War of the Classes: A Gilded Age TL
- Thread starter Ofaloaf
- Start date
I believe they'll have their hands full for a bit-- note how the initial wave of strikes spread over a remarkably short time period, thanks to the telegraph and workers travelling from one stop to another. News of Pittsburgh would spread just as fast, likely.
Yes! I knew that if the initial premise didn't catch people's attention, the long-term stuff would hook 'em in!Ofaloaf
Looks a very interesting TL, both in the immediate effects and the longer term consequences you hint at in the initial post. Damn, another subscription.
Steve
The Uprising Spreads, Part 1: The Pennsylvania and Reading Railroad
The Pennsylvania and Reading (often shortened to the “Reading” or “RDG”) Railroad was perhaps the most powerful of Pennsylvania's numerous railroads in the Gilded Age. While the PRR might have controlled interstate traffic and held a stranglehold on Pittsburgh, the Reading Railroad controlled the vast and lucrative anthracite coal mines[1] of the state. To be sure, Pennsylvania produced other resources, such as oil and agricultural products, but coal was king of them all, and Reading king of coal.
While the Reading Railroad's hold on Pennsylvania's coal mines might have been a good thing had the company behaved responsibly, it had the good and bad luck to be controlled by Franklin P. Gowen. This was a good thing in some ways, as Gowen was a ruthless businessman who could almost literally squeeze gold out of stones. Bad in other respects, though, as Gowen was a ruthless businessman who could almost literally squeeze gold out of blood.
Franklin Gowen had possibly the strongest record of any contemporary railroad tycoon in strikebreaking. He is sometimes credited with creating the shadowy persona of the “Molly Maguire”, a sort of sinister Irishman committed to overthrowing the rightful business of the companies and government with the help of an unseen brotherhood of fellow Irishmen, like some kind of lower-class Fenian Illuminati. Under the guise of hunting down these Molly Maguires, Gowen[2] mercilessly persecuted members of the Workingmen's Benevolent Association (WBA), an early trade union which had called for a series of strikes through the late 1860s and early 1870s. By 1875, the WBA was no more, thanks to the Molly Maguire witch hunt, and Franklin Gowen reigned supreme.
Confident of his control of the railroad and the miners and refreshed from a recent trip to Europe, on July 16th, 1877, Franklin Gowen decided to do something at the worst time possible: He announced a wage cut and massive layoffs on the same day that the Baltimore strike began.
Resentment over Gowen's treatment of the workers (both miners & railroad men) reached a boiling point. The local press enthusiastically described every action, every “atrocity” committed by strikebreakers in Baltimore, Martinsburg, and elsewhere, and editorials gravely called for action. President Hayes' Martinsburg proclamation of July 18th was furiously attacked in the local press as “ludicrous”, except for the Pottsville Miners Journal, which was owned by Franklin Gowen. News of the violence in Pittsburgh drew large crowds to the relay station in Reading, who became more excited with every incoming bulletin from the Steel City.
Worried by the increasing agitation amongst the workingmen, Reading Railroad authorities partially relented in their treatment of its employees, and on the 21st of July finally paid its workers the wages due for May. This backfired on Reading management for two reasons: For one, this simply reminded the workers that they still hadn't been paid for June when it was almost August already, and second, they now had some funds put away in case they decided to strike.
That night, members of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers [3] quietly convened at a local meeting hall and did... something. According to Pinkerton detectives [4] who attended the meeting undercover, several destructive schemes were plotted at the meeting, but the Brotherhood members in attendance swore up and down to their dying day that nothing malicious had been planned there.
Sunday morning, July 22nd, Reading almost literally exploded in activity following the news of Pittsburgh's Railyard Massacre and the local militia's attack on the Philadelphian Nat'l Guard unit. Several freight cars on a siding were set on fire before noon, and a rumor soon spread that the Reading Rifles (the local National Guard unit that had, in fact, dispersed and refused to muster for duty earlier that day) was marching on the Reading Railroad depot. A crowd, seven-hundred strong, rushed to the depot just in time to stop a train from Philadelphia. This would be the last train in or out of Reading for days, for later on that Sunday afternoon another crowd of roughly six hundred marched to the north end of town to torch the wooden Lebanon Valley Bridge, cutting off all railroad access from the north.
The torching of the Lebanon Valley Bridge.
The authorities in Reading were in a tight spot, for both the mayor and local county sheriff (the only local men with the legal authority to raise a posse) were out of town on vacation, leaving Chief of Police Peter Cullen the responsibility of breaking the strike and ending the riots. He did not do a good job at this. Cullen, heeding the advice of John Wooten (Gowen's top aide), accepted the Pennsylvania & Reading's offer of their Coal & Iron Police for use in ending the “riot” in Reading proper.
The Reading Railroad's Coal & Iron Police was more of a well-equipped militia than a true police force, and its arrival in the city of Reading on the morning of the 23rd simply further darkened the already foul mood in town. The Coal & Iron Police's commander, “General” Henry Pleasants attempted to march his men to the Reading Depot. He was quickly rebuffed when a band of men assaulted the police force at what would later be dubbed the “Battle of the Cut”[5], and forced to retreat. Withdrawing to the south, Pleasants decided to bide his time and wait for support before attempting to take the town again.
Henry Pleasants, who was really just Chief Engineer of the Reading Railroad at that point.
Support would arrive that afternoon, but would turn out to be of little help to Pleasants. Three companies of the Pennsylvania national guard reported to the Coal & Iron Police campsite on the south side of town: Company B; the Allentown Rifles, Company F; Easton Grays, and portions of the Sixteenth Regiment out of Norristown (a borough on the north side of Philadelphia). While both the Easton and Norristown men were likely reliable enough when facing strikers, Allentown was a solid mining-industrial town like Reading, and the soldiers from there were of questionable utility in strikebreaking. To Pleasants' credit, he realized Allentown's unreliability and kept Company B in reserves through the action of the 24th, preventing what turned out to be a defeat and orderly withdrawal from being a slaughter and total rout.
The history of the Reading Commune truly starts on July 24th, 1877, for that is the day that the community first organized itself to fend off not only Reading Company attempts to break the strike, but also state-orchestrated attempts at quelling unrest in the town. The Reading Rifles had been reassembled at the request of the strikers' committee to “restore order to our town” and to “protect the rights of our citizens”. The Rifles did as they were asked, so when Pleasants ordered the Easton Grays and Coal & Iron Police to march through the town once more, they encountered unexpected resistance in the form the local militia. Eleven of Pleasants' men lay dead before they had even reached the Seventh Street “Cut”, and discipline in the ranks rapidly deteriorated. Sensing that things could only go downhill with the militia units at his command, Henry Pleasants ordered a second withdrawal from the town.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[1] Anthracite coal is one of the more “pure” commercially-available coals available, with a very low moisture content and containing relatively few impurities. Anthracite was a popular fuel for both industrial and residential furnaces, but cheaper bituminous coal was preferred for locomotives and steamboats.
[2] Gowen was also District Attorney of Schuylkill County, which was perhaps the major center of coal production in Pennsylvania. This granted him huge opportunities to abuse the local legal system in his quest to crush the Irishmen and unions.
[3] The Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers was the most influential of the various Brotherhood craft unions (Engineers, firemen, and brakemen all having separate unions focusing on their specific craft as opposed to the 'trade union' Trainmen's Union, which allowed all men involved in the railroading trade to become members), but its influence throughout much of the events of 1877 was little due to a concerted union-busting effort in the early 1870s.
[4] Pinkerton detectives were to strikebreaking what Superman is to comic book heroes. If Pinkertons were called in to break a strike, within days the strike would be ended, union leaders arrested, and all organized labor within fifty miles of the strike would be smashed. They're still around today, in fact, working for a Swedish parent company.
[5] The best route through Reading to Reading Depot would've lead the Coal & Iron Police through a depression in the town, where stone walls twenty-five feet high at their tallest point bordered the route on both sides, and stone viaducts allowed armed rioters numerous points to fire down on the Police.
Why shucks, thankee. I know you've mentioned your interest in a similar socialism-in-19th-century-America TL, and it seems you're including elements of that in your own timeline, but hopefully this won't intersect too much with your work.Great timeline so far! Very unique!
I know the maps ain't much either, but hopefully they're still clear-cut and simple enough to understand.
Last edited:
A Small Digression (No. 1): Railroad terminology and safety in the Gilded Age.
American locomotives throughout much of the nineteenth century were relatively simple machines. No Baker or Walschaert valve gears, no complex high-pressure boilers, no turbines, and no safety regulations existed to complicate the design of American locomotives. While this did help make steam locomotives straightforward and easy to maintain, it also made them extremely dangerous to work on.
One of the most dangerous jobs on a train was that of a brakeman. He had more duties than his name suggests, being not only responsible for applying the brakes on a train, but also overseeing and guiding the coupling process between rail cars. This was especially dangerous before the invention of the Janney coupler (more commonly known as the 'knuckle' coupler), when American railways relied on the link-and-pin system to connect cars. Link-and-pin couplers were often much more slack than later Janney couplers, which meant that slack action (that little whiplash you get when a train starts or stops) was much fiercer in earlier trains. Combined with the link-and-pin system's need for on-site supervision and guidance when coupling cars, this meant that it was much more likely for brakemen to be squished to death between two freight cars before the introduction of the Janney coupler.
Much more dangerous to all involved on board a train was the poor braking system on most locomotives of the time. If a crew spotted a threat ahead on the tracks, the best many engineers could do before 1872 was to throw the engine in reverse and hope that the locomotive would stop in time. On top of that, the brakeman would (if given enough warning) have to run from railcar to railcar, manually applying the brakes of each car one at a time. With most passenger cars, the brakeman merely had to run through the cars' corridors to reach each brake wheel and apply the brakes, but with freight cars the brakeman would have to climb onto the top of the train, and run from car to car on a little precarious catwalk. Here, too, accidents were common.
A boxcar on the New York Central railroad, circa 1910. Note the Janney 'knuckle' coupler on the left, and the brake wheel and catwalk on the top of the car.
With so many moving parts, steam locomotives demanded almost-constant oiling. During a trip, this job often fell to the poor fireman on board. When given a signal by the engineer, it would be the fireman's dangerous duty to grab a small tin of mutton tallow, crawl over the cab and onto the running boards on either side of the locomotive, and slowly scoot alongside the blistering boiler to the engine's cylinders. There, he would carefully fill a small cavity with tallow, before scooting back to the locomotive's cab and repeating the process on the other side of the engine. Although a self-lubrication device was invented by Elijah McCoy in 1872, not all railroads switched over to the automated process immediately. The fireman as oiler would continue to be a regular figure on many locomotives and railroads through the 1880s.
A replica of the Central Pacific "Leviathan", an 'American' 4-4-0. Link-and-pin coupler on the end of the tender.
The 'American' 4-4-0 might have been the most popular style of steam locomotive in the United States in the whole 19th century, with roughly 25,000 of them built in the country all told. Initially developed in 1837, the basic wheel layout and overall design would remain in high demand until the late 1880s, when increases in traffic and tonnage hauled meant that larger locomotive designs [1] soon became more prominent. Despite construction orders slackening the later era of steam railroads, the American 4-4-0 would remain a staple of many railroads, with some small locomotives being built through to the 1940s.
The simplicity of American 4-4-0s meant that little specialization was required to work on the locomotive. The large gap between the American's large drive wheels and leading bogie allowed for easy access to the underside, preventing the need for specialized machine shops with lowered floors to get at the belly of a locomotive. The oiling work required of a fireman was so straightforward that an untrained 'scab' could do it with little instruction, and the work of a brakeman was equally simple to explain and do.
Although unsafe and highly manpower-consumptive, these early locomotives and trains required little special training to work, making it easy to fire workers and hire more willing operators whenever employees became upset over wages or treatment. As railroad technology became more complex following the American Civil War, specialization became necessary, and soon railroad owners found it harder to find strikebreaking scabs with the expertise needed to run a train. Prospects for a successful strike then rose, and workingmen slowly became more assertive in their demands for better treatment. The strikes of 1877 were not the first such strikes, but they are a fine example of how specialization encouraged workers to be more assertive in demands.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[1] 4-4-2 'Atlantics', 4-6-0 'Ten-Wheelers', and 2-8-0 'Consolidations' were the three basic locomotive types of the next generation. Atlantics were the best mail and passenger haulers, able to haul small tonnages at high top speeds. A Consolidation was better for large freight trains, since its two-wheel leading bogie meant a lower stability at high speeds while its eight drive wheels meant more tractive (pulling) power. Ten-Wheelers were in between the two extremes, doing best with express trains and mixed passenger and freight traffic.
American locomotives throughout much of the nineteenth century were relatively simple machines. No Baker or Walschaert valve gears, no complex high-pressure boilers, no turbines, and no safety regulations existed to complicate the design of American locomotives. While this did help make steam locomotives straightforward and easy to maintain, it also made them extremely dangerous to work on.
One of the most dangerous jobs on a train was that of a brakeman. He had more duties than his name suggests, being not only responsible for applying the brakes on a train, but also overseeing and guiding the coupling process between rail cars. This was especially dangerous before the invention of the Janney coupler (more commonly known as the 'knuckle' coupler), when American railways relied on the link-and-pin system to connect cars. Link-and-pin couplers were often much more slack than later Janney couplers, which meant that slack action (that little whiplash you get when a train starts or stops) was much fiercer in earlier trains. Combined with the link-and-pin system's need for on-site supervision and guidance when coupling cars, this meant that it was much more likely for brakemen to be squished to death between two freight cars before the introduction of the Janney coupler.
Much more dangerous to all involved on board a train was the poor braking system on most locomotives of the time. If a crew spotted a threat ahead on the tracks, the best many engineers could do before 1872 was to throw the engine in reverse and hope that the locomotive would stop in time. On top of that, the brakeman would (if given enough warning) have to run from railcar to railcar, manually applying the brakes of each car one at a time. With most passenger cars, the brakeman merely had to run through the cars' corridors to reach each brake wheel and apply the brakes, but with freight cars the brakeman would have to climb onto the top of the train, and run from car to car on a little precarious catwalk. Here, too, accidents were common.
A boxcar on the New York Central railroad, circa 1910. Note the Janney 'knuckle' coupler on the left, and the brake wheel and catwalk on the top of the car.
With so many moving parts, steam locomotives demanded almost-constant oiling. During a trip, this job often fell to the poor fireman on board. When given a signal by the engineer, it would be the fireman's dangerous duty to grab a small tin of mutton tallow, crawl over the cab and onto the running boards on either side of the locomotive, and slowly scoot alongside the blistering boiler to the engine's cylinders. There, he would carefully fill a small cavity with tallow, before scooting back to the locomotive's cab and repeating the process on the other side of the engine. Although a self-lubrication device was invented by Elijah McCoy in 1872, not all railroads switched over to the automated process immediately. The fireman as oiler would continue to be a regular figure on many locomotives and railroads through the 1880s.
A replica of the Central Pacific "Leviathan", an 'American' 4-4-0. Link-and-pin coupler on the end of the tender.
The 'American' 4-4-0 might have been the most popular style of steam locomotive in the United States in the whole 19th century, with roughly 25,000 of them built in the country all told. Initially developed in 1837, the basic wheel layout and overall design would remain in high demand until the late 1880s, when increases in traffic and tonnage hauled meant that larger locomotive designs [1] soon became more prominent. Despite construction orders slackening the later era of steam railroads, the American 4-4-0 would remain a staple of many railroads, with some small locomotives being built through to the 1940s.
The simplicity of American 4-4-0s meant that little specialization was required to work on the locomotive. The large gap between the American's large drive wheels and leading bogie allowed for easy access to the underside, preventing the need for specialized machine shops with lowered floors to get at the belly of a locomotive. The oiling work required of a fireman was so straightforward that an untrained 'scab' could do it with little instruction, and the work of a brakeman was equally simple to explain and do.
Although unsafe and highly manpower-consumptive, these early locomotives and trains required little special training to work, making it easy to fire workers and hire more willing operators whenever employees became upset over wages or treatment. As railroad technology became more complex following the American Civil War, specialization became necessary, and soon railroad owners found it harder to find strikebreaking scabs with the expertise needed to run a train. Prospects for a successful strike then rose, and workingmen slowly became more assertive in their demands for better treatment. The strikes of 1877 were not the first such strikes, but they are a fine example of how specialization encouraged workers to be more assertive in demands.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[1] 4-4-2 'Atlantics', 4-6-0 'Ten-Wheelers', and 2-8-0 'Consolidations' were the three basic locomotive types of the next generation. Atlantics were the best mail and passenger haulers, able to haul small tonnages at high top speeds. A Consolidation was better for large freight trains, since its two-wheel leading bogie meant a lower stability at high speeds while its eight drive wheels meant more tractive (pulling) power. Ten-Wheelers were in between the two extremes, doing best with express trains and mixed passenger and freight traffic.
Like seeing Pennsylvania explode in revolt, eh? I'll make sure to include more bloody uprisings in later entries.I like this TL very much, you have yourself another reader!
Good to see you like it! Is the writing style all right? Too thick? Too technical? Needs more action? Needs more dialogue? I'm constantly worrying about that.
Like seeing Pennsylvania explode in revolt, eh? I'll make sure to include more bloody uprisings in later entries.
Good to see you like it! Is the writing style all right? Too thick? Too technical? Needs more action? Needs more dialogue? I'm constantly worrying about that.
Haha, well seeing as I'm from Pennsylvania and know of the places mentioned if not having been their personally, I do kinda like seeing it go boom
.In terms of the writing, I like it. You worries about being too technical or thick are understandable, but I think you take care of that by putting the information below as footnotes. This leaves your text open to the more eaasy reading narrative type. If you want to do more dialouge you may certainly do so - us it as a pinpoint view on what is happening at that point in time. All my opinion of course, I think you're doing well as is and have nothing to worry about.
And in terms of more action, I think that depends on the course of events. If they lay down thier arms and go back to bed, then it's good. If things heat up, then you'll def have more action to write about huh?
Haha, well seeing as I'm from Pennsylvania and know of the places mentioned if not having been their personally, I do kinda like seeing it go boom
From what your user information says, it sounds like you're on the northern edge of the Cumberland Valley. Have you been off to Reading? Do they still have the cut there? It was damned-near impossible to find a map of the town from the late 19th century so I could accurately place the action, and I'm not certain how much I got right there.
Well, any opinion is good in my book. Thank you-- your comments help alleviate some of my worry.
Oh, the skirmishes and one-sided battles will be replaced with solid fighting soon enough.And in terms of more action, I think that depends on the course of events. If they lay down thier arms and go back to bed, then it's good. If things heat up, then you'll def have more action to write about huh?
Just need to establish the total breadth of the revolt and fish for some more military leaders. I'm actually having to go on guesswork and stretch things just a little bit to make some of the officers fit in the uprising (Virtually nobody who fought in the Civil War was a socialist! ), but it ought to work out all right in the end.Much as I'd like to stay and focus more on Pennsylvania, there were other hotspots where strikes and fighting took place...well I am subscribed. what happens next?
FDW
Banned
From what your user information says, it sounds like you're on the northern edge of the Cumberland Valley. Have you been off to Reading? Do they still have the cut there? It was damned-near impossible to find a map of the town from the late 19th century so I could accurately place the action, and I'm not certain how much I got right there.
Well, any opinion is good in my book. Thank you-- your comments help alleviate some of my worry.
Oh, the skirmishes and one-sided battles will be replaced with solid fighting soon enough.
Much as I'd like to stay and focus more on Pennsylvania, there were other hotspots where strikes and fighting took place...
Like St. Louis?
Is this a commune like the Paris Commune or something along those lines?? Maybe im reading it wrong, but if that is the case, were in for some trouble.
Great TL so far!
Sadely, no - Reading is one of the places I haven't been
. I would assume they still have the cut though. And yes, I actually go to school in what is the northern end of the Cumberland Valley, and when at home live to the north of it - quite lovely country actually.Oh, the skirmishes and one-sided battles will be replaced with solid fighting soon enough.
Much as I'd like to stay and focus more on Pennsylvania, there were other hotspots where strikes and fighting took place...
Good, can't wait for more! You're doing great
.I did some family research over the week and more than likely one of my Great-Great Grandfathers was one of your rioters in Pittsburg. I will have do more to find the name but he was crushed in between two train cars doing a joining manueveur using of the old couplings you talked about Ofaloaf. its interesting how AH sneaks into real life. I think i just got Butterflied out of this world, so thanks for that j/k this is neat I am excited to see the long term consequences of this on the Nation, there will defintely be a large split between the haves and have-nots. should be interesting to see keep her coming
this is neat I am excited to see the long term consequences of this on the Nation, there will defintely be a large split between the haves and have-nots. should be interesting to see keep her comingAh, but this latest entry was real life! The link-and-pin couplers were notoriously dangerous things, and it's a shame to hear that your great-great-grandfather was a victim of them.I did some family research over the week and more than likely one of my Great-Great Grandfathers was one of your rioters in Pittsburg. I will have do more to find the name but he was crushed in between two train cars doing a joining manueveur using of the old couplings you talked about Ofaloaf. its interesting how AH sneaks into real life. I think i just got Butterflied out of this world, so thanks for that j/k
The Uprising Spreads, Part 2: The Second Tompkins Square Riot and New York City
New York City had a long history of unrest and rioting. The Dead Rabbits Riot of 1857, the Draft Riots of 1863, and the Tompkins Square Riot of 1874 all served to make city officials extremely wary of civil unrest. It should come as no surprise to the casual observer, then, that when the Workingmen's Party of the United States [1] declared that they were organizing a rally in support of the railroad strikers to take place on July 22nd, authorities called up the National Guard, rejected all police leave and vacation requests for that day, and had armed sailors patrol the streets. All told, thousands of city, state, and federal troops were armed and ready for a fight by the 22nd.
The WPUS here agitates for such socialist measures as the 8-hour day.
Initially, it seemed that the host of soldiers was uncalled for. Workingmen's Party figures delivered moderate speeches that, while proposing radical ideas such as the nationalization of railways, telegraph lines, and national shipping companies, steeped them in soothing language and refrained from calls for violence or confrontational action. “If you unite,” said Philip van Patten, chairman of the party, “we may organize a political revolution through the ballot box! If you unite, we may have here within five years a socialistic republic! Then and only then shall a lovely morning break over this darkened land.”
The language of the rally did not stay so civil for long. After the initial speakers from the WPUS had completed their speeches, workers and observers were invited to come to the stage and speak for themselves. Speeches soon became more aggressive, and it was later noted that the policemen within earshot were becoming very edgy.
“My friends,” one unidentified dockworker said on-stage, “my family has so little to live on that we have naught but two meals of coffee and bread a day! What am I working for? Why should I work if I still starve? Don't I deserve better?” [2] “Yes! Yes!” roared back the crowd. “Do I deserve to starve?” asked the dockworker on stage. “No! No!” came the reply. “Will you help me?” “Yes! Yes!” “Then help me claim my dues now!”
The 1874 Tompkins Square Riots had not gone well for demostrators, and many still had the memories of that event fresh in their minds during the July 22nd Rally.
It was at this extremely delicate moment that the police opened fire. Hotheaded youths had been throwing stones and detritus at the policemen bordering the edge of the crowd all through the rally. With the roar of the crowd alarming the skittish constables, the lawmen finally returned fire.
Estimates as to the crowd's size that day in Tompkins Square range anywhere between twenty-five thousand and a hundred thousand. The armed presence of eight thousand or so policemen, sailors, and other guards bordering the rally didn't stand a chance, even with Gatling guns. Causality estimates range from anywhere between eighty and three hundred amongst the rioters, but quite obviously it was a Socialists' victory.
Such a victory did not last long, however. As news of the fight spread through Manhattan and across the river, army and navy personnel either fled New York city or ran to the forts and prepared for a siege. In Long Island, spreading riots caused the personnel manning Fort Hamilton to flee, while in northern Manhattan the remnants of the Tompkins Square riot fled north to Fort Schuyler, in the Bronx. Fort Hamilton was easily seized by a small contingent of militants (led by Franz Sigel [3]) on the 24th, but Fort Schuyler repulsed waves of rioters who attempted to attack the fortifications on the 24th through 26th. Eventually, a labyrinth of barricades would pepper the streets of the Bronx around Fort Schulyer, as attacks and sallies slowly ground to a halt by the end of July and the neighborhood became the scene of an urban siege.
New Yorkers here posing in front of barricades. Note the French-styled cafe on the right.
Not all of the conflict was on land. Brooklyn, being the home of a major Navy yard [4], also was the base of several active Navy ships. When a mob approached the yard and demanded that Navy personnel turn over the ships in the yard over to what was beginning to be called “the Commune”, the officers present did the only thing could do: Torching the ships under construction in the docks, they then fled to the harbor and began bombarding Manhattan from the sea.
By the 27th of July, most of New York City was consumed in urban warfare. While Manhattan itself was largely in the control of the nascent Commune, heavy fighting would continue on for days still in the Bronx, Brooklyn, and other portions of the periphery. The harbor, dominated by Navy vessels, was of little use to the Commune, but thanks to tracks of the New York Central, Long Island Railroad, and other railways New York City remain connected with the rest of the country.
These connections to the outside world would soon work to the federal government's detriment. Capitalizing on the telegraphs lines out of Manhattan that were still operational, New York “Communards” were able to contact and coordinate with the insurrectionists in Pittsburgh and Reading, as well as the newer movements in Chicago and St. Louis...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[1] The WPUS was one of the earliest Social-Democrat parties in the western world, following the Socialist Worker's Party of Germany (a precursor to the modern SPD). Although Wikipedia says that the WPUS was Marxist, it is more accurate to describe the party as “Lassallist” (after socialist thinker Ferdinan Lassalle). The WPUS tended to emphasize the empowerment of the workers via the ballot box and direct involvement in the democratic process, a Lassallist notion, while Marxists encouraged workers' to empower themselves by unifying under the umbrella of trade unions and then and only then seizing political power.
[2] This is based off a small interview with a Cincinnati dockworker of the time, combined with some of the OTL striker's rhetoric.
[3] Franz Sigel (b. 1824) was a German military man who had his first taste of war back in 1848, when he had led revolutionaries in Baden. Fleeing eventually to the United States, Sigel settled into the St. Louis German community and became an officer in the Union army during the Civil War. Postbellum, Sigel moved to New York.
[4] The New York Navy Yard had been the site of construction for Robert Fulton's experimental 1815 steam-powered frigate, and the Monitor had been fitted with its iron armor very nearby.
New York City had a long history of unrest and rioting. The Dead Rabbits Riot of 1857, the Draft Riots of 1863, and the Tompkins Square Riot of 1874 all served to make city officials extremely wary of civil unrest. It should come as no surprise to the casual observer, then, that when the Workingmen's Party of the United States [1] declared that they were organizing a rally in support of the railroad strikers to take place on July 22nd, authorities called up the National Guard, rejected all police leave and vacation requests for that day, and had armed sailors patrol the streets. All told, thousands of city, state, and federal troops were armed and ready for a fight by the 22nd.
The WPUS here agitates for such socialist measures as the 8-hour day.
Initially, it seemed that the host of soldiers was uncalled for. Workingmen's Party figures delivered moderate speeches that, while proposing radical ideas such as the nationalization of railways, telegraph lines, and national shipping companies, steeped them in soothing language and refrained from calls for violence or confrontational action. “If you unite,” said Philip van Patten, chairman of the party, “we may organize a political revolution through the ballot box! If you unite, we may have here within five years a socialistic republic! Then and only then shall a lovely morning break over this darkened land.”
The language of the rally did not stay so civil for long. After the initial speakers from the WPUS had completed their speeches, workers and observers were invited to come to the stage and speak for themselves. Speeches soon became more aggressive, and it was later noted that the policemen within earshot were becoming very edgy.
“My friends,” one unidentified dockworker said on-stage, “my family has so little to live on that we have naught but two meals of coffee and bread a day! What am I working for? Why should I work if I still starve? Don't I deserve better?” [2] “Yes! Yes!” roared back the crowd. “Do I deserve to starve?” asked the dockworker on stage. “No! No!” came the reply. “Will you help me?” “Yes! Yes!” “Then help me claim my dues now!”
The 1874 Tompkins Square Riots had not gone well for demostrators, and many still had the memories of that event fresh in their minds during the July 22nd Rally.
It was at this extremely delicate moment that the police opened fire. Hotheaded youths had been throwing stones and detritus at the policemen bordering the edge of the crowd all through the rally. With the roar of the crowd alarming the skittish constables, the lawmen finally returned fire.
Estimates as to the crowd's size that day in Tompkins Square range anywhere between twenty-five thousand and a hundred thousand. The armed presence of eight thousand or so policemen, sailors, and other guards bordering the rally didn't stand a chance, even with Gatling guns. Causality estimates range from anywhere between eighty and three hundred amongst the rioters, but quite obviously it was a Socialists' victory.
Such a victory did not last long, however. As news of the fight spread through Manhattan and across the river, army and navy personnel either fled New York city or ran to the forts and prepared for a siege. In Long Island, spreading riots caused the personnel manning Fort Hamilton to flee, while in northern Manhattan the remnants of the Tompkins Square riot fled north to Fort Schuyler, in the Bronx. Fort Hamilton was easily seized by a small contingent of militants (led by Franz Sigel [3]) on the 24th, but Fort Schuyler repulsed waves of rioters who attempted to attack the fortifications on the 24th through 26th. Eventually, a labyrinth of barricades would pepper the streets of the Bronx around Fort Schulyer, as attacks and sallies slowly ground to a halt by the end of July and the neighborhood became the scene of an urban siege.
New Yorkers here posing in front of barricades. Note the French-styled cafe on the right.
Not all of the conflict was on land. Brooklyn, being the home of a major Navy yard [4], also was the base of several active Navy ships. When a mob approached the yard and demanded that Navy personnel turn over the ships in the yard over to what was beginning to be called “the Commune”, the officers present did the only thing could do: Torching the ships under construction in the docks, they then fled to the harbor and began bombarding Manhattan from the sea.
By the 27th of July, most of New York City was consumed in urban warfare. While Manhattan itself was largely in the control of the nascent Commune, heavy fighting would continue on for days still in the Bronx, Brooklyn, and other portions of the periphery. The harbor, dominated by Navy vessels, was of little use to the Commune, but thanks to tracks of the New York Central, Long Island Railroad, and other railways New York City remain connected with the rest of the country.
These connections to the outside world would soon work to the federal government's detriment. Capitalizing on the telegraphs lines out of Manhattan that were still operational, New York “Communards” were able to contact and coordinate with the insurrectionists in Pittsburgh and Reading, as well as the newer movements in Chicago and St. Louis...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
[1] The WPUS was one of the earliest Social-Democrat parties in the western world, following the Socialist Worker's Party of Germany (a precursor to the modern SPD). Although Wikipedia says that the WPUS was Marxist, it is more accurate to describe the party as “Lassallist” (after socialist thinker Ferdinan Lassalle). The WPUS tended to emphasize the empowerment of the workers via the ballot box and direct involvement in the democratic process, a Lassallist notion, while Marxists encouraged workers' to empower themselves by unifying under the umbrella of trade unions and then and only then seizing political power.
[2] This is based off a small interview with a Cincinnati dockworker of the time, combined with some of the OTL striker's rhetoric.
[3] Franz Sigel (b. 1824) was a German military man who had his first taste of war back in 1848, when he had led revolutionaries in Baden. Fleeing eventually to the United States, Sigel settled into the St. Louis German community and became an officer in the Union army during the Civil War. Postbellum, Sigel moved to New York.
[4] The New York Navy Yard had been the site of construction for Robert Fulton's experimental 1815 steam-powered frigate, and the Monitor had been fitted with its iron armor very nearby.
Ofaloaf
That is a big change in events. Before we had disjointed clashes and local disputes with brutal industrialists and their cronies. Now we have a large section of the biggest city in the country in serious termoil and the establishment of a political challenge to the government. A Rubicon has been crossed by at least some of the discontented and things will get very serious now.
From what you said in the OP the rebellion, as it now is, will be defeated ultimately. However the actual existence of a political rebellion is going to have a lot of knock-on effects down the line. Especially if a lot of the poor and 'labouring classes' respond to the call. It could well cause a deep divide that will last for generations socially. Not to mention if the rebellion is later blamed on immigrants [which could be the cases being centred on big industrial cities where their numerous] it could affect future immigration. The other question might be does the rebellion/unrest stay largely urban or will it spread to much of the rural poor. At the time the US was still largely agricultural in terms of demographics. Might be that is the reason why this rebellion ultimately fails.
Looking forward to finding out how things turn out. Fascinating TL.
Steve
That is a big change in events. Before we had disjointed clashes and local disputes with brutal industrialists and their cronies. Now we have a large section of the biggest city in the country in serious termoil and the establishment of a political challenge to the government. A Rubicon has been crossed by at least some of the discontented and things will get very serious now.
From what you said in the OP the rebellion, as it now is, will be defeated ultimately. However the actual existence of a political rebellion is going to have a lot of knock-on effects down the line. Especially if a lot of the poor and 'labouring classes' respond to the call. It could well cause a deep divide that will last for generations socially. Not to mention if the rebellion is later blamed on immigrants [which could be the cases being centred on big industrial cities where their numerous] it could affect future immigration. The other question might be does the rebellion/unrest stay largely urban or will it spread to much of the rural poor. At the time the US was still largely agricultural in terms of demographics. Might be that is the reason why this rebellion ultimately fails.
Looking forward to finding out how things turn out. Fascinating TL.
Steve
Very serious indeed. Not that this'll cause a "workers of the world, unite!"-style uprising, but now the rebellion's definitely starting to define itself, and fighting ought to get more tense soon.
As Douglas said on the other board, it's very likely that there'll be a backlash afterwards, and that that backlash will have a backlash. Class relations will likely be more strained, but I don't think that there'll be any serious geographical divisions coming out of this.
The way I figure it, both sides might blame everything on immigrants. Already there had been plenty of anti-Chinese (and anti-Irish) sentiment amongst the working class, and if industry begins to rely more heavily on these immigrant labor forces during or following the rebellion, that anti-immigrant sentiment is just going to get nastier.
Rural involvement is iffy-- to be sure, there was resentment and hardship in the farmlands, but armed participation alongside American 'Communards' isn't a surefire thing. You'll note that there's no national coordination or driving personality behind what's occurred so far, and that the incidents up to now have been spontaneously-driven local events (albiet inspired by national news). It's less a ideology-driven civil war and more a bunch of connected local uprisings that all happen to share somewhat similar politics.
There's just so many low-population rural communities and only a (relatively) few high-population major industrial centers out there, which makes it difficult for, say, the disparate farming towns of Iowa to band together, agree on anything, and rise up alongside the steelworkers of Pittsburgh.
Further compounding the issue is that there's still Indians in the west. The Nez Perce campaign (with Sturgis et al) is still underway, the Apache are running wild, the US and Comanche are duking it out in the Buffalo Hunters' War, and the last stirrings of the Great Sioux War are just settling down. All this means that communities in the Old West can't really do much (or want to, for that matter) against the federal government.
Thankee.
Last edited: