“Looted.”
“There are people ahead—trot!” said the captain, half turning in his saddle. The bray of the trumpet was followed by the jingle of the forward movement.
The captain pulled off to the side and shouted, “No prisoners, men—no prisoners!” And the column swept along.
We could make out more human forms, all running by the side of the road. There were more and more fugitives as we drew nearer.
“Come on,” sang out the first lieutenant, as he put his horse into a gallop and drew his six-shooter; and shortly we were among them, scattering them like chaff and firing revolver-shots into them. Up the side streets they went, scampering, terrorized.
“I guess they will keep that gait for a mile,” said the lieutenant, as he turned grinning to me. “That is the outfit which has been looting down Michigan Avenue. I wish the light would come, and we’ll give ’em hot stuff.”
At Washington Park we dismounted, and shortly were joined by B Troop from Hordon’s command. They told us they had been fighting all night, and that the stockyards and many buildings were on fire. They had encountered opposition, which seemed to be armed and to have some organization, but, laughing, he said, “They couldn’t stand the ‘hot stuff.’”
After this we made the ride back. It was now light, and as we rode slowly, men dismounted at intervals, and did some pretty work at rather long ranges with the carbines. The enemy would see us coming, and start to run up side streets, and then, riding forward, we dismounted and potted at them, I saw a corporal “get a man” who was running upwards of six blocks away—it was luck, of course. The police were now seen posted along at intervals, and were going into houses to tell the people of the order to remain in-doors for twenty-four hours more, which was the latest from headquarters, and I suppose was intended to give the police and troops an opportunity to seek out armed insurgents.
I got back to camp, dismounted, and, being hungry, bethought me of the Auditorium for breakfast. I didn’t think, after the pounding the hotel had gotten in the early evening previous, that they would come out strong on an early breakfast, but they did fairly well. You remember Ed Kennedy, the popular clerk there—well, he was shot and badly wounded while behind the desk, after the bomb drew our fire. He will get around all right, I am told.
I saw some of the execution of those hundreds of prisoners next day, but I didn’t care to see much. They piled them on flat-cars as though they had been cordwood, and buried them out in the country somewhere. Most of them were hobos, anarchists, and toughs of the worst type, and I think they “left their country for their country’s good.” Chicago is thoroughly worked up now, and if they keep with the present attention to detail, they will have a fine population left. The good citizens have a monster vigilance committee, and I am afraid will do many things which are not entirely just, but it is the reaction from lawlessness, and cannot be helped. They have been terribly exasperated by the rioting and license of the past. Of course, my dear friend, all this never really happened, but it all might very easily have happened if the mob had continued to monkey with the military buzz-saw.