“corker. please write often. hearing from you too good to be true. letters like what rain would have been on april 16. suffrage and get over it. no game for you. don’t get hurt again. writing.

“tay.”

julia found this cablegram on her table when she returned on the following evening from the house of commons. its extravagance relaxed the angry tension of her mind, and she could imagine no future moment in which she would be in a more fitting mood to answer it. she removed her battered hat, washed the dirt and blood from her hands and face, and her pen was soon flying over large sheets of the w. s. p. u.

“long before you get this you will have read in the newspapers the more sensational details of to-day’s encounter between the militants and the police, and of its abominable sequel; but there are details the newspapers never print, and when i relate a few of them perhaps you will understand why i am not likely to lose sympathy with this cause. besides, to-day, i have a grievance of my own which has put me in such a state of fury that if i couldn’t relieve my mind in a letter to you, i should probably go out and get into more trouble.

“you will have read that twenty of our number, including mrs. pankhurst, mrs. pethick lawrence, and mrs. cobden sanderson, succeeded in obtaining entrance to the lobby of the house of commons, sent for the chief liberal whip, and persuaded him to go to the prime minister and ask if he intended to do anything during this session toward the enfranchisement of women. the prime minister sent word back that the government had no intention of giving the vote to women during their term of office.

“how many times have they gone to that lobby full of hope, inspired by the justice of their cause—however, sentimentalizing is not in our line. this was the most direct rebuff they had received, and they made up their minds to hold a meeting of protest then and there. one of the women sprang upon a settee and began to address the others. the police had been watching for a signal. in five minutes they had dragged and driven the women out of the lobby, knocking mrs. pankhurst down, and mauling mrs. lawrence and the rest in their usual fashion. when the women waiting outside saw how their comrades were being handled, they rushed forward, and soon were engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter with the police. even those that merely spoke to the women of the deputation were struck or arrested. seven were dragged off to the police station, and a few moments later, mrs. cobden sanderson, knowing that mrs. lawrence was ill, and not willing that the girls should go to gaol without an older woman, managed to get herself arrested.

“of course, you want to know what i was doing all this time. that is what i am writing to tell you, for therein lies my grievance. and let me tell you that i have a red-haired temper, quite out of tune with princesses on towers. you might as well know me as i am and not romance about me any more.

“i went with the deputation to the house, being one of those drafted, and marching at the head of a large body of members of the union that accompanied us, but had no hope of gaining admittance. at the strangers’ entrance we were met by the usual number of watchful police, and the inspector asked at once which was mrs. france; the others craned their necks and took in all my points when i was indicated. i was then informed that i could not enter, that the orders were positive. there was no time to waste in protest over minor matters, another was chosen in my place, and i was left outside with the rank and file. i was annoyed, and had no difficulty in guessing the cause of my exclusion. the duke may despise the present government, but he had not scrupled to bring his personal influence to bear on it in order to save me from possible hurt—or notoriety.

“however, it is one of our principles to waste no time over spilt milk, but immediately to place ourselves in readiness for the next opportunity. i stood quietly with the others as close to the entrance as the police outside would permit, and waited. at the end of what seemed interminable hours, during which a large crowd gathered, many friendly, for the public is beginning to respect our pluck and persistence, some jeering and making abominable jokes, our women standing as erect and patient as soldiers, with eager set faces, ready to fight if need be, but quite as ready to disperse peaceably if their deputation were treated with respect—well, suddenly the doors were flung open and out tumbled a medley of women and police. mrs. pankhurst, with closed eyes and rigid limbs, as if defying the worst, pushed along on her heels, and finally flung to the ground; mrs. pethick lawrence, struggling indignantly, torn and mauled; the rest treated as if they were circus beasts of the forest that had got loose in the arena,—out they came in a wild disgraceful scrimmage. what a cartoon for posterity to gape at!

“of course we made a rush for our friends and leaders, inspired with precisely the same instinct to go to their assistance as if they and we had been men. one of our rigid principles is never to attack the police, to assume that they are merely obeying orders; and even when they treat us with their customary brutality, to struggle, but not to strike; it being our desire to show, if possible, that a great battle can be won in these days by brains instead of force.

“therefore, although we attempted to reach our leaders, it was merely to rescue them if we could; at all events to show our sympathy and indignation. but we did not reach them. the police outside were waiting for their signal; they immediately closed in and began striking and pushing us about, at first not ungently: they merely bashed hats, knocked a few shoulders, and twisted a few arms. but as fast as they dispersed one group, or turned to attack another, we made a new rush; some in the direction of mrs. pankhurst, others toward those being led off to the police station, others, myself among them, intending to force our way into the house, and make another demonstration in the lobby. mrs. lime had managed to keep by my side, for she intended to enter with me. but suddenly she caught sight of a girl being abominably mauled by a policeman, and made a brave attempt to rescue her. the policeman dropped the girl, seized mrs. lime, whirled her about, gripped her by the shoulders, and, rushing her against the palings of palace yard, struck her breasts against the iron again and again. that sight sent me off my head. i forgot instructions, forgot the lofty impassivity i had been taught in the east—an admirable recipe for occasions like this, but, as yet, beyond me—i leaped on the man and struck him on the back of the head with all my might. he dropped mrs. lime and whirled about on me as furiously as if my fist had been as hard as his own, but when he saw me, he merely dropped his arm, scowled, and said:?—

“?‘go home! go home! you’ll get hurt,’ and ran over to pull two women apart who had locked arms. then i realized what i had dimly been conscious of, that my only injuries were to my clothes, and that these were but the result of the general scuffle; every policeman had avoided me or brushed me off. they had received orders to do me no harm. among all those hundreds of indomitable women i alone was to go scot free. the idea so enraged me that i flew at another policeman and struck him, determined to go to prison with the others. but he, too, brushed me off, although he was already panting and angry, and no doubt would have liked to strike me and then drag me to the police station. i attacked another, and he turned his back on me with an oath, seized a girl who was merely pushing her way quietly through the struggling mass, her face set and gray, her eyes with that strange intent look worn by nearly every face belonging to our women—seized her, threw her down, and kicked her in the side.

“well—i managed to drag her and mrs. lime out of the crowd, put them into a four-wheeler, and take them to westminster hospital. they will die, no doubt; if not now, then later, devoured by the most horrible of all diseases. but if we have lost them, we shall have gained forty in their place, for this insensate policy of the government has its logical consequence—illustrates the old truth, ‘the blood of martyrs is the seed of reform.’ have they never read history?

“and yet, sometimes i despair. we shall win in the end, of course, for it is as impossible to exterminate this new force as to chain the atlantic. but when? and shall we be here to see? we are only mortal, after all, and our bodies, strong to endure as they are, can be broken by men. and the great mass of women are so slow in awakening. in spite of the tremendous increase in our numbers during the past year, and the interest we have aroused, our recruits are a mere handful when compared with the female population of great britain, in general. not until all, or at least three-fourths, of those women have awakened and rallied to our side can we win. of that i am convinced. one thing i strove to do in the north was to convert the political women, those that always assist the men so potently at every general election. if we can persuade these women to desert the men and fight for women alone, we shall have made a great stride. this autumn i am to renew my acquaintance with my old associates and visit country houses during the autumn and winter, making converts of women who would be of inestimable benefit to us. but that is a sort of inactive service under which i chafe. would that we could rouse all the women at once, form a rebel army, take to the field and fight like men. perhaps we shall be driven to that in the end. it is all very well to plan to win by brains alone, and it would be to our immortal glory if we did, but it is to be considered that we are opposing men either without brains themselves, or who have been bred on the idea of physical force and really respect nothing else. well, whatever happens, i only ask that i may be here to see. i am willing to give my brain and body and soul and every penny i can command to this cause, but i want to give the last of myself at the last minute, all the same.

“now, write and tell me honestly if you would have me desert these women, when i can be of signal assistance to them in not one but many ways; and if you think i would be anything but what this cause has made of me if i would.

“julia france.”