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!