“We know and you know, that the District Commissioners are appointed by the President, that the present commissioners were appointed by President Wilson. We know that you, your Honor, were appointed to the bench by President Wilson, and that the district attorney who prosecutes us was appointed by the President. These various officers would not dare bring us here under these false charges without the policy having been decided upon by the responsible leaders.
“What is our real crime? What have these distinguished and liberty-loving women done to bring them before this court of justice? Why, your Honor, their crime is that they peacefully petitioned the President of the United States for liberty. What must be the shame of our nation before the world when it becomes known that here we throw women into jail who love liberty and attempt to peacefully petition the President for it? These women are nearly all descended from revolutionary ancestors or from some of the greatest libertarian statesmen this country has produced. What would these men say now if they could see that passion for liberty which was in their own hearts rewarded in the twentieth century with foul and filthy imprisonment!
“We say to you, this outrageous policy of stupid and brutal punishment will not dampen the ardor of the women. Where sixteen of us face your judgment to-day there will be sixty tomorrow, so great will be the indignation of our colleagues in this fight.”
The trial came to an end after a tense two days. The packed court-room fat in a terrible silence awaiting the judge’s answer.
There were distinguished men present at the trial—men who also fight for their ideals. There was Frederic C. Howe, then Commissioner of Immigration of the Port of New York, Frank P. Walsh, International labor leader, Dudley Field Malone, then Collector of the Port of New York, Amos Pinchot, liberal leader, John A. H. Hopkins, then liberal-progressive leader in New Jersey who had turned his organization to the support of the President and become a member of the President’s Campaign Committee, now chairman of the Committee of Fortyeight and whose beautiful wife was among the prisoners, Allen McCurdy, secretary of the Committee of Forty-eight and many others. One and all came forward to protest to us during the adjournment. “This is monstrous.” . . . “Never have I seen evidence so disregarded.” . . . “This is a tragic farce” . . .
“He will never dare sentence you.”
It was reported to us that the judge used the interim to telephone to the District building, where the District Commissioners sit. He returned to pronounce, “Sixty days in the workhouse in default of a twenty-five dollar fine.”
The shock was swift and certain to all the spectators. We would not of course pay the unjust fine imposed, for we were not guilty of any offense.
The judge attempted persuasion. “You had better decide to pay your fines,” he ventured. And “you will not find jail a pleasant place to be.” It was clear that neither he nor his confreres had imagined women would accept with equanimity so drastic a sentence. It was now their time to be shocked. Here were “ladies”—that was perfectly clear—“ladies” of unusual distinction. Surely they would not face the humiliation of a workhouse sentence which involved not only imprisonment but penal servitude! The Administration was wrong again.
“We protest against this unjust sentence and conviction,” we said, “but we prefer the workhouse to the payment of a fine imposed for an offense of which we are not guilty.” We filed into the “pen,” to join the other prisoners, and wait for the “black maria” to carry us to prison.