masonry bridge pier. They passed close enough to see the cement between the stones. “Brown’s Bridge,” said the pilot. “We’re on our way.”
Below the Homestead Works, as the smoke thinned, the black fog dissipated slightly, just in time to see a fully laden twenty-barge tow coming downriver straight at them — a fast-moving two-acre island of coal.
“Shoot!” growled Bell’s pilot. “That’s Captain Andy. Of all the boats to run into tonight.”
“What’s the matter?”
Jennings spat at the box of sawdust. “Captain Andy owns three steamers, inclining him toward the capitalist camp. Allowing what we’re up to for our friends in labor would be like dipping an oar in a nest of water moccasins.”
He blew his whistle. The oncoming tow’s whistle answered. As they passed, the pilots played their searchlights on each other’s tow and stepped out of their houses to exchange hellos.
“Where you headed?” the downriver-bound Captain Andy shouted.
“Gleasonburg!” Bell’s pilot bawled back.
“Look out for that pack of strikers at McKeesport. I heard they’re getting a cannon to shoot at our tows.”
“Where they going to get a cannon, Captain Andy?”
“Steal it. They’s strikers, ain’t they?”
Jennings waved good-bye and said to Bell, “Just hope the boys behind us tell him the same.”
They passed beneath another hot metal bridge, over which ran the fiery juices of the Carrie Furnace and, soon after, a trolley bridge. A streetcar with gaily lighted windows thundered the wooden deck as the tow steamed under it.
“West Braddock Bridge,” said the pilot. “Smooth sailing from here to McKeesport. Just some railroad bridges with real wide spans. And a bunch of dredges crowding the channel.” His searchlight flashed on a big white diamond board on the bank that marked another bend in the river.
The black fog continued to thin. Bell could see the tow behind theirs and the lights of two behind it. “Hope nobody’s looking for us,” said Captain Jennings. “We’re becoming mighty apparent.”
Bell was not that worried about being seen. As long as they kept moving, who ashore would take notice? They had peeled the tows loose from the riverbank under cover of the fog. Now they were indistinguishable from the other river traffic. Nor did Bell fear, even for a moment, that Mary Higgins would betray them. His main worry was that “Claggart” had returned in time to see the last tow leave the Smithfield Bridge. But, so far, there was no pursuit.
He left the pilothouse and went down a flight of stairs to the galley where a grizzled deckhand was telling a dozen coal miners about the alligators that swarmed when novice deckhands fell overboard. “And I reckon you boys noticed how low the main deck is to the water. Sometimes them critters just walk on. Prowl about, looking for something to eat.”
“Been in West Virginia my whole life. Never seen no alligators in the Mon.”
“They congregate at Pittsburgh.” He winked at Bell.
Bell addressed the miners. “We’re almost at the trolley park. There’ll be a lot of folks milling around when we land. I’m hoping you boys can help keep order while we get them into the barges. You’ll see your own people and—”
“Ah wouldn’t bother your head too much about that,” drawled the West Virginian. “The Strike Committee organized committees for everything from Drinking Water Committee to the Cooking Committee to the No Cusswords Committee to the Defense Committee. You can bet by now there’s a Barge Gittin’ On Committee and a Barge Gittin’ Off Committee.”
Twenty minutes later, steaming at nearly eight knots against the current,
The dredges were working through the night. A lucky break, thought Bell, as their lights might provide cover for the towboats’ lights.
“There’s the park,” said Jennings.
Bell had already spotted the tall circle of the Ferris wheel. It was silhouetted against the electric-light glow of the outskirts of McKeesport. If he had any doubts about the wisdom of this “stunt,” they evaporated when he saw the mass of men, women, and children crowding the riverbank with their bundles in their hands.
“Where’s the Defense Committee?” Isaac Bell called down from
“At the gates.”
“Holding off the Pinkertons.”
Jennings’s searchlight swept inland, and Bell saw a sight he would never forget. Mary Higgins had estimated that ten thousand had joined the ranks since the march began at Gleasonburg. It was a number hard to imagine until the light swept over the rippling mass of people — men and women, and children sitting on their shoulders — all with their faces turned to the river.
“Soon as your barges are full, head back down,” he told Captain Jennings. “If I’m not back, leave without me.”
Bell hurried down the two flights to the main deck, jumped onto the muddy riverbank. Miners were dismantling a shuttered cold-drinks stand and spreading the boards across the mud. Bell walked inland, through acres of people carrying their belongings and loads of canvas wrapped around tent poles. He walked under the Ferris wheel and circled a swimming lake. A carousel stood still, with canvas tied over the horses. A freak show was boarded up for the winter. When at last the crowd thinned, he arrived at the fence that separated the park from the trolley barns.
Miners with lever-action rifles guarded the gates, which they had barricaded with planks, crossties, and lengths of track pried up from the station. The riflemen had their backs toward the retreating crowd and the towboat searchlights piercing the sky, concentrating on what was outside the gate.
“Where’s Fortis?”
The miner in charge of the detail, a hard-eyed man in his forties, was in the ticket booth. He looked like he had not slept in a long time.
“Mr. Fortis? I’m Bell. Jim Higgins said you were covering the retreat.”
“Not a minute too soon. Look at those boys.”
Bell peered through a crack between the planks. The lights were on in the trolley barns and the huge doors open. Inside, scores of strikebreakers armed with pick handles had sheltered from the rain. A streetcar parked outside the barn drew his eye. Twenty men with Winchesters sat inside it.
“Pinkertons?”
“In that one. Coal and Iron cops in another behind the barn.”
“Where’s the militia?”
“So far, the government’s holding them in reserve in McKeesport. But one of our spies says those jailbirds are waiting to attack about four in the morning. I’m worried they’ll jump the gun when they cotton to your barges.”
“They must have spies, too.”
“We caught three tonight. A triple play. They won’t be telling nobody.”
“What did you do to them?”
“Bought us some time,” came the opaque reply.
Bell said, “I want to be sure you boys make the last boat.”
“We’re loaded and ready to run.”
Bell had already noticed the wheelbarrows lined up and covered with canvas.
“What’s in those barrows?”
“Rifles, ammunition, and dynamite.”
