This kind of running fight was kept up until Everest reached the river.
Having kept off his pursuers thus far the boy started boldly for the
comparative security of the opposite shore, splashing the water violently
as he waded out into the stream. The mob was getting closer all the time.
Suddenly Everest seemed to change his mind and began to retrace his steps
to the shore. Here he stood dripping wet in the tangled grasses to await
the arrival of the mob bent on his destruction. Everest had lost his hat
and his wet hair stuck to his forehead. His gun was now so hot he could
hardly hold it and the last of his ammunition was in the magazine. Eye
witnesses declare his face still wore a quizzical, half bantering smile
when the mob overtook him. With the pistol held loosely in his rough hand
Everest stood at bay, ready to make a last stand for his life. Seeing him
thus, and no doubt thinking his last bullet had been expended, the mob
made a rush for its quarry.
"Stand back!" he shouted. "If there are 'bulls' in the crowd, I'll submit
to arrest; otherwise lay off of me."
[Illustration: Blind Tom Lassiter
Tom Lassiter is the blind news dealer who Was kidnapped and deported out
of town in June, 1919, by a gang of business men. His stand was raided and
the contents burned in the street. He had been selling The Seattle Union
Record, The Industrial Worker and Solidarity. County attorney Allen said
he couldn't help to apprehend the criminals and would only charge them
with third degree assault if they were found. The fine would be one dollar
and costs! Lassiter is now in jail in Chehalis charged with "criminal
syndicalism."]
No attention was paid to his words. Everest shot from the hip four
times,--then his gun stalled. A group of soldiers started to run in his
direction. Everest was tugging at the gun with both hands. Raising it
suddenly he took careful aim and fired. All the soldiers but one wavered
and stopped. Everest fired twice, both bullets taking effect. Two more
shots were fired almost point blank before the logger dropped his
assailant at his feet. Then he tossed away the empty gun and the mob
surged upon him.
The legionaire who had been shot was Dale Hubbard, a nephew of F.B.
Hubbard, the lumber baron. He was a strong, brave and misguided young
man--worthy of a nobler death.
"Let's Finish the Job!"
Everest attempted a fight with his fists but was overpowered and severely
beaten. A number of men clamoured for immediate lynching, but saner
council prevailed for the time and he was dragged through the streets
towards the city jail. When the mob was half a block from this place the
"hot heads" made another attempt to cheat the state executioner. A wave of
fury seemed here to sweep the crowd. Men fought with one another for a
chance to strike, kick or spit in the face of their victim. It was an orgy
of hatred and blood-lust. Everest's arms were pinioned, blows, kicks and
curses rained upon him from every side. One business man clawed strips of
bleeding flesh from his face. A woman slapped his battered cheek with a
well groomed hand. A soldier tried to lunge a hunting rifle at the
helpless logger; the crowd was too thick. He bumped them aside with the
butt of the gun to get room. Then he crashed the muzzle with full force
into Everest's mouth. Teeth were broken and blood flowed profusely.
A rope appeared from somewhere. "Let's finish the job!" cried a voice. The
rope was placed about the neck of the logger. "You haven't got guts enough
to lynch a man in the daytime," was all he said.
At this juncture a woman brushed through the crowd and took the rope from
Everest's neck. Looking into the distorted faces of the mob she cried
indignantly, "You are curs and cowards to treat a man like that!"
There may be human beings in Centralia after all.
Wesley Everest was taken to the city jail and thrown without ceremony upon
the cement floor of the "bull pen." In the surrounding cells were his
comrades who had been arrested in the union hall. Here he lay in a wet
heap, twitching with agony. A tiny bright stream of blood gathered at his
side and trailed slowly along the floor. Only an occasional quivering moan
escaped his torn lips as the hours slowly passed by.
"Here Is Your Man"
Later, at night, when it was quite dark, the lights of the jail were
suddenly snapped off. At the same instant the entire city was plunged in
darkness. A clamour of voices was heard beyond the walls. There was a
hoarse shout as the panel of the outer door was smashed in. "Don't shoot,
men," said the policemen on guard, "Here is your man." It was night now,
and the business men had no further reason for not lynching the supposed
secretary. Everest heard their approaching foot steps in the dark. He
arose drunkenly to meet them. "Tell the boys I died for my class," he
whispered brokenly to the union men in the cells. These were the last
words he uttered in the jail. There were sounds of a short struggle and of
many blows. Then a door slammed and, in a short time the lights were
switched on. The darkened city was again illuminated at the same moment.
Outside three luxurious automobiles were purring them selves out of sight
in the darkness.
The only man who had protested the lynching at the last moment was William
Scales. "Don't kill him, men," he is said to have begged of the mob. But
it was too late. "If you don't go through with this you're an I.W.W. too,"
they told him. Scales could not calm the evil passions he had helped to
arouse.
But how did it happen that the lights were turned out at such an opportune
time? Could it be that city officials were working hand in glove with the
lynch mob?
Defense Attorney Vanderveer offered to prove to the court that such was
the case. He offered to prove this was a part of the greater conspiracy
against the union loggers and their hall,--offered to prove it point by
point from the very beginning. Incidentally Vanderveer offered to prove
that Earl Craft, electrician in charge of the city lighting plant, had
left the station at seven o'clock on Armistice day after securely locking
the door; and that while Craft was away the lights of the city were turned
off and Wesley Everest taken out and lynched. Furthermore, he offered to
prove that when Craft returned, the lights were again turned on and the
city electrician, his assistant and the Mayor of Centralia were in the
building with the door again locked.
These offers were received by his honor with impassive judicial dignity,
but the faces of the lumber trust attorneys were wreathed with smiles at
the audacity of the suggestion. The corporation lawyers very politely
registered their objections which the judge as politely sustained.