Slowly the speaker approaches the throng at the Depot steps. In crossing the bridge he twice has to comply with the persistent demand for a speech.

Now he is on the platform.

His voice works a magic spell on the audience. They have been boisterous, fretful, even at times disorderly. Not a dozen words are uttered by Trueman and the silence, save for his ringing voice, is intense.

"I am leaving you that we may be a.s.sured of the support of the East," he begins.

"That you are with me and are determined to vote for your rights I do not doubt for a moment. You are men who have learned the lesson of life in the school of experience. A truth once grasped by you is not soon forgotten. You all know who are your enemies."

"Down with the Plutocrats!" howl the people.

"As you stand before me, men of might, one a mechanic, one a laborer, another a tradesman, another a railway employee, is there any one of you who wishes to vote to deprive his fellow-workmen of the right to earn a living? Is there a single man among you who is striving night and day to corner the food of the land that he may starve his brother-workmen into paying him tribute? Is there a man among you who is living on the distress of his fellows, brought about by his wrecking the bank in which they have h.o.a.rded their savings?

"No, there is none such here.

"Then there should not be a voter here who will cast a ballot to put in power men who seek in public office only their personal ends. The Plutocratic ticket has not a man on it who is not an agent of the Trusts. Do not take this a.s.sertion on my authority. Investigate the ticket for yourselves."

Here the a.s.sembly cheer wildly.

"I want you to roll up a majority in the city of Chicago which shall demonstrate to the world that the citizens of the Star of the West are among the staunchest patriots in the Union."

With the whistling and shrieking of the crowd in his ears, Trueman steps from the platform and makes his way to the train. The trip East is unique. It differs from the ordinary Presidential campaign tour in so much as there is no attempt to have reception committees meet the trains on which the candidate travels; there is no speaking from the rear platform of the trains. The depots are owned by the Plutocrats and no crowds are permitted to congregate to hail Trueman.

At Toledo, Columbus, Philadelphia and Newark, Trueman changes trains and goes to a public square where he addresses the populace. As he nears New York the enthusiasm of the crowds abates. In Newark the Plutocratic missionaries have spread the seeds of falsehood and have made such telling use of coercive threats that the people are actually hostile to Trueman and his party, deeming them Anarchists. The protection of the police is needed to prevent the most violent of the men from attacking the speakers. In the attempt to suppress supposed law-breakers, these misguided citizens become lawless themselves.

At Jersey City there is a great crowd blocking the pa.s.sageways of the terminal. Trueman is forced to mount one of the mail cars and make a speech. No sooner has he finished, then he is surrounded by the reporters of the New York papers.

"Mr. Trueman, are you aware that the Plutocrats have arranged for a torchlight parade for to-night, as a counter demonstration to your meeting?" one of the reporters asks.

"Yes, I received a telegram at Philadelphia informing me to that effect."

"The line of march is from the Battery north on Broadway to Cortlandt street; west on Cortlandt to Harrison street, and north on that street to Spring," explains another reporter.

"This means that they will run the parade parallel with the river front and one block from West street. It will be timed so as to pa.s.s just as you are making your address," he adds.

"You may inform the managers of the parade that I will be delighted to have them send their army of intimidated workmen down to West street, and I may be able to entertain them.

"Those who come within reach of my voice will, I think, hear news that will hold them, as against a bra.s.s band and fireworks. If not, then they would be better off in the wake of the procession," exclaims Trueman icily.

"Where do you propose to make your first speech?" asks a youthful reporter.

It is a superfluous question in the minds of all the older newspaper men. They smile inwardly; but the answer this query evokes sends them all flying to telephones.

"I shall make my first speech at the Battery, where the paraders may have the benefit of a little plain truth."

The group of Independents are now on the ferryboat.

Across the river the myriad lights of the metropolis give the scene air appearance as of fairyland. The night is overcast and the clouds act as a reflector to the million lights in the city below; the sky line of Brooklyn is a dull salmon color. A chill October wind sweeps from east to west. It is a bad night to speak out of doors. Upon reaching Cortlandt slip Trueman descends to the lower deck and is among the first to leave the boat. He crosses West street un.o.bserved, and on reaching the Elevated Station at Cortlandt street, boards a down-town train. With him are three of the committee of arrangements. The remainder of the party go to the platform at the foot of Barclay street to address the crowd and announce the cause of Trueman's delay.

When the South Ferry is reached Trueman sees that Battery Park is packed with people. He descends to the street and wedges his way to the music stand in the centre of the park. Without much difficulty he manages to climb upon the stand.

As a piece of good fortune an electric light shines full on his face as he turns to the crowd.

Up to this moment people think that the tall man with the slouch hat is seeking a point of vantage from which to view the formation of the parade.

It does not require two glances, however, to a.s.sure the people that the man before them is Harvey Trueman.

"That's Trueman, or I'm a liar!" shouts an Irishman.

"That's who it is," blurts a man beside him.

"What is he doing down here? I thought he was to speak on West Street?"

Some of the men in the crowd now begin cheering. They cry:

"Trueman! Trueman! Rah! rah! rah! Speech! speech!"

The proper moment has arrived. Trueman takes off his hat and waves it as a sign for silence. The cheering and the rumor that Trueman has suddenly appeared, turns a sea of people in the direction of the music stand.

Fully eight thousand men are within the radius of his voice. He speaks at first in a high metallic key; but after the first minute or so he reaches his normal voice, which with its fullness and exquisite modulation makes his oratory remarkable.

Here is an occasion where rhetoric will prove available; the crowd before him is composed for the most part of the better element, so called for reason of its disinclination to change existing conditions.

If a sense of justice in this great ma.s.s of humanity can be aroused it will impel each and all to yield to the will of the orator. With sharp sarcasm he refers to the precautionary action of the Plutocrats to prevent his addressing a New York audience. Do they fear he may convert it?

Rapidly he pictures the scenes of intimidation he has witnessed in the west and northwest. Is New York chained to the wheels of the Plutocratic chariot?

As the first sign of sympathy answers his appeal, he urges upon his audience the necessity of declaring anew the independence of the people.

The fervor of his speech affects the crowd; the indescribable impulse to yield to the will of a fellow-man who commands the power of oratory, a.s.serts itself. At the declaration of a principle of government which is trite in itself, there is a scattered cheer; an apt epigram evokes a storm of applause. Trueman wins the full sympathy of his audience; they are his to command.

"I am expected to address an audience at the foot of Barclay street. It will afford me unbounded pleasure if I may tell them that the meeting will not be disturbed; that you have decided to apply to politics the same spirit of fair play that you would demand in a street brawl."

"We're with you," cries a man. "You're all right." Trueman steps from the music stand. The crowd gather about him, shouting and cheering for him.

"This is an Independence parade," some one shouts.

"Forward, march, for Barclay street!" becomes the general shout. Trueman is pushed on toward the edge of the Battery Park till the line of carriages in which some of the members of the parade were to ride is reached. He is lifted into one of the carriages and the march for the West street stand is begun. The line of march leads along State street to Battery Place; here it turns west to the river, and thence up West street. The traffic which chokes that thoroughfare in the day is absent and the broad expanse of street affords an excellent concourse.

With the clashing strains of three bands, the shouts of thousands of men, the flickering lights of torches and Roman candles, Trueman approaches the audience which has been impatiently awaiting him. Flushed with the pride of his victory he mounts the stand to address ten thousand men in the citadel of Plutocracy. His advent in New York is a signal triumph.

CHAPTER XIX.

DEPARTURE OF THE COMMITTEE.

By the last election for President a man has been put in office who is the acknowledged tool of the Trusts and Monopolies. He has avowedly sealed his independence by accepting a nomination brought about by the ring leader of a syndicate of Railroad Magnates and Steel and Oil Kings.

The people are in such a depressed condition that it is believed no determined opposition to the dominant party can be conducted. So this man is a candidate for re-election. The few intrepid men who succeed in keeping the people's party in the field are derided and denounced as anarchists. Their very lives are threatened, and in one instance a Governor of the people being elected, he is immediately a.s.sa.s.sinated.