the
crowd and announce the cause of Trueman's delay.

When the South Ferry is reached Trueman sees that Battery Park is packed
with people. He descends to the street and wedges his way to the music
stand in the centre of the park. Without much difficulty he manages to
climb upon the stand.

As a piece of good fortune an electric light shines full on his face as
he turns to the crowd.

Up to this moment people think that the tall man with the slouch hat is
seeking a point of vantage from which to view the formation of the
parade.

It does not require two glances, however, to assure the people that the
man before them is Harvey Trueman.

"That's Trueman, or I'm a liar!" shouts an Irishman.

"That's who it is," blurts a man beside him.

"What is he doing down here? I thought he was to speak on West Street?"

Some of the men in the crowd now begin cheering. They cry:

"Trueman! Trueman! Rah! rah! rah! Speech! speech!"

The proper moment has arrived. Trueman takes off his hat and waves it as
a sign for silence. The cheering and the rumor that Trueman has suddenly
appeared, turns a sea of people in the direction of the music stand.
Fully eight thousand men are within the radius of his voice. He speaks
at first in a high metallic key; but after the first minute or so he
reaches his normal voice, which with its fullness and exquisite
modulation makes his oratory remarkable.

Here is an occasion where rhetoric will prove available; the crowd
before him is composed for the most part of the better element, so
called for reason of its disinclination to change existing conditions.
If a sense of justice in this great mass of humanity can be aroused it
will impel each and all to yield to the will of the orator. With sharp
sarcasm he refers to the precautionary action of the Plutocrats to
prevent his addressing a New York audience. Do they fear he may convert
it?

Rapidly he pictures the scenes of intimidation he has witnessed in the
west and northwest. Is New York chained to the wheels of the Plutocratic
chariot?

As the first sign of sympathy answers his appeal, he urges upon his
audience the necessity of declaring anew the independence of the people.
The fervor of his speech affects the crowd; the indescribable impulse to
yield to the will of a fellow-man who commands the power of oratory,
asserts itself. At the declaration of a principle of government which is
trite in itself, there is a scattered cheer; an apt epi