The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 1005: Rebellion is an unsuccessful revolution; revolution is a successful rebellion!

New York, July 25.

The view through the rain-blurred window of the secret room on the top floor of 40 Wall Street was obscured by the rain. Paul Farragut stood with his back to the crowd, clutching a coded telegram from Chicago in his hand—the words were soaked with sweat: "The KKK has assembled. Objective: Eliminate the workers' union."

“They’ve even skipped the disguise.” As Farragut turned, the light cast his thin shadow onto a map of New York covered in markings. “Morgan is buying lives with pounds, and Sherman’s army has been largely redeployed from the front lines west of the Mississippi. The White House will probably condone the massacre before we even see autumn.”

The door to the secret room in the corner clicked open, revealing hundreds of the latest Lebel 1886 rifles. Youth leader Joseph Kelly grabbed a handful of guns: "But these are only enough to arm a few hundred men! How can we fight off the five thousand KKK militiamen who have entered New York?"

“Not confrontation, but a shout!” Farragut punched Wall Street in the center of the map. “Blow up Morgan’s vault, paralyze the telegraph office, let workers across America hear our gunfire—then retreat to West Virginia!” He tore off a page from his journal and stuffed it into his inner pocket, where a train ticket to Pittsburgh was hidden, under the pseudonym “Charles Wood,” a coal miner.

Outside the window, a violent thunderstorm raged, and rain lashed the empty streets of Broadway. Three freight wagons quietly emerged from a back alley, their tracks crunching over puddles, heading toward the behemoth of the financial district—and behind them, shadowy figures with white armbands peeked out from the gaps in the dockside warehouses.

Two guards were yawning in front of the Morgan Bank's underground vault. Unbeknownst to them, workers' demolition experts were crawling forward in the underground drainage pipes.

“Ten meters ahead is the outer wall of the vault,” the demolition team leader, Mike, whispered, his fingers groping along the damp brick wall, searching for a weak point. A teammate behind him handed him a charge of explosives, the fuse carefully wrapped around his wrist.

“Detonate in three minutes.” Mike glanced at his pocket watch. “Then we’ll evacuate through the east sewers and meet up with Joseph at the telegraph office.”

However, just as they were planting the explosives, they suddenly heard a flurry of footsteps overhead—a KKK patrol had spotted the anomaly at the drain ahead of time.

"Someone's there!" A sharp shout came from above, followed by the piercing sound of bullets shattering the iron fence.

Mike gritted his teeth and lit the fuse: "Run!"

Joseph Kelly’s squad had just stormed into the telegraph office lobby when they were ambushed by the KKK.

“You bastards of the Workers’ Union!” The leading man in white armbands grinned as he raised his shotgun. “Mr. Morgan sends his regards!”

Gunshots rang out, shattering the glass counter instantly. Joseph rolled to the side, bullets grazing his shoulder and leaving a trail of bullet holes in the wall. He raised his hand to return fire, the revolver bullet striking the enemy precisely in the throat.

"Take control of the transmitter!" he roared, pulling a charge of explosives from his waist. "Blow up the main line!"

But just as he rushed toward the telegraph machine, a bullet pierced his chest from behind.

Joseph staggered and fell, blood soaking the explosives in his arms. The last thing he saw was the telegraph operator's terrified face and the approaching figures of KKK militiamen outside the window.

“Go… to West Virginia…” he murmured, his fingers loosening limply.

When Joseph Kelly's body lay in the lobby of the New York Telegraph Office, the hands of his pocket watch were stopped at 3:17 a.m. The date was July 26. He died clutching an unfused explosive charge, a bullet piercing his left lung from behind—the KKK's ambush had closed sooner than expected.

"You little punk, trying to emulate the Russians?" William Gordon, the KKK's "Great Wizard," slammed his boots over Kelly's face, staining his white robes a dark red with blood. Not far away, from Wall Street, came bursts of gunfire and screams.

As the storm of revolution swept through Wall Street, Farragut was crammed into a freight car bound for Pittsburgh. Amidst the soot and the stench of frozen fish, he wrote by the dim light of a match: "The New York uprising has failed. But the spark has been ignited in West Virginia..." The rails vibrated more violently, and gunfire outside came and went—the KKK had set up checkpoints to inspect every train leaving the city.

Washington, D.C., early morning, July 26.

President Grover Cleveland's fingertips trembled on the cover of the Constitution. Inside the Oval Office, his cabinet members were discussing who should be allowed to destroy the United States of America.

"Mr. President, there's been a rebellion in New York! The Workers' Union is the second People's Will! They must be crushed before they launch a nationwide rebellion!" Treasury Secretary Manning's roar shook the crystal chandelier. "Think of the Winter Palace fire in St. Petersburg!"

War Secretary Endicott tossed down a stack of photos—the corpses of Chicago strikers trampled by cavalry: “General Sherman’s cavalry division has arrived in Philadelphia and is ready to cleanse New York!”

Upon hearing the Secretary of War's words, the US President's face turned ashen!

The troops under the command of Army Commander-in-Chief General Sherman belonged to the Union Army, not state militia. Who gave them permission to march on New York? He, the president, did not issue any such order!

The fact that the Union Army mobilized without the President's orders and even planned to "cleanse New York" is an act of rebellion!

Cleveland picked up the Constitution from the table, stared intently at the Secretary of War, and asked, enunciating each word clearly, "Who... ordered the Union cavalry division to march on New York?"

No one answered.
Suddenly, the office door was kicked open. The secretary slumped against the doorframe: "Pennsylvania Street...it's all, all Army!"

Amidst the echoing crunch of his leather boots on the marble floor, William Tecumseh Sherman appeared in the Oval Office, accompanied by former Secretary of War Robert Lincoln and Major General Clark, commander of the 82nd Infantry Division—the Major General's belt still held a loaded revolver. "Mr. President," he said, emphasizing the last three words, his aged hand pushing the document across the table. "Sign it, to save the United States."

"General!" President Cleveland's eyes were bloodshot as he stared intently at the old general before him. "This is a rebellion!"

Sherman scoffed and said calmly, "A rebellion is an unsuccessful revolution, and a revolution is a successful rebellion!" He paused, then added, "Mr. President, if you really don't want to sign, you can wait for the Secretary of State to return from Rome and sign it." Cleveland's Vice President, Hendricks, had died in 1885, and according to the Presidential Succession Act of 1886, if Cleveland were to die now, Secretary of State Bayard would succeed him as president.
Cleveland quickly picked up the Emergency Declaration and began to read it: banning labor unions, severing diplomatic ties with Red France, and authorizing the Army Commander-in-Chief to "restore order." He glanced out the window—bayonet lined up in long snaking rows along the boulevard. The American president suddenly realized that the Emergency Declaration was actually beneficial to the United States!
With the scratching sound of the pen tip piercing the paper, a bloodless coup came to an end.

Half an hour later, the telegraph office of the War Department in Washington was typing furiously. Sherman's order traveled directly to the states via cable: "Anyone carrying a Union badge, shoot them on the spot."

Although Morgan's vaults were not destroyed, panic spread across Wall Street due to the labor union rebellion and the U.S. Army Revolution.

"Sell! Sell everything!"

"Pounds, pounds only!"

Brokers roared at the exchange, their orders flying like snowflakes.

Morgan stood by his office window, coldly surveying the chaotic stock exchange. Stocks were plummeting, the dollar was plummeting, while the pound, gold, and silver were all rising.

But J.P. Morgan's doughy face revealed a smug smile.

“Inform Sherman,” Morgan told his secretary, “that I need the Army to take control of all telegraph offices and newspapers and prevent any unfavorable information from leaking out.”

The secretary hesitated, "But isn't that illegal?"

Morgan sneered: "American law also belongs to the victors!"

The train from Farragut was intercepted at the Pennsylvania border.

"Everyone off the bus! Submit for inspection!" Ku Klux Klan militiamen brandished rifles and searched the passengers one by one.

Farragut pulled his hat down low and stuffed the workers' union leaflet into the seat crevice. His false identity could withstand scrutiny, but if the coded telegram book he carried was discovered, he would be finished.

“You, a coal miner?” a militiaman stared at his ticket. “Why are you going to Pittsburgh?”

“Business,” Farragut replied calmly, while discreetly reaching into his coat pocket—where a dagger was hidden.

The militiamen squinted, about to question the suspects further, when suddenly an explosion came from afar.

"The workers' union attacked the armory!" someone shouted.

The militiamen rushed toward the explosion, and Farragut took the opportunity to blend into the crowd and board a train bound for West Virginia.

At the same time, on the streets of New York, soldiers of the 1st Cavalry Division were searching house to house for members of the workers' union.

"Open the door! Army search!"

The door of a working-class family's home was kicked open, and soldiers pinned the male homeowner to the ground.

“I am not a member of the workers’ union!” he struggled to shout.

The soldier sneered and dragged a red flag from under the bed: "Then what's this?"

Gunshots echoed throughout New York before dawn.

On the same day, in Charleston, West Virginia, five thousand miners stood silently in the plaza outside the State Capitol. Rain streamed down their rusted helmets, forming muddy brooks at their feet. Governor Charles Brown—a Union colonel during the Civil War, nominally a Republican but long since a member of the workers' union—ripped up the KKK ultimatum, the scraps mingling with the rain as they rained down on the podium.

"Our brothers in New York have shown us with their blood: the first drop of nourishment for freedom is the blood of idealists!" he roared, lifting the canvas behind him—which held dozens of crates of Springfield rifles. "Sherman's sword could not sever the spine of Appalachian! Today, we proclaim the birth of the West Virginia Workers' Republic!"

A red flag, adorned with the overlapping of a hammer and miner's lamp, fluttered atop a pole. Among the crowd, Sam Catlodge, a Civil War veteran, cocked his rifle; scars ran from his brow to his neck—the "medals" of the Battle of Gettysburg. Behind him, the rhythm of young miners striking wooden crates with shovels gradually drowned out the sound of the rain.

Meanwhile, in the mountains of West Virginia, miners under the leadership of a workers' union are building a defensive line.

“Every mine tunnel here can be converted into a trench,” veteran Carter said, pointing to the map. “If the KKK dares to come in, we’ll let them taste the flavor of ‘underground warfare.’”

Young Tom walked over carrying a shovel: "Uncle Carter, we've planted landmines on the hillside. Those white-robed ghosts will be in big trouble!"

Brown stood on the high ground, gazing at the bustling crowd, his heart filled with hope. The workers here not only had weapons, but also extensive combat experience—many were Civil War veterans, familiar with mountain guerrilla warfare, and hated the bourgeois government that had betrayed them!
(End of this chapter)