Part 1 (1/2)
The Everett ma.s.sacre.
by Walker C. Smith.
PREFACE
In ten minutes of seething, roaring h.e.l.l at the Everett dock on the afternoon of Sunday, November 5, 1916, there was more of the age-old superst.i.tion regarding the ident.i.ty of interests between capital and labor torn from the minds of the working people of the Pacific Northwest than could have been cleared away by a thousand lecturers in a year. It is with regret that we view the untimely pa.s.sing of the seven or more Fellow Workers who were foully murdered on that fateful day, but if the working cla.s.s of the world can view beyond their mangled forms the hideous brutality that was the cause of their deaths, they will not have died in vain.
This book is published with the hope that the tragedy at Everett may serve to set before the working cla.s.s so clear a view of capitalism in all its ruthless greed that another such affair will be impossible.
C. E. PAYNE.
With grateful acknowledgments to C. E. Payne for valuable a.s.sistance in preparing the subject matter, to Harry Feinberg in consultation, to Marie B. Smith in revising ma.n.u.script, and to J. J. Kneisle for photographs.
EVERETT, NOVEMBER FIFTH
By Charles Ashleigh
[”* * * and then the Fellow Worker died, singing 'Hold the Fort' * *
*”--From the report of a witness.]
Song on his lips, he came; Song on his lips, he went;-- This be the token we bear of him,-- Soldier of Discontent!
Out of the dark they came; out of the night Of poverty and injury and woe,-- With flaming hope, their vision thrilled to light,-- Song on their lips, and every heart aglow;
They came, that none should trample Labor's right To speak, and voice her centuries of pain.
Bare hands against the master's armored might!-- A dream to match the tools of sordid gain!
And then the decks went red; and the grey sea Was written crimsonly with ebbing life.
The barricade spewed shots and mockery And curses, and the drunken l.u.s.t of strife.
Yet, the mad chorus from that devil's host,-- Yea, all the tumult of that butcher throng,-- Compound of bullets, booze and coward boast,-- Could not out-shriek one dying worker's song!
Song on his lips, he came; Song on his lips, he went;-- This be the token we bear of him,-- Soldier of Discontent!
[Ill.u.s.tration: Released Free Speech prisoners who visited the graves of their murdered Fellow Workers at Mount Pleasant Cemetery, May 12, 1917.]
The Everett Ma.s.sacre
CHAPTER I.
THE LUMBER KINGDOM