Cæsar's Column: A Story of the Twentieth Century

farms--everywhere," replied Andrews.

  "Are they armed?" asked another of the Council.

  "It is claimed," said Andrews, "that every one of the hundredmillions possesses a magazine rifle of the most improved pattern,with abundance of fixed ammunition."

  "I fear, my good man," said another member of the Council, with asneer, "that you have been frightened by some old woman's tales.Where could these men buy such weapons? What would they buy themwith? Where would they hide them? Our armories and manufacturers areforbidden by law to sell firearms, unless under special permit,signed by one of our trusty officers. The value of those guns wouldin itself be a vast sum, far beyond the means of those miserablewretches. And our police are constantly scouring the cities and thecountry for weapons, and they report that the people possess none,except a few old-fashioned, worthless fowling-pieces, that have comedown from father to son."

  "As I said before," replied Andrews, "I tell you only what I havegleaned among the workmen in those secret whispers which pass fromone man's mouth to another man's ear. I may be misinformed; but I amtold that these rifles are manufactured by the men themselves (for,of course, all the skilled work of all kinds is done by workingmen)in some remote and desolate parts of Europe or America; they arefurnished at a very low price, at actual cost, and paid for in smallinstallments, during many years. They are delivered to the captainsof tens and by them buried in rubber bags in the earth."

  "Then that accounts," said one man, who had not yet spoken, "for acurious incident which occurred the other day near the town ofZhitomir, in the province of Volhynia, Russia, not very far from theborders of Austria. A peasant made an offer to the police to deliverup, for 200 rubles, and a promise of pardon for himself, nine of hisfellow conspirators and their rifles. His terms were accepted and hewas paid the money. He led the officers to a place in his barnyard,where, under a manure-heap, they dug up ten splendid rifles ofAmerican make, with fixed ammunition, of the most improved kind, thewhole inclosed in a rubber bag to keep out the damp. Nine otherpeasants were arrested; they were all subjected to the knout; butneither they nor their captain could tell anything more than he hadat first revealed. The Russian newspapers have been full ofspeculations as to how the rifles came there, but could arrive at noreasonable explanation."

  "What became of the men?" asked Andrews, curiously.

  "Nine of them were sent to Siberia for life; the tenth man, who hadrevealed the hiding-place of the guns, was murdered that night withhis wife and all his family, and his house burned up. Even two of hisbrothers, who lived near him, but had taken no part in the matter,were also slain."

  "I expected as much," said Andrews quietly.

  This unlooked-for corroboration of the spy's story produced a markedsensation, and there was profound silence for some minutes.

  At last the Prince spoke up:

  "Andrews," said he, "what did you learn about the leaders of thisorganization?"

  "There are three of them, I am told," replied the spy; theyconstitute what is known as 'the Executive Committee.' Thecommander-in-chief, it is whispered, is called, or was called--for noone can tell what his name is now--Caesar Lomellini; a man of Italiandescent, but a native of South Carolina. He is, it is said, ofimmense size, considerable ability, and the most undaunted courage.His history is singular. He is now about forty-five years of age. Inhis youth, so the story goes, he migrated to the then newly settledState of Jefferson, on the upper waters of the Saskatchewan. He hadmarried early, like all his race, and had a family. He settled downon land and went to farming. He was a quiet, peaceable, industriousman. One year, just as he was about to harvest his crops, a dischargeof lightning killed his horses; they were the only ones he had. Hewas without the means to purchase another team, and without horses hecould not gather his harvest. He was therefore forced to mortgage hisland for enough to buy another pair of horses. The money-lenderdemanded large interest on the loan and an exorbitant bonus besides;and as the 'bankers,' as they called themselves, had an organization,he could not get the money at a lower rate anywhere in that vicinity.It was the old story. The crops failed sometimes, and when they didnot fail the combinations and trusts of one sort or another sweptaway Caesar's profits; then he had to renew the loan, again and again,at higher rates of interest, and with still greater bonuses; then thefarm came to be regarded as not sufficient security for the debt; andthe horses, cattle, machinery, everything he had was covered withmortgages. Caesar worked like a slave, and his family toiled alongwith him. At last the crash came; he was driven out of his home; thefarm and all had been lost for the price of a pair of horses. Righton the heels of this calamity, Caesar learned that his eldestdaughter--a beautiful, dark-eyed girl--had been seduced by alawyer--the agent of the money-lender--and would in a few monthsbecome a mother. Then all the devil that lay hid in the depths of theman's nature broke forth. That night the lawyer was attacked in hisbed and literally hewed to pieces: the same fate overtook themoney-lender. Before morning Caesar and his family had fled to theinhospitable mountain regions north of the settlement. There hegathered around him a band of men as desperate as himself, and wagedbloody and incessant war on society. He seemed, however, to have amethod in his crimes, for, while he spared the poor, no man whopreyed upon his fellow-men was safe for an hour. At length thegovernment massed a number of troops in the vicinity; the place gottoo hot for him; Caesar and his men fled to the Pacific coast; andnothing more was heard of him for three or four years. Then theterrible negro insurrection broke out in the lower MississippiValley, which you all remember, and a white man, of gigantic stature,appeared as their leader, a man of great daring and enterprise. Whenthat rebellion had been suppressed, after many battles, the white mandisappeared; and it is now claimed that he is in this city at thehead of this terrible Brotherhood of Destruction; and that he is thesame Caesar Lomellini who was once a peaceful farmer in the State ofJefferson."

  The spy paused. The Prince said:

  "Well, who are the others?"

  "It is reported that the second in command, but really 'the brains ofthe organization,' as he is called by the men, is a Russian Jew. Hisname I could not learn; very few have seen him or know anything abouthim. He is said to be a cripple, and to have a crooked neck. It isreported he was driven out of his synagogue in Russia, years ago, forsome crimes he had committed. He is believed to be the man whoorganized the Brotherhood in Europe, and he has come here to make thetwo great branches act together. If what is told of him be true, hemust be a man of great ability, power and cunning."

  "Who is the third?" asked the Prince.

  "There seems to be more obscurity about him than either of theothers," replied the spy. "I heard once that he was an American, ayoung man of great wealth and ability, and that he had furnished muchof the money needed to carry on the Brotherhood. But this again isdenied by others. Jenkins, who was one of our party, and who waskilled some months since, told me, in our last interview, that he hadpenetrated far enough to find out who the third man was; and he toldme this curious story, which may or may not be true. He said thatseveral years ago there lived in this city a man of large fortune, alawyer by education, but not engaged in the practice of hisprofession, by the name of Arthur Phillips. He was a benevolent man,of scholarly tastes, and something of a dreamer. He had made a studyof the works of all the great socialist writers, and had become aconvert to their theories, and very much interested in the cause ofthe working people. He established a monthly journal for thedissemination of his views. He spoke at the meetings of the workmen,and was very much beloved and respected by them. Of course, soJenkins said, all this was very distasteful to the ruling class (I amonly repeating the story as it was told to me, your lordships willplease remember), and they began to persecute him. First he wasostracised from his caste. But this did not trouble him much. He hadno family but his wife and one son who was away at the university. Heredoubled his exertions to benefit the working classes. At this timehe had a lawsuit about some property with a wealthy and influentialman,
a member of the government. In the course of the trial Phillipsproduced a writing, which purported to be signed by two men, andwitnessed by two others; and Phillips swore he saw all of them signit. Whereupon not only the men themselves, but the two witnesses tothe paper, came up and swore, point-blank, that their allegedsignatures were forgeries. There were four oaths against one.Phillips lost his case. But this was not the worst of it. The nextday he was indicted for forgery and perjury; and, despite his wealthand the efforts of the ablest counsel he could employ, he wasconvicted and sentenced to twenty years' penal servitude in the stateprison. His friends said he was innocent; that he had been sacrificedby the ruling class, who feared him and desired to destroy him; thatall the witnesses had been suborned by large