"Something terrible is going to happen tonight," she said. "There will be riots all over Chicago."

I asked how she knew this and she explained that a deaf and dumb man named Stephen, who took care of the furnace, a man in whose rather pathetic case she had interested herself, had told her. It seems he also took care of the furnace in a neighbouring house which was occupied by a queer German club, really a gathering place of German spies.

"He overheard things there and told me," she said seriously, whereupon I burst out laughing.

"What? A deaf and dumb man?"

"You know what I mean. He reads the lips and I know the sign language."

The main point was that this furnace man had begged Miss Ryerson not to leave her boardinghouse until he returned. He had gone back to the German club, where he hoped to get definite information of an impending catastrophe.

"It's some big coup they are planning for tonight," she said. "We must wait here."

So we waited and presently, along Wabash Avenue, with crashing bands and a roar of angry voices, came an anti-militarist socialist parade with floats and banners presenting fire-brand sentiments that called forth jeers and hisses from crowds along the sidewalks or again enthusiastic cheers from other crowds of contrary mind.

"You see, there's going to be trouble," trembled the girl, clutching my arm. "Read that!"

A huge float was rolling past bearing this pledge in great red letters:

"I refuse to kill your father. I refuse to slay your mother's son. I refuse to plunge a bayonet into the breast of your sweetheart's brother.

I refuse to a.s.sa.s.sinate you and then hide my stained fists in the folds of any flag. I refuse to be flattered into h.e.l.l's nightmare by a cla.s.s of well-fed sn.o.bs, crooks and cowards who despise our cla.s.s socially, rob our cla.s.s economically and betray our cla.s.s politically."

At this the hostile crowds roared their approval and disapproval. Also at another float that paraded these words:

"What is war? For working-cla.s.s wives--heartache. For working-cla.s.s mothers--loneliness. For working-cla.s.s children--orphanage. For peace--defeat. For death--a harvest. For nations--debts. For bankers--bonds, interest. For preachers on both sides--ferocious prayers for victory. For big manufacturers--business profits. For 'Thou Shalt Not Kill'--boisterous laughter. For Christ--contempt."

I saw that my companion was deeply moved.

"It's all true, what they say, isn't it?" she murmured.

"Yes, it's true, but--we can't change the world, we can't give up our country, our independence. h.e.l.lo!"

A white-faced man had rushed into the parlour, gesticulating violently and making distressing guttural sounds. It was Stephen.

Uncomprehending, I watched his swift signs.

"What is it? What is he trying to say?"

"Wait!"

Her hands flew in eager questions and the man answered her.

"Oh!" she cried. "The riots are a blind to draw away the police and the troops. They're marching against the Blackstone Hotel now--a thousand German spies--with rifles."

The Blackstone Hotel! I realised in a moment what that meant. The German Crown Prince was still a prisoner at the Blackstone, in charge of General Langhorne. It was a serious handicap to the enemy that we held in our power the heir to the German throne. They dared not resort to reprisals against America lest Frederick William suffer.

"They mean to rescue the Crown Prince?"

"Yes."

I rushed to the telephone to call up police headquarters, but the wires were dead--German spies had seen to that.

"Come!" I said, seizing her arm. "We must hustle over to the auditorium."

Fortunately the great recruiting hall was only a few blocks distant and as we hurried there Miss Ryerson explained that the furnace man, Stephen, before coming to us, had run to McCormick College, the Chicago home for deaf students, and given the alarm.

"What good will that do?"

"What good! These McCormick boys have military drill. They are splendid shots. Stephen says fifty of them will hold the Germans until our troops get there."

"I hope so."

I need not detail our experiences in the enormous and rather disorderly crowd that packed the auditorium building except to say that ten minutes later we left there followed by eighty members of the Camp Fire Club (they had organised this appeal for recruits), formidable hunters of big game who came on the run carrying the high power rifles that they had used against elephants and tigers in India and against moose and grizzlies in this country. Among them were Ernest Thompson Seton, Dan Beard, Edward Seymour, Belmore Brown, Edward H. Litchfield and his son, Herbert.

Under the command of their president, George D. Pratt, these splendid shots proceeded with all speed to the Blackstone Hotel, where they found a company of deaf riflemen, under the command of J. Frederick Meagher, about seventy in all, guarding the doors and windows. Not a moment too soon did they arrive for, as they entered the hotel, hoa.r.s.e cries were heard outside and presently a bomb exploded at the main entrance, shattering the heavy doors and killing nine of the defenders, including Melvin Davidson, Jack Seipp and John Clarke, the Blackfoot Indian, famous for his wood carvings and his unerring marksmanship.

Meantime messengers had been sent in all directions, through the rioting city, calling for troops and police and in twenty minutes, with the arrival of strong reinforcements, the danger pa.s.sed.

But those twenty minutes! Again and again the Germans came forward in furious a.s.saults with rifles and machine guns. The Crown Prince must be rescued. At any cost he must be rescued.

No! The Crown Prince was not rescued. The defenders of the Hotel Blackstone had their way, a hundred and fifty against a thousand, but they paid the price. Before help came forty members of the Camp Fire Club and fifty of those brave deaf American students gave up their lives, as is recorded on a bronze tablet in the hotel corridor that bears witness to their heroism.

I must now make my last contribution to this chapter of our history, which has to do with motives that presently influenced the Crown Prince towards a startling decision. I came into possession of this knowledge as a consequence of the part I played in rescuing Thomas A. Edison after his abduction by the Germans.

One of the first questions Mr. Edison asked me as we escaped in a swift automobile from the burning and sh.e.l.l-wrecked Virginia capital, had a direct bearing on the ending of the war.

"Mr. Langston," he asked, "did the Committee of Twenty-one receive my wireless about the airship expedition?"

"Yes, sir, they got it," I replied, and then explained the line of reasoning that had led the Committee to, disregard Mr. Edison's warning.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "MY FRIENDS, THEY SAY PATRIOTISM IS DEAD IN THIS LAND.

THEY SAY WE ARE EATEN UP WITH LOVE OF HONEY, TAINTED WITH A YELLOW STREAK THAT MAKES US AFRAID TO FIGHT. IT'S A LIE! I AM SIXTY YEARS OLD, BUT I'LL FIGHT IN THE TRENCHES WITH MY FOUR SONS BESIDE ME. AND YOU MEN WILL DO THE SAME. AM I RIGHT?"]

He listened, frowning.

"Huh! That sounds like Elihu Root."

"It was," I admitted.

For hours as we rushed along, my distinguished companion sat silent and I did not venture to break in upon his meditations, although there were questions that I longed to ask him. I wondered if it was Widding's sudden death in the Richmond prison that had saddened him.

It was not until late that afternoon, when we were far back in the Blue Ridge Mountains, that Mr. Edison's face cleared and he spoke with some freedom of his plans for helping the military situation.

"There's one thing that troubles me," he reflected as we finished an excellent meal at the Allegheny Hotel in Staunton, Virginia. "I wonder if--let's see! You have met the Crown Prince, you interviewed him, didn't you?"

"Twice," said I.

"Is he intelligent--_really _intelligent? A big open-minded man or--is he only a prince?"