“Governor,” said Douglas, “I can’t call off the strike until the men get the concessions that they struck for.”
“Then I will call out the militia,” said he.
“Then what in hell do you think we will be doing while you are getting the militia ready!”
The governor knew then he had a fight on, for Douglas was a heroic fighter; a fine, open character whom the governor himself respected.
The militia were called out. There was a long drawn out fight. I was forbidden to leave town without permit, forbidden to hold meetings. Nevertheless I slipped through the ranks of the soldiers without their knowing who I was—just an old woman going to a missionary meeting to knit mittens for the heathen of Africa!
I went down to Rockton, a mining camp, with William Malley and held a meeting.
Coming back on the train the conductor recognized me.
“Mother Jones,” he said, “did you hold a meeting in Rockton?”
“I certainly did,” said I.
He reported me to the general manager and there was hell to pay but I kept right on with my agitation. The strike dragged on. Debs was put in jail. The leaders were prosecuted. At last the strike was called off. I was in Birmingham.