Death at Pullman (3 page)

“Let me tell you what happened. We formed a grievance committee to talk—and only to talk. But we met with the managers, not Pullman, you see. Now, we made it a condition that none of the leaders who went to the talk could be punished for speaking out like. Well, we only got to talk to Jennings, and Wicke, and some others, not Mr. Pullman like we asked. And less than a week later three of the members of the grievance committee were fired. Even so, we might not have done it but that we heard there would be a lockout. Miss Addams, one of the worst things, the very worst thing, is the way some of them, like that Jennings, they make spies of us, of our own brothers. They knew what we planned ahead of time, they spread rumors and fear. I tell you, if it weren't for the spies planted by Jennings and his lot, there might not have been a strike at all.”

“So, you would be willing to compromise. If we can set up a meeting with Mr. Pullman himself, you would participate?”

A light gleamed in Mr. MacGregor's eyes. “Oh, miss, if you could arrange that it would be the answer to all our prayers. We believe, we know, that those who have been representing the man cannot have been telling him the truth. If only we can make the case to the man himself, and not to his managers, he has to listen.”

I heard Mr. Safer cough, preparatory to injecting a statement here, I am sure, when suddenly we heard screams. They tore through the pleasant peace of the afternoon and we all froze in response. They came from a distance, but they did not stop. They went on and on.

“What is it? What is happening? I must go, I must . . . ” our host said. Then, with uncharacteristic haste he leapt up, knocking his chair against the wall, and rushed from the room.

We followed him down a dark stairway through the little back garden and alley and out into the street. Soon we were beyond the town, on muddy flats, racing towards a large shed with wide-open doors on both sides. Beyond it, all I could see was Lake Calumet spread out to the horizon.

The screams rose and fell with stutters and then a rippling scream of terror and disbelief. We rushed into the open shed to find Fiona crumpled on the ground, hands to her face, staring above her at a man's corpse as it swung from the rafters in a gentle breeze. Around his neck was a rope holding a board on which was scrawled the word “SPY”.

MacGregor knelt down to put his arms around his daughter, who quickly buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing. At least the screams had stopped. The rest of us halted, inevitably staring up at the body hanging there. I couldn't help but be conscious of others who had heard the screams and come rushing in through the wide-open doors. They, too, stopped to stare, stunned by the sight.

“We must get him down.” Jane Addams stepped forward, breaking the stunned silence and finally awakening me and the other people who had barely entered the building.

“Over there.” Mr. MacGregor waved to some of the men, including Raoul LeClerc. “Let him down from there.” I saw that he was sending them to the opposite wall and looking up, I could see that the rope from which the poor man hung went through a pulley system that led across the rafters and down the wall to a cleat. It must have been used to lift heavy items.

Meanwhile, Mr. MacGregor motioned to Mr. Stark with his left hand, as he continued to hold his daughter to his chest. “Lennie, go to the Florence. Tell them what's happened and tell them to get the police. Slowly now,” he called to the men feeding the rope to lower the body.

Miss Addams came and took Fiona from him, saying that she would take the girl back to the house. I helped Mr. MacGregor catch the body as it was lowered slowly and we laid it out on the ground as gently as we could. The crowd of people—men, women and children—had begun to inch closer when suddenly they parted and Mr. MacGregor looked up. “Joe, we don't know what happened. We only just found him.”

I looked up from the face of the dead man and had the shock of thinking I saw him alive again. I realized it must be the man's brother, but before I could say anything he was shoved aside and Mrs. Gracie Foley stood in front of us.

“What is going on now, then?” she began, but then she recognized the corpse. “Oh, no. Oh, Brian.” She sank down, pushing us out of her way to take the dead man by the shoulders as if to shake him awake. “Brian? Brian, luv. Oh, my lord, oh God. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Oh, no, Brian, oh no.”

She let him sink back to the floor and her hand caressed his face, pushing away his hair. You could see that he had been struck on the head and the left side of his face was crusted with dried blood. Her fingers found the rope then and I saw her eyes grow wide as she felt around his neck and looked up to where it went into the rafters. I heard a gasp as she looked down and saw the sign that hung around his neck.

“You, you, you murderers, all of you,” she screamed, as she turned back to the crowd.

“Now, Gracie, we don't know what happened here,” MacGregor began but she cut him off.

“You bloody murderers. What did you do to him?” She slapped away Ian MacGregor's hand and began to try to loosen the rope. Kneeling there beside her, I saw it was not the type of hangman's noose seen in illustrations but just an ordinary knot. She had to fight with it in her fury but it was soon released. She tossed the end away, pulled the rope holding the sign over the dead man's head, and, rising up on her knees, threw it as far as she could.

I could feel the crowd stirring angrily, just as she cursed them again, “You pack of dirty murderers!” But then her head dropped and she sobbed, addressing the corpse. “Oh, Brian, dearie, how could this happen. And what is to become of us? Oh, Brian.”

At her sobs, I sensed all the anger and antagonism of the surrounding crowd disappear in a single exhalation. A couple of the women moved forward in a sympathetic posture but, just then, there was a disturbance from the doorway.

“Move aside, now, move aside. Get out of the way, if you please. We have the police with us. Move aside.” These commands came from Mr. Jennings. Two uniformed policemen, swinging clubs in a menacing way, preceded him and the people in the crowd parted for their advance, although they moved only as far as was absolutely necessary, then stood looking on with sullen faces. I was reminded of the tension the strike caused between the two groups as Jennings strode forward, impatiently followed by two men in suits and a half dozen more grim-looking policemen.

“MacGregor, what's going on here?” Mr. Jennings demanded.

Ian MacGregor stood up to face them. “It's Brian O'Malley, sir. We found him hanging here. He's dead, sir. That's why I sent Lennie Stark to get you.”

“I see. Well, what happened? Did he do it himself, then? Is this the result of your strike, MacGregor? The man got so desperate he hung himself, is that it?”

There was a murmur of protest from the crowd and the policemen turned towards the sound, swinging their clubs and catching them in their hands with a slap. They surrounded the company managers as if to protect them. Mr. MacGregor moved uneasily and I thought of the sign that had been around the dead man's neck. He didn't want to mention it. The air was trembling with anticipation already. “We don't know what happened. We only just came and found him.”

“Yes, well, move away. Move away. Let us see.” He put an arm out to push the smaller man out of his way, stepping forward with a frown on his handsome face. “I hold you responsible, MacGregor. You and the other agitators. This is what happens. We'll have no violence here, I tell you. Any violence will be met with an iron fist. It won't be tolerated. Miss Cabot, what are you doing here? I warned you the situation was dangerous. I must ask you to leave, for your own good. Who's this? If it isn't Gracie O'Malley. I thought you left Pullman, Gracie. Thrown out by your father, wasn't it? What are you doing here?”

“Here, now, it's her brother was killed,” Mr. MacGregor told him.

“Well, I'm very sorry, but you'd better step away and let the police handle this.” He spoke to Gracie's back as she was still kneeling over her brother.

“Really, Mr. Jennings,” I began, but Gracie stood up and turned around slowly to face the assistant manager of the factory. She was nearly as tall as he was and she looked him in the eye. I could see she was quivering slightly with rage.

“It's Mrs. Foley to you, Mr. Jennings. This is my brother and he's been murdered. Murdered. Do you hear? This is my brother's body and I will be taking it home for a proper wake and burial and I'm not asking your permission. So you can step out of the way yourself. Joe, you get a few of the lads and carry him back to the house now.” She stood eye to eye with Jennings and I stood up to move out of the way as Joe O'Malley and three other young men picked up the dead body. Jennings set his jaw and his face flushed with anger, but Ian MacGregor placed his short form between the two angry people.

“Let them go, Mr. Jennings. Let her take the poor boy home for burying. It's been a shock to all of us. I can tell you what we saw when we found him.”

I saw Jennings draw his gaze away from Gracie Foley's insolent stare and glance down at the small man, then around at the crowd of angry people.

“Oh, for heavens sake, Mr. Jennings,” I pleaded. “Let them have him.”

He frowned but nodded stiffly to a policeman standing in their way. “Let them go.”

The small, sorry procession marched out with Gracie Foley following, back rigid and face frozen, as if carved in stone. The crowd made way for them and watched in silence as they went out the shed doors.

Jennings shook himself and looked around. “We'll need to talk to some of you at the police station,” he announced. “MacGregor, Stark, Connelly, Deriva, that one.” He pointed at Raoul LeClerc and one of the officers took him by the shoulder. It was obvious that he was picking out the men who were known organizers of the strike or who were connected to the unions. There was a murmur of protest from the crowd and I was suddenly aware that now there were several hundred people, mostly men, gathered in and around this big shed and there were only eight in Jennings's party. But Jennings continued to harangue them as if unaware that he was outnumbered. “The rest of you, go home. Go now, or you'll be arrested.”

There was an angry roar at this threat and suddenly the way to the door was blocked with bodies. Jennings got riled at that and shouted, “Out of the way, you.”

There might have been blows exchanged but Mr. MacGregor stepped forward. “Do as he says, men. Go on home. We're not being arrested. We are only going with them to tell them what we know about what happened to Brian O'Malley, and if any of you know anything you should come forward. There's been enough violence today. Go and make sure his family has what they need. We'll return soon and we'll meet in the usual place. There will be no trouble here now.”

With that, he led the way through the crowd, followed by the other union men and the police, who had to scurry to keep up with them. Jennings lingered to speak to me and Mr. Safer.

“Where is Miss Addams? Is she all right?”

“Yes. Mr. MacGregor's daughter found the dead man. She was very upset and Miss Addams took her away, back to their home,” I told him. “I trust Mr. MacGregor will be all right. He will be, won't he, Mr. Jennings?”

He scowled at me. “I warned you it wasn't safe here, Miss Cabot. I really must insist that you and Miss Addams leave on the next available train. I have already sent the rest of your delegation home. Things seem to have settled down here for the moment but there's no telling when more violence will break out. I simply cannot be responsible for your safety.”

“But you will let him go, won't you? Mr. MacGregor, I mean?”

“Really, Miss Cabot. That is not up to me. That is a police matter now.”

I didn't comment on how the police appeared to respond to his commands. I did not want to leave without making sure Mr. MacGregor would be treated fairly. “But Mr. MacGregor could not have been involved in what happened to that man. He was with us all afternoon, wasn't he, Mr. Safer? We heard Fiona scream and followed him here. The man was already dead, hanging from that rope with that sign around his neck,” I told him, pointing to where the board fell when Gracie flung it away. “But Mr. MacGregor was with us every moment since we left you.”

“That is quite true,” Mr. Safer confirmed. “He cannot have been involved.”

Jennings bent to retrieve the sign and stood staring at it with a puzzled look on his face. Then he looked up, following the line of the rope to the pulley and across the ceiling and down to where it had been fastened to the wall. He put the sign under his arm and turned to us. “I really must get you out of here as soon as possible. I will arrange for a special carriage.”

“That will not be necessary,” Mr. Safer told him. “I came in my own carriage. If you will have it sent to MacGregor's house we can retrieve Miss Addams and I will take the ladies back to the city.”

“Yes, sir. I will do that immediately. That would be very kind of you. I'm sorry your mission has been a failure. But maybe now you will understand what we mean when we tell you this is a very dangerous and vicious group of agitators we are facing here and there is nothing we can do but stand firm against them and their influence.” He turned smartly then and strode out the door.