Death at Pullman

by Frances McNamara

  “Excuse me, is Dr. Chapman here?”

  We turned from the window and saw a very young-looking man in a dark blue serge uniform with a shiny black leather belt.

  “I’m Stephen Chapman.”

  “Sir, my commanding officer, Colonel Turner, requests that you come to headquarters. That’s at the Florence Hotel, sir.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but he wants to meet with you, as the representative of the clinic, and with the organizers of the relief station—a Miss Cabot from Hull House, I believe?”

  “That would be me,” I said, equally surprised.

  “Oh, very good, ma’am. I am to escort you both to head-quarters, please.”

  “Headquarters is at the Florence?” Alden took out his notebook and pencil.

  “Yes. We took over some rooms a few hours ago. And you are . . . sir?”

  “Well, I’m . . . ”

  “This is my brother, Mr. Alden Cabot,” I interrupted. Dr. Chapman raised an eyebrow but did not contradict my attempt to give the impression that Alden was also running the relief station. I thought it better not to mention that he was a member of the press. I suddenly felt that such a witness might be useful. I wanted him to come with us.

  “Well, if you would all come along with me then.”

  I looked at Stephen and Alden and shrugged. It seemed a way to find out what was really happening. We followed the soldier out the door.

  The four of us walked over to the hotel, seven or eight blocks away. The troops were still marching in the middle of the street. The public had come out to watch, as if it were a parade. But there was none of the holiday spirit of a parade. There was wonder and unease. More than one man I passed on that walk removed a hat to scratch his head as if trying to decide what to think of it all. More than anything the march of the men in the middle of the street seemed menacing.

  When we reached the Florence, we saw that the lawn in front, and surrounding grounds, had been turned into a campground. Tents were laid out in rows and fires were being set under iron kettles and skillets. Amidst all the activity there was no question of using the ladies’ entrance. We followed our escort up the stairs of the main entrance through which I had gone on my earlier visit with Detective Whitbread.

  “Miss Cabot, Miss Cabot.”

  Before we entered I heard Mr. MacGregor’s voice calling. I turned and saw that he and several other men were being held back by a group of soldiers at the base of the steps.

  “It’s all right,” I told our escort, “I know Mr. MacGregor.” I stepped back down the steps. The soldiers still blocked the Pullman strikers from getting any closer.

  “Miss Cabot, they won’t let us in to see the man in charge. They won’t let us do our patrols. They’ve stopped us from doing anything. You have to tell them. You saw what the company did, how they tried to make it look like we were causing damage. We must protect the works or they could sabotage it again.”

  “Can’t you allow him to come in with us?” I asked our escort.

  “No, ma’am. Colonel’s orders. No strikers in headquarters.”

  I turned back and talked across the impassive forms of the soldiers blocking the strikers. “Don’t worry, Mr. MacGregor. I will tell them what I know.”

  At that I had to return to my companions and enter the hotel lobby. It looked just as it had on my previous visits, but the smoking and billiard room to the right had been turned into the military headquarters. I could see that one of the billiard tables had been pushed under the windows and maps were spread across its surface. Others had been moved against walls and at least two typing machines had been set up at smaller tables, with chairs I recognized from the dining room. They were manned by uniformed soldiers. Other men in uniform milled around and I could see that a telephone and telegraph had been set up on another table.

  We weren’t the only people waiting in the lobby when our escort left us to find out if the colonel was ready to see us. At the far end of the hallway Mr. Jennings was arguing with an officer with epaulets on his shoulders and a sword at his side.

  “But I must see the colonel,” he was telling the officer. “You don’t seem to understand. We are officers of the Pullman Company. We own this hotel and this town. You cannot just take over rooms like this.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the colonel is not free at the moment. He asks that you wait in the north parlor. He will send someone for you when he is available.”

  “But that’s the ladies’ parlor,” Jennings protested in frustration. Then he saw us standing there and his face reddened. He became even more agitated. “This is ridiculous. I demand to see your commanding officer. We are the ones who have demanded protection for the property of the company. By what right do you move in and take over here?”

  The officer signaled several soldiers who calmly surrounded Mr. Jennings and the two men at his elbows. “I’m sorry, sir, but we have had to commandeer these rooms as part of our deployment. The town of Pullman falls under our control, sir. I must ask you to retreat to the parlor, sir, or I will have to tell these soldiers to take you into custody. We would prefer not to have to do that, sir, but I cannot allow you into the colonel’s presence until he calls for you.”

  “Mr. Pullman will hear of this. And you can depend on it that he will contact the attorney general personally to protest this treatment.”

  “Yes, sir. That is as it may be. Now, if you will wait in the parlor . . . ” Alden snickered as the soldiers quietly followed a defeated Jennings down the hall to the ladies’ parlor.

  There were several other groups of civilians standing around the lobby waiting to be called. Dr. Chapman suddenly turned to me and took me by the shoulders. “Emily, listen. This is a serious situation.” He looked around and spoke in a lower tone. “I don’t know why the colonel summoned us, but we are here as representatives of Hull House, the clinic, and the relief station. This is no time to be speaking up for the cause of the strikers or anything else. We are here to try to tend to the well-being of the people down here and not to take sides in this conflict. I know it has been difficult to get supplies but, however meager the stores we can offer, it will be disastrous if the army were to close us down. Do you understand? For the good of the people we are trying to help, we must try to keep the relief station and the clinic open.”

  I glared at him until he remembered himself and released his grip, patting my shoulder as if to apologize.

  “Uh, oh,” said Alden. “That was the wrong thing to do, Doctor. I know that look.” I turned my glare on him. “It’s stony. It’s the sphinx gaze, the one that turns you to stone.”

  Too late, the doctor realized his mistake and there was a look of alarm on his face as our escort came up behind him. “Colonel Turner will see you now, if you will follow me, please.”

  He led us through the men in uniform scurrying around the first billiard room and into a room at the far end of the building. I had never been there before. The man in charge had chosen to position himself behind the barriers of lesser men as a good demonstration of military tactics. Jennings and the other Pullman men might lay siege, but they would be hard put to reach the man in the inner sanctum. He was a broad-shouldered man, in a double-breasted dark blue uniform with gleaming brass buttons. He had short, clipped hair but a full beard and moustache. He looked about forty-five years old, bronzed and bitten by the sun. The troops had probably been out West fighting red Indians before being called to the wilds of Chicago.

  “This is Miss Cabot, Mr. Cabot, and Dr. Chapman, Colonel. Ma’am, gentlemen, this is Colonel Turner.” Our escort looked relieved to have completed his duty and stepped aside. For a moment I was distracted as I recognized the large table behind which the colonel stood as one from the dining room. I could not imagine how it had fit through the doors, as it was so large. An armchair, also looted from the dining room, was pulled out behind it. It gave me a hint of the power the commands of such a man held. Let there be a desk commande
d, and no mere doorway could stand between the order and its completion.

  He spoke. “Miss Cabot, gentlemen, I am here to establish order and protect the property of the United States.”

  “Excuse me, Colonel Turner,” I purposely interrupted, “there are men outside who wish to speak with you. Mr. MacGregor, who is well known to us as a leader of the peaceable strikers in this town, is trying to get an audience with you. He has important information.”

  The colonel glanced at our escort as if to blame him for delivering such a noisy package and grimaced. “Madame, it is not the policy of the United States Army to negotiate with people who are out to disturb the peace.”

  “But Mr. MacGregor and his men have been trying to prevent violence and the destruction of property ever since the strike began. After the incident here last week in which the Pullman Company itself hired men to plant a bomb—in order to implicate the strikers in a treacherous manner—they have every right to be concerned and to want to talk to you. Are you aware that the man Leonard Stark was used as an agent provocateur by the company? And are you aware that Mr. Stark is guilty of the out-and-out murder of an innocent man, and was implicated in the hanging murder of another man before the strike even began? Yet this man, Stark, is allowed to go free. But you will not speak to Mr. MacGregor? I protest, Colonel Turner. I fail to understand how you intend to protect anyone if this man Stark is allowed to roam around shooting people.”

  The colonel’s frown had deepened during my speech. “Miss Cabot, if you please. I have heard something of this person.” He turned to our escort. “Corporal Giles, go and get that policeman. Tell him I need him immediately.” He held up a hand to me as the man quickly left. “Please wait, Miss Cabot.” A moment later, the young corporal marched in smartly, followed by Detective Whitbread.

  “Detective Whitbread, sir.”

  “Yes, yes. Detective, this young lady complains of a certain Leonard Stark who she says has been guilty of murdering various people. Is this the man you told me about?”

  Whitbread avoided my gaze. “Yes, Colonel. Mr. Stark is a Pinkerton agent. He was employed by the Pullman Company to ferret out a conspiracy to blow up the clock tower.”

  “Ferret out! He created the conspiracy,” I objected.

  “Miss Cabot, be quiet,” the colonel demanded. Before I could point out to him that I was not a soldier and thus not required to take his orders, Whitbread continued.

  “Miss Cabot is probably correct in her description. She and her brother were present when we foiled the plot. However, as she knows, the company as represented by Mr. Jennings refused to press charges against Mr. Stark, but insisted on doing so against the other two men.”

  “Who only did it for the money Stark and Jennings paid them,” I pointed out.

  “Quite possibly true. Nonetheless, they did take part in the attempt and have been arrested. They await trial in the county jail.”

  “While Stark is allowed to roam around shooting people.”

  Detective Whitbread looked grim. “Miss Cabot refers to a shooting that took place on the Rock Island line several days ago.”

  “Ah, yes. I believe I heard of that.”

  “I was not present. However it would seem that a large crowd had gathered. Mr. Stark, along with a number of other men of questionable character, had been deputized by Sheriff Arnold. I have warned you that the sheriff has been unwise in his recruitment of men who are untrained and irresponsible. Some are no more than ruffians.”

  “Yes, yes, you have made the point before. Go on.”

  “Confronted by an unruly crowd on the tracks, the deputies attempted to move an engine through. When the crowd would not move, Mr. Stark descended from the train, had words with the crowd, and eventually discharged his weapon. There are a number of witnesses who say that the man killed by the bullet was not an agitator, he was only an onlooker.”

  “He was. I saw it with my own eyes. Mr. Mooney was only standing on the sidelines when Stark just shot him. I saw it. Not only has he not been arrested, but you helped him get away. You pretended it was the poor wounded man and drove him away from the police station. How could you?” I turned on my old friend and mentor, Whitbread.

  “Miss Cabot refers to a subterfuge we undertook to remove the man Stark from the local police station when the crowd followed us there. It was necessary when they threatened to take him by force.”

  “And afterwards?” the Colonel asked.

  “Sheriff Arnold insisted the man’s action was taken according to his directive. He refused to allow us to charge him. The accusation is still outstanding. The intention is to press charges, but the sheriff has refused to give him up. He insists his deputies were in danger from the crowd and the action was in self-defense.”

  “What about Brian O’Malley?” I asked. “How is knocking a man on the head and hanging his body from the rafters self- defense?”

  Detective Whitbread considered this. “There is no proof at this time that Leonard Stark was responsible for the death of Brian O’Malley.” He looked at the colonel. “That death happened before the ARU strike. It is still an open investigation that has been set aside while we deal with the other disturbances.”

  “Of course he did it,” I insisted. “Brian must have found out about the bomb plot and like his brother—who did eventually betray the scheme—he was going to give them up. Stark and Jennings found out about it and killed him to stop him from telling.”

  “Miss Cabot, there is no evidence to justify your accusation. None at all.”

  “But they were the ones who planned the bomb plot, you know it. And Stark was already pretending to be a striker when really he was working for the company all along.”

  “Nonetheless . . . ”

  “Enough,” Colonel Turner broke in. “Miss Cabot, these matters are for the local authorities to sort out. They are not what I am here for. The army has been brought in to stop the violence, to protect the property of the United States, and to reinstate the regular delivery of the United States mails. Until that is done, these other matters will have to wait. Tomorrow morning my men will begin the job of clearing the tracks and making sure the mail trains get through. We will not tolerate any disruptions. Until peace is restored and transportation is back on schedule, the police and sheriff’s departments down here will be reporting to me. Their primary duty will be to arrest anyone who prevents restoration of the train service. Until we have completed that task, no other matters will get their attention. So you see, the sooner that task is completed, the sooner we will be able to withdraw and leave the administration of law and order to the local authorities.”

  He had a booming voice. I suppose if you are used to dealing with ranks and ranks of men you must need that. He had an authoritative manner, as well, and it was obvious that he was used to being listened to and obeyed. But this time Dr. Chapman spoke up.

  “If you wish to restore order, then you must do something about the people of Pullman,” Dr. Chapman told him. “The people here are sick and starving. They have been in this condition for so long now they are desperate and there is no way to pacify desperate men if they have nothing to lose.”

  “Exactly, Doctor. That is why I have asked you to come down here. I understand you have been treating the people of Pullman for the last month. Tell me. What is the condition of their health?”

  “Very poor. It is not just the strike. It stems from conditions before that, the very circumstances that led to the strike. For the past half-year most of them have not had sufficient money to eat well. As a result they have become weaker and weaker. Due to the dampness brought about by proximity to the lake, malaria has been spreading. There are also a significant number suffering from tuberculosis. The general weakness due to lack of food has led to some other fevers and even broken bones.”

  “Malaria. You say the lake contributes to this. What of your medicines? You have quinine? Other medicines?”

  “Our stores are very low. Originally we brought do
wn supplies from the city. I have had to ask for resupply several times and lately have had to beg some surplus from the university.”

  “Corporal, ask Captain Robinson to step in.” The young soldier was back almost immediately, delivering a white-haired man with an open collar and no hat.

  “Dr. Chapman, this is Captain Robinson, our company surgeon. Captain, the doctor reports there is sickness down here and a lack of medicines. There’s malaria for one thing. We want to guard against this spreading to the troops. I’ll issue a general order telling them to keep away from the locals. Meanwhile, you take Dr. Chapman here and get him fixed up with supplies of quinine and whatever else he needs. We need to keep our men healthy, so we need to help him keep the local sicknesses from spreading.”

  Captain Robinson led Stephen away to the other room while the colonel called for a Corporal Fellows. A thin young man with wire-rimmed spectacles appeared immediately.

  “Miss Cabot,” Colonel Turner continued, “I understand there is a problem with food supplies in the town. Exactly what is the situation?” Before I could answer, he stepped over to Alden and took the notebook he had been scribbling in from his hands. “And what is this?”

  Alden looked at me with alarm. “My brother is a newspaper reporter.”

  “I see. What newspaper, may I ask?”

  Alden grinned. “The Sentinel . . . ah . . . sir.”

  “And you are down here to get a story?” Without waiting for an answer he bellowed, “Giles!” Our escort appeared in seconds. “Corporal Giles, it seems Mr. Alden Cabot is not down here for the relief station his sister operates. On the contrary, it seems he is a reporter looking for a story.” The corporal looked dismayed. The colonel handed Alden back his notebook. “Never mind. Take him around the camp. Show him the preparations. Be sure to impress on him the number of men and the readiness of every company. It will be a good thing to get out the word on how large the force is. The hooligans will think twice when they know what they’re up against. Go along, show him all of it.”