Cæsar's Column: A Story of the Twentieth Century

the matter with 'em, then?' replied Caesar. 'Come, come,Bill, if they're dead, that's the end of them. Take a drink,' and heturned, unsteadily, toward the council-table, on which stood severalbottles and demijohns.

  "'But some of us have talked it over,' said the officer. 'A number ofthe streets are impassable already with the dead. There must be aquarter of a million of soldiers and citizens lying about, and thenumber is being added to every minute. The weather is warm, and theywill soon breed a pestilence that will revenge them on their slayers.Those killed by the poison are beginning to smell already. Wecouldn't take any action without your authority, and so I came to askyou for your orders.'

  "'Burn 'em up,' said Caesar.

  "'We can't,' said the man; 'we would have to burn up the city todestroy them in that way; there are too many of them; and it would bean immense task to bury them.'

  "'Heap 'em all up in one big pile,' said Caesar.

  "'That wouldn't do--the smell they would make in decaying would beunbearable, to say nothing of the sickness they would create.'

  "Caesar was standing unsteadily, looking at us with lackluster eyes.Suddenly an idea seemed to dawn in his monstrous head--an idea asmonstrous and uncouth as the head itself. His eyes lighted up.

  "'I have it!' he shouted. 'By G-d, I have it! Make a pyramid of them,and pour cement over them, and let it stand forever as a monument ofthis day's glorious work! Hoorrah!"

  "'That's a pretty good idea,' said the officer, and the otherspresent, courtier-like--for King Caesar already has hiscourtiers--applauded the idea vociferously.

  "'We'll have a monument that shall last while the earth stands,'cried Caesar. 'And, hold on, Bill,' he continued, 'you shall buildit;--and--I say--we won't make a pyramid of it--it shall be acolumn--_Caesar's Column_--by G-d. It shall reach to the skies! And ifthere aren't enough dead to build it of, why, we'll kill some more;we've got plenty to kill. Old Thingumbob, who used to live here--inmy palace--said he would kill ten million of us to-day. But hedidn't. Not much! Max's friend--that d---d long-legged fellow, fromAfrica--he dished him, for he told old Quincy all about it. And nowI've got old Thingumbob's best girl in the corner yonder. Oh, it'sjolly. But build the column, Bill--build it high and strong. Iremember--hic--how they used to build houses on the Saskatchewan,when I was grubbing for potatoes there. They had a board frame thelength of a wall, and three or four feet high. They would throw instones, bowlders, pebbles, dirt, anything, and, when it was full,they would pour cement over it all; and when it hardened--hic--whichit did in a few minutes, they lifted up the frame and made anothercourse. I say, Bill, that's the way you must build Caesar's column.And get Charley Carpenter to help you; he's an engineer. And, holdon, Bill, put a lot of dynamite--Jim has just told me they had foundtons of it--put a lot of dynamite--hic--in the middle of it, and ifthey try to tear down my monument, it will blow them to the d---l.And, I say, Max, that long-legged, preaching son-of-thunder--thatfriend of yours--he must write an inscription for it. Do you hear?He's the man to do it. Something fine. By G-d, we will build amonument that will beat the pyramids of all the other Caesars.Caesar's Column! Hoorrah!'

  "And the great brute fairly jumped and danced with delight over hisextraordinary conception.

  "Bill hurried out. They have sixty thousand prisoners--men who hadnot been among the condemned--but merchants, professional men, etc.They were debating, when I came up, whether they would kill them, butI suggested that they be set to work on the construction of Caesar'sColumn, and if they worked well, that their lives be spared. This wasagreed to. They are now building the monument on Union Square.Thousands of wagons are at work bringing in the dead. Other wagonsare hauling cement, sand, etc. Bill and his friend Carpenter are atwork. They have constructed great wooden boxes, about forty feet fromfront to rear, about four feet high and fifty feet long. The dead areto be laid in rows--the feet of the one row of men near the center ofthe monument, and the feet of the next row touching the heads of thefirst, and so on. In the middle of the column there is to be acavity, about five feet square, running from the top to the bottom ofthe monument, in which the dynamite is to be placed; while wires willlead out from it among the bodies, so arranged, with fulminatingcharges, that any attempt to destroy the monument or remove thebodies will inevitably result in a dreadful explosion. But we will goup after dinner and look at the work," he said, "for they are tolabor night and day until it is finished. The members of theBrotherhood have entered with great spirit into the idea of such amonument, as a symbol and memorial of their own glory and triumph."

  "I remember," said I, "reading somewhere that, some centuries ago, anarmy of white men invaded one of the Barbary states. They weredefeated by the natives, and were every one slain. The Moors tooktheir bodies and piled them up in a great monument, and there thewhite bones and grinning skulls remain to this day, a pyramid ofskeletons; a ghastly warning to others who might think to make a likeattempt at invasion of the country. Caesar must have read of thatterrible trophy of victory."

  "Perhaps so," said Maximilian; "but the idea may have been originalwith him; for there is no telling what such a monstrous brain as his,fired by whisky and battle, might or might not produce."

  At dinner poor Mr. Phillips was looking somewhat better. He had agreat many questions to ask his son about the insurrection.

  "Arthur," he said, "if the bad man and his accomplices, who socruelly used me, should be made prisoners, I beg you, as a favor tome, not to punish them. Leave them to God and their own consciences."

  "I shall," said Max, quietly.

  Mrs. Phillips heartily approved of this sentiment. I looked down atmy plate, but before my eyes there came a dreadful picture of thatfortress of flame, with the chained man in the midst, and high aboveit I could see, swung through the air by powerful arms, manacledfigures, who descended, shrieking, into the vortex of fire.

  After many injunctions to his guards, to look well after the house,Max and I, well armed and wearing our red crosses, and accompanied bytwo of our most trusted men, sallied forth through the back gate.

  What a scene! Chaos; had come. There were no cars or carriages.Thieves and murderers were around us; scenes of rapine and death onevery hand. We moved together in a body; our magazine rifles readyfor instant use.

  Our red crosses protected us from the members of the Brotherhood; andthe thieves gave our guns a wide berth. At a street crossing weencountered a wagon-load of dead bodies; they were being hauled tothe monument. The driver, one of the Brotherhood, recognized Max, andinvited us to seats beside him. Familiarity makes death as natural aslife. We accepted his offer--one of our men sitting on the tailboardof the wagon; and in this gory chariot we rode slowly throughBroadway, deserted now by everything but crime. The shops had allbeen broken open; dead bodies lay here and there; and occasionally aburned block lifted its black arms appealingly to heaven. As we drewnear to Union Square a wonderful sight--such as the world had neverbefore beheld--expanded before us. Great blazing bonfires lighted thework; hundreds of thousands had gathered to behold the ghastlystructure, the report of which had already spread everywhere. Thesemen nearly all belonged to the Brotherhood, or were members of thelower orders, who felt that they had nothing to fear frominsurrection. There were many women among them, and not a fewthieves, who, drawn by curiosity, for awhile forgot theiropportunities and their instincts. Within the great outer circle ofdark and passionate and exultant faces, there was another assemblageof a very different appearance. These were the prisoners at work uponthe monument. Many of them were gray-haired; some were bloody fromwounds upon their heads or bodies; they were all pale and terrified;not a few were in rags, or half naked, their clothes having beenliterally torn from their backs. They were dejected, and yet movedwith alacrity, in fear of the whips or clubs in the hands of theirmasters, who passed among them, filling the air with oaths. Maxpointed out to me prominent merchants, lawyers and clergymen. Theywere all dazed-looking, like men after a terrific earthquake, who hadlost confidence in the stability of everything. I
t was Anarchypersonified:--the men of intellect were doing the work; the men ofmuscle were giving the orders. The under-rail had come on top. Itreminded me of Swift's story of the country where the men wereservants to the horses.

  The wagons rolled up, half a dozen at a time, and dumped theirdreadful burdens on the stones, with no more respect or ceremony thanif they had been cord-wood. Then the poor trembling prisoners seizedthem by the head and feet, and carried them to other prisoners, whostood inside the boxes, and who arranged them like double lines froma central point:--it was the many-rayed sun of death that had setupon civilization. Then, when the box was full and