“I do not care,” said she, “whether there are any policemen or detectives here or not, or whether the newspapers want to come out with sensational head-lines about me. Go on voting, and in ten years you will find yourselves where I am now. You will be no further advanced, and then you will have to come to the revolution of force which I advocate now.”
Her voice rang out strong and clear, and as she finished it seemed evident from the loud applause that followed that the majority of those present were in full accord with her sentiments.
Professor Orchardson then replied to his critic. He claimed that Mrs. Parsons had begun by picturing Anarchy as one of the most lovely and beautiful conditions imaginable, but before she had finished she had advocated murder, force, carbines and every violent measure conceivable. She had claimed that Anarchy did not mean war, and in the same breath had urged that all means were justifiable to secure it. “A man who undertakes to philosophize upon this question,” said he, “soon becomes contaminated by that horrible theory Anarchism.”
A few hisses were heard about the room.
“I see I have no sympathy here,” he continued, “and I here declare that if I live I will never speak again where Anarchists are admitted and permitted to speak.”
Here a storm of hisses and loud cries of “Shame” were heard on all sides, and for a moment it seemed as if trouble was imminent. The chairman, however, succeeded in restoring order, and the speaker was about to continue his remarks, when he was interrupted by Mrs. Parsons.
“Did you not advocate assassination in your lecture last night?” she asked.
“I did not. I simply said that if humanity had sunk so low that men would sell themselves out, secret societies should be formed for the purpose of bringing retribution on the men who had betrayed their trusts.”
“You said assassination,” shouted Mrs. Parsons, “and I can prove it.”