A desultory conversation ensued, and the missionary, on leaving, told Parsons that he would pray earnestly for him during the night.
The anarchist’s hard gray eye grew moist, and he murmeredmurmured hoarsely: “Thank you,” but added: “Don’t forget, though, I didn’t send for you.”
SINGING THE MARSEILLAISE.
Parsons talks freely to the death watch and sings for them.
Parsons slept little but kept heart marvelously well. He chatted with the guards on the death watch and furnished them each with his autograph in this form:
“Cook County Jail,
Cell No. 4.
A. R. Parsons.
Nov. 11, 1887.”
With Bailiffs Rooney and Jones he calmly discussed the outlook, touched without emotion upon his pending death, and dwelt with satisfaction upon his assurance of his wife’s ability to maintain herself. When told by the guards that Spies was deeply affected by the parting with his wife and complained that of all the incidents of the unnerving time, it most deeply moved him; that Fischer, though reckless of himself, bemoaned the destitution of his young and feeble wife, Parsons feebly expressed his sympathy for his companions and rejoiced that he left behind a lion-hearted wife, and children too young to keenly feel bereavement. Then he commented upon social conditions both here and abroad.
“I will sing you a song,” he said about 1 o’clock, “a song born as a battle-cry in France, and now accepted as the hymn of revolution the world over.”
In a low voice he then sang a paraphrased translation of “La MarsellaiseMarseillaise,” which the guards commended as both inspiring and well performed.