture in the paper when she was kicked in the breast by General Wrightman. Both these people had deserved cursing from the militia, and now they got it. Old Patrick got more cursing because he was slow and clumsy, his arms and hands being slippery with blood. Finally, however, he managed to get the body of his dead boy onto his shoulder, and staggered away through the smoke and flame, followed by the cowering women and children. Then the kerosene was slapped onto the tent, and it went up in a blaze like a dried Christmas tree.

Hal started again to protest, and Lieutenant Carroll whirled upon him. “What the hell have you got to do with this?” he shouted. Then, to one of his men, “Take this fellow out of here.”

“Is Captain Harding about?” demanded Hal.

“I don't know whether he is or not. He's got nothing to do with me if he is.”

“Look here, man!” shouted Hal, wildly. “Do you want to burn up women and children? Don't you know the cellars are full of people?”

“We're getting them out aren't we?”

“You're not doing anything of the sort! Your men aren't even looking inside!”

These words seemed to bring the Lieutenant to his senses. He turned to some of his men, who were carrying off armfuls of stuff: “Hey, you! Drop that loot, and get these red-necks out!” And he began to curse them, as furiously as he had cursed the Burke family. They were not soldiers, they were a bunch of pan-handlers and bums!

That was really the truth about the membership of this newly organized “Troop E”; it was not a militia-body, but a mob. Its enlisted members had never had a drill, nor even a roll-call—many of them had not yet got their uniforms.

They did not know their officers, and their officers did not know them; now they were turned loose, each man to follow his own impulses. Some of them were dragging out trunks and boxes, prying them open with bayonets, or smashing them with axes. You saw men going down the street, laughing and joking, carrying clothing, cigars and food; you saw others risking their lives to drag women and children out of the burning tents.

[26]

There was still time to save people, for there was no wind, and the flames were not spreading; each tent had to be separately kindled. No one paid any attention to Hal Warner, for the reason that so many others wore civilian clothing. Knowing where the cellars were, he ran from one to another shouting to the people to come out. In some cases the women were so dazed by terror that he had to spring down into the holes and lift them out bodily; then they would stand in the middle of the street, sobbing and moaning, confused by the glare of the flames and the yells of the raiders.

In one of the cellars Hal found the body of a woman on the ground. He did not know whether she had fainted or been suffocated; he lifted her out, and was climbing out himself, when he saw something which made him crouch back. A group of half a dozen militiamen were bringing in two prisoners: one of them Kowalewsky, the Polish organizer, and the other poor old sick John Edstrom. A moment later came others with a third prisoner, Louie the Greek.

Poor Louie had been beaten, but still he was not thinking about himself; he was pointing to the burning tents and shouting, “Women and children in there! Women and children in there!” They struck him, but still he would not be silent.

And then came Lieutenant Stangholz, rushing upon the scene. He caught Louie by the throat, as a terrier might catch a rat, and with a torrent of profanity, accused him of having taken part in the fighting. Louie answered that he did not have a gun, he had never had a gun in his life. He called the men about him to witness that they had not found any weapons on him; and then again he pointed towards the burning tents, crying that there were women and children there. He started towards the tents in his excitement; and Stangholz turned to one of the militiamen, grabbed the rifle from the man's hand, swung it and brought down the stock with a crash upon Louie's head. The Greek went down like a log, his cries about women and children stilled at last.

And Stangholz glanced at the weapon, which had been broken by the blow. “I've spoiled a damned good rifle on that red-neck,” said he. The crowd of militiamen laughed.

Old John Edstrom was trying to argue. “Gentlemen, I have never had a gun. I was trying to stop the fighting!”

But the militiamen would not hear him. “Get a rope!” somebody shouted. And Hal, peering over the edge of the hole in the platform, saw a man come running up the street with a coil of rope over his arm. “String them up!” was the cry; and they cut the rope into lengths and made nooses, which they fastened about the necks of their three captives, lifting the half-conscious form of Louie for the purpose. “String them up!” They started towards the telephone pole by the headquarters tent.

Hal knew full well the danger of his own position; nevertheless he began to climb out of the hole. But before he had revealed himself, Lieutenant Stangholz changed his mind. He must have realized that it would be a dangerous matter for the militia to hang their prisoners. Hal heard his voice, dominating the clamor, ordering the men to take the ropes off; he gave other orders in a low tone, which Hal did not hear, and then he turned and walked away.

It was all over before Hal had time to realize what was meant. Stangholz had seen service among the Mexicans, and he knew their custom, called the “law of flight”. The militiamen jerked the shuddering and moaning Greek to his feet, and thrust the other two prisoners forward. “Run, damn you, run!” they yelled; and Kowalewsky and Edstrom started down the street, while Louie staggered three or four paces. At the same instant a dozen rifles blazed, and all three of the men went down as if struck by lightning. Hal sank into the hole beneath the platform, overcome with horror. For several minutes afterwards he heard the crack of rifles—when the body of Kowalewsky was examined, there were fifty bullet-holes found in it!

[27]

When Hal looked out again it was night, and the tent-colony was a blazing inferno. The platform which covered him had caught fire, and he was choking with the smoke. Everywhere he looked, the looters were still at work; a group of them were dancing about the blazing ruins, shouting and singing, waving whiskey-bottles in the air. Nearby Hal saw a couple of others, emptying the contents of a trunk into the street.