that was done was to give the stamp of constitutional procedure to the

mandates of the Oligarchy.



Ernest was in the thick of the fight when the end came. It was in the

debate on the bill to assist the unemployed. The hard times of the

preceding year had thrust great masses of the proletariat beneath the

starvation line, and the continued and wide-reaching disorder had but

sunk them deeper. Millions of people were starving, while the oligarchs

and their supporters were surfeiting on the surplus.* We called these

wretched people the people of the abyss,** and it was to alleviate their

awful suffering that the socialists had introduced the unemployed bill.

But this was not to the fancy of the Iron Heel. In its own way it was

preparing to set these millions to work, but the way was not our way,

wherefore it had issued its orders that our bill should be voted down.

Ernest and his fellows knew that their effort was futile, but they

were tired of the suspense. They wanted something to happen. They were

accomplishing nothing, and the best they hoped for was the putting of an

end to the legislative farce in which they were unwilling players.

They knew not what end would come, but they never anticipated a more

disastrous end than the one that did come.



* The same conditions obtained in the nineteenth century

A.D. under British rule in India. The natives died of

starvation by the million, while their rulers robbed them of

the fruits of their toil and expended it on magnificent

pageants and mumbo-jumbo fooleries. Perforce, in this

enlightened age, we have much to blush for in the acts of

our ancestors. Our only consolation is philosophic. We

must accept the capitalistic stage in social evolution as

about on a par with the earlier monkey stage. The human had

to pass through those stages in its rise from the mire and

slime of low organic life. It was inevitable that much of

the mire and slime should cling and be not easily shaken

off.



** The people of the abyss--this phrase was struck out by

the genius of H. G. Wells in the late nineteenth century

A.D. Wells was a sociological seer, sane and normal as well

as warm human. Many fragments of his work have come down to

us, while two of his greatest achievements, "Anticipations"

and "Mankind in the Making," have come down intact. Before

the oligarchs, and before Everhard, Wells speculated upon

the building of the wonder cities, though in his writings

they are referred to as "pleasure cities."



I sat in the gallery that day. We all knew that something terrible was

imminent. It was in the air, and its presence was made visible by the

armed soldiers drawn up in lines in the corridors, and by the officers

grouped in the entrances to the House itself. The Oligarchy was about

to strike. Ernest was speaking. He was describing the sufferings of

the unemployed, as if with the wild idea of in some way touching their

hearts and consciences; but the Republican and Democratic members

sneered and jeered at him, and there was uproar and confusion. Ernest

abruptly changed front.



"I know nothing that I may say can influence you," he said. "You have no

souls to be influenced. You are spineless, flaccid things. You pompously

call yourselves Republicans and Democrats. There is no Republican Party.

There is no Democratic Party. There are no Republicans nor Democrats in

this House. You are lick-spittlers and panderers, the creatures of the

Plutocracy. You talk verbosely in antiquated terminology of your love

of liberty, and all the while you wear the scarlet livery of the Iron

Heel."



Here the shouting and the cries of "Order! order!" drowned his voice,

and he stood disdainfully till the din had somewhat subsided. He waved

his hand to include all of them, turned to his own comrades, and said:



"Listen to the bellowing of the well-fed beasts."



Pandemonium broke out again. The Speaker rapped for order and glanced

expectantly at the officers in the doorways. There were cries of

"Sedition!" and a great, rotund New York member began shouting

"Anarchist!" at Ernest. And Ernest was not pleasant to look at. Every

fighting fibre of him was quivering, and his face was the face of a

fighting animal, withal he was cool and collected.



"Remember," he said, in a voice that made itself heard above the din,

"that as you show mercy now to the proletariat, some day will that same

proletariat show mercy to you."



The cries of "Sedition!" and "Anarchist!" redoubled.



"I know that you will not vote for this bill," Ernest went on. "You have

received the command from your masters to vote against it. And yet you

call me anarchist. You, who have destroyed the government of the people,

and who shamelessly flaunt your scarlet shame in public places, call me

anarchist. I do not believe in hell-fire and brimstone; but in moments

like this I regret my unbelief. Nay, in moments like this I almost do

believe. Surely there must be a hell, for in no less place could it be

possible for you to receive punishment adequate to your crimes. So long

as you exist, there is a vital need for hell-fire in the Cosmos."



There was movement in the doorways. Ernest, the Speaker, all the members

turned to see.



"Why do you not call your soldiers in, Mr. Speaker, and bid them do

their work?" Ernest demanded. "They should carry out your plan with

expedition."



"There are other plans afoot," was the retort. "That is why the soldiers

are present."



"Our plans, I suppose," Ernest sneered. "Assassination or something

kindred."



But at the word "assassination" the uproar broke out again. Ernest could

not make himself heard, but he remained on his feet waiting for a lull.

And then it happened. From my place in the gallery I saw nothing except

the flash of the explosion. The roar of it filled my ears and I saw

Ernest reeling and falling in a swirl of smoke, and the soldiers rushing

up all the aisles. His comrades were on their feet, wild with anger,

capable of any violence. But Ernest steadied himself for a moment, and

waved his arms for silence.



"It is a plot!" his voice rang out in warning to his comrades. "Do

nothing, or you will be destroyed."



Then he slowly sank down, and the soldiers reached him. The next moment

soldiers were clearing the galleries and I saw no more.



Though he was my husband, I was not permitted to get to him. When I

announced who I was, I was promptly placed under arrest. And at the same

time were arrested all socialist Congressmen in Washington, including

the unfortunate Simpson, who lay ill with typhoid fever in his hotel.



The trial was prompt and brief. The men were foredoomed. The wonder

was that Ernest was not executed. This was a blunder on the part of

the Oligarchy, and a costly one. But the Oligarchy was too confident in

those days. It was drunk with success, and little did it dream that

that small handful of heroes had within them the power to rock it to

its foundations. To-morrow, when the Great Revolt breaks out and all

the world resounds with the tramp, tramp of the millions, the Oligarchy,

will realize, and too late, how mightily that band of heroes has grown.*



* Avis Everhard took for granted that her narrative would be

read in her own day, and so omits to mention the outcome of

the trial for high treason. Many other similar

disconcerting omissions will be noticed in the Manuscript.

Fifty-two socialist Congressmen were tried, and all were

found guilty. Strange to relate, not one received the death

sentence. Everhard and eleven others, among whom were

Theodore Donnelson and Matthew Kent, received life

imprisonment. The remaining forty received sentences

varying from thirty to forty-five years; while Arthur

Simpson, referred to in the Manuscript as being ill of

typhoid fever at the time of the explosion, received only

fifteen years. It is the tradition that he died of

starvation in solitary confinement, and this harsh treatment

is explained as having been caused by his uncompromising

stubbornness and his fiery and tactless hatred for all men

that served the despotism. He died in Cabanas in Cuba,

where three of his comrades were also confined. The fifty-

two socialist Congressmen were confined in military

fortresses scattered all over the United States. Thus, Du

Bois and Woods were held in Porto Rico, while Everhard and

Merryweather were placed in Alcatraz, an island in San

Francisco Bay that had already seen long service as a

military prison.



As a revolutionist myself, as one on the inside who knew the hopes and

fears and secret plans of the revolutionists, I am fitted to answer, as

very few are, the charge that they were guilty of exploding the bomb in

Congress. And I can say flatly, without qualification or doubt of any

sort, that the socialists, in Congress and out, had no hand in the

affair. Who threw the bomb we do not know, but the one thing we are

absolutely sure of is that we did not throw it.



On the other hand, there is evidence to show that the Iron Heel was

responsible for the act. Of course, we cannot prove this. Our conclusion

is merely presumptive. But here are such facts as we do know. It had

been reported to the Speaker of the House, by secret-service agents of

the government, that the Socialist Congressmen were about to resort to

terroristic tactics, and that they had decided upon the day when

their tactics would go into effect. This day was the very day of

the explosion. Wherefore the Capitol had been packed with troops in

anticipation. Since we knew nothing about the bomb, and since a bomb

actually was exploded, and since the authorities had prepared in advance

for the explosion, it is only fair to conclude that the Iron Heel

did know. Furthermore, we charge that the Iron Heel was guilty of the

outrage, and that the Iron Heel planned and perpetrated the outrage for

the purpose of foisting the guilt on our shoulders and so bringing about

our destruction.



From the Speaker the warning leaked out to all the creatures in

the House that wore the scarlet livery. They knew, while Ernest was

speaking, that some violent act was to be committed. And to do them

justice, they honestly believed that the act was to be committed by

the socialists. At the trial, and still with honest belief, several

testified to having seen Ernest prepare to throw the bomb, and that it

exploded prematurely. Of course they saw nothing of the sort. In the

fevered imagination of fear they thought they saw, that was all.



As Ernest said at the trial: "Does it stand to reason, if I were going

to throw a bomb, that I should elect to throw a feeble little squib like

the one that was thrown? There wasn't enough powder in it. It made a lot

of smoke, but hurt no one except me. It exploded right at my feet, and

yet it did not kill me. Believe me, when I get to throwing bombs, I'll

do damage. There'll be more than smoke in my petards."



In return it was argued by the prosecution that the weakness of the

bomb was a blunder on the part of the socialists, just as its premature

explosion, caused by Ernest's losing his nerve and dropping it, was a

blunder. And to clinch the argument, there were the several Congressmen

who testified to having seen Ernest fumble and drop the bomb.



As for ourselves, not one of us knew how the bomb was thrown. Ernest

told me that the fraction of an instant before it exploded he both heard

and saw it strike at his feet. He testified to this at the trial, but

no one believed him. Besides, the whole thing, in popular slang, was

"cooked up." The Iron Heel had made up its mind to destroy us, and there

was no withstanding it.



There is a saying that truth will out. I have come to doubt that saying.

Nineteen years have elapsed, and despite our untiring efforts, we have

failed to find the man who really did throw the bomb. Undoubtedly he was

some emissary of the Iron Heel, but he has escaped detection. We have

never got the slightest clew to his identity. And now, at this late

date, nothing remains but for the affair to take its place among the

mysteries of history.*



* Avis Everhard would have had to live for many generations

ere she could have seen the clearing up of this particular

mystery. A little less than a hundred years ago, and a

little more than six hundred years after the death, the

confession of Pervaise was discovered in the secret archives

of the Vatican. It is perhaps well to tell a little

something about this obscure document, which, in the main,

is of interest to the historian only.



Pervaise was an American, of French descent, who in 1913

A.D., was lying in the Tombs Prison, New York City, awaiting

trial for murder. From his confession we learn that he was

not a criminal. He was warm-blooded, passionate, emotional.

In an insane fit of jealousy he killed his wife--a very

common act in those times. Pervaise was mastered by the fear

of death, all of which is recounted at length in his

confession. To escape death he would have done anything,

and the police agents prepared him by assuring him that he

could not possibly escape conviction of murder in the first

degree when his trial came off. In those days, murder in

the first degree was a capital offense. The guilty man or

woman was placed in a specially constructed death-chair,

and, under the supervision of competent physicians, was

destroyed by a current of electricity. This was called

electrocution, and it was very popular during that period.

Anaesthesia, as a mode of compulsory death, was not

introduced until later.



This man, good at heart but with a ferocious animalism close

at the surface of his being, lying in jail and expectant of

nothing less than death, was prevailed upon by the agents of

the Iron Heel to throw the bomb in the House of

Representatives. In his confession he states explicitly

that he was informed that the bomb was to be a feeble thing

and that no lives would be lost. This is directly in line

with the fact that the bomb was lightly charged, and that

its explosion at Everhard's feet was not deadly.



Pervaise was smuggled into one of the galleries ostensibly

closed for repairs. He was to select the moment for the

throwing of the bomb, and he naively confesses that in his

interest in Everhard's tirade and the general commotion

raised thereby, he nearly forgot his mission.



Not only was he released from prison in reward for his deed,

but he was granted an income for life. This he did not long

enjoy. In 1914 A.D., in September, he was stricken with

rheumatism of the heart and lived for three days. It was

then that he sent for the Catholic priest, Father Peter

Durban, and to him made confession. So important did it seem

to the priest, that he had the confession taken down in

writing and sworn to. What happened after this we can only

surmise. The document was certainly important enough to

find its way to Rome. Powerful influences must have been

brought to bear, hence its suppression. For centuries no

hint of its existence reached the world. It was not until

in the last century that Lorbia, the brilliant Italian

scholar, stumbled upon it quite by chance during his

researches in the Vatican.



There is to-day no doubt whatever that the Iron Heel was

responsible for the bomb that exploded in the House of

Representatives in 1913 A.D. Even though the Pervaise

confession had never come to light, no reasonable doubt

could obtain; for the act in question, that sent fifty-two

Congressmen to prison, was on a par with countless other

acts committed by the oligarchs, and, before them, by the

capitalists.



There is the classic instance of the ferocious and wanton

judicial murder of the innocent and so-called Haymarket

Anarchists in Chicago in the penultimate decade of the

nineteenth century A.D. In a category by itself is the

deliberate burning and destruction of capitalist property by

the capitalists themselves. For such destruction of

property innocent men were frequently punished--"railroaded"

in the parlance of the times.



In the labor troubles of the first decade of the twentieth

century A.D., between the capitalists and the Western

Federation of Miners, similar but more bloody tactics were

employed. The railroad station at Independence was blown up

by the agents of the capitalists. Thirteen men were killed,

and many more were wounded. And then the capitalists,

controlling the legislative and judicial machinery of the

state of Colorado, charged the miners with the crime and

came very near to convicting them. Romaines, one of the

tools in this affair, like Pervaise, was lying in jail in

another state, Kansas, awaiting trial, when he was

approached by the agents of the capitalists. But, unlike

Pervaise the confession of Romaines was made public in his

own time.



Then, during this same period, there was the case of Moyer

and Haywood, two strong, fearless leaders of labor. One was

president and the other was secretary of the Western

Federation of Miners. The ex-governor of Idaho had been

mysteriously murdered. The crime, at the time, was openly

charged to the mine owners by the socialists and miners.

Nevertheless, in violation of the national and state

constitutions, and by means of conspiracy on the parts of

the governors of Idaho and Colorado, Moyer and Haywood were

kidnapped, thrown into jail, and charged with the murder.

It was this instance that provoked from Eugene V. Debs,

national leader of the American socialists at the time, the

following words: "The labor leaders that cannot be bribed

nor bullied, must be ambushed and murdered. The only crime

of Moyer and Haywood is that they have been unswervingly

true to the working class. The capitalists have stolen our

country, debauched our politics, defiled our judiciary, and

ridden over us rough-shod, and now they propose to murder

those who will not abjectly surrender to their brutal

dominion. The governors of Colorado and Idaho are but

executing the mandates of their masters, the Plutocracy.

The issue is the Workers versus the Plutocracy. If they

strike the first violent blow, we will strike the last."