Samuel rushed home, breathless, to tell Sophie; and pretty soon came the Bremers, who had been watching the scene from a distance. And the thrilling tale had to be told all over to them.
Then Johann made a novel announcement. “For that meeting,” he said, “you must get a permit.”
“A permit!” exclaimed Samuel. “From whom?”
“From the police,” replied the other. “You must haf it for all street meetings.”
“And where do I get it?”
“At the station house, I think.”
Samuel did not much fancy a visit to the station house, which he knew far too well already; but he would have gone into a den of lions for the sake of his cause. So, bright and early the next morning, he set out. With Mrs. Stedman's help he had persuaded Sophie that she must return to the Wygants, and so he walked part of the way with her.
There was a new sergeant at the desk, an Irishman. “Please, sir,” said the boy, “is this where I get a permit?”
“For what?” asked the other.
“To hold a meeting on the street, sir.”
“What sort of a meeting?”
“Why—I've just got something to say to the people, sir.”
“Something to say to the people!” echoed the other; and then, suddenly, “What's your name?”
“Samuel Prescott, sir.”
And the sergeant's eyes opened wide. “Oh!” he said. “You're that fellow!”
“What did you say?” asked Samuel.
“The chief wants to see you,” replied the other.
And so Samuel was escorted into the private room, where Chief McCullagh, red-faced and burly, sat at his desk. When he saw Samuel he bounded to his feet. “So here you are!” he cried.
To the sergeant he said, “Leave us alone.” And when the man had shut the door, he strode toward Samuel, and thrust a finger into his face. “Young fellow,” he cried, “you promised me you would get out of this town!”
“No!” exclaimed the boy.
“What?” roared the other.
“No, sir! It was Charlie Swift promised you that!”
“And what did you promise?”
“I promised I wouldn't tell anyone about—about Master Albert, sir. And I haven't done it.”
“I told Charlie Swift to take you out of town. And why didn't you go?”
“He didn't—” And then Samuel stopped. He had promised to tell nothing about Charlie.
“Go on!” cried the chief.
“I—I can't tell,” he stammered.
“What?” exclaimed the other. “You want to hide things from me? Don't you suppose I know that he's still in town; and that you and him have been doin' jobs?”
“No—no!” cried Samuel in terror.
“You can't lie to me!” threatened the chief. “I know you, you young villain!”
He stood glaring at the boy for a few moments. “And you have the nerve to come here!” he cried. “What do you want anyway?”
“I—I want to hold a meeting, sir.”
“Who's given you a license to make trouble in this town?”
“Nobody's given me one yet,” replied Samuel. “That's what I came for.”
“Don't you get gay with me!” snapped the chief. But Samuel was far from the thought of getting gay with anyone—he was trembling in his boots. The man towered over him like a huge gorilla, and his red face was ferocious.
“Now look here, young fellow!” he went on. “You might as well get this straight. You'll get no permit to make any speeches in Lockmanville! D'ye see?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what's more, you'll not make any speech. D'ye see?”
“But—but—” gasped the boy.
And McCullagh shook his finger so that it almost hit Samuel's nose. “You'll not make any speech! You'll not make it on the street, and you'll not make it anywheres else in town! And you might as well get that through your nut and save yourself trouble. And if I hear of you givin' out any more papers on the street—you'll wish you hadn't—that's all, young fellow! D'ye see?”
“I see,” gasped Samuel.
“All right,” said the chief. “And if you take my advice, you'll get the first train out of Lockmanville and never show your face in it again. Now get out of here!”
And Samuel got out, and went down the street dumb with dismay. So they had got the police after him!
Of course he would make his speech. He could not let himself be stopped by such a thing as that. But he saw at once how matters were complicated—if the police were to stop him before he had made clear what he had to say, they might ruin all his plans.
He must seek advice about it; and he went at once to the carpet factory, and sought out the little room where the Bremers sat with their drawing boards and paints.
“So that's it!” exclaimed Johann. “They vill shut you up!”
“Do you think they can?” asked the boy.
“Sure they can!” cried the other. “They hafn't let the Socialists speak on the streets for years. We should haf fought them!”
He reached for his coat. “Come,” he said. “I vill take you to see Tom Everley.”
“Who is Tom Everley?” asked the boy.
“He's a lawyer, and he vill tell you. He's the secretary of the local.”
“A Socialist!” exclaimed Samuel, startled. Again it was the Socialists!
Everley sat in a little office in an out-of-the-way street. He was a young chap, frank and boyish-looking, and Samuel's heart warmed to him at once. “Comrade Everley,” said the carpet designer, “here is a boy you ought to help. Tell him all about it, Samuel—you can trust him.”
So Samuel told his tale once more. And the other listened with breathless interest, and with many exclamations of incredulity and delight. When the boy had finished, he sprang up excitedly and grasped his hand. “Samuel Prescott,” he cried, “put it there! You are a brick!”
“Then you'll stand by me!” exclaimed Samuel, breathless with relief.
“Stand by you?” echoed the other. “I'll stand by you until hell freezes solid!”
Then he sat down again, and began tapping nervously on the desk with his pencil. “I'll call a special meeting of the local,” he said. “They must take you up. The movement's been slow in Lockmanville of late, and a fight like this is just what the comrades need.”
“But I'm not a Socialist!” objected Samuel.
“That's all right,” replied Everley, “we don't care about that.”
Samuel had not meant it that way, but he could not think how to make his trouble clear.
“I can get the local together to-morrow night,” went on the other. “There's no time to be lost. We must get out a lot of circulars and cover the town.”
“But I only wanted the people of the church to come,” said the boy.
“But others will come anyway,” said Everley. “And haven't the people a right to know how they've been robbed?”
“Yes,” said Samuel, “they have.”
“And perhaps,” added the other with a smile, “if the congregation has a little pressure from outside, it will be much more apt to take action. What we've got to do with this thing is to make a free speech fight out of it, and open the eyes of the whole town. Otherwise the police will nip the thing in the bud, and no one will ever know what we had.”
“You must be careful how you give out those circulars,” put in Johann. “They will nip you there, if they can.”
“That's all right,” laughed Everley. “You trust the comrades for that! We know a printer we can rely on!”
Samuel drew a deep breath of satisfaction. Here was a man who understood things, and took hold with conviction—a man who was really willing to do something. It was very disconcerting that he happened to be a Socialist!
Everley took up a pencil and wrote the new announcement:
“Having made the discovery that members of the vestry of St. Matthew's Church had been bribing the city council, I demanded an investigation, and I was turned out of the church.
“I called a meeting to tell the congregation about it, but I was refused a permit to speak. Chief of Police McCullagh declared to me that I should never make my speech in this town.
“Will you stand by me?
“I intend to speak on Wednesday night, at 8 P.M., at the vacant lot opposite the church.
“In the name of Free Speech and Civic Decency,
“SAMUEL PRESCOTT.”
“How's that?” he asked.
“Fine!” exclaimed Samuel in delight.
“I'll take the risk of having it set up,” added the lawyer. “And I'll get the notices to the members of the local off in this evening's mail. Come, we'll go to see one or two of them now and talk it over with them.”
So they went down, and while Johann hurried back to his work, Samuel and Everley stopped in a cigar store a couple of doors down the street, kept by a little Russian Jew with a merry face and dancing black eyes. “Comrade Lippman,” said Everley, “this is Mr. Prescott.”
There came also “Comrade Minsky,” from the rear workroom, a cigar maker, bare-armed and very yellow and emaciated. To them Everley told briefly the story of Samuel's adventures and what he proposed to do. The glow of excitement with which they received the tidings left no doubt as to their attitude. And a couple of blocks around the corner was a little shop where a grizzled old carpenter, “Comrade Beggs,” clutched Samuel's hand in a grip like one of his vises, while he expressed his approval of his course. And then they called on Dr. Barton, a young physician, whom Everley declared to be one of the mainstays of the local of the town. “He got his education abroad,” he explained, “so he has none of the narrowness of our physicians. His wife's quite a speaker, too.”
Mrs. Barton was a sweet-faced and mild-looking lady, who reminded Samuel of the picture of his mother. All the while that Everley was telling his story the boy was staring at her, and trying to straighten out the tangle of perplexity that was caused in his mind by the idea of her being a Socialist speaker!
By and by the doctor came in, and the story had to be told yet again. They were so much interested and excited that they begged their visitors to remain to luncheon. They talked the whole problem out, and Samuel was struck by the certainty with which their minds took hold of it. There was no need of any long explanations with them—they seemed to know just what to expect; it was as if they possessed some magic key to the inner life of Lockmanville, enabling them to understand everyone in it, and exactly how he felt and exactly how he would act under any given circumstances.
All this was an amazing experience for Samuel. A few hours ago he had been a voice crying in the wilderness; forlorn and solitary; and now here was a band of allies, sprung up suddenly, from the very ground, as it seemed. Men who knew exactly what was wanted, and exactly how to get it; who required no persuading, who set to work without wasting a word—just as if they had been doing such things all their lives! He was so swept away with delight that for a while he was tempted to forget what sort of people they were.
But it came back to him suddenly, when they had returned to Everley's office. He sat gazing at the young lawyer with such a worried expression on his face that the other asked, “What's the matter?”
“Tell me, Mr. Everley,” said the boy, “how can the Bartons believe in free love?”
“Believe in free love?” echoed Everley. “What put that into your head?”
“But don't they believe in free love?” persisted Samuel.
“Why, of course not. Who said they did?”
“But they are Socialists!”
And the other put down his work and laughed heartily. “Where did you pick that up?” he asked.
“Why,” stammered the boy, “I've read everywhere that Socialists believe in free love!”
“Wait till you get well going in this reform of yours!” laughed the young lawyer, “and then see what you read about yourself!”
“But,” gasped Samuel, aghast, “don't Socialists believe in free love?”
“Some of them do, I suppose,” was the reply. “I know one who believes in ghosts, and one who believes in the Pope, and one who believes in Adam and Eve. How can I help what they believe?”
There was a pause. “You see,” explained Everley, “we are a political party; and we can't keep anybody from joining us who wants to. And because we are an advanced party, all sorts of wild people come to us. How can we help that?”
“But,” exclaimed Samuel, “you are against religion!”
“We have nothing to do with religion,” replied the other. “I told you we are a political party. Some of us have found it necessary to leave the capitalist churches—but you will hardly blame us for that!”
“N-no,” admitted the boy; then he added, “But don't you want to destroy the Government?”
“On the contrary, we want to strengthen it. But first we have to get it away from the capitalists.”
“Then, what DO you believe?” asked Samuel in perplexity.
Then the other explained that they were seeking to organize and educate the working class, for the purpose of bringing about an economic change. They wished to take the land and the mines, the railroads and the factories out of the hands of the capitalists. “We believe that such things should not belong to individuals,” he said, “but to the people. Then there will be work for everyone, and everyone will get the full value of his labor, and no man will be able to live without working.”
There was a pause, while Samuel was getting the meaning of this into his mind. “But,” he exclaimed in amazement, “that is exactly whatIbelieve!”
“Of course,” replied the other, “it is exactly what everyone with sense believes.”
“But—but—” gasped the boy, “then am I a Socialist?”
“Nine tenths of the people in the country are Socialists,” replied Everley—“only they haven't found it out yet.”
“But,” cried Samuel, “you ought to teach them!”
“We're doing our best,” laughed the other. “Come and help us.”
Samuel was quite dumfounded. “But how do people come to have all these false ideas about you?” he asked.
“Those are the ideas that the masters want them to have.”
Samuel was clutching at the arms of his chair. “Why—it's a conspiracy!” he cried.
“Precisely,” said the other. “A conspiracy of the ruling class. They own the newspapers and the books, the colleges and churches and governments. And they tell lies about us and keep us down.”
And so Samuel found himself face to face with the ultimate horror of Capitalism. It was bad enough to own the means whereby the people lived, and to starve and exploit their bodies. But to own their minds, and to lead them astray! To keep them from finding out the way of their deliverance! Surely that was the crime of crimes!
“I can't believe it!” he panted.
And the young lawyer answered, “Come and work with us a while and see for yourself.”
Samuel went home and faced a surprising experience. There was a dapper and well-dressed young man waiting to see him. “My name is Pollard,” he said, “and I'm from the Lockmanville 'Express.' I want to get a story from you.”
“A story from me?” echoed the boy in perplexity.
“An interview,” explained the other. “I want to find out about that meeting you're going to hold.”
And so Samuel experienced the great thrill, which comes sooner or later to every social reformer. He sat in Mrs. Stedman's little parlor, and told his tale yet again. Mr. Pollard was young and just out of college, and his pencil fairly flew over his notebook. “Gosh!” he exclaimed. “But this is hot stuff!”
To Samuel it was an extraordinary revelation. He was surprised that the idea had not occurred to him before. What was the use of holding meetings and making speeches, when one could have things printed in the papers? In the papers everyone would read it; and they would get it straight—there would be no chance of error. Moreover, they would read it at their leisure, and have time to think it all over!
And after Mr. Pollard had gone, he rushed off in great excitement to tell Everley about it. “You won't need to print those circulars,” he said. “For I told him where the meeting was to be.”
But Everley only smiled at this. “We'll get out our stuff just the same,” he said. “You'd better wait until you've seen what the 'Express' prints.”
“What do you mean?” asked the boy. But Everley would not explain—he merely told Samuel to wait. He did not seem to be as much excited as he should have been.
Samuel went home again. And later on in the afternoon, while Mrs. Stedman had gone out to the grocer's, there came a knock on the door, and he opened it, and to his amazement found himself confronted by Billy Finnegan.
“Hello, young fellow!” said Finnegan.
“Hello!” said Samuel.
“What's this I hear about your making a speech?” asked Finnegan.
“I'm going to,” was the reply. “But how did you know?”
“I got it from Callahan. Slattery told him.”
“Slattery! Has he heard about it?”
“Gee, young fellow! What do you think he's boss for?”
And Finnegan gazed around the room, to make sure that they were alone.
“Sammy,” he said, “I've come to give you a friendly tip; I hope you'll have sense enough to take it.”
“What is it?” asked the other.
“Don't try to make any speech.”
“Why not?”
“Because you ain't a-going to be let to make it, Sammy.”
“But how can they stop me?”
“I dunno, Sammy. But they ain't a-going to let you.”
There was a pause.
“It's a crazy thing you're tryin' to do,” said the other. “And take my word for it—somethin' will happen to you if you go on.”
“What will happen?”
“I dunno, my boy—maybe you'll fall into the river.”
“Fall into the river!”
“Yes; or else run your head into a slungshot some night, in a dark alley. I can't tell you what—only you won't make the speech.”
Samuel was dumfounded. “You can't mean such things!” he gasped.
“Sure I mean them,” was the reply. “Why not?”
Samuel did not respond. “I don't know why you're tryin' to do this thing,” went on the other, “nor who's backing you. But from what I can make out, you've got the goods, and you've got them on most everybody in the town. You've got Slattery, and you've got Pat McCullagh, and you've got the machine. You've got Wygant and Hickman—you've even got something on Bertie Lockman, haven't you?”
“I suppose I have,” said Samuel. “But I'm not going to tell that.”
“Well, they don't know what you're going to tell, and they won't take any chances. They won't let you tell anything.”
“But can such things be done?” panted the boy.
“They're done all the time,” said the other. “Why, see—it stands to reason. Wouldn't folks be finding out things like this, and wouldn't they be tellin' them?”
“To be sure,” said Samuel. “That's what puzzled me.”
“Well,” said the bartender, “they ain't let to. Don't you see?”
“I see,” whispered the boy.
“There's a crowd that runs this town, Sammy; and they mean to go on runnin' it. And don't you think they can't find ways of shuttin' up a kid like you!”
“But Mr. Finnegan, it would be murder!”
“Well, they wouldn't have to do it themselves, would they? When Henry Hickman wants a chicken for dinner, he don't have to wring its neck with his own hands.”
Samuel could find nothing to reply to that. He sat dumb with horror.
“You see,” continued Finnegan after a bit, “I know about this game, and I'm givin' you a friendly word. What the hell does a kid like you want to be reformin' things for anyway?”
“What else can I do?” asked Samuel.
To which the other answered, “Do? Get yourself a decent job, and find some girl you like and settle down. You'll never know what there is in life, Sammy, till you've got a baby.”
But Samuel only shook his head. The plan did not appeal to him. “I'll try to keep out of trouble,” he said, “but I MUST make that speech!”
So Finnegan went out, shaking his head and grumbling to himself. And Samuel hurried off to see his lawyer friend again. The result of the visit was that Everley exacted from him a solemn promise that he would not go out of the house after dark.
“I know what was done in this town during the strike,” said the other, “and I don't want to take any chances. Now that they have finished the unions, there's nobody left but us.”
So Samuel stayed at home, and told Sophie and her mother all about his various experiences, and about the people he had met. The child was almost beside herself with delight.
“Oh, I knew that help would come!” she kept saying, “I knew that help would come!”
Worn out as he was, the young reformer could hardly sleep that night, for all the excitement. And early in the morning he was up and out hunting for a copy of the “Express.”
He stood on the street-corner and opened it. He glanced at the first page—there was nothing there. He glanced at the back page, and then at one page after another, seeking for the one that was given up to the story. But there was no such page. And then he went back and read over the headings of each column—and still he did not find it. And then he began a third time, reading carefully each tiny item. And so, after nearly an hour's search, when he found himself lost in a maze of advertisements, he brought himself to realize that there was not a line of the story in the paper!
When Everley arrived at his office that morning, Samuel was waiting for him on the steps. Seeing the paper in the other's hand, the young lawyer laughed. “You found out, have you?” he said.
“It's not here!” cried Samuel.
“I knew just what would happen,” said the other. “But I thought I'd let you see for yourself.”
“But what does it mean?” demanded the boy.
“It means,” was the answer, “that the Lockman estate has a mortgage of one hundred thousand dollars on the Express.”
And Samuel's jaw fell, and he stood staring at his friend.
“Now you see what it is to be a Socialist!” laughed Everley.
And Samuel saw.
After supper that evening came Everley with Friederich Bremer, to take Samuel to the meeting of the local, where he was to tell his story.
The “local” met in an obscure hall, over a grocery shop. There were present those whom Samuel had met the night before, and about a score of others. Most of them were working-men, but there were several who appeared to be well-to-do shopkeepers and clerks. Samuel noticed that they all called one another “comrade”; and several of them addressed him thus, which gave him a queer feeling. Also he noted that there were women present, and that one of them presided at the meeting.
Everley made a speech, reading Samuel's manifesto, and telling how it had been given out. Then he called upon Samuel. The boy stood upon his feet—and suddenly a deadly terror seized hold upon him. Suppose he should not be able to make a speech after all! Suppose he should be nervous! What would they think of him? But he clenched his hands—what did it matter what they thought of him? The poor were suffering, and the truth was crying out for vindication! He would tell these men what had happened to him.
So he began. He told how he had been robbed, and how he had sought in vain for work, and how he had been arrested. And because he saw that these were people who understood, he found himself a case, and thinking no longer about himself. He talked for nearly half an hour, and there was quite a sensation when he finished.
Then Everley rose to his feet again. “Comrades,” he said, “for the past year I have been urging that the local must make a fight for free speech in this town. And it seems to me that the occasion has now come. If we do not take up this fight, we might just as well give up.”
“That's right,” cried Beggs, the old carpenter.
“I took the liberty of ordering circulars,” continued Everley. “There was no time to be lost, and I felt sure that the comrades would back me. I now move that the local take charge of the meeting to-morrow evening, and that the two thousand circulars I have here be given out secretly to-night.”
“I second that motion,” said Mrs. Barton.
“It must be understood,” added Everley, “that we can't expect help from the papers. And our people ought to hear this story, as well as the members of the church.”
And then he read the circulars, and the motion was put, and carried unanimously.
“Now,” said Everley, “I suggest that the local make this the occasion of a contest for the right to hold street meetings in Lockmanville. As you know, the police have refused permits ever since the strike. And I move that beginning with Thursday evening, we hold a meeting on the corner of Market and Main streets, and tell this story to the public. And that we continue to hold a meeting every night thereafter until we have made good our right.”
Samuel could see from the faces of the men what a serious proposition this was to them. Everley launched into an impassioned speech. The workingmen of the town had lost their last hope in the unions; they were suffering from the hard times; and now, if ever, was the time to open their eyes to the remedy. And the Socialists were powerless, because they had permitted the police to frighten them. Now they must make a stand.
“You realize that it will mean going to jail?” asked Dr. Barton.
“I realize it,” said Everley. “We shall probably have to go several times. But if we make up our minds from the beginning, we can win; we shall have the sympathy of the people—and also we can break the conspiracy of silence of the newspapers.”
“That is the thing we must think of,” said the woman in the chair.
“I am ready to do what I can,” added the lawyer. “I will give my services free to defend the speakers, or I will be the first man to be arrested—whichever the comrades prefer.”
“We will lose our jobs,” said some one in the rear of the room.
“Yes,” said Everley, “that is something you will have to consider. You know well enough how much I have lost already.”
Samuel listened in breathless excitement to this discussion. Here were poor people, people with no more resources than he, and at the mercy of the same forces which had been crushing him. Here was one man who had lost an eye in the glass works, and another, a railroad brakeman, who was just out of the hospital after losing a leg. Here were men pale and haggard from hunger, men with wives and children dependent upon them; yet they were giving their time and their money—risking their very existence—in the cause of human freedom! Had he ever met a group of men like this before? Had he ever dreamed that such men were living?
He had thought that he was alone, that he had all the burdens of humanity upon his own shoulders! And now here were people who were ready to hold up his hands; and from the discussion he gathered that they were part of a vast organization, that there existed such “locals” in every city and town in the country. They made their own nominations and voted for their own candidates at every election; they published many newspapers and magazines and books. And they were part of an army of men who were banded together in every civilized nation. Wherever Capitalism had come, there men were uniting against it; and every day their power grew—there was nothing that could stop them.
These men had seen the vision of the new time that was coming, and there burned in them a fire of conviction. Suddenly Samuel realized the import of that word “comrade” which they gave one another; they were men bound together by the memory of persecutions, and by the presence of ruthless enemies. They knew what they were facing at this moment; not only Chief McCullagh with his policemen and their clubs; not only the subsidized “Express” with its falsehoods and ridicule: but all the political and business power of the Hickmans and Wygants. They were facing arrest and imprisonment, humiliation and disgrace—perhaps ruin and starvation. Only in this way could they reach the ears of the people.
“Comrades,” the young lawyer was saying, “every step that has been taken in the progress of humanity has been taken because men have been willing to give their lives. Everywhere that our movement has grown, it has been in the face of persecution. And sooner or later we must make up our minds to it—we may wait for years, but nothing can be accomplished until we have faced this issue. And so I ask you to join with me in taking this pledge—that we will speak on the streets of Lockmanville next Saturday night, and that we will continue to speak there as often as need be until we have vindicated our rights as American citizens.”
There was a solemn hush when he finished; one by one the men and women arose and offered themselves.
“I have been out of work for four months,” said one, “and I have been promised a job next week. If I am arrested, I know that I will not get it. But still I will speak.”
“And I am in Wygant's cotton mill,” said another. “And I'm not young, and when I'm turned out, it will not be easy for me. But I will help.”
“And I, too,” put in Lippman, the cigar store keeper; “my wife can tend the shop!” There was a general laugh at this.
And then Friedrich Bremer sprang up. “My father has been warned!” he cried. “But I will speak also!”
“And I!” exclaimed Samuel. “I think I am going to be a Socialist. Will you let me help?”
“No one's help will be refused in a crisis like this,” said Everley. “We must stand by our guns, for if they can crush us this time, it may be years before we can be heard.”
And then, somewhere in the hall, a voice began to sing. Others took it up, until the walls of the building shook with a mighty chant. “What is it?” whispered Samuel to Friedrich.
“It is called 'The Red Flag,'” replied Friedrich.
And Samuel sat spellbound, listening while they sang:
Hark to the thunder, hark to the tramp—a myriad army comes!
An army sprung from a hundred lands, speaking a hundred tongues!
And overhead a portent new, a blood-red banner see!
The nations gather in affright to ask what the sign may be.
Banner of crimson, banner bright, banner flaunting the sky!
What is the word that ye bring to men, the hope that ye hold on high?
We come from the fields, we come from the forge, we come from the land and sea—
We come in the right of our new-born might to set the people free!
Masters, we left you a world to make, the planning was yours to do—
We were the toilers, humble and sad, we gave our faith to you.
And now with a dread in our hearts we stand and gaze at the work of the years—
We have builded a temple with pillars white, ye have stained it with blood and tears!
For our little ones with their teeming hopes ye have roofed the sweatshop den,
And our daughters fair ye have prisoned in the reeking brothel's pen!
And so for the sign of our murdered hopes our blood-red banner see—
We come in the right of our new-born might to set the people free!
Tremble, oh masters—tremble all who live by others' toil—
We come your dungeon walls to raze, your citadel to spoil!
Yours is the power of club and jail, yours is the axe and fire—
But ours is the hope of human hearts and the strength of the soul's desire!
Ours is the blazing banner, sweeping the sky along!
Ours the host, the marching host—hark to our battle song!
Chanting of brotherhood, chanting of freedom, dreaming the world to be—
We come in the right of our new-born might to set the people free!
While the other members of the local scattered to distribute the circulars, Everley and Friedrich escorted Samuel home, and saw him safely in, and the door locked. They had supplied him with some Socialist papers and pamphlets, and he spent most of the next day devouring these. They spread a picture of the whole wonderful movement before him; they explained to him all the mechanism of the cruel system, in the cogs of which he had been caught.
It was all so very obvious that Samuel found himself in a state of exasperation with the people who did not yet understand it, and spent his time wrestling in imagination with all those he had ever known: with his brothers, and with Finnegan, and with Charlie Swift, with Master Albert and Mr. Wygant, with Professor Stewart and Dr. Vince. Most of all he labored with Miss Gladys; and he pictured how it would be after the Revolution, when he would be famous and she would be poor, and he might magnanimously forgive her!
And when Sophie came home, he explained it all to her. It did not take much to make a revolutionist out of Sophie. She had become quite thoroughly what the Socialists called “class-conscious.”
The members of the local had been anxious about Samuel all day. Everley had come in twice in the afternoon, to make sure that he was safe; and he came over again after supper, and said that Beggs and Lippman and the Bartons and himself were coming to act as a body guard to take Samuel to the meeting. The circulars had created a tremendous sensation—the whole town was talking about it, and the police were furious at the way they had been outwitted.
So the hour of the meeting drew near. It was as if a great shadow were gathering over them. They were nervous and restless—Samuel pacing the room, wandering about here and there.
His speech was seething within him. He saw before him the eager multitude, and he was laying bare to them the picture of their wrongs. So much depended upon this speech! If he failed now, he failed in everything—all that he had done before has gone for nothing! Ah! if only one had a voice that could reach the whole world—that could shout these things into the ears of the oppressed!
His friends had said they would come at a quarter to eight. But they came at half past seven, and sat round and waited. It was thought best that they should not arrive until the precise minute of the meeting; and meantime they outlined to Samuel the plan of campaign they had formed.
Dr. Barton was to make the opening speech, introducing Samuel; and by way of outwitting the police, he was to be particularly careful to get into this “introduction” all the essential facts which it was desired to lay before the people. He was to tell about the twenty thousand dollars which Hickman paid to Slattery, and about the acknowledgment which Wygant had made to Samuel, and about how the boy had been turned out of St. Matthew's Church. If the police attempted to interfere with this, the doctor was to persist until he had been actually placed under arrest; and then others were to take up the attempt in different places, until six had been arrested. In this case Samuel was to make no attempt to speak at all; they would “save” him for an out-door meeting—and also Everley, who was to defend them in court. More circulars would be given out the next afternoon, and another attempt to speak would be made that evening.
All this was duly impressed upon the boy, and then the little company set forth. Dr. Barton walked on one side of him, and Everley on the other; Mrs. Barton, Mrs. Stedman and Sophie came next, and Beggs and Lippman brought up the rear. So they marched along; they kept their eyes open, and every time they had to pass a man they gave him a wide berth.
So they came to the place of the meeting. At the corner were the Bremers and half a dozen others, who formed a ring about them. There was a huge crowd, they said—the lot was thronged, and the people extended to streets on every side. There was a score of policemen scattered about, and no doubt there were many detectives.
Promptly on the minute of eight the little group approached. There was a murmur of excitement among the waiting crowd, as they started to force their way through. Samuel's heart was thumping like mad, and his knees were trembling so that he could hardly walk. The people gave way, and they found themselves in the center, where several of the Socialists stood guard over the half dozen boxes from which the speaking was to be done.
Without a moment's delay, Dr. Barton mounted up.
“Fellow citizens,” he called in a clear, ringing voice; and instantly a hush fell upon the crowd, and a thousand faces were turned toward him.
“We are here,” he began, “for a very important purpose—”
Instantly a policeman pushed his way toward him.
“Have you a permit for this meeting?” he demanded.
“We have been refused a permit!” proclaimed Dr. Barton to the crowd. “We are here as law-abiding citizens, demanding our right to free speech!”
“You cannot speak,” declared the policeman.
“There has been bribery of the city council of Lockmanville,” shouted the doctor.
“You cannot speak!” cried the policeman sharply.
“Henry Hickman paid twenty thousand dollars to the city council to prevent the passage of the water bill!” cried the speaker.
“Come down from there!” commanded the officer, and made a grab at him.
“I will not stop until I am arrested!” declared the doctor. “I am here to protest against bribery!”
“Come down and shut up!” shouted the other.
“For shame! For shame!” said voices in the crowd. “Let him speak!”
“That charge was made before the vestry of the St. Matthew's Church! And the vestry refused to investigate it, and turned out a member of the church! And we are here—”
And so, still shouting, the doctor was dragged off the box and collared by the policeman.
“An outrage!” cried people in the audience. “Let him go on!” And yet others shouted, “Arrest him!” The throng was in a turmoil; and in the midst of it, Lippman, who was the second victim appointed for the sacrifice, sprang upon the stump of an old tree, a little at one side, and shrieked at the top of his lungs:
“Henry Hickman paid twenty thousand dollars to Slattery to beat the water bill; and now he and the Lockman estate are making ten thousand dollars a month out of it! And Wygant confessed to our speaker that he ran the city government to get franchise favors—”
And then Lippman was seized by an officer and dragged off his perch, and choked into silence—surrounded meanwhile by a crowd of indignantly protesting citizens. It was quite clear by this time that the crowd had come to hear Samuel's speech, and was angry at being balked. There was a general shout of protest that made the policemen glad of their numbers.
Of these exciting events Samuel and Everley had been witnesses from the vantage point of a soap box. Now suddenly the boy caught his friend's arm and pointed, crying, “Who's that man?”
Near the outskirts of the thrown was a big burly individual, who had been roaring in a furious voice, “For shame! Go on!” and waving his fists in the air.
“I don't know,” said Everley. “I never saw him before.”
“An outrage!” yelled the man. “Kill the police! Smash them! Drive them away!”
And Everley caught the boy's arm, crying excitedly, “He's been sent here, I'll wager! They want to provoke trouble!”
And even as he spoke, the two saw the man stoop, and pick up a brick-bat, and fling it into the center of the crowd, where the police were massing.
“Arrest that man!” shouted Everley indignantly, and leaped forward and plunged through the throng to reach him.
There was a roar from the crowd, and Samuel saw that several men had grappled with the bully; he saw, also, that the police in the center of the throng had drawn their clubs, and were beginning to strike at the people. A burly sergeant was commanding them, and forcing back the crowd by jabbing men in the stomachs.
Meantime the next speaker, a woman, had mounted upon a box, and was crying in a shrill voice: “We are Socialists! We are the only political party which dares to speak for the working class of Lockmanville! We protest against this outrage! We demand free speech! There has been bribery in our city council!”
Then suddenly the boy heard a disturbance behind him, and turned, just in the nick of time. A fellow had thrust his way through the crowd toward him, a rowdy with a brutal, half-drunken face. And Samuel saw him raise his hand, with some dark object in it, and aim a smashing blow at his head.
The boy ducked and raised his arm. He felt a sharp, agonizing pain, and his arm dropped helpless at his side. Something struck him across the forehead, cutting a gash, out of which hot blood spurted, blinding him. He heard Beggs, who was beside him, give a shout—“Down!” And realizing that his life was aimed at, he dropped like a flash, and put his head under him, covering it with one arm as well as he could.
There was a struggle going on over him. Men were pushing and shouting—and some one kicked him savagely upon the leg. He crawled on a little way, still keeping his head down, underneath the feet of the contendents. He heard Beggs shouting for help, and heard the Bremers answering; he heard the roar of the throng all about, the sharp commands of the police sergeant, and the crack of clubs, falling upon the heads of men and women. And then he swooned, and lay there, his face in a pool of his own blood.
Meanwhile, one by one, three more speakers rose and made their attempts, and were arrested, while the indignant people voiced their helpless protests. Then suddenly, somewhere in the crowd, a woman began to sing. Others took up the song—it swelled louder, until it rang above all the uproar. It was the hymn that Samuel had heard at the meeting of the local—The Red Flag!
It took hold of the crowd—men followed the melody, even though they did not know the words. They continued to sing while the police were leading away their prisoners; they followed, all the way to the station house, with shouts of protest, and of encouragement for the victims.
And so the throng moved on, and the uproar died away. There was left upon the scene a little group of frightened people, gathered about two who lay upon the ground. One of them was Samuel, unconscious and bleeding; and the other was Sophie, clinging to him and sobbing upon his bosom, frantic with grief and fear. And meanwhile, in the distance one could still hear the melody ringing:
Yours is the power of club and jail, yours is the axe and fire,
But ours is the hope of human hearts and the strength of the soul's desire!