THE 
 
 MARTIN P. CATHERWOOD 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NEW YORK STATE SCHOOL 
 
 OF 
 
 INDUSTRIAL AND LABOR 
 
 RELATIONS 
 
 AT 
 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
OP 
 
 /l/' 
 
 •h(j 
 
THE 
 
 MARTIN P. CATHERWOOD 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NEW YORK STATE SCHOOL 
 
 OF 
 
 INDUSTRIAL AND LABOR 
 
 RELATIONS 
 
 AT 
 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
OP 
 
 M 
 
 'k 
 
THE 
 
 MARTIN P. CATHERWOOD 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NEW YORK STATE SCHOOL 
 
 OF 
 
 INDUSTRIAL AND LABOR 
 
 RELATIONS 
 
 AT 
 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924050123227 
 
THE 
 
 MARTIN P. CATHERWOOD 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NEW YORK STATE SCHOOL 
 
 OF 
 
 INDUSTRIAL AND LABOR 
 
 RELATIONS 
 
 AT 
 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
Second Troop, Philadelphia City Cavalry, at Suenandoah 
 
A Trooper's Narrative 
 
 of SERVICE in the 
 ANTHRACITE 
 COAL STRIKE, 1902/ 
 
 By 
 STEWART CULIN, 
 
 PRIVATE SECOND TROOP PHILADELPHIA 
 CITY CAVALRY, N. G. P. 
 
 GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO. 
 PHILADELPHIA rr\U_ 
 
copyright, 1903. 
 By Stewart Culin. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The Philadelphia City Cavalry was for- 
 merly known as "Light Horse," and as early 
 as 1780 there were two troops in Philadel- 
 phia. Of these the oldest was afterwards 
 designated the "First Troop Philadelphia 
 Cily Cavalry," and the other, which had been 
 recruited from Philadelphia County as well 
 as from the City, became the "Second Troop 
 Philadelphia City Cavalry." On June 17th, 
 1780, the Second Troop of the Philadelphia 
 Light Horse was in the service of the United 
 States, and was commanded by Captain 
 Owen Faries ; First Lieutenant, John Dover, 
 Second Lieutenant, David Snyder; Comet, 
 Casper Dull. 
 
 In 1789, April 20th, the First and Second 
 Troops formed the escort to General Wash- 
 ington, President of the United States. In 
 1793 the Second Troop was commanded by 
 
4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Captain Abraham Singer, and the By-Laws 
 and Regulations then adopted by the Troop, 
 together with the original troop guidon and 
 an illustration of the uniform afterwards 
 worn, are now deposited in the rooms of the 
 Historical Society of Pennsylvania. Captain 
 Singer died January 3rd, 1815, and his pa- 
 pers and sword are now in the possession of 
 one of his descendants, a member of the 
 Troop. On September 17th, 1794, the 
 Troop assembled in Market street, near 
 Twelfth street, and marched to Carlisle, 
 Pennsylvania, on the breaking out of the 
 Whiskey Insurrection, and on October 3rd 
 following was detailed as the personal es- 
 cort to President Washington on the occa- 
 sion of his official visit to the army encamped 
 near Carlisle. The Troop returned to Phil- 
 adelphia December loth, and was reviewed 
 by the President from the steps of his resi- 
 dence. 
 
 The Second Troop served twenty days 
 in the Fries Rebellion in 1798, and was the 
 escort to Washington, Adams and Wajoie on 
 
INTRODUCTION. S 
 
 several occasions at this time, and was also 
 on riot duty in Philadelphia in the same 
 year. The Troop paraded with the Wash- 
 ington funeral pageant December 26th, 1799. 
 
 In 1809, the Second Troop joined in an 
 application to the Legislature to authorize 
 the forming of a Regiment of Cavalry for 
 the City and County of Philadelphia, there 
 being then six troops of cavalry here. On 
 June 14th, 18 ID, the necessary permission 
 having been granted, a regiment was formed, 
 and Robert Wharton, who had commanded 
 both the First and the Second Troop, was 
 chosen Colonel. Thomas Cadwalader now 
 became Captain of the Second Troop, which, 
 with the other troops, performed, at various 
 times, escort duty to Captain John Paul 
 Jones, Commodore Stephen Decatur, Cap- 
 tain Bainbridge and others. 
 
 In the War of 1812, the Second Troop of 
 Philadelphia City Cavalry was commanded 
 by Captain William Rawle, Jr., and, ac- 
 cording to the muster roll of 2d October, 
 1814, at Camp Dupont, John Morin Scott 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 was First Lieutenant, William Schlatter, 
 Second Lieutenant, and John Hall, Comet. 
 
 The Second Troop formed a part of the 
 escort to GJeneral La Fayette, September 
 26th, 1824, being of the squadron, com- 
 manded by Captain Smith, which escorted 
 him to Philadelphia. 
 
 In 1833 the Troop was of the escort to 
 President Jackson, in 1839 to President Van 
 Buren, and in 1841 it paraded with the First 
 Troop in memory of the late President Har- 
 rison. It was the escort to President Tyler 
 in 1843. 
 
 The Second Troop was on duty in Phila- 
 delphia during the Native American and 
 other riots, and some of its members served 
 independently in the war with Mexico. 
 
 The organization was continued until just 
 prior to the Rebellion when its members en- 
 tered other organizations and became scat- 
 tered. An attempt was made to reorganize 
 the Troop in 1882, by a representative of one 
 of its early officers, but it was not until Sep- 
 tember, 1896, that the Troop was actually 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 reorganized, among its members at that 
 time being a number of descendants of the 
 old troopers. The first drill, mounted, of 
 the new organization was held under Cap- 
 tain (now Major) Frank A. Edwards, ist 
 Cavalry, United States Army, on November 
 26th, 1897. 
 
 The Troop was mustered into the Na- 
 tional Guard of Pennsylvania on June 4th, 
 1898, during the war with Spain. On July 
 26th, 1898, Richard Tilghman, Cornet First 
 Troop Philadelphia City Cavalry, was 
 elected Captain of the Second Troop. 
 
 Thomas Allen Glenn, 
 (Honorary Member Second Troop Philadelphia City 
 Cavalry.) 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Second Troop, Philadelphia City 
 
 Cavalry at Shenandoah .... Frontispiece 
 The Troop's Camp in the Valley of 
 
 Wyoming Facing Page 72 
 
 After a Damp Night Facing Page 82 
 
HEADQUARTERS NATIONAL GUARD OF 
 PENNA. 
 ADJUTANT GENERAL'S OFFICE, 
 HakrisburGj August i8, igo2. 
 General Orders, 
 No. 33. 
 
 I. The S'heriflf of Carbon county having advised the 
 Governor of his inability to preserve order and to 
 protect life and property, and the Governor being sat- 
 isfied upon investigation that tumult, riot and mob 
 violence does exist, the Major General commanding 
 the Division, National Guard of Pennsylvania, virill 
 make such disposition of the troops now on duty in 
 Schuylkill county, or will place such additional troops 
 on duty, as in his judgment is necessary to properly 
 assist the Sheriff of Carbon county in restoring and 
 maintaining peace and order. 
 
 II. The Major General commanding the Division 
 will report his action fully to these Headquarters. 
 
 By order of WILLIAM A. STONE, 
 Governor and Commander-in-Chief. 
 THOMAS J. STEWART, 
 Adjutant General. 
 
 II 
 
HEADQUARTERS OF THE DIVISION, 
 NATIONAL GUARD OF PENNSYLVANIA, 
 
 Franklin, August 27, 1902. 
 General Orders, 
 No. 9. 
 
 I. The Second Troop, P. C. C, First Brigade, N. 
 G. P., Captain Schermerhorn commanding, will pro- 
 ceed mounted immediately to Shenandoah, Pa., and 
 upon arrival there will report to Brigadier General 
 /. P. S. Gobin for duty. 
 
 II. The necessary transportation will be furnished 
 by the Quartermaster's Department. 
 
 By command of MAJOR GENERAL MILLER, 
 W. J. ELLIOTT, 
 Assistant Adjutant General. 
 
 12 
 
ARMORY SECOND TROOP 
 PHILADELPHIA CITY CAVALRY, N. G. P., 
 
 TWENTY-THIRD AND CHESTNUT STS. 
 
 Philadelphia, August 27th, 1902. 
 Order 
 No. 8. 
 
 In compliance with G. O. No. 9, c. s.. Headquarters 
 The Division, the Troop will immediately assemble 
 in the Armory, mounted, in heavy marching order, to 
 proceed via Philadelphia and Reading Railway to 
 Shenandoah, Pennsylvania. 
 
 FRANK E. SCHERMERHORN, 
 Captain, 
 
 13 
 
A Trooper's Narrative 
 
 OF SERVICE IN THE ANTHRA- 
 CITE COAL STRIKE, I902 
 
 The smoker was filled with a wrang- 
 ling, noisy crowd. Night was coming on. 
 We had entered the coal regions at last. 
 "The next stop is Shenandoah." Our little 
 squad put on their belts and gathered up their 
 carbines. The sergeant gave his commands 
 with a sharp, changed voice. The boisterous 
 good nature of the journey was over. With 
 spirits tense, eager and excited, we alighted 
 pn the platform at the station. 
 
 There was a crowd awaiting us ; privates 
 and non-commissioned officers of the provost 
 guard, and a throng of young girls in sum- 
 mer dresses, who welcomed the new arrivals 
 with amazing boldness and familiarity. 
 
 We stood in line while our baggage was 
 unloaded, surprised by the all pervading 
 
 IS 
 
1 6 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 holiday air. Then a squad of troopers with 
 led horses rode up, a wagon for our bags 
 followed, and we were climbing the hill, past 
 the huge breaker, to our camp at Columbia 
 Park. 
 
 All the way up the steep ascent the road- 
 side was lined with soldiers from the regi- 
 ments and young girls in white, their love- 
 makings and embracings half concealed by 
 the growing darkness. We received a 
 warm welcome at the camp. The main body 
 of the Troop had arrived at dawn and occu- 
 pied the tents vacated by the Governor's 
 Troop during the night. We took our ac- 
 customed numbers, each with the same 
 "bunkie" as at Grettysburg, and were soon 
 asleep, not to awaken until the next morn- 
 ing at reveille. It was then that we saw that 
 our tents had been pitched upon the flat top 
 of a hill, some two hundred feet above the 
 valley of Shenandoah. On the East, within 
 easy calling distance, lay the 8th regiment 
 and two companies of the 4th. The 12th 
 regiment was camped in a fenced enclosure, 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 1/ 
 
 once used as a fair ground, on the hillside 
 below. The plane surface of our hill em- 
 braced about forty acres, covered, except 
 for the camp sites, with stunted laurel bushes, 
 and rough boulders of gray surface rock, 
 Directly to the north were huge piles of culm, 
 over which rose the tops of the coal breakers 
 and the spires and roofs of the town of 
 Shenandoah. Southward the slope was 
 gradual, with ever)rwhere the same expanse 
 of tangled laurels, stretching unbroken to 
 the hillside beyond, with the Buck Moun- 
 tain breaker east of Mahanoy City, silhouet- 
 ted on the horizon. Camp duties and camp 
 life proceeded at once with the same regu- 
 larity and much the same routine as at the 
 State encampment at Gettysburg. Even the 
 same negro cooks had been engaged, and 
 Shorter welcomed us at mess with his merry 
 cry of, "Waitin' on youh! Steady youh- 
 selves! Steady!" 
 
 When we lined up there were but six ab- 
 sentees, four of whom were members of the 
 rifle team who had not returned from Sea 
 
1 8 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 Girt. Only my mare "Wink" has been re- 
 placed by "Cadet Girl," an old standby of 
 the troop. Gentle and affectionate, her gfait 
 had the motion of a rocking horse. Her only 
 fault was a nervousness which made it im- 
 possible for her to remain at rest for a mo- 
 ment, and a little weakness in her forelegs 
 which demanded a tight rein and unceasing 
 care from her rider. We drilled in the morn- 
 ings on the race course surrounding the 
 camp. First in an orderly trot in column 
 of fours, or platoon front, followed by a 
 brisk canter, and concluding with a charge 
 with drawn sabres in which the men raced 
 and shouted somewhat to the discomfiture 
 of myself, and other more timid riders. Of- 
 ten we practiced speedy dismounting of a 
 squad or platoon "to fight on foot," deploy- 
 ing quickly as skirmishers into the brush. 
 In the afternoon at five-thirty there was dress 
 parade in the main street of Shenandoah. 
 Upon these occasions, I caught the first 
 glimpse of the town and its inhabitants. 
 Promptly at five o'clock the Troop lined up 
 
A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. I9 
 
 I 
 
 on the smooth expanse of the race track fac- 
 ing the camp. The Captain accompanied by 
 the buglers rode out, the bugle blew "At- 
 tention!" "Prepare to mount!" "Mount!" 
 and the column slowly defiled, past the camp 
 of the 8th, down the hill to the great breaker 
 where a train of cars, with engines fired, lay 
 ever ready to carry troops to some scene of 
 disorder. 
 
 Still at a walk we entered the outskirts of 
 the town, a long street lined with frame 
 houses, in front of which were little groups 
 of men with clean hands and faces, neatly 
 dressed in black. These were the striking 
 miners, Poles and Lithuanians. They were 
 quiet and undemonstrative, but they watched 
 us covertly, with an expression that seehied 
 to but half conceal a sneer. With them were 
 women, barefooted, in calico dresses, some 
 with babes at their breasts, half grown 
 girls and swarms of young children that 
 played about with absolute freedom and un- 
 concern. 
 
 Then at the sound of the bugle we formed 
 
20 A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 platoons at a trot and rode briskly up the 
 hill. On this street, the most turbulent and 
 dangerous in Shenandoah, where the riots 
 begin, nearly every other house is occupied 
 as a saloon. Their signs all bear foreign 
 names, Russian, Polish, Lithuanian and 
 German. 
 
 The General's headquarters were at the 
 Ferguson House, at the corner of Main 
 and Centre streets. Here, as far as the eye 
 could reach, the sidewalks, windows and bal- 
 conies were filled with an animated crowd. 
 Young girls in bright-colored dresses were 
 in the majority. A few men, listless and 
 apathetic, lounged on the corners, while 
 children, escaping the vigilance of the sen- 
 try, strayed into the street reserved for the 
 troops. We took our places on the left of 
 the line, and waited' for the arrival of the 
 regiments. All the while, as we sat at at- 
 tention we were targets for a battery of eyes. 
 The smiling girls, coquettishly standing with 
 their arms about each other's waists, casting 
 their glances from the officers to the line 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 21 
 
 with indiscriminating favor. Beguiled by 
 the prospect, time passed quickly. We heard 
 the sharp commands as the companies took 
 their places, their arms rattling on the pave- 
 ment. The band marched past, our officers 
 reported, we had presented arms, and were 
 riding in fours at the end of the column. 
 We caught a glimpse of the General and his 
 staff as we returned in platoon front. Then 
 the bugles ceased, we had formed fours, 
 and were trotting around the square to re- 
 turn behind the regiment to our quarters. 
 
 For those who had no special duties, the 
 day's work was over, and, until taps at ten 
 o'clock, the hours were devoted to recreation. 
 It was then the individual tastes and peculi- 
 arities of the men asserted themselves. Two 
 of the troopers, sturdy of frame, and resolute 
 of demeanor would retire to their tent to 
 sleep, not to emerge until the bugle called 
 "Assembly." Others would beguile the time 
 at a game of poker or craps for small stakes. 
 The commonest of all amusements was a 
 "porch party." For this the only requisite 
 
22 A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 was a bottle of whiskey, which poured in a 
 large tin cup, was passed from lip to lip, 
 the potations being alternated by choruses 
 from popular songs. The most effective 
 singing, however, was at the fire in front 
 of the mess tent. At times the entire Troop 
 would assemble around the blazing logs, and 
 led by several capital voices, would roll out 
 "Nancy Brown" or the "Song of Cities" to 
 the accompaniment of a mandolin. At such 
 times "'Striker" the troop mascot was much 
 in evidence. Striker was a brown pup of 
 uncertain ancestry, bought for a dime from 
 one of the little Lithuanian children. She 
 grew rapidly under a generous diet, and es- 
 caping all the dangers of the camp, was 
 finally brought home by the Troop, by whom 
 she is still cherished. 
 
 Sunday was a day of comparative rest and 
 quiet. The barber from the Ferguson 
 House set up a chair in a vacant tent. Ev- 
 eryone was to be seen washing, scrubbing, 
 oiling and polishing. There was an inspection 
 of quarters at ten o'clock, when the men 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 23 
 
 Stood at attention in front of their tents and 
 the Captain, with one of the lieutenants, 
 made a careful scrutiny of all the camp equi- 
 page. Afterwards privates were free to at- 
 tend church in town, either alone with passes, 
 or without passes in company with a non- 
 commissioned officer. I went over one 
 morning to an open air service in the camp of 
 the Eighth. The regimental band was play- 
 ing a hymn in the open space before the of- 
 ficers' tents, while a little congregation sang 
 in a reverent way from a printed sheet of 
 hymns. Then the chaplain, a stout, elderly 
 man, with a plain, hard, honest face, deliv- 
 ered a short extemporaneous prayer. An- 
 other hymn, and he preached a sermon on 
 a text from the prophecies of Isaiah. It was 
 a serious, old-fashioned, scholarly discourse 
 that turned my thoughts back to the services, 
 somnolent and restful, of a village church of 
 my early youth. 
 
 On our second day in camp we were taken 
 out for a ride through the adjacent towns 
 and villages. All along the valley great 
 
24 A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 
 
 piles of culm surmounted by huge breakers, 
 marked the sites of the collieries. The ma- 
 chinery for the most part was silent ; only a 
 little steam came from the mine pumps. The 
 huge steel cars were standing empty, and 
 the works deserted save for an occasional 
 Coal and Iron policeman, who stood, armed 
 with a Winchester, solitary and undemon- 
 strative. We frequently galloped through 
 the village streets, the dogs barking and the 
 women and children hurrying with curiosity 
 to doors and windows as we passed. The 
 red-painted wooden houses seemed com- 
 fortable enough, and everywhere the people 
 looked clean, with clean white shirts and 
 dresses that contrasted strangely with the 
 pall of blackness that enveloped the country. 
 On this and subsequent rides our ultimate 
 goal was the town of Mahanoy. Larger, 
 better built and more populous than Shen- 
 andoah, Mahanoy City, as it is called, is 
 even less law-abiding and more turbulent. 
 As our horses clattered over the brick-paved 
 streets, the men on the sidewalk eyed us in no 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 25 
 
 I 
 
 friendly way. We caught a glimpse of the 
 mosque-like spire of the Greek church, of 
 well-kept residences and prosperous stores, 
 and rode past the railway station to the 
 hill beyond, whence making a detour, we re- 
 turned to Shenandoah. 
 
 Sometimes on these rides we would cross 
 the hill or mountain lying north of the town, 
 and descend into the beautiful Catawissa val- 
 ley. The peaceful landscape was pleasant to 
 gaze upon. Instead of barren hills, broken 
 by culm piles and gaunt breakers, with inky 
 streams winding below, well-kept fields 
 stretched as far as the eye could reach, with 
 large barns and cozy farm houses, and or- 
 chards laden with fruit. Our sudden ap- 
 pearance here excited little or no interest. 
 The sturdy Pennsylvania Germans neither 
 gazed up from the plough, nor did their 
 children turn from their play. Our only 
 recognition was from some rosy, buxom, 
 girl who would cast a wistful backward 
 glance as the Troop galloped away. The ride 
 homeward led through a wood, a natural 
 
26 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 park, where scrub oaks O'wershadowed huck- 
 leberry bushes laden with ripe fruit, and we 
 rode with free rein, careless, in full enjoy- 
 ment of the passing hour. Once we re- 
 turned with our faces blackened with coal 
 dust, my mare sadly cut and bruised. We 
 had dashed at a gallop through dust, black 
 and brown, and in the all-concealing cloud, 
 she had fallen, head down, only to rise 
 again to take her place in the flying line. 
 
 The internal economy of the camp was 
 directed chiefly by four non-commissioned 
 officers: the First Sergeant, rotund yet se- 
 vere, who was responsible for the men; the 
 Stable Sergeant, good natured and tireless, 
 who lived with the horses; the Quarter- 
 master Sergeant, sedate and methodical, who 
 had charge of the equipment ; and the Com- 
 missary Sergeant, reckless and dashing, who 
 was entrusted with the camp kitchen, and in- 
 cidentally, with the digestions of the men of 
 the Troop. Four other sergeants and eight 
 corporals assisted the five commissioned offi- 
 cers in the direction of the thirty-three re- 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 2/ 
 
 maining privates. Sixteen of the latter were 
 required every day for the camp details, six 
 on stables, and five each on guard and camp 
 police. The police, whose duties began at 
 fatigue call at eight o'clock, removed waste 
 paper and brushed the streets, purified the 
 sinks and were responsible under their cor- 
 poral and the Troop Surgeon for the ap- 
 pearance of the camp. Their work was not 
 infrequently lightened by compulsory as- 
 sistance from minor offenders against the 
 strict discipline of the camp. "Back to the 
 lamps!" was the cry that greeted the late- 
 comer at roll call or assembly. 
 
 Of all the details, that of the stable was the 
 most arduous. The stable guard fed and 
 watered the fifty odd horses, cleaned the 
 stables and in three reliefs of two and a half 
 hours each kept watch during the night, 
 from ten o'clock until five-thirty in the 
 morning. The men gradually gave more 
 and more attention, each to his own horse, 
 and the work was diminished, and some of 
 the horses, like "Hornet" and old "Duch- 
 
28 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 ess," would slip their halter and go off them- 
 selves to water, without troubling anyone. 
 On our arrival the guard, one at each end 
 of the camp, was kept on duty for the en- 
 tire twenty-four hours. As time proceeded 
 and our duties increased, the day guard was 
 withdrawn, and the sentries remained on 
 only from ten to five-thirty. At first the 
 nights were balmy and it was no hardship to 
 make the rounds slowly, watching the hori- 
 zon from the lofty hill top, the stars shining 
 brightly above. In the earlier hours one 
 could challenge the orderly riding late from 
 headquarters, and learn the last gossip and 
 rumors of the town. Little groups of pri- 
 vates, returning late to their regiment, 
 would pass undisturbed on the road. As 
 other sounds were stilled, one could hear the 
 slow click of the near-by mine pumps, and 
 the low roar of distant trains, moving coal 
 under the protection of the darkness. In the 
 southeast, a faint flush along the horizon 
 marked the site of Mahanoy City. To the 
 north, on the opposite hillside were numer- 
 
A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 29 
 
 ous moving lights, long the object of specu- 
 lation in the camp. The city of Shenandoah, 
 brightly illuminated by electricity, lay in the 
 valley below, with the twin spires of the Li- 
 thuanian church rising amid tall clouds of 
 steam above the level of our hill top. 
 
 Both light and noises faded as the hours 
 wore on. Even the horses were tranquil at 
 last. Then from the near-by camp came the 
 sentry's cry: "Number one, three o'clock." 
 As each sentinel in turn took up the chant, 
 adding "All's well," the corporal of the 
 guard bearing a lantern would come with the 
 relief, and one would turn in to dreamless 
 slumber. Of all the camp calls, the most wel- 
 come was that of reveille. The men emerged 
 from their tents, carbine in hand, each 
 dressed according to his comfort or fancy. 
 Blinking their eyes in tHe tunaccustomed 
 light and shivering in the chill air, they lined 
 up to answer their names as the First Ser- 
 geant called the roll. At the command "Dis- 
 missed!" they rushed to the stable-fly to 
 groom their horses before mess. An hour 
 
30 A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 later the bugle was answered with alacrity. 
 The men sprang in line with iron fork, knife 
 and spoon clinking in their quart tin cups, 
 to march to the mess tent where two negro 
 cooks served generous portions of the savory, 
 wholesome fare. 
 
 At this time the children appeared, boys of 
 ten and twelve and girls of more tender 
 years, the boys to do odd jobs about the 
 camp, and the girls to collect cold victuals 
 to carry back to their homes in the town. 
 They were the offspring of the striking min- 
 ers, Poles and Lithuanians. The boys were 
 mostly Poles while the girls were divided 
 between the two nationalities. The former 
 were most thoroughly Americanized, and, al- 
 though they could speak their mother tongue, 
 with us they seemed much ashamed of it. 
 Their games were all American, and, in 
 general, they gave little or no indication of 
 their actual parentage. Their English, in- 
 deed, like that of the miners generally, had 
 a pleasant brogue, and was interspersed with 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 3 1 
 
 quaint words and expressions borrowed from 
 the English miners. 
 
 The majority had httle or no schooling, 
 and worked in the mines where they drove 
 mules and picked coal for wages ranging 
 from $4.80 to $5 per week. The employ- 
 ment of such child labor is forbidden under 
 the law and children are obliged to attend 
 school until they are sixteen, but this re- 
 quirement is frequently evaded. As things 
 stand, the good manners, honesty, and na- 
 tural intelligence of these children offer 
 compensation for their lack of education. 
 
 Our original favorite was a Polish lad 
 named Josek Zemba. He told us that he 
 was twelve years old, that he worked in the 
 mines, and that his father, who had lost one 
 of his eyes in an accident, was an habitual 
 drunkard. His naive, innocent ways won 
 the affection of not a few of the men in the 
 troop, who, unknown to each other, formed 
 plans to carry him off to the city and give 
 him an education. In the end he proved a 
 sad rascal, and his interesting story a tissue 
 
32 A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 
 
 of falsehood. The presence of the troops in- 
 spired a military spirit among the boys. 
 They played soldier, and finally improvised 
 a camp on the side of the hill where they 
 mounted gaurd over tents ingeniously con- 
 structed of old bags. 
 
 Many of the little girls attended school. 
 They were in the third and fourth reader, 
 they said, and in spite of their bare feet and 
 shabby dress, had an air and grace that was 
 very winning. They played the games of 
 their fatherland, and were much more under 
 parental influence than the boys. They 
 waited at the close of each meal for the frag- 
 ments, sometimes exploring the garbage pail, 
 and filling their tins from it. This refuse, 
 they used, I was told, to feed milk cattle and 
 pigs. These children had never heard of 
 George Washington, and could not tell me 
 the name of our President. Of their father- 
 land, its history and national heroes they ap- 
 peared to know nothing. We saw very lit- 
 tle of the striking miners at the camp. Oc- 
 casionally they came about to sell small or- 
 
A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 33 
 
 /laments made of coal or pyrites. They were 
 decently dressed in black. Their demeanor 
 was sullen, but they were always ready to 
 talk about the strike, dwelling upon their 
 grievance at being compelled to work at an 
 extra hazardous employment for inadequate 
 wages, and proclaiming their intention to 
 remain out until their demands were satis- 
 fied. One or more of their pickets were al- 
 ways stationed on an eminence overlooking 
 the road leading from our camp, and our 
 movements were said to be constantly ob- 
 served and reported at their headquarters. 
 In general, the Polish, Lithuanian and Rus- 
 sian miners were credited with all the vio- 
 lence and disorder. They were said to be 
 constantly drilling with arms in the town, 
 and secretly banded to resist the troops and 
 deputies. In point of fact, the most turbu- 
 lent element, at Mahanoy City, at least, were 
 half-grown Irish-Americans. 
 
 The social life of the foreign element in 
 Shenandoah centres in their churches. Of 
 these the Roman Catholics have six: Irish, 
 
34 A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 German, Lithuanian, Slavonian, and Wo 
 Polish. In addition the so-called Huns have 
 a Greek church, the first in the United States, 
 built in 1884, the year after the fire. I at- 
 tended at. this church one Saturday after- 
 noon. It was a religious holiday, the regu- 
 lar service being held on Sunday. The 
 building, a frame structure on West Centre 
 street, is surmounted with a balloon-shaped 
 spire. It has a seating capacity of about 500 
 on the main floor, with a gallery in the rear. 
 Along the entire north end runs a painteS 
 and gilded wooden screen, ornamented in 
 panels with religious pictures. This screen 
 has two gilded folding doors in the centre, 
 with single doors midway on either side. 
 Numerous tall candelabras stand ranged 
 along the screen which is further adorned 
 with bunches of artificial flowers. At- 
 tached to the pews on either side are religious 
 banners, two of blue silk, and two of red. 
 Everywhere the Slavonian cross, with its 
 inclined lower bar, was conspicuous. The ' 
 bell was ringing as I approached, and the 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 3$ 
 
 congregation, chiefly men, were filiflg into 
 the church. They knelt and kissed a picture 
 on the wall at the turn of the stairway, and 
 prostrated themselves at full length towards 
 the altar with their heads touching the floor. 
 Some few advanced and kissed a painted 
 placque upon a low table without the screen. 
 The service began at three o'clock. The 
 choir, two men and four boys, were seated 
 on the right. The men chanted in two 
 voices, the boys taking up the refrain. There 
 was no instrumental music. At times the 
 congregation would join in the chant, read- 
 ing the service from books printed in Rus- 
 sian characters. The priest, robed with a 
 stole, sat in a little chapel on the left of 
 the altar. Later he rose, and reappeared 
 in his beautifully embroidered chasuble, 
 carrying a censer. Then, opening the lat- 
 tice doors in the centre of the screen, 
 he disclosed the altar covered with brass 
 work and guilding. The voices of the 
 "choir seemed to rise higher, and the lights 
 burn more brilliantly. Four times the con- 
 
36 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 gregatfon prostrated themselves, while the 
 priest swung the censer and joined with the 
 choir in the supplication. The service was 
 over in half an hour. I was impressed with 
 the intensely earnest, reverent spirit of the 
 congregation, and I observed, too, that the 
 men all had round, brachycephlic heads, and 
 were of less than average stature. Two 
 of the women, dressed in black, wore large 
 black calico bonnets such as are frequently 
 seen in the streets of the town. Although 
 I was in uniform, with belt and revolver, a 
 military regulation; no attention whatever 
 was paid to me in the church, and without, 
 my inquiries were answered with much cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 On the day following, I was detailed as 
 orderly at headquarters. This duty was 
 performed in turn by each private in the 
 Troop, and offered a welcome break in the 
 monotony of camp life. Carefully dressed, 
 with brasses polished and horse well 
 groomed, the orderly rode down to report at 
 eight o'clock. His goings and comings were 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 37 
 
 watched with interest by the men, who, proud 
 of the reputation of the Troop would scru- 
 tinize his equipment with friendly sugges- 
 tions and assistance. My mare had been out 
 but once before alone, and was reluctant to 
 leave the camp. Once past the turn of the 
 road, however, she hurried down the hill, and 
 trotted briskly over the brick pavement of 
 Centre street. It was Sunday, and a well- 
 dressed, orderly crowd were returning from 
 church. The brigade standard, with a blue 
 keystone on a white field, hung limp on a 
 staff from a window of the Ferguson House. 
 I reported at the office, a parlor on the sec- 
 ond floor of the hotel, and was directed by 
 the Sergeant Major to wait below for or- 
 ders. The duties of the orderly were almost 
 perfunctory. Communication with the camp 
 was maintained by telephone, as well as by 
 a signal corps stationed on the roof of the 
 hotel, and on a tall scaffold on the hill, flags 
 being used by day, and torches by night. 
 The orderly carried the morning reports and 
 the mail. Otherwise he was usually free to 
 
38 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 sit in the hotel office, smoke, read or talk 
 with the crowd. I was interested in their 
 conversations. The traveling salesmen, who 
 in ordinary time monopolize the public room, 
 had disappeared. Everyone had some con- 
 nection or other with the mines. The strike 
 was the only topic. There was a noticeable 
 absence of the badinage, the oaths and laugh- 
 ter of the ordinary crowd. I realized for the 
 first time I was living in the very centre of 
 the coal mining industry of the world, — over 
 the greatest vein of coal that had yet been 
 discovered in the universe. The new breaker 
 at the Packer No. 4 colliery cost a million 
 and a half dollars, and when working, its 
 daily output is over 1,000 cars. 
 
 I realized, too, the ever-present dangers 
 of the miner's life. No insurance company 
 will accept him. At any moment a fragment 
 of coal, falling from the roof, may crush out 
 his life. Every day at ten o'clock, one or 
 more processions pass the hotel, carrying 
 some mine victim to his last home on the 
 hillside. "When I enter the mine I forget 
 
A TROOPER S NARRATIVE., 39 
 
 to swear," said one. The foreign miners, I 
 was told, believe that oaths in the mine in- 
 vite disaster. Every miner has his "budie," 
 a helper who works with him, and whose 
 sad duty it is to tell his family the fate of 
 their protector, should disaster befall him. 
 
 The industry seems to have put its stamp 
 upon dress, language and demeanor. I was 
 impressed with the high standard of intelli- 
 gence among the mine workers, whatever 
 their nationality. Much of the talk about 
 ignorant and degraded foreign labor is the 
 outcome of vulgar prejudice, due largely to 
 dififerences of language and race antipathies. 
 On one subject alone the miners seemed in- 
 capable of reasoning or talking dispassion- 
 ately. Devout as a class, faithful in their 
 trusts, profusely generous to their neigh- 
 bors, and humane to those in distress, they 
 regard violence to a "scab" as a conscien- 
 tious duty. They would kill him as a rat is 
 killed, welcoming the spectacle with the 
 same joyous rage that fills the throng at a 
 bull fight, and afterwards commend the act 
 
40 A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 as something that needed neither excuse nor 
 palliation. There are many to whom such 
 actions must be abhorrent, but their voices 
 were not heard aloud in Shenandoah. 
 
 On one night at twelve o'clock, as I was 
 sleeping in our tent, preparatory to going on 
 guard, I was awakened by a terrific explosion 
 that shook the camp. No explanation was 
 forthcoming until I learned in casual conver- 
 sation at the hotel that the home of a scab 
 miner in Gilberton, two miles distant, had 
 been dynamited. This was intended merely 
 as an admonition, it was said, with no per- 
 sonal harm, as dynamite explodes down- 
 ward, without violence above. Alas! the 
 wretched woman who brought her babe, 
 sadly burned, to the General's headquarters, 
 told a different story. 
 
 During the morning a processipn passed, 
 some ninety men, marching two by two, car- 
 rying an American flag. They wore sashes 
 of red, white and green, ornamented with 
 crosses and religious emblems. Six, with- 
 out sashes, with white gloves brought up the 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 4 1 
 
 rear. It was the St. Michael Society of the 
 old Polish church on its way to a funeral. 
 A number of similar societies are attached 
 to the Catholic churches in Shenandoah. 
 They attend communion in a body once a 
 year, levy a monthly contribution of fifty 
 cents, pay the funeral expenses of their mem- 
 bers and assist in supporting their families 
 for a year after death. 
 
 From a young Irish-American teacher 
 in the public school, whom I met at the 
 Ferguson House, I learned many particu- 
 lars concerning the foreign children. The 
 Polish boys are brighter and more in- 
 telligent than those of American parent- 
 age. Nor is this the transitory cleverness 
 of extreme youth. They continue to pro- 
 gress in their studies and give promise of be- 
 coming valuable citizens, like many of their 
 parents before them. The Lithuanian chil- 
 dren are equally intelligent, and not to be 
 distinguished in the school from the Poles 
 except by their names. Both are character- 
 ized by light hair and blue eyes, and mani- 
 
42 A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 fest the same intense desire for education. 
 The teacher thought thdir superiority jin 
 their studies was due to their diligence. The 
 valedictorian in successive years had been 
 Irish, but this race, as a rule, are careless. 
 The Jewish children are the brightest schol- 
 ars. The churches maintain parochial 
 schools, but with the exception of the Ger- 
 man, the Catholic children freely attend the 
 public schools.* The public library in Shen- 
 
 *The following table kindly sent the writer by Mr. 
 T. R. Edwards, of Shenandoah, gives the nativity of 
 the parents of the public school children in that city : 
 
 eg |S S„ 
 
 rt*^ *^ rt'S 
 
 d.S ".S x,o 
 
 •an c*i "HiL 
 
 SB o« O" 
 
 High School 45 29 29 
 
 2nd Grammar Grade loi 51 35 
 
 1st Grammar Grade 159 35 '31 
 
 4th Primary Grade 162 22 219 
 
 3rd Primary Grade 202 37 316 
 
 2nd Primary Grade 222 23 381 
 
 1st Primary Grade 311 31 S5i 
 
 Mixed Grade 26 00 78 
 
 1228 228 1740 3196 
 
A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 43 
 
 andoah is largely patronized by the miners, 
 and books on mining, engineering and the 
 physical sciences are in great demand. Many 
 of the Poles carried on trades at home, and 
 some are skilful wood-workers. The little 
 hand wagons with which they haul coal from 
 the mine breaker attest their ingenuity. A 
 Polish newspaper is printed at Mahanoy 
 City. 
 
 In general, when not on strike, the for- 
 eign miners are extremely law-abiding, 
 chaste, sober and industrious. There is lit- 
 tle or no drunkenness seen in the streets, and 
 drinking to excess is chiefly confined to wed- 
 dings. Marriages occur late in life, usually 
 for males at an average age of thirty years. 
 Large families are the rule. The climate 
 of Shenandoah is extremely healthy, and 
 zymotic diseases are uncommon. The peo- 
 ple of the different nationalities keep largely 
 to themselves. In the shops I was told that 
 certain styles and patterns in dress are re- 
 garded as distinctively Polish or Lithuanian, 
 and would not be purchased or worn, one by 
 
44 A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 
 
 the other. The so-called Huns, Russian 
 Slavs, late-comers in the region, a timid and 
 inoffensive race, are rather looked down upon 
 by the others. "They do not worship 
 God," the Polish children told me. The 
 Poles are all Catholics, with the exception 
 of about a dozen members of an old-world 
 Protestant sect, who have united with the 
 Lutherans. In addition to the churches men- 
 tioned, there are ten Protestant churches.* in 
 Shenandoah and a Jewish synagogue. Some 
 years ago, the schoolmaster told me, a cer- 
 tain Lithuanian doctor of medicine named 
 Szlupas taught anarchism, and obtained a 
 small following, but at present little or noth- 
 ing is heard of his propaganda. 
 
 At nine o'clock the Sergeant Major dis- 
 missed me. My only duties had been to pro- 
 
 ♦Episcopal, Methodist Episcopal, Primitive Metho- 
 dist, German Reformed, Evangelical, Lutheran, Bap- 
 tist, 2 (First Baptist and Calvary Baptist, a branch 
 of the First), Presbyterian, Welsh, Presbyterian and 
 Welsh Congregationalist. The Welsh churches are 
 now English. 
 
A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 45 
 
 cure a railway guide at the station, and carry 
 the formal reports to and from the camp. 
 I had been favored with a cordial "Good 
 morning" from the General when I saluted 
 him in the hallway, and the staff officers to 
 whom I reported were extremely consider- 
 ate. The brigade office, severely plain, with 
 its tables spread with maps, suggested noth- 
 ing less than a military campaign. 
 
 As time progressed, our daily drills and 
 marches became faster and more prolonged. 
 They culminated in a practice march to Potts- 
 ville, some twelve miles distant. We went 
 by a circuitous route, covering one way 
 about twenty-three miles. It was a fatiguing 
 journey. We rode in heavy marching or- 
 der, and dismounted at every hill to save our 
 horses, walking both up and down. A 
 wagon, carrying forage and provisions, lum- 
 bered after us. We had dinner at Wades- 
 ville, where we picketed our horses, and 
 reached our destination at about five o'clock. 
 We put up our horses in a stable and spent 
 the night in the bare, empty drill hall of one 
 
46 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 I 
 
 of the local military companies. At eight 
 the next morning we started homewaird, 
 breaking the ride again with a midday lunch- 
 eon in a road by a wood where we set up the 
 picket line under the trees and ate our meal 
 in the shade upon the grassy banks. We gal- 
 loped briskly for the last few miles, glad to 
 get back to camp, most of us sore and aching 
 from the unaccustomed effort. All this was 
 only preparatory to the actual service that 
 awaited us. The papers brought news daily 
 of the progress of the strike and increased 
 violence on the part of the miners. We were 
 required to wear side arms, with ammuni- 
 tion, when we left the camp, and always 
 rode with flankers out, with loaded carbines 
 advanced, when we passed through the 
 mining towns. Rumors of impending 
 trouble were constantly heard in our camp. 
 As a consequence we were not surprised 
 when we were awakened one morning at 
 four-thirty to breakfast and saddle up and 
 report at headquarters at six o'clock.. 
 Punctual to the minute we were joined by 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 47 
 
 an officer of the staff and rode by the way 
 of St. Nicholas for a dash through Mahanoy 
 valley. Our destination was Mahanoy City. 
 A colliery was to be started up, it was said, 
 and we were to protect the laborers on their 
 way to the mines. 
 
 We arrived at Mahanoy City at about 
 seven o'clock. Steam was rising from all 
 parts of the great North Mahanoy breaker, 
 and an excited and turbulent crowd had as- 
 sembled at the station, ready to oppose the 
 entrance of two passenger cars that were be- 
 ing backed upon a side track. We rode be- 
 tween them and the mob who cried, "Scab! 
 Scab !" and defiled in twos along the sunken 
 road that skirts the Mahanoy City colliery. 
 On our right, commanding the road, the 
 hills rose to an elevation of 200 feet, and 
 along this edge was a line of strikers' pick- 
 ets. On our left were huge culm piles and 
 breakers with their machinery, guarded by 
 stern-faced deputies and police. 
 
 In a moment the spirits of every man in 
 the troop rose with a sudden thrill. We 
 
48 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 halted at the mine stables, and, after sta- 
 tioning outposts, dismounted to rest our 
 horses and await further orders. The depu- 
 ties told us they expected an attack that 
 morning. After a few minutes we galloped 
 up the road, and returning, charged in col- 
 umn of fours through the coal dust to the 
 colliery. The trouble was over. 
 
 After a hasty breakfast in a freight car 
 where a mess table had been improvised for 
 the deputies we rode homeward to Shenan- 
 doah. That afternoon, three companies of 
 the 8th regiment were sent on a march to 
 the town, and again, at two o'clock that 
 night, we were awakened for another 
 hasty ride. The bugle was stilled, the com- 
 mands given by word of mouth, and we 
 walked our horses through the mining town 
 of Yatesville. 
 
 At Mahanoy, despite the hour, there was 
 the usual crowd at the station, and little 
 groups had gathered at the street corners. 
 "Something doing!" was whispered along 
 the line. We emerged from the city proper 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 49 
 
 and filed up the hill, dismounting at last at 
 some frame houses adjacent to a colliery. 
 Here with some difficulty we found the resi- 
 dence of a Mr. O'Donnell, the object, ap- 
 parently, of our early call. Mr. O'Donnell 
 did not awaken very promptly, and what fol- 
 lowed in the subsequent conversation be- 
 tween him and our commanding officers did 
 not transpire. It was evident, however, that 
 our business was over. As we rode back 
 through the city, electric lights glittered in 
 the saloons, and black figures moved stead- 
 ily to and fro. We passed on without no- 
 tice or recognition, emerged on the hill road, 
 and after a hasty gallop through the near-by 
 towns, were back in camp shortly before six 
 o'clock. 
 
 For many days we lived in constant readi- 
 ness for another "Hike to Mahanoy," and 
 "what Mr. O'Donnell said" was long a 
 theme for chaff at the mess table. All agreed 
 in the hope that when he returned our call it 
 would not be at the same early hour of the 
 morning. Subsequently we learned that 
 
50 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 O'Donnell was a mine boss, whose house had 
 been threatened with dynamite. 
 
 To the disappointment of our Troop, the 
 care of the town was left for a time to the 
 8th regiment. One day they marched over 
 and back in two hours, returning home 
 singing in exultant chorus: "Hail! hail the 
 gang's all here," deservedly proud of their 
 achievement. 
 
 We became at last quite fond of our 
 sturdy neighbors at Columbia Park. They 
 drilled with admirable precision, and their 
 riot formation at dress parade in Shen- 
 andoah won the admiration of the Troop, 
 and doubtless contributed not a little to the 
 almost perfect tranquility of that city. 
 
 When they found they were not unwel- 
 come, the privates and non-commissioned 
 oificers occasionally strolled through our 
 camp. Three companies were composed al- 
 most entirely of miners, recruited from the 
 neighboring towns. 
 
 In the interval of quiet that followed the 
 episode at Mahanoy, a game of base ball 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 5 1 
 
 was played between the privates and non- 
 commissioned officers, on a smoth expanse 
 near Lannigan's "patch," where we some- 
 times drilled in the afternoons. Victory 
 rested with the non-coms., the score being 
 8 to 7 at the end of the eighth inning. Such 
 innocent amusements were encouraged by 
 the Captain, who, with the board of officers, 
 after a long period of rainy weather, ar- 
 ranged a troop race on the half mile track. 
 Our sporting Corporal made a book, and ex- 
 citement ran high when the First Lieutenant 
 dropped a handkerchief, and four horses 
 made an even start past the crowd of specta- 
 tors, soldiers and towns-people, who had 
 assembled on both sides of the road. The 
 afternoon sky was dark and overcast, and the 
 track slow and muddy. Despite the mud, 
 the stones and the pitfalls, the four horses 
 dashed off at full speed, with every prospect 
 of a close race. But the troop training that 
 held them together at the start proved the 
 undoing of three of their number. One 
 bolted into camp at the road to the stables, 
 
52 A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 
 
 and two made a break for the bunch of 
 horses that had been withdrawn into the 
 bushes within the circle. Again, in the sec- 
 ond heat, but two horses came in, the troop 
 "hero" a length in the lead. In the third, the 
 horses kept together to the finish with a dark 
 horse the winner. The fourth heat was the 
 heat of the race. I laid my pile on my 
 "bunkie's" Hornet, stimulating the betting 
 until he sold even against the field. "Bunkie" 
 wore his usual white cotton stable cap, and 
 was calm and unruffled. The four got off 
 in line, and kept neck and neck to the finish. 
 As "White Cap" was pocketed, and crowded 
 back, old Willis, the negro stable man al- 
 most cried with disappointment. At the 
 last turn it was any man's race. Then the 
 swirling mass dashed past. There was 
 a stirring cheer. "White Cap" had tied with 
 one of the youngest members of the troop. 
 Four horses entered in the finals. "White 
 X;ap" and his competitor, and the winners of 
 the second and third heats. There had been 
 a slow race in the interval, and the horses 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 53 
 
 were chilled and stiffened with the cold. 
 "White Cap" had the outside, fell behind at 
 the start, then came up with the bunch and 
 struggled gloriously at the finish, only to 
 take second place, while the dark horse of the 
 third heat was declared the winner. 
 
 During the earlier weeks of our stay at 
 Shenandoah, the work of the camp and our 
 daily drills proved fatiguing. No one cared 
 to read. Letter writing required an effort, 
 and all intellectual work seemed impossible. 
 This period of mental exhaustion passed 
 away after a time. I was able to devote my 
 spare hours to writing and to making further 
 observation of the interesting foreign com- 
 munity amid which we were living. 
 
 I called one morning upon the parish 
 priest of the Lithuanian church. I found 
 him superintending the restoration of the 
 building, a pleasant-voiced mild-mannered 
 man, who received me cordially and cheer- 
 fully replied to my inquiries. The Lithuan- 
 ians in Shenandoah, he told me, came from 
 both Russian and German (Prussian) Li- 
 
54 A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 
 
 thuania, between which the ancient duke- 
 dom is now divided. They are mostly the 
 sons of small farmers who own their own 
 land. They leave home to better their for- 
 tune, — some to escape the conscription. The 
 men are in the great majority. They inter- 
 marry with the Poles and Germans. The 
 average age of marriage for men is from 
 24 to 26 and for women from 16 to 18. 
 Marriage is contracted without much special 
 provision of forethought, by the men after 
 accumulating forty or fifty, or in the case of 
 more prudent, two or three hundred dollars. 
 Many Lithuanian girls are employed in fac- 
 tories in Newark, New Jersey, where the 
 men go to seek their wives. 
 
 Three different Lithuanian dialects are 
 spoken. The greater number, two-thirds or 
 four-fifths, read and write their own lan- 
 guage. Lithuanian newspapers are pub- 
 lished in Plymouth, Pennsylvania, and in 
 Chicago and Brooklyn. There are few who 
 are highly educated, but many understand 
 German, Polish and Russian, instruction ir 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 55 
 
 the latter being compulsory in the Russian 
 schools. As Roman Catholics, the Russian 
 Lithuanians are more or less the object of re- 
 ligious persecution. The government confis- 
 cates their churches, and endeavors to en- 
 force instruction in the Russian language in 
 their seminaries. Their home customs vary, 
 but are entirely abandoned here. They 
 quickly conform to American ways. The 
 children learn English and their transforma- 
 tion is more rapid than with the German 
 and most other races. Among the elders, the 
 national traditions survive. The national 
 heroes of Lithuania are the Duke Keistut 
 and his son Whitold; the national saint is 
 St. George, his day being celebrated on the 
 23rd of April ; the national color is red. The 
 Lithuanians in Shenandoah have a secular 
 patriotic association called the Algerdo So- 
 ciety, with about loo members. In addition 
 there are no less than fourteen beneficial so- 
 cieties connected with the church. They are 
 named after Saints George, Joseph, Vin- 
 cent, Stanislaus, Isadore, Ludovic, etc. The 
 
56 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 members pay fifty cents per month and boys 
 of ten years are eligible. Father Abromaitis 
 talked freely of Dr. Jan Szlupas, of whose 
 teachings I had heard. He described him as 
 a man of very high attainments, speaking 
 Russian, Polish and Lithuanian. He had led 
 a large number away from the church, but 
 it might be said on his behalf that his views ' 
 were largely the outcome of political condi- 
 tions which exist in Russia. 
 
 Within the church a Lithuanian artist 
 who had come to America for the purpose, 
 was engaged in frescoing the ceiling. The 
 interior decorations were in excellent taste. 
 Upon the walls were bas-reliefs of painted 
 terra cotta from Munich, representing the 
 stations of the cross, and the stained glass 
 windows at the back of the altar were 
 adorned with figures of saints. 
 
 Father Abromaitis further explained to 
 me that the so-called Huns are all Russians, 
 there being but one Magyar in Shenandoah. 
 They emigrate from South or Little Russia. 
 The greater part belong to the Greek church, 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 57 
 
 but a portion are Roman Catholics and at- 
 tend the so-called Slavonian church. I*'rom 
 another source I learned that many of the 
 Lithuanian miners purchase small farms in 
 the vicinity of Shenandoah, and are gradu- 
 ally turning their attention to this industry. 
 Later, on the same day I visited Father 
 Lenarkwioz, the priest of St. Casmir, the Old 
 Polish church. The Poles, he told me, come 
 from German, Austrian and Russian Po- 
 land, chiefly the latter country. They have 
 nine beneficial societies, named from saints, 
 in his church, and two, the Guardians of 
 Warsaw and the Thaddeus Kosciusko So- 
 ciety in St. Stanislaus, the new church. They 
 retain more or less of their old patriotic 
 spirit and celebrate their two national holi- 
 days, the 29th of June, and the 22d of No- 
 vember. The Slavonian priest lives at Ma- 
 hanoy City, and says mass in a chapel in 
 Shenandoah. On another occasion I met the 
 Rev. Cornelius Laurisin, the rector of the 
 Greek Catholic church of St. Michaels. He 
 received me at his residence, where he lives. 
 
58 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 with his wife, back of the church. He ex- 
 plained to me that they belonged to the 
 United Greeks or Unia, in communion with 
 the see of Rome, and had churches in this 
 country at Wilkes-Barre, Pittsburg-, New 
 York, Chicago and Minneapolis. The United 
 Greek Church became affiliated with Rome 
 by the convention of 1648. It was agreed 
 that they should retain the Greek rite and 
 their own language, elect their own bishops, 
 and that their clergy might be married, mar- 
 rying before they take orders. His congre- 
 gation were Russians, but all came from 
 Austria and Austria Hungary. They were 
 farmers at home, and emigrated in conse- 
 quence of hard times. They spoke the 
 Russian language and their books and news- 
 papers, of which latter one was published 
 at 01)T)hant, Pennsylvania, were printed in 
 the Russian alphabet. 
 
 According to the best information I could 
 obtain, sixty per cent, of the entire popula- 
 tion of Shenandoah are of foreign birth. A 
 few Italians, some fifty, have come in re- 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 59 
 
 cently during the construction of one of the 
 large breakers, and live on the edge of the 
 lower part of the town. They attend the 
 Irish Catholic church. There are about sev- 
 enty Jewish families, comprising between 
 350 and 400 souls. They are all, with one 
 exception, from Russia, and are of the or- 
 thodox faith. They are engaged in shop- 
 keeping and none of them work in the mines. 
 Upon their advent, they undertook mine 
 work, but two were killed in an accident, 
 and the occupation was abandoned. They 
 are almost uniformly successful in making 
 money, acquire a large share of the earnings 
 of the foreign miners, and employ the same 
 methods of giving credit and taking chattel 
 mortgages they practice in Russia and among 
 the negroes in our Southern States. 
 
 Among the privileges which the troopers 
 enjoyed was that of an occasional visit home 
 on pass or furlough. We left and returned 
 to camp in full uniform, with cartridge belt 
 filled, and revolver loaded, and, when absent 
 on pass, were expected to wear our uniform 
 
6o A trooper's narrative. 
 
 during the entire period. I availed myself 
 of an c^portunity for such a visit, during 
 which I had occasion to traverse a neighbor- 
 ing State. The recent wars have accustomed 
 people to seeing soldiers, and I found that I 
 escaped notice and criticism. The sensa- 
 tions, however, were novel and interesting. 
 I was free to enter parlor cars and hotels, 
 although in both there was just the slightest 
 demur. One's personality seems completely 
 lost in the private's uniform. The air of the 
 city seemed close and heavy and I was glad 
 to return to camp. There was a crowd 
 around the mess fire, and the boisterous 
 good-nature that never flagged, day or night, 
 seemed even intensified. The Troop had 
 been called out to assist the sheriff in the ar- 
 rest of some men who were illegally mining 
 coal in the breeches along the road on the 
 hillside north of the camp. It was their 
 lights we had seen, night after night. Thou- 
 sands of tons had been taken. The Troop 
 had driven back the crowd that quickly as- 
 sembled toward the town. Afterwards, fol- 
 
A trooper's narrative. 6r 
 
 lowed by a hooting mob, they escorted the 
 prisoners to the railroad station. A com- 
 pany of the 1 2th infantry relieved them at 
 the station, drove the crowd back, and after- 
 wards sent a squad with two prisoners to 
 Pottsville, three of the prisoners having been 
 released on bail in Shenandoah. The Troop 
 had loaded carbines (revolvers being always 
 carried loaded) but there was no actual vio- 
 lence. One man who called "scab" was 
 chased by a dismounted squad into a saloon 
 where he escaped. Another was promptly 
 arrested on his doorstep. The infantry ar- 
 rested two men in the crowd. I never heard 
 the hooting, but the imitation which the 
 school children gave of it as we passed in 
 the streets left an impression to be remem- 
 bered. This was the only general expres- 
 sion of disapproval we encountered. The 
 fighting word is "scab," which is also ex- 
 pressed in gesture, by scratching the cheeks 
 with the fingers of each hand. 
 
 A long period of inaction, due to continued 
 rainy weather followed this episode. We 
 
62 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 awoke one morning to find a violent storm 
 raging. The camp streets were overflowing, 
 the canvas wet through and flying loose in 
 the wind. The camp police, reinforced by 
 every available man, clad in rubber boots and 
 ponchos, were engaged all day in digging 
 ditches, driving pegs and adjusting tent 
 ropes. 
 
 The rain lasted, almost without intermis- 
 sion for two weeks, during which we fret- 
 ted in our tents. The strikers, too, were in- 
 active, and it seemed as though our presence 
 had become unnecessary. Then a clear, 
 dry day came, and with it a hurry call to 
 Mahanoy. We galloped over hastily, and 
 rode in beside the track at the railroad sta- 
 tion. Then a coal train, with an armed 
 Coal and Iron policeman on each car as its 
 crew, steamed rapidly by on its way to the 
 main line. 
 
 We had halted between the cars and an 
 unorganized mob of boys and men, who, 
 when the train had passed, followed in along 
 the track, and assembled on a bridge over the 
 
A trooper's narrative. 63 
 
 road. From this vantage place, fancying 
 themselves out of reach of cavalry, they cried 
 "Scab! Scab!" We were instantly halted, 
 and a platoon of nine men dismounted. Our 
 First Lieutenant gave the command : "With 
 ball cartridges, Load!" and sabre in hand, 
 marched at the head of the men up the bank 
 to the bridge. The crowd instantly dis- 
 persed. The platoon descended, remounted, 
 and we defiled under the bridge and back 
 to the city. As we passed a street corner, 
 another cry of "Scab!" was heard. Again 
 we were halted, a squad dismounted, and one 
 of the men who had cried was followed into 
 a saloon. The entire Troop wheeled and sat 
 at attention, until, after a lapse of some 
 minutes, one of our sergeants returned with 
 the prisoner. He was small, clean-shaven, 
 round-headed, and bellowed piteously. The 
 large crowd had by this time assembled 
 around us, but they made no serious demon- 
 stration. We wheeled again, and with the 
 prisoner at the head of the column, rode at 
 a walk through the streets towards Shenan- 
 
64 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 doah. The prisoner continued to wail and 
 shout and some of his companions hurried 
 after him. At some distance I could see the 
 street behind us filled with people. The 
 prisoner was now secured by halter straps 
 attached to his arms, and led by two non- 
 commissioned officers. Still at a walk, we 
 continued to St. Nicholas, where, the col- 
 umn halting, the fellow got on his knees in 
 the road, and holding up his index and mid- 
 dle fingers, made loud protestations of peni- 
 tence. Here we released him. As he de- 
 parted, he resumed his command of English, 
 and cried, "Good bye, gentlemen! Thank 
 you, genllemen!" to the men along the line. 
 
 In that evening's issue of the Mahanoy 
 City Daily American, we read an account 
 of our ride. It was headed in large type : 
 
 "A Mob of Aristocratic Anarchists," and 
 described us as "Gobin's drunken or crazy 
 mob of mounted curs." It told how we 
 came through Main street "with guns pointed 
 and bayonets ready to impale child or 
 woman;" how we "made a murderous at- 
 
A trooper's narrative. 65 
 
 tempt to ride our horses over children and 
 women," and declared "the crowd of peace- 
 ful citizens justified in driving bullet holes 
 through the city loons." From it we learned 
 our prisoner's name was Michael Sabbo, and 
 that we carried him to our "moral pest 
 house" at Shenandoah. This was after- 
 wards qualified by the statement that we re- 
 leased him after making him kneel and 
 swear to desert the union and work in the 
 collieries. 
 
 The Shenandoah Evening Herald said 
 we "forced our way through the crowd on 
 the run, and several women and children 
 were knocked down by the horses." I 
 quote these accounts as extreme though 
 characteristic illustrations of the news that 
 emanated from prejudiced sources. 
 
 That night at one-thirty-five there came 
 another hurry call, and sixteen men, the 
 first ready (we got out in ten minutes) rode 
 to the William Penn Colliery where trouble 
 was feared. There was a short conference 
 with the mine superintendent and the pla- 
 
66 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 toon was dismounted and marched to the 
 mine. Beyond a glimpse of a heavy train, 
 with three engines slowly moving along the 
 hillside above, we had no further intimation 
 of the object of our ride, and we were home 
 asleep in our tents inside of two hours. 
 
 This was our last active employment at 
 Shenandoah. The weather continued 
 stormy, so that our rides were curtailed. 
 On clear afternoons we drilled at Lannigan's 
 "patch," our customary evolutions being re- 
 placed by tactical drills in which a platoon 
 would advance and fire under the support of 
 a reserve, which would charge to cover their 
 retirement. 
 
 The relations between our Troop and the 
 towns-people, never intimate, appeared to 
 have become somewhat strained. Rumors 
 concerning the settlement of the strike, of 
 increasing work in the mines, of additional 
 troops being called out, and of our removal 
 from Shenandoah with the brigade head- 
 quarters, arose from hour to hour until all 
 were discredited. At the same time there 
 
A trooper's narrative. 6y 
 
 were many changes among our neighbors 
 upon the hill. We saw the I2th regiment 
 march away, followed in turn by the com- 
 panies of the 4th and all but two of the 8th. 
 Their orders to move were always accom- 
 panied by cheering, everyone glad at the 
 prospect of departure. As for ourselves, we 
 had either to remove or make a new camp, 
 our camp-site having been occupied beyond 
 the 60 days' limit permitted by regulations. 
 There had been twelve cases of typhoid 
 fever, some fatal, in the 12th, and even the 
 8th had not escaped. We had been free 
 from it and all other serious illness, but the 
 sanitary conditions were such as to provoke 
 anxiety. 
 
 While we were awaiting orders the 12th 
 regiment returned and made a new camp on 
 the hill adjoining the race track. This 
 movement was soon after followed by the 
 Governor's proclamation calling out the en- 
 tire Guard. It was just previous to this that 
 four of our men were sent to guard a pris- 
 oner in the town. 
 
68 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 One of the several startling explosions that 
 had awakened us at night, the dynamiting of 
 non-union miners' homes in Shenandoah, 
 had been followed by an arrest. I saw the 
 captive afterwards in the guard house of 
 the 1 2th regiment on the hill. A crowd of 
 his countrymen without the camp, were 
 watching the tent. Within, a group of sol- 
 diers lounged about the fire, while the pris- 
 oner, confined with another charged with the 
 same ofifence, sat in a smaller tent under con- 
 stant surveillance. One was a Pole, the 
 other a Lithuanian. They were silent and 
 stolid and apparently unconcerned. 
 
 The 1 2th were scarcely settled before or- 
 ders came for them to move again, and the 
 1 8th regiment from Pittsburg marched up 
 the hill and occupied the vacant camp-sites. 
 With the prospect of an early departure from 
 Shenandoah, I availed myself of an oppor- 
 tunity to visit the town and learn more of 
 its inhabitants. It appeared to me I had 
 never seen a community having greater 
 moral and intellectual needs, or one in which 
 
A trooper's narrative. 69 
 
 such needs were less fully satisfied. Shen- 
 andoah has a population of 23,000, with 
 some 8,000 or 10,000 dependent people in 
 the neighboring "patches" and villages. Un- 
 like most towns of its size, it has no leisure 
 class nor fine residences. 
 
 Its population is almost entirely com- 
 ■■ posed of miners and the shopkeepers and 
 others who are dependent upon them for a 
 livelihood. Sturdy and industrious, they are 
 easily led, and amenable to every influence 
 that is brought to bear upon them. In 
 common with the State at large the town has 
 an admirable public school system, but its 
 direct influence ends with the withdrawal of 
 the children at an early age to work in the 
 mine or at domestic employment. As I 
 have previously stated, the churches are the 
 centres of social life, and have exercised a 
 beneficent and salutory restraint. This, 
 however, is diminishing. Learning a new 
 language, departing from old customs, there 
 is a constant tendency to break away from 
 established traditions, and think and act 
 
yo A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 independently. The socialistic propaganda 
 finds a generous soil. Resistance to the 
 law for the sake of religious or civil freedom 
 is transformed into resistance for the sake 
 of personal gain and individual profit. The 
 local newspapers, following bad precedents, 
 nurse a spirit of discontent, and are ever 
 flaunting the wrongs of labor and the op- 
 pression of capital. There is practically no 
 such thing as freedom of speech or action in 
 regard to questions affecting industrial re- 
 lations and interests. The law itself is 
 neither respected nor feared. A state of 
 anarchy exists, compared with which the 
 brigandage of our southwestern border is 
 pure chivalry. Things, are steadily growing 
 worse, and the future of this region is dark 
 indeed. 
 
 Yet these conditions have arisen among 
 a people who, naturally, are neither idle, 
 degraded nor vicious. To modify or do 
 away with them would justify the most Ub- 
 eral outlay of money, the most generous 
 expenditure of intelligent effort. Mere 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 7 1 
 
 schools would count for little. A higher 
 public spirit must be created or awakened. 
 
 Some years since, with the idea of helping 
 the community at large, an unsuccessful at- 
 tempt was made to bring about a concert of 
 action between the Protestant churches in 
 Shenandoah. It was the opinion of an intel- 
 ligent citizen, himself a lay preacher, that 
 any movement for improvement should be 
 absolutely unsectarian. A mechanics' insti- 
 tute, with branches in the neighboring towns 
 might greatly aid in the regeneration of this 
 sadly neglected region. Such an institute 
 should aim to reach, not the comparatively 
 well-to-do English-speaking residents, but 
 the growing youth of the foreign population. 
 The details of its management might be left 
 largely in their hands. 
 
 In making this recommendation, I am not 
 insensible to the fact that the underlying 
 cause of the troubles in the anthracite coal 
 regions is an economic one, arising from a 
 surplusage of labor, and in the conflict be- 
 tween the well-paid long-established Eng- 
 
T2, A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 lish-speaking miner, and the lower-priced 
 foreigner who is now supplanting him. The 
 former, in his effort to maintain wages, has 
 organized the force that opposed him, and 
 combines with it in a struggle in which law 
 has been disregarded, and the right of ne- 
 cessity, the right of might, replaced every 
 consideration of honesty and justice. I am 
 aware, too, that education is no panacea for 
 social ills, and of the probability that even 
 with the moral regeneration of Shenandoah, 
 a similar agitation might be attended with 
 the same unlawful combinations and vio- 
 lence. This opinion is confirmed by the atti- 
 tude of many educated people throughout 
 the land, who, in their sympathy with the 
 miners would gloss over and ignore the 
 armed conspiracy by means of which the 
 strike was made effective. 
 
 At the same time I am constrained to 
 assert that if justification can be found for 
 missionary effort anywhere within the four 
 quarters of our earth, it is here in our State 
 
A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. T*^ 
 
 of Pennsylvania, within three hours' ride of 
 this, the third city on our continent. 
 
 On the morning of our 44th day in camp 
 word came that we were to move that night 
 to Wilkes-Barre. We saddled early and 
 rode in the bright sunlight for what was to 
 be our farewell ride across the valley. Our 
 hearts were light as we galloped along the 
 hillside. The foliage was all crimson and 
 gold. We broke camp at nightfall. Heavy 
 wagons carted away our bags and canvas. 
 The camp was no more. As I stood on the 
 bare field, the Troop mounting and lining up 
 to ride for the last time down that now fa- 
 miliar road, there came a single pang of re- 
 gret ; regret for the happy days with all their 
 boisterous humor and fantastic gaiety — and 
 never a thought recurred of the toil and 
 hardship. The darkness of the road seemed 
 more intense. It was deserted now, and be- 
 yond, through the broad lighted street, we 
 passed without a sign of recognition or fare- 
 well. 
 
 There was a tedious wait at the railroad 
 
74 A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 while the horses were loaded. They are 
 shipped with their saddles and halters, 
 lightly packed, heads and tails alternating, 
 so that they cannot move. The Troop, offi- 
 cers and men, occupied a single pasenger car 
 where they dozed fitfully, some wedged in 
 their seats, others stretched at full length on 
 the floor. The train proceeded slowly, 
 backed, stopped on sidings. Looking out 
 into the darkness, I thought of the threats of 
 violence we had heard from Mahanoy, and 
 speculated as to the possibility of their exe- 
 cution. We arrived at Wilkes-Barre at 
 six o'clock, and awakening in the clear morn- 
 ing air, the reveries of the night seemed idle 
 fancies. Only some days afterwards I 
 learned how at the time of our departure, a 
 cattle train, "mistaken for a coal train," had 
 been blown up with dynamite on the Lehigh 
 cut-off at Yatesville, where we had ridden 
 often in our "Hikes to Mahanoy." After 
 breakfast at the Wilkes-Barre station, we 
 mounted, and trotted briskly through the 
 well-paved streets of that beautiful city to 
 
A TROOPER S NARItATIVE. 75 
 
 our new camp. On our way, we passed 
 again beneath the standard of the Third 
 Brigade. The headquarters of the brigade 
 had been moved from Shenandoah to 
 Wilkes-Barre. The General, true to his re- 
 peated promise, had requested that the Sec- 
 ond Troop be transferred with his brigade, 
 so that we were to continue to serve under 
 the officer to whom we had all become deeply 
 attached. Our new camp, like the last, was 
 in a race track, on the low land beyond the 
 bridge, west of the city, where the 9th regi- 
 ment had already erected their tents. The 
 site was covered with a tall growth of weeds, 
 and the ground wet and muddy. It is 
 flooded in the spring, last year to the depth 
 of from six to twelve feet. The atmosphere 
 was heavy and rain seemed imminent. 
 
 Notwithstanding both the weather and the 
 night's fatigue, the men went cheerfully to 
 work and before darkness came on again 
 had their tents up, their oil stoves lighted, 
 and the camp routine proceeding apace. The 
 next day brought a heavy rain, but mean- 
 
76 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 while all had been made secure, and with 
 tight board floors in our tents, we defied the 
 elements. At Shenandoah we had longed 
 for a change, but now there were few who 
 did not look back to our hill top with re- 
 gret. On our first morning we were awak- 
 ened at four-thirty, not for a "Hike to Ma- 
 hanoy," but to ride in squads under the 
 command of infantry officers to patrol the 
 adjacent country. Here again, the contrast 
 was equally marked. The roads were broad, 
 level and well kept ; the houses, with few ex- 
 ceptions, painted and attractive, with cur- 
 tains at the windows and every appearance 
 of comfort. Even the collieries, surrounded 
 by the high red-washed fences surmounted 
 with barbed wire, looked neat and trim. 
 Nor was the broad expanse of the valley so 
 defiled with culm banks as at Shenandoah 
 and Mahanoy. 
 
 On our return to camp we found the 
 streets filled with a well-dressed, prying 
 crowd, who scrutinized us with many loudly 
 expressed comments and criticisms. At five 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. TJ 
 
 o'clock there was evening parade. The 9th 
 regiment, with Battery C from Phoenixville, 
 and the Troop, were aligned in a large field 
 adjoining the camp. There were the same 
 curious spectators who had vised us in our 
 tents. 
 
 The formalities of camp life were ob- 
 served more rigidly than at Shenandoah. 
 The officer of the day wore the red sash 
 now obsolete in the regular service. At 
 night there was a countersign, and our lit- 
 tle company of privates, at no time exceeding 
 thirty-three in number, were drawn upon 
 for twelve camp guards. In addition to the 
 regular guard there was a provost guard at 
 the bridge leading into the city. The passes 
 issued by our Captain required the signa- 
 ture of the brigade officer, were punched 
 with a date and had a blank space for the 
 bearer's signature. 
 
 At Shenandoah we had been, literally 
 speaking, in the enemy's country. Here these 
 elaborate military precautions were taken to 
 protect the troops from their friends. In 
 
78 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 consonance with the poHcy pursued generally 
 throughout the strike, the 9th regiment, 
 chiefly from Wilkes-Barre, had been sta- 
 tioned within a mile of their own town. As 
 a further assistance to the camp guards an 
 electric search light had been established 
 on a scaffolding at the top of a high grand 
 stand overlooking the camp. By means of 
 it the men were continually watched on their 
 posts. "Halt! Who is there?" "Corporal of 
 the Guard !" The sentry and the challenged 
 would stand in a little circle of light. Then 
 the corporal would come running with his 
 lantern, the three figures would speak their 
 parts like actors on a stage, and the light 
 would sweep aside, to follow some distant 
 sentinel, or bound as if in play, from zenith 
 to horizon. The supply wire for this light 
 was cut on two occasions, by strikers, it was 
 asserted, although a different opinion pre- 
 vailed in the regiment. In addition to this 
 fixed light, a portable acetylene search light 
 was used by troops on the march, and was 
 said to have proved a most efficient instru- 
 
A TROOPERS NARRATIVE. 79 
 
 ment in dispersing mobs at night. For some 
 days after our arrival we found ourselves 
 under the direct command of the Colonel of 
 the 9th regiment. Upon the return of the 
 General our autonomy was restored, and we 
 were sent out with our own officers to guard 
 trains and ride through the neighboring 
 towns. But the country was quiet and our 
 services little required. Once we escorted 
 two guns from the battery to other camps, 
 and now and again we would take long 
 morning rides, past Plymouth and Nanti- 
 coke, always returning in time for evening 
 parade. These trips were almost entirely 
 without incident. There were no crowds, 
 and we passed almost without notice. Only 
 in Pittston once, as we were riding in fours, 
 a man hissed the Troop from the vantage 
 place of a saloon doorway. Repentance fol- 
 lowed quickly. The column was halted, and 
 the fellow seized by a non-commissioned offi- 
 cer who rode up on the pavement before his 
 surprised companions had realized what had 
 happened. Whatever may be the legality of 
 
8o A trooper's narrative. 
 
 such procedure, and I understand it has been 
 questioned, it saved us from the insults to 
 which the State troops have been almost 
 invariably subjected when on strike duty. 
 The opposite course is more likely to foster 
 and create disorder than to control it. 
 
 On another occasion a gray-haired Irish 
 woman cried after us: "God bless ye, and 
 may ye die of the hunger." But save the 
 idle mines there was no indication of the 
 strike, and no disorder of any kind. 
 
 On one of our morning rides, conducted 
 by the Colonel of the 9th regiment, we vis- 
 ited some of the historic sites in the valley, 
 the Wyoming monument, the old Forty Fort 
 Church, and the rock upon which tradition 
 says Queen Esther killed her captives. My 
 most interesting experience was an assign- 
 ment with a detail of two other troopers on 
 the commissary train on its weekly tour of 
 the camps of the Third Brigade. It was our 
 duty to unload the hundred or more bags of 
 potatoes, the rice, sugar, coffee, bacon, 
 cheese, and all the other provisions required 
 
A trooper's narrative. 8 1 
 
 for the week's supply. These appeared to 
 be of excellent quality, and admirably suited 
 both to the tastes and requirements of the 
 men in the field. Their selection had been 
 determined by experience rather than by 
 scientific study as in the armies of Continen- 
 tal Europe. The absence of tea is notable, 
 but the Major in charge informed me that the 
 soldiers did not care for it, always much pre- 
 ferring coffee. The substitution of some 
 other cereal for oatmeal at breakfast would 
 seem desirable, but the soldiers prefer oat- 
 meal. The most important change, in my 
 opinion, would be the reduction of the meat 
 ration with a corresponding increase in fresh 
 vegetables. The cooking is done by two men 
 in each company, enlisted as cooks. The 
 State pay, $1.50 per day, is insufficient to 
 procure competent cooks for a long period 
 such as the present service and the emer- 
 gency was met by a voluntary contribution 
 on the part of the men. The cost of our 
 troop ration to the State was 20 71-100 cents 
 per day. 
 
82 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 In connection with the commissary a word 
 might be said about our equipments. In 
 general, like the food, they are good- and 
 practical and well suited to their purpose. 
 The chief defect is in the canvas leggings 
 which are neither serviceable, convenient, nor 
 well appearing. The carbine sling we dis- 
 carded soon after entering the field. Of our 
 arms the quality of the sabre alone is sub- 
 ject to criticism. It is a poor, cheap affair of 
 German manufacture, and, if retained at all, 
 should be replaced by a better weapon. As 
 to mounted troops in general, their utility 
 for the kind of work in which we were en- 
 gaged seems amply demonstrated. 
 
 Our train made the entire circuit of the 
 brigade camps. At each stopping place, a 
 detail took charge of the supplies. Most 
 notable of all the sights from the car win- 
 dows were the miners and their families, 
 old and young, men, women and children, 
 engaged in picking coal upon the culm banks. 
 Bags, baskets and tin pans were used to carry 
 the coal away. Some had contrived small 
 

 
 1 
 
 
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 ^mpp f f 
 
 'tPW 
 
 BBpJH|j^ 
 
 HP"^' - ■ 
 
 M^-- 
 
 hp^^fl^^H 
 
 
 'p 
 
 if StaiiMpBiyW 
 
 
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 1 ^^yi 
 
 After a Damp Night 
 
A trooper's narrative. 83 
 
 hand wagons, while others had teams wait- 
 ing. They covered the culm piles which 
 they despoiled without reference to any 
 question of ownership. Only one individual 
 operator succeeded in levying a charge of 
 $1.00 per ton, and was accumulating a small 
 fortune. 
 
 It may not be an exaggeration to say that 
 the entire cost of the strike may be covered 
 by the value which this once despised refuse 
 now has for its owners. The culm piles be- 
 long to the owners of the land and are 
 worked by the washeries on a royalty. On 
 this morning excursion I learned another 
 interesting fact concerning the striking min- 
 ers : how they had invaded the neighboring 
 farm country in search of work, even to 
 Lancaster county, offering their services at 
 half the current rate for such labor and thus 
 violating, to the great hardship and disad- 
 vantage of laborers in another occupation, 
 the very principle in defence of which their 
 strike was carred on. 
 
 The foliage had now reached the maxi- 
 
84 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 mum of its splendor. An autumnal haze 
 overhung the valley, and nature appealed to 
 us in one of her richest and most enticing 
 garments. But all the while the nights grew 
 colder, so that the guards built great fires, 
 and the horses trembled under their blankets 
 in the long draughty tent. Impatient in in- 
 action, we looked forward to our recall. The 
 order came at last, on the very day of John 
 Mitchell's great parade. The Captain read 
 it to us, as we lined up, shivering, at roll 
 call in the mess tent after reveille. 
 
 We gave a rousing cheer for the General 
 and another for our Captain, but our joy was 
 not unmixed with pain and disappointment, 
 for with the order came an intimation that 
 we would not be sent home, but re-attached 
 to the First Brigade, and assigned new duties 
 under a new commander. 
 
 Breaking camp that day was melancholy 
 work. There had been a freshet; the water 
 had risen until it covered the board floors of 
 out tents and the ground was yet sodden and 
 uncertain. From the distant hills black 
 
A trooper's narrative. 8s 
 
 clouds would fall and sweep in sudden 
 snowy squalls over our camp. The canvas 
 of the horse-fly whirled in the air. With 
 the prospect of making another camp that 
 night, we almost wished the elements would 
 complete the destruction. But the customary 
 good humor of the men asserted itself at 
 last. The bags packed, the canvas lowered, 
 the wagons laden, somewhere at about four 
 in the afternoon we were mounted and off 
 across the bridge and into the town on our 
 way to the railroad. The bands of Mitch- 
 ell's parade made no music for our ears. At 
 the brigade headquarters we were halted in 
 line, and the General and his staff descended 
 to the pavement. As we presented sabres, 
 the General removed his hat and addressed 
 us a few cordial words of thanks and fare- 
 well. With this touching ceremony, our ser- 
 vice of 64 days under General Gobin was 
 ended. That night we proceeded to Auden- 
 reid, where, after sleeping in the cars we 
 transferred our equipment to wooden bar- 
 racks hastily erected by carpenters detailed 
 
86 A trooper's narrative. 
 
 from the ranks of the 3rd regiment. There 
 was no complaint, but our hearts were 
 heavy. The prospect of returning home 
 seemed indefinitely prolonged and this with- 
 out any military necessity apparent to us. 
 Finally, on the Saturday following we were 
 released and at last, abandoned our "winter 
 quarters," and arrived safely in Philadel- 
 phia on the 67th day of our service. Of the 
 officers and men, not one had been seriously 
 ill, nor suffered from accident. All, indeed, 
 were greatly improved in health and vigor, 
 and enriched, not only with military experi- 
 ence, but with generous friendships, and 
 memories ever to be treasured of our camp 
 on the hill top and our "Hikes to Maha- 
 noy." 
 
A trooper's narrative. 87 
 
 HEADQUARTERS THIRD BRIGADE, 
 NATIONAL GUARD OF PENNSYLVANIA, 
 
 Wilkes-Barbe, Pa., October 28, 1902. 
 
 Sfecul Okders, 
 No. 156. 
 
 I. The Second Troop, Philadelphia City Cavalry, 
 N. G. P., is hereby relieved from further service on 
 this tour of duty in the anthracite coal field. The 
 command will on October 29th return to its rendez- 
 vous, Philadelphia, Pa. Quartermaster's Department 
 will furnish the necessary transportation. 
 
 II. The Brigadier General Commanding takes occa- 
 sion to extend to this organization his thanks for the 
 alacrity with which they responded to the call of 
 duty, and for the readiness, military skill and per- 
 sonal sacrifice with which they have performed the 
 numerous duties assigned to them during this tour. 
 They have earned the commendation of all order- 
 loving citizens, and are especially entitled to the 
 thanks of the ofBcers and men of this Brigade, with 
 which they have for the first time been associated 
 closely. 
 
 By command of Brigadier-General J. P. S. GOBIN, 
 
 WILLIAM P. CLARKE, 
 Major and Acting Assistant Adjutant General. 
 
88 A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 HEADQUARTERS OF THE DIVISION, 
 NATIONAL GUARD OF PENNSYLVANIA, 
 PoTTSViLLE, Pa., October 29, 1902. 
 General Orders, No. 17. 
 
 II. The Second Troop, P. C. C, First Brigade, N. 
 G. P., Captain Schermerhorn commanding, is hereby 
 relieved from command of Brigadier General /. P. 
 S. Gohin, Commanding Third Brigade, N. G. P., 
 and will proceed at once to Hazleton, Pa. The com- 
 manding officer will report for duty by telegraph, to' 
 Brigadier General John W. Schall, Commanding 
 First Brigade, N. G. P., Tamaqua, Pa. 
 
 By Command of MAJOR GENERAL MILLER. 
 W. J. ELLIOTT, 
 Assistant Adjutant General. 
 
 HEADQUARTERS OF THE DIVISION, 
 NATIONAL GUARD OF PENNSYLVANIA, 
 PoTTSViLLE, Pa., November i, 1902. 
 General Orders, No. 22. 
 
 II. The Second Troop, P. C. C, Captain Scher- 
 merhorn commanding, is hereby relieved from duty 
 in the field and will return to its home rendezvous. 
 
 III. Transportation will be furnished by the Quar- 
 termaster's Department, First Brigade, N. G. P. 
 Camp equipage and the extra issue of woolen 
 blankets will be carefully packed and shipped to the 
 State Arsenal, Harrisburg, Pa. 
 
 By Command of MAJOR GENERAL MILLER. 
 W. J. ELLIOTT, 
 Assistant Adjutant General. 
 
A trooper's narrative. 89 
 
 ROSTER of SECOND TROOP 
 Philadelphia City Cavalry, 
 
 August 27th to November ist, 1902. 
 
 Captain, Frank Earle Schermerhorn. 
 
 First Lieutenant, John P. Wood. 
 
 2nd Lieut., Clarence Eaton Schermerhorn. 
 
 1st Lieut, and Asst. Surgeon, W. A. N. Dorland. 
 
 and Lieut, and Quartermaster, Randolph Sailer. 
 
 First Sergeant, Chables Welsh Edmunds. 
 
 Quartermaster-Sergeant, Charles Williams Lloyd. 
 
 Commissary-Sergeant, Robert Richard Blank. 
 
 Sergeant, Walter Herbert Alcock. 
 
 Sergeant, Thomas Wood Andrews. 
 
 Sergeant, John William Good. 
 
 Sergeant, Edwabd Hitzeroth. 
 
 Sergeant, William Wallace Adams, Jr. 
 
 Corporal, Harry L. Reinhold, Jr. 
 
 Corporal, G. Bertram Regar. 
 
 Corporal, Harry Leon Reeves. 
 
 Corporal, Preston B. Lee. 
 
 Corporal, R. Harding Hunter. 
 
 Corporal, Harry Morse Coffin. 
 
 Corporal, Edward Riter Walls. 
 
 Corporal, DeWitt Clinton Robinson. 
 
 Trumpeter, Harry Cramp Cox. 
 
 Trumpeter, William Thomas Marshbank. 
 
 Sadler, Michael J. Norton. 
 
90 A TROOPER S NARRATIVE. 
 
 PRIVATES. 
 
 AdamSj C. Willis. 
 
 Bains^ Erskine. 
 
 ClarKj Robert Parry. 
 
 CoLviLLE, Arthur. 
 
 CuLiN, Stewart. 
 
 Davison, Benjamin Franklin. 
 
 EcKFELDT, Frank C. 
 
 Ehrenzeller, Charles Sheppard. 
 
 Field, Thomas Y., Jr. 
 
 Freck, Joseph Otto. 
 
 Furlong, Thomas Stanley. 
 
 GiERsoN, T. Perceval. 
 
 Goldberg, Harold Goodman. 
 
 Hamilton, Henry T. 
 
 Harris, Edward M. 
 
 Hart, Reginald Lawrence, Jr. 
 
 Hough, Carlos Edward. 
 
 Hollingsworth, Earle B. 
 
 Kramer, Frederick Leighton. 
 
 Mair, William E. 
 
 Mershon, George B., Jr. 
 
 Odiorne, Walter J. 
 
 Reed, Allan M. 
 
 Regar, Howard Insull. 
 
 Reynolds, Harry L. 
 
 Stahl, Louis C. 
 
 Stewart, George Shepherd. 
 
 Stitzer, James Herbert, Jr. 
 
A trooper's narrative. 91 
 
 Trainer, Joseph Fsancis. 
 Trefry, Johk Walter. 
 Vane, Augustus Sailer. 
 Wadsworth, William S. 
 Weaver, Spencer Fullerton. 
 Westbrook, Wiluam T., Js. 
 Wilson, Irving L. 
 Wisler, Edwin C