I paid but perfunctory attention to the speeches. Under Parks' guidance a man named D'Arcy was chosen chairman of the meeting, and speaker vied with speaker in expressing sympathy with their brave brethren of Pittsburgh, in declaring admiration for the courage with which they had beaten down the hireling soldiery of the brutalized money lords, in denouncing the policy that had called out the troops to settle a mere business dispute between workmen and employers, in bewailing the hard lot of the workmen of San Francisco, and in assailing the Chinese as the cause of the local industrial woes. It was not the inflammatory speeches that drew the major part of my attention, nor even the riotous applause that followed those speakers who expressed their approval of violence as a cure for low wages or no wages. Some subtle sense of divination drew my eyes and thoughts to certain currents and eddies in the crowd, where lines of men appeared to move with common purpose through the great gathering. The lines would grow in length as they proceeded, then would swirl into a group, and break or unfold into two or three new lines that would push out in different directions to form new centers of excitement. Some plan of action was evidently preparing.
In the midst of a speaker's appeal to the sacred rights of labor against the wrongs of coolie immigration, a man swung himself over the back rail of the platform and whispered to Parks.
"What's that?" demanded Parks incredulously.
The man repeated his statement.
"When did it happen?"
"About seven o'clock."
Parks' face grew black with suppressed storm, and the man continued:
"He said you could rouse the town about it if you thought best, but for himself he didn't want the course of the law interfered with."
"What do you think, Hampden?" said Parks, in my ear. "Kearney's arrested!"
"What's he been doing now?"