Twenty American newspapers advocated this shocking creed. Tens of
thousands adopted this theory. I said then, in response to the opinion
that Communism was impossible in this country, that there were just as
many cut-throats along the East River and the Hudson as there were
along the Seine or the Thames. There was only one thing that prevented
revolution in our cities in this memorable spring of 1878, and that was
the police and the military guard.

Through dissatisfaction about wages, or from any cause, men have a right
to stop work, and to stop in bands and bodies until their labour shall
be appreciated; but when by violence, as in the summer of 1877, they
compel others to stop, or hinder substitutes from taking the places,
then the act is Communistic, and ought to be riven of the lightnings of
public condemnation. What was the matter in Pittsburg that summer? What
fired the long line of cars that made night hideous? What lifted the
wild howl in Chicago? Why, coming toward that city, were we obliged to
dismount from the cars and take carriages through the back streets? Why,
when one night the Michigan Central train left Chicago, were there but
three passengers on board a train of eight cars? What forced three rail
trains from the tracks and shot down engineers with their hands on the
valves? Communism. For hundreds of miles along the track leading from
the great West I saw stretched out and coiled up the great reptile
which, after crushing the free locomotive of passengers and trade, would
have twisted itself around our republican institutions, and left them in
strangulation and blood along the pathway of nations. The governors of
States and the President of the United States did well in planting the
loaded cannon at the head of streets blocked up by desperadoes. I felt
the inspiration of giving warning, and I did.