7 The Reign of Terror

Before the Howes sailed for Europe Cathcart called once at their house, and he met Lucy Howe once elsewhere. He was treated with uniform courtesy, even with a friendly familiarity by Mr. Howe, and a rumor crept into the press that the two might heal their feud with the result that Cathcart would yet appear as the champion of the Rapid Transit Bill and an organization candidate. It annoyed Arthur at first, but he understood why the report had started, and he said nothing in reply.

Lucy Howe was unchanged; her bearing toward him did not differ from her manner toward other attractive young men, and Cathcart assumed nothing. Mr. Cathcart kept sedulously to himself, and there was no attempt to bring the heads of the two families together, not even by Mrs. Throckmorton, who appeared for a day or two.

When the Howes departed, Arthur went back to his studies with increased diligence. Mr. Cathcart talked of going to England, and announced frequently that he was about to chose his berth on the steamer, but for the first summer in thirty years failed to do so. Arthur knew that it was a great thing for his uncle to do, a great proof of his affection for his nephew, but Mr. Cathcart himself would have been the last man to admit it, and Arthur, understanding, made no allusion. Yet his heart warmed toward his crusty uncle.

The summer passed, autumn came and advanced, and elections for the General Assembly were to be held throughout the state. In all the districts the rival machine organizations put forth candidates Republican and Democratic, and on his own Arthur promptly announced himself as an Independent. Old party leaders trained to run with the machines and having no thought of anything else laughed at his temerity.

But Arthur was in no wise daunted. He had been over the field before and he had all the advantage of experience, knowledge, and self-possession. He did not begin his campaign until the other candidates were a week in the field, but when he started he had an immense store of powerful ammunition and the skill and courage with which to use it. He boldly attacked both parties in his district, saying that each was the creature of a machine, and that they were equally corrupt, the incorporators of the East Side Rapid Transit Bill not being particular whether the Republican or the Democrat was elected; in either case they expected his support.

His long rest, hours of silent thought and preparation, and the intense concentration of his mind upon one thing brought him to this subject full of fire, life, and penetration. Facts that had been obscure to him before became clear now, his power of oratory grew wonderfully, and above all he showed himself a master of attack, the very thing he needed most in the career that he had chosen for himself. In three days the delusion that he was a joke was dispelled from the district forever, and the term “Little Artie” was heard no more. The Democratic and Republican candidates ceased to laugh.

Collins, with the powerful help of the Standard, was always at his elbow, and other newspapers, seeing that he was a figure, also came to his aid. It was in many ways a crucial moment. People everywhere were getting tired of the old political machines, and the bosses. These easy-going people, disturbed by revelations of corruption, were getting the singular idea into their heads that they ought to regulate their own public affairs, and, what was far more singular, the idea stuck. They had talked of reform many times before, and they had tried it, but only for brief spells; then they would grow tired or forget all about it. Now it showed signs of lasting life and the man and the opportunity were meeting, although the same opportunity had been there for thousands of other young men.

Cathcart opened fire with all his vigor upon the East Side Rapid Transit Bill. James Howe, and the Twentieth National Bank. He had made further investigations during the summer, and he had new facts, showing not only the corrupt alliance, but how the incorporators of the company would make unearned millions out of the city. He traced the growth of the measure step by step, the vast though secret lobby that was pushing it forward and proclaiming its merits. He showed how an allusion had been produced in the public mind by these invisible agencies, how black had been made to appear white, and he demanded punishment. He did not hesitate to name men, powerful in politics and finance, and he showed no respect for their professions of probity and piety. All political machines were the same to him, and he attacked all with a fierce joy.

The Cathcart campaign developed extraordinary life. People left the meetings of the Republican and Democratic candidates to attend those of the Independent. The contest was pungent and spicy, like no other that the city remembered, and there were many personalities which are always far more interesting than principles. Radigan, who had laughed and pitied, began to feel alarm. He did not show it in public, but he did to his henchmen who met in his little office.

“The trouble with this Cathcart,” he said pathetically, “is that he ain’t a Reformer and a blamed fool at the same time; that’s the only kind of reformer that I’ve ever knowed before.”

In the dark back alleys and among the mixed populations there were mutterings against Cathcart, and his friends took cognizance of them. About this time was formed what came to be known as The Praetorian Guard. It was a band of stalwart young men of clean life who were fascinated by Cathcart’s personality and who hoped some day to imitate him. Meantime, they looked upon him as their leader, and resolved to protect him while they learned from him. They were gathered quietly at every meeting around the speakers’ stand, and whenever he left the hall or the cart-tail they marched around him with equal quietness and lack of ostentation.

He heard, in the course of the campaign, that Lucy Howe and her father had arrived from Europe, but no direct message came to him. It was Mrs. Throckmorton who brought the news, and the lady was gossipy.

“Lucy is as beautiful and attractive as ever,” said she, “and I think that what was planned for her has come to naught. The European trip was a failure. Mr. Hargrove will have to try again and press his luck on his own soil.”

Here, at least, was encouragement, and Arthur continued the campaign with renewed zest and vigor. He felt that he was making progress, not only in popular applause, but in votes. He knew that his antagonists were frightened—he knew that Radigan was puzzled and did not understand how to meet his attack. Before this, the leader had dealt only with weaklings, not with men of intellect and courage. Now he was faced by a Reformer who was also sane, a man who sought out every weak point in his defense, who knew where to find them, and who never ceased to hit them hard.

He did not wholly abandon society, and once again he met Lucy Howe at Mrs. Throckmorton’s. It seemed to him that her manner toward him was lacking alike in warmth and coldness, just neutral, and that she was a little paler than usual, but he pretended indifference, and they did not speak of his campaign. He asked her the perfunctory questions about her European trip and the health of her father, and she answered in the usual conversational tone.

“I hear that your attack is beginning to wear upon the great Mr. Howe,” said Mrs. Throckmorton to him afterward, and three days later he had proof of it.

Arthur, by virtue of the Cathcart fortune, had been for two or three years a director in an important trust company. Until recently he had regarded the place as merely nominal and paid no attention to its duties; now he began to look at it from another point of view and attended every meeting, taking an active share in the business before the board.

A meeting had just been called and Arthur was among the first to arrive. Mr. Howe, who was also a director, came in soon afterward, and when he saw Arthur frowned slightly. He tried to drive away the frown and assume his old air of geniality. But to Arthur there was something stiff and strained about his manner as he held out his hand, telling of effort, and the clasp of the fingers was far from warm.

“How do you do, Mr. Cathcart?” said Mr. Howe. “You’re making a lively campaign and aiming some pretty blows at Wall Street. Well, well, Wall Street’s old and tough, and if we can help a young man along by turning ourselves into a target so much the better.”

“That is, it amuses me and doesn’t hurt Wall Street?” added Arthur, a twinkle in his eye.

“Just so.”

Mr. Howe spoke in a careless manner, but Arthur saw that he was worried. Some of the old calm was lacking, and he was darker than usual under the eyes. In the course of the meeting he also gave a little vent to his feelings. Important investments were in question, and Mr. Howe made a speech, counseling the greatest conservatism and caution. He said that agitation had arisen, that men plausible of speech were attacking great financial institutions, and were undermining the general credit. All the directors looked at Arthur, but he seemed unconscious and made no reply, either directly or indirectly.

When they left the office of the trust company Mr. Howe paused a moment beside Arthur and said:

“I would not go too far, Mr. Cathcart. We understand that there is a certain liberty in politics, but there is also a limit.”

“The limit of truth and right,” replied Arthur.

“Who is to be the judge of that?” said Mr. Howe somberly, as he walked away.

Despite all this concentration of forces against him, there was a strong undercurrent in the district, making toward Cathcart. The very fact that he was opposed in such a manner created sympathy for him in the minds of many, and his merciless speeches carried conviction to the minds of others that here was a man who was badly needed in the Albany Legislature.

It was one of the most turbulent elections held in New York since the old days of Tweed. In the words of Collins, rough house was attempted everywhere. Cathcart had hired headquarters right in the heart of the Italian, Jewish, and Polish section, and there he awaited the result without apprehension. It was true that he had been equally confident in his first campaign, but it was a different sort of confidence now, the certainty born of experience and knowledge.

The reporters, a half dozen men from the Praetorian Guard, and some personal friends were present with him. Among the latter was Tommy Reed, who had gone once or twice through the district with Cathcart, and who had shown an extraordinary discretion by keeping his mouth tightly shut. Mr. Cathcart, after saying with great emphasis that he would flee again to the club to escape such a disgusting tumult, came into the room, “Just to look once at the animals,” he said and stayed. After he grew used to the others and fell into the swing he sought no longer to conceal his anxiety.

Arthur was not deceived. From the first the returns were favorable, far better than either he or his friends had hoped, and their tenor never changed. He was not only elected but he was chosen by an overwhelming majority. His vote exceeded the vote given his opponents combined. The Standard said editorially the next morning that a new force had appeared in the politics of the State. Arthur’s feeling of pleasure remained but he was grave and rather silent, weighed somewhat with a sense of responsibility. On the second day he received a brief note from Lucy Howe, not more than five or six lines She sent no congratulations, but she said she thought he would make a good member, useful to the State. Under the circumstances it was as much as she could do, and it aroused in him feelings of mingled elation and sadness.

One of the newspapers, on the same day, contained an interview with Mr. Howe, in which he said that the election of Mr. Cathcart was of no importance, so far as it concerned the East Side Rapid Transit Bill. It was a good measure, and it was sure to pass the legislature at the coming session.

The new General Assembly convened in due time at Albany, and Arthur was a marked man from the first. The story of himself and his campaign was known throughout the state and he was regarded with general interest and much aversion. All the partisans were in a great majority against him, because an Independent was in their eyes something heinous and treasonable, but Cathcart soon disarmed most of the criticism. A legislature is a body of men thrown together for a long period. It always has in itself some of the aspects of a club, and animosities based merely on a difference in political belief cannot thrive; quarrels, if quarrels there are, must be personal.

Cathcart’s pleasant manners and the reputation won in his campaign quickly gave him a significant victory. The legislature was Republican, and when the Republican Speaker of the House came to make up the very important committee on Ways and Means, he made Cathcart one of the minority members, an unusual compliment for a new man. Mr. Herford, the Speaker, was actuated in this matte by two motives. He was a strong man himself, and he saw that Cathcart was going to be a figure during the session. Moreover, he chose to class Cathcart as a Democrat, and by appointing him in that capacity he put a thorn in the side of the Democratic opposition. The second reason was feminine influence. Mr. Herford had a young and beautiful wife with whom he was very much in love. Cathcart was polite to her, and by a judicious word now and then in the Speaker’s ear, she induced him to go in the way in which he already wished to go.

The Democratic machine leaders protested against such an appointment, claiming that Cathcart was in no sense a Democrat, but Mr. Herford was unshakable and they had to submit. Arthur’s appointment was made and his position was assured at once.

The winter was unusually cold, presenting unbroken months of ice and snow, but it will be remembered long at Albany as the year of the lively legislature, the legislature in which there were few dull moments, and which worked the beginning of a political revolution in the state. The feeling of independence, of revolt against the old order, of desire for a purer and better political life, so marked a feature of our time, was spreading, and Cathcart found himself at the head of a band, not large in members, but possessed of great fighting power.

Arthur became the leader by natural selection; that is, he glided into the place because he was the most fit for it and because the others saw and recognized his fitness. He never led any but willing followers: if any man could not agree he dropped out of the ranks for the time being but promptly resumed his place for the next fight. Worthington, a capable young lawyer from Rochester, was the lieutenant and ably he seconded his chief. A bushy-whiskered old farmer named Kirkman, from the western part of the state, heavy of manner and slow of speech but full of native wit and keenness formed an able rear guard.

Thus the Reign of Terror began. Collins had come up for the Standard as its legislative correspondent, and it was he who gave to this epoch such a significant name, a name that stuck. As Collins himself said: “There was always something doing,” and the machine leaders were in constant fear. Cathcart’s oratory was direct and powerful, though often conversational in tone. He always cut straight to the heart of the matter. Worthington was witty and sarcastic, and thus the two formed foils to each other. Sometimes, when they failed to kill a bad bill between them, old Farmer Kirkman joked it to death, and then buried it with a homely illustration or two.

The East Side Rapid Transit Bill lay in hiding for a long time. Arthur discovered that it was the original plan to have it introduced by one of the New York City members, but this intention was changed, and a rather simple-minded rural member was induced to undertake the task of presenting it when the right moment came. Thus it would appear under innocent auspices, and its supporters could claim that even the rural regions, which were not affected at all, saw the great benefits it would confer upon the metropolis.

The winter was far advanced when the bill was finally presented, and never before had a measure come to Albany backed by such powerful support and such an influential lobby. Money would be poured out in its defense, and there were intrigues and cabals without number. But Cathcart did not despair; the fight over it was yet to be waged on the floor, and he and his allies had sharp weapons.

Two days before the measure was to be introduced, Mr. Hargrove himself appeared in Albany, accompanied by Radigan, and Arthur, accompanied by Worthington, had an interview with the two arranged by respective friends. Mr. Hargrove had acquired self command and no longer lost his temper.

“Mr. Howe’s pride is involved in this bill,” he said. “Such a fight has been made upon it and he has been aspersed so much that all his fighting spirit—and that is great—has been aroused. He is invincible, and this bill will pass. As you are staking everything upon this contest, Mr. Cathcart, we ask you to withdraw before it breaks you.”

“If it is to make me or break me, I’ll stand by the issue,” said Arthur.

Mr. Hargrove pressed him no further. In his secret soul the banker was glad that Arthur abided by his decision: the more he fought the bill, the more he fought James Howe; and the more he fought James Howe, the further he was from his daughter. When Arthur went out Radigan followed him into the street.

“Mr. Cathcart,” said the leader, “we ain’t enemies except in politics are we?”

“No,” replied Cathcart. “You betrayed me once, Mr. Radigan, but I suppose you couldn’t rise above your education and surroundings. I’m sure I don’t want any quarrel.”

“I’m g!ad to hear you say so. Mr. Cathcart,” said Radigan, passing over the sarcastic part of the reply, “and I want to tell you that I haven’t been thirty years in politics for nothing. I ain’t so sure about that bill as Mr. Hargrove and his friends are. From the very first, before anybody else, I saw the stuff that was in you, Mr. Cathcart, and I wanted you to be one of us.”

He stopped and rubbed his chin reflectively. Despite all that had passed Arthur was secretly pleased at the leader’s compliment.

“I’m much obliged to you for your good opinion, Mr. Radigan,” he said.

“I mean it, I mean every word of it,” said Radigan briskly. “I know a man when I see him. Besides, I’ve been studyin’ up on that bill, studyin’ hard, an’ I’m gettin’ to be a little shaky on my first opinion of it.”

He stopped and again rubbed his chin reflectively. Arthur stared at him but in a moment the light came: Radigan believed Arthur’s to be the winning side, and would be a traitor again, but this time to his employers; in order to save himself from the flood, he would stir up his followers in the district against the bill, if Cathcart would take him as a political friend once more.

Arthur saw the value of the alliance, and he knew that the political school was not a Sunday School, but his conscience would not allow him to go to such lengths with Radigan.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Radigan,” he said politely, “but your opinion is changing a little too late; you are committed now, you know.”

“I didn’t say that I had changed entirely, said Radigan, recognizing the rebuff. ”I just meant I’d seem some things to be said on the other side, but I guess I’ll stand by the bill all right, all right.”

The famous battle opened ten days later, and it was fought on the floor of the House and in the committee room for weeks. The legislature was of more than average ability and every parliamentary device was used by either side. The speeches of Cathcart, Worthington, and Kirkman were magnificent, each after its own model, and the lobbies were packed with intent throngs. They brought doubtful members to their side, and while they were bringing them they skillfully fought off a vote which at that time would have passed the bill. This was the first crucial test, and all the resources of the most daring lobby that had ever gathered at Albany were exerted to break down the barrier. Mr. Hargrove handled the money bags, and their contents were poured out with a reckless hand.

Cathcart also labored hard to create a public opinion which should be a countervailing influence to that formed by the Howe lobby. In a Republican and Democratic country such a course is necessary, because few men are strong enough, even when they think they are right, to resist massed public opinion. Nor was he without supporters in the press. The Standard, formerly a leading Democratic organ had become an independent journal, and it stood by him unflinchingly in its news and editorial columns. Another newspaper in Buffalo and a third in Rochester did as well.

Arthur kept up his habit of silent and lonely walks whenever he could find an opportunity, and in the bitterest weather he often trudged over the hills about Albany. Although a fierce winter, it was to him a beautiful one, white with snow and glittering with ice, and the skies blue and gold in their clearness. He had just returned from such a walk late one afternoon when Worthington came into his room with news.

“We must be making progress,” the Rochester man said as he smiled in a gratified way, “because the enemy is now bringing up his last and heaviest battery.”

“What do you mean?” asked Arthur.

“James Howe himself has come to Albany to beat us, and I hear also that he has brought with him a handsome young daughter. They are at the Ten Eyck.”

“It does look as if they were now making their supreme effort to beat us,” said Cathcart quietly.

Yet his heart was beating much more rapidly than usual. He had tried to keep Lucy Howe out of his mind, but he could not, and now her father, coming to win the bill, had brought her with him. His heart throbbed to see her, and yet he felt that it would be better for him not to see her at such a time. He kept to his room that evening and was alone.

But he saw her the next morning. He had just made an impassioned speech on the floor of the House, and all the time he was on his feet he kept his eyes on the Speaker. When he sat down he glanced toward the lobby and there he saw a face, the sight of which made his heart leap. She was in a group of ladies, and she was dressed in dark material, but a rose on her breast and another in her hair touched her with vivid and delicate color. Her face still wore the look of grave sweetness that he had last seen there, and there were new depths of womanliness in the dark blue eyes.

He was embarrassed when his eyes met hers, but if she was she did not show it. She smiled and bowed, and both bow and smile were gravely sweet. His blood thrilled and the color rushed to his face, but he took a bold resolution and acted upon it at once. He left his seat and went to her in the lobby, although conscious of the gossip that it would create. Everybody would know who Lucy Howe was, because of her beauty and distinction and because she was James Howe’s daughter.

Nor was Arthur mistaken. A murmur of surprise and interest ran through House and lobby when James Howe’s famous opponent left his seat to join James Howe’s daughter. But both Arthur and Lucy ignored it, and she gave him a friendly hand. He sat down beside her and for half an hour they talked, while the House watched and took notes. She asked him to call upon them at the hotel, and he did so the evening of the same day. James Howe was stiffly courteous, and Arthur saw that he had grown much older during the winter. He affected to jest about the great contest and pitied Arthur for his coming defeat, but Cathcart saw that it was forced. James Howe had lost some of the confidence, given by a half century of almost unbroken success, and himself feared defeat.

The call was purely formal. The vinegary aunt, Mrs. Thornton, was present, and imparted an acrid tone to the conversation. Mr. Hargrove came in after a while and was supercilious toward Cathcart and proprietary in manner toward Lucy. Arthur cared nothing about the first but the last always annoyed and angered him, although he did not permit it to interfere with the courtesy of voice and speech. Lucy herself was quiet and rather pale, and Arthur did not feel that the call was wholly a success.

But its results exceeded anything that he expected, and clever constructors built a great fabric of it. In two or three days it was said all over Albany that Arthur Cathcart, the tribune of the people, the incorruptible, was going to sell out to the East Side Rapid Transit Bill and his price was James Howe’s daughter; he could not be bought with money, but an uncommonly beautiful girl would fetch him.

“Ridiculous!” said Worthington angrily in the lobby of the hotel, “Cathcart’s as true as steel!”

“But he was with the Howes evening before last for a long time,” they said, “and everybody saw how his eyes glowed and his face flushed when she appeared in the lobby. Anybody could tell at a glance that he is dead in love with her.”

Worthington could not deny these facts and he grew angrier than ever. He knew that Arthur would be the last to hear of the tale told through the town, and after long hesitation he decided to speak to him about it himself. He found Arthur in his room somber and silent, and whipped himself up to his task.

“Do you know what they are saying about you now?” he asked. “Do you know the latest scandal they are spreading.”

Arthur smiled and regarded Worthington with good-humored affection.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but whatever it is it will refute itself just like the others.”

“No it won’t,” said Worthington gravely. “It’s of a different kind. It touches you in an undefended spot.”

“What can it be?” asked Cathcart quickly.

Then Worthington blurted it out.

“Why they’re telling that you’re in love with James Howe’s daughter, which I think is likely to be true and no harm in itself, but they’re saying, also, that you’re going to drop your opposition to the Transit Bill and to both machines, if James Howe will let you marry his daughter.”

Worthington told long afterward of the splendid rage into which his chief burst. He did not know that Cathcart, usually so calm and so self contained, could be so violent. He would tell how sparks leaped from his chief’s eyes, how his cheeks reddened and how he shot out the words, “The foul liars!”

Arthur was in truth fiercely angry at such a story, more on Lucy’s account and less on his own. He could reply to it in an indirect but effective way, but what could she say?

He made the next day another fierce attack upon the bill and called for a vote. The tactics of delay were no longer his now, but were adopted by the other. He felt that he had the majority and he intended to push the fight to an issue. Never was he bitterer or more powerful in attack, and when he finished men said: “If Cathcart has sold out to the Howe crowd for a woman he has a curious way of clinching the bargain.”

Lucy was in the lobby when the speech was made and Cathcart did not know it until the end of his argument, when he saw her hurrying out, pale-faced. He was sorry, sorry for her, and sorry for himself, but he felt that he was bound to do what he had done. It was the only way.

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