The regiment’s task had only just begun, however. Peter had orders to clear the streets about the station. After a consultation with the police captain, the companies were told off, and filing out of the various doors, they began work. Peter had planned his debouchments so as to split the mob into sections, knowing that each fragment pushed back rendered the remainder less formidable. First a sally was made from the terminal station, and after two lines of troops had been thrown across Forty-second Street, the second was ordered to advance. Thus a great tongue of the mob, which stretched towards Third Avenue, was pressed back, almost to that street, and held there, without a quarter of the mob knowing that anything was being done. Then a similar operation was repeated on Forty-third Street and Forty-fourth Street, and possession was taken of Madison Avenue. Another wedge was driven into the mob and a section pushed along Forty-second, nearly to Fifth Avenue. Then what was left of the mob was pushed back from the front of the building down Park Avenue. Again Peter breathed more freely. “I think the worst is done,” he told his officers. “Fortunately the crowd did not expect us, and was not prepared to resist. If you can once split a mob, so that it has no centre, and can’t get together again, except by going round the block, you’ve taken the heart out of it” As he said this a soldier came up, and saluting, said: “Captain Moriarty orders me to inform you that a committee of the strikers ask to see you, Colonel.” Peter followed the messenger. He found a couple of sentries marking a line. On one side of this line sat or reclined Company D. and eight policemen. On the other stood a group of a dozen men, and back of them, the crowd. Peter passed the sentry line, and went up to the group. Three were the committee. The rest were the ubiquitous reporters. From the newspaper report of one of the latter We quote the rest: “You wish to see me?” asked Colonel Stirling. “Yes, Colonel,” said Chief Potter. “We are here to remonstrate with you.” “We’ve done nothing yet,” said Doggett, “and till we had, the troops oughtn’t to have been called in.” “And now people say that the scabs are to be given a regimental escort to the depot, and will go to work at eight.” “We’ve been quiet till now,” growled a man in the crowd surlily, “but we won’t stand the militia protecting the scabs and rats.” “Are you going to fight for the capitalist?” ask Kurfeldt, when Colonel Stirling stood silent. “I am fighting no man’s battle, Kurfeldt,” replied Colonel Stirling. “I am obeying orders.” The committee began to look anxious. “You’re no friend of the poor man, and you needn’t pose any more,” shouted one of the crowd. “Shut your mouth,” said Kurfeldt to the crowd. “Colonel Stirling,” he continued, “we know you’re our friend. But you can’t stay so if you fight labor. Take your choice. Be the rich man’s servant, or our friend.”