The pork packers and brewers amicably adjusted the strikes of their men, but the majority of the employers refused to concede anything. Sunday, the 2d of May, pa.s.sed without incident, but the police knew the anarchists were plotting and trouble was at hand. Probably 12,000 strikers gathered the next day at the McCormick Reaper Works on Western Avenue, where they shattered the windows with stones. At the moment an attack was about to be made upon the buildings, a patrol wagon dashed up with twelve policemen, who sprang to the ground. Drawing their revolvers they faced the mob and ordered them to disperse. They were answered with a volley of stones. The policemen fired twice over the heads of the rioters, thereby encouraging instead of intimidating them. Seeing the folly of throwing away their shots, the policemen now fired directly at the rioters, who answered with pistol-shots, but they did not hit any of the officers.

Other patrol wagons hurried up, and the officers did not wait until they could leap out before opening fire. Their brave attack forced back the mob, and in the course of an hour the streets were cleared. The terrified workmen were escorted by the policemen to their homes. But for such protection they would have been killed by the infuriated rioters.

Tuesday was marked by many affrays between the officers and law-breakers, but no serious conflict occurred. Placards were distributed during the day, calling upon the "workingmen" to meet that evening at the old Haymarket Place, and the organ of the anarchists urged the men to arm against the police. At the meeting the most incendiary speeches were made, and the speakers had roused the several thousand listeners to the highest pitch of excitement, when Inspector Bonfield at the head of a column of officers forced his way to the stand, ordered the speaker to stop, and commanded the crowd to disperse.

He was answered with jeers and a storm of missiles. While the policemen were calmly awaiting the orders of the inspector, some one in the crowd threw a sputtering dynamite bomb at the feet of the officers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OLD HAYMARKET PLAZA, CHICAGO.

This monument shows the spot where on May 3, 1886, a dynamite bomb was thrown by anarchists into a group of policemen, killing seven, crippling eleven for life, and injuring twelve others so they were unable to do duty for a year.]

A moment later it exploded, killing seven and crippling eleven for life.

The enraged survivors dashed into the mob, shooting and using their clubs with fearful effect. Within five minutes the crowd was scattered, but many lay dead and wounded on the ground. In the investigation that followed, it was shown that the anarchists had planned to slay hundreds of innocent people and plunder the city. Their leaders were brought to trial, ably defended, and the most prominent sentenced to death. One committed suicide, a number were hanged, and others sentenced to long terms of imprisonment. All of the latter were pardoned by Governor Altgeld when he a.s.sumed office. Since that time, as has been stated, the anarchists have given little trouble.

THE CHARLESTON EARTHQUAKE.

The year 1886 was marked by one of the most terrifying visitations that can come to any country. Earthquake shocks have been felt in different places in the United States, and the earth-tremors are so frequent in California that they cause little alarm, for very few have inflicted any damage to property or life.

On the night of August 31st, the city of Richmond, Virginia, was thrown into consternation by a series of earthquake shocks. The convicts in the penitentiary became so panic-stricken that the militia had to be called out to control them. The shock was felt still more violently in Columbia, South Carolina. The buildings swayed as if rocked in a gale, and hundreds of citizens rushed into the street in their night robes.

The scenes were less startling in Memphis, Nashville, Raleigh, Chattanooga, Selma, Lynchburg, Norfolk, Mobile, St. Louis, Cleveland, Indianapolis, Chicago, Pittsburg, while the tremor was felt as far north as Albany, N.Y.

The most fearful visitation, however, was at Charleston, South Carolina.

Telegraphic communication was cut off with the rest of the world, and for hours the horrifying belief prevailed that the city had been entirely destroyed. Such, happily, was not the fact, though never in all the stormy history of Charleston did she pa.s.s through so terrible an experience.

Late on the evening named, the inhabitants found themselves tossed about, with their houses tumbling into ruins. They ran in terror into the streets, many not stopping until they reached the open country, while others flung themselves on their knees and begged heaven to save them.

The shocks that night were ten in number, each less violent than its predecessor. Fires started in several quarters, and twenty houses were burned before the firemen gained control. The next morning vibrations again shook the city, all coming from the southeast and pa.s.sing off in a northwesterly direction. The first warning was a deep, subterraneous rumbling, then the earth quivered and heaved, and in a few seconds the terrific wave had gone by. When night came again, 50,000 people--men, women, and children--were in the streets, none daring to enter their houses. They fled to the open squares to escape being crushed by the falling buildings. Many believed the day of judgment had come and the negroes were frenzied with terror.

Singular effects of the earthquake showed themselves. In some places, the covers were hurled from the wells and were followed by geysers of mud and water. Some wells were entirely emptied, but they soon refilled.

The shocks continued at varying intervals for several weeks, though none was as violent as at first. In Charleston fully a hundred people were killed and two-thirds of the city required rebuilding. While damage was done at other points, none equaled that at Charleston.

The country was quick to respond to the needs of the smitten city.

Contributions were forwarded from every point as freely as when Chicago was devastated by fire. Tents, provisions, and many thousands of dollars were sent thither. Even Queen Victoria telegraphed her sympathy to President Cleveland. One of the mitigations of such scourges is that they seem to draw humanity closer into one general brotherhood.

CONQUEST OF THE APACHES.

An important work accomplished during the first administration of Cleveland was the conquest and subjection of the Apaches of the Southwest. These Indians are the most terrible red men that ever lived anywhere. They are incredibly tough of frame, as merciless as tigers, and capable of undergoing hardships and privations before which any other people would succ.u.mb. They will travel for days without a mouthful of food, will go for hour after hour through a climate that is like that of Sahara without a drop of moisture, will climb precipitous mountains as readily as a slight declivity, will lope across the burning deserts all day without fatigue, or, if riding one of their wiry ponies, will kill and eat a portion of them when hunger must be attended to, and then continue their journey on foot.

If a party of Apache raiders are hard pressed by cavalry, they will break up and continue their flight singly, meeting at some rendezvous many miles away, after the discouraged troopers have abandoned pursuit.

They seem as impervious to the fiery heat of Arizona and New Mexico as salamanders. Tonight they may burn a ranchman's home, ma.s.sacre him and all his family, and to-morrow morning will repeat the crime fifty miles distant.

No men could have displayed more bravery and endurance in running down the Apaches than the United States cavalry. The metal-work of their weapons grew so hot that it would blister the bare hands, and for days the thermometer marked one hundred and twenty degrees.

Captain Bourke, who understands these frightful red men thoroughly, gives the following description of the Apache:

"Physically, he is perfect; he might be a trifle taller for artistic effect, but his apparent 'squattiness' is due more to great girth of chest than to diminutive stature. His muscles are hard as bone, and I have seen one light a match on the sole of his foot. When Crook first took the Apache in hand, he had few wants and cared for no luxuries. War was his business, his life, and victory his dream. To attack a Mexican camp or isolated village, and run off a herd of cattle, mules, or sheep, he would gladly travel hundreds of miles, incurring every risk and displaying a courage which would have been extolled in a historical novel as having happened in a raid by Highlanders upon Scotchmen; but when it was _your_ stock, or your friend's stock, it became quite a different matter. He wore no clothing whatever save a narrow piece of calico or buckskin about his loins, a helmet also of buckskin, plentifully crested with the plumage of the wild turkey and eagle, and long-legged moccasins, held to the waist by a string, and turned up at the toes in a shield which protected him from stones and the 'cholla'

cactus. If he felt thirsty, he drank from the nearest brook; if there was no brook near by he went without, and, putting a stone or a twig in his mouth to induce a flow of saliva, journeyed on. When he desired to communicate with friends at home, or to put himself in correspondence with persons whose co-operation had been promised, he rubbed two sticks together, and dense signal smoke rolled to the zenith, and was answered from peaks twenty and thirty miles away. By nightfall, his bivouac was pitched at a distance from water, generally on the flank of a rocky mountain, along which no trail would be left, and up which no force of cavalry could hope to ascend without making noise enough to wake the dead."

This graphic picture of the dusky scourge of the Southwest will explain the dread in which he was held by all who were compelled to live away from the towns. When practicable, the ranchmen combined against the Apaches, but, from the necessities of the case, they were powerless to extirpate the pests. Unsuccessful attempts were made by the military forces, but nothing definite was accomplished until General George Crook took the work in hand.

Crook was an old Indian campaigner who thoroughly understood the nature of the difficult task before him. His preparations being completed, he ordered his different columns to converge, December 9, 1872, on Tonto Basin, which was one of the princ.i.p.al strongholds of the Apaches in Arizona. The section is inclosed by the Mogollen, the Mazatzal, and the Sierra Ancha Mountains, and the timbered region is so elevated that during the winter months it is covered with snow. Crook himself took station at Camp Grant, one of the most unattractive posts in the country.

This officer having started on his campaign pushed it with untiring energy. He had selected the best Indian fighters to be found anywhere, and they pursued and rounded up the bucks with amazing skill and persistency. As soon as they corralled a party of hostiles, they impressed the best trailers and used them in running down the others.

The Indians were allowed no time to rest. When they had fled many miles, and supposed their pursuers were left far out of sight, as had hitherto been the case, they discovered them at their heels. Plunging into their fastnesses in the mountains did not avail, for the white and the red trailers could follow and did follow them wherever they took refuge.

The pursuing detachments frequently crossed one another's trails, often met and kept within supporting distance. The danger which threatened the Apaches was as present in the darkness as when the sun was shining. One of the seemingly inaccessible strongholds was reached by the troopers pushing the pursuit all through the night. As a proof of the skill of the Apache trailers, it may be said they were often guided in the gloom by the feeling of their feet, which told them when they were on the trail of the enemy. Captain Bourke, whom we have quoted, was in command of a detachment of the best Indian trailers and sharpshooters. He thus describes the scene and incidents, when, after hours of stealthy pursuit through the rough region, they came upon the hostiles, who believed themselves beyond reach of the most persistent enemies of any race:

[Ill.u.s.tration: GENERAL CROOK'S APACHE GUIDE.]

"Lieutenant William J. Ross, of the Twenty-first Infantry, was a.s.signed to lead the first detachment, which contained the best shots from among the soldiers, packers, and scouts. The second detachment came under my own orders. Our pioneer party slipped down the face of the precipice without accident, following a trail from which an incautious step would have caused them to be dashed to pieces; after a couple of hundred yards this brought them face to face with the cave, and not two hundred feet from it. In front of the cave was the party of raiders, just returned from their successful trip of killing and robbing in the settlement near Florence on the Gila River. They were dancing to keep themselves warm and to express their joy over their safe return. Half a dozen or more of the squaws had arisen from their slumbers and were bending over a fire and hurriedly preparing refreshments for their victorious kinsmen. The fitful gleam of the glowing flame gave a Macbethian tinge to the weird scene, and brought into bold relief the grim outlines of the cliffs, between whose steep walls, hundreds of feet below, growled the rushing current of the swift Salado.

"The Indians, men and women, were in high good humor, and why should they not be? Sheltered in the bosom of these grim precipices, only the eagle, the hawk, the turkey buzzard, or the mountain sheep could venture to intrude upon them. But hark! What is that noise? Can it be the breeze of morning which sounds 'click, click?' You will know in one second more, poor, deluded, red-skinned wretches, when the 'bang! boom!' of rifles and carbines, reverberating like the roar of a cannon, from peak to peak, shall lay six of your number dead in the dust.

"The cold, gray dawn of that chill December morning was sending its first rays above the horizon and looking down upon one of the worst bands of Apaches in Arizona, caught like wolves in a trap. They rejected with scorn our summons to surrender, and defiantly shrieked that not one of our party should escape from the canon. We heard their death-song chanted, and then out of the cave and over the great pile of rocks, which protected the entrance like a parapet, swarmed the warriors. But we outnumbered them three to one, and poured in lead by the bucketful.

The bullets, striking the mouth and roof of the cave, glanced among the savages in rear of the parapet, and wounded some of the women and children, whose wails filled the air.

"During the heaviest part of the firing, a little boy not more than four years old, absolutely naked, ran out at the side of the parapet and stood dumfounded between the two fires. Nantaje, without a moment's pause, rushed forward, grasped the trembling infant by the arm, and escaped unhurt with him, inside our lines. A bullet, probably deflected from the rocks, had struck the boy on top of his head and plowed around to the back of his neck, leaving a welt an eighth of an inch thick, but not injuring him seriously. Our men suspended their firing to cheer Nantaje and welcome the new arrival; such is the inconsistency of human nature.

"Again the Apaches were summoned to surrender, or, if they would not do that, to let such of their women and children as so desired pa.s.s out between the lines; again they yelled their refusal. Their end had come.

The detachment led by Major Brown at the top of the precipice, to protect our retreat in case of necessity, had worked its way over to a high shelf of rock overlooking the enemy beneath, and began to tumble down great bowlders, which speedily crushed the greater number of the Apaches. The Indians on the San Carlos reservation still mourn periodically for the seventy-six of their relatives who yielded up the ghost that morning. Every warrior died at his post. The women and children had hidden themselves in the inner recesses of the cave, which was of no great depth, and were captured and taken to Camp McDowell. A number of them had been struck by glancing bullets or fragments of falling rock. As soon as our pack trains could be brought up, we mounted the captives on our horses and mules and started for the nearest military station, the one just named, over fifty miles away."

This was one of the most decisive blows received by the hostiles. No more murderous band had ever desolated the ranches of Southern Arizona.

It had been virtually wiped out by the troopers, who, complete as was their work, lost only a single man.

A GREAT TRANSFORMATION.

This achievement may ill.u.s.trate the manner in which the American troopers did their work. A few days later a blow almost as destructive was delivered at Turret b.u.t.te, and within a month a hundred and ten Apaches in the Superst.i.tion Mountains surrendered to Major Brown and accompanied him to Camp Grant. The Indians understood the character of the man who was pressing them so remorselessly. They offered to surrender to General Crook, who told them that, if they would stop killing people and live peaceful lives, he would teach them to work, find a market for their products, and prove himself the truest friend they could have.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AN INDIAN WARRIOR.]

They accepted the offer, for they knew Crook could be trusted. Strange as it may appear, he had all the Apaches within a month at work digging ditches, cutting hay and wood, planting vegetables, and as peaceful and contented as so many farmers in the interior of one of our own States.

This transformation included all the Apaches in Arizona, excepting the Chiricahuas, who were not within the jurisdiction of Crook.

The terrible scourge that had so long desolated the Southwest was gone, and all would have been well but for the vicious "Indian Ring" in Washington, or, as it was more popularly known, the "Tucson Ring," who secured legislation by which the 6,000 Apaches were ordered to leave the reservation and go to that of San Carlos, where the soil is arid, the water brackish, and the flies make life intolerable. As was inevitable, the Indians were exasperated and revolted. They preferred to be shot down while resenting the injustice than to submit quietly to it. Again the reign of terror opened, and the blood of hundreds of innocent people paid for the villainy of the rapacious miscreants who were beyond reach.

GERONIMO, THE FAMOUS APACHE CHIEF.

The most famous chief of the Warm Spring Apaches was Geronimo. Another hardly less prominent was his cousin Chato, who joined the whites in their attempts to run down Geronimo. They professed to hate each other, but there is ground for believing the two were secret allies, and kept up continual communication by which Geronimo was able to avoid his pursuers and continue his fearful career.

General Crook took the saddle again, when Geronimo escaped from Fort Apache in May, 1885, with a band of more than a hundred warriors, women, and children. They traveled one hundred and twenty miles before making their first camp. Try as they might, the cavalry could not get within gunshot, and, though the chase was pressed for hundreds of miles, the fugitives placed themselves beyond reach for a time in the Sierra Madre Mountains.

But Crook never let up, and finally corralled Geronimo. He held him just one night, when he escaped. The wily leader stole back to camp the next night, carried off his wife, and was beyond reach before pursuit could be made.

There was an agreement between the United States and Mexico by which the troops of the former were allowed to follow any marauding Indians beyond the Rio Grande when they were seeking escape by entering Mexico. General H.W. Lawton (who won fame in Cuba during our late war with Spain and still more in the Philippines) took the field with the Fourth Cavalry, May 5, 1885. Lawton is a giant in stature and strength, with more endurance than an Indian, absolutely fearless, and he was resolute to run down the Apaches, even if compelled to chase them to the city of Mexico.

And he did it. Geronimo was followed with such untiring persistency, losing a number of his bucks in the attacks made on him, that in desperation he crossed the Rio Grande and headed again for the Sierra Madre. A hot chase of two hundred miles brought the Apaches to bay, and a brisk fight took place within the confines of Mexico. The Indians fled again, and Lawton kept after them. The pursuit took the troopers 300 miles south of the boundary line, the trail winding in and out of the mountains and canons of Sonora, repeatedly crossing and doubling upon itself, but all the time drawing nearer the dusky scourges, who at last were so worn out and exhausted that when summoned to surrender they did so.