[The Military Bullpen]
Now I will invite the reader to take a trip to the military prison and see how fared the Record prisoners.
These prisoners were marched unceremoniously to the bull pen. Armed thugs forced them into a filthy and squalid little tent, absolutely barren of furniture or bedding, where they were told to stay under penalty of having their heads blown off if they appeared an inch outside of the entrance.
The night was bitterly cold and on that frigid mountain side, under the intimidating guard of a horde of armed assassins, the working force of the Victor Record passed a night of torture equal to anything ever devised by the Spanish inquisitors. The entire force will bear testimony that the treatment accorded them was so inhuman and revolting as to surpass the belief of American citizens.
The “bull” tent had just been vacated by a number of drunken soldier prisoners, who had vomited all over the interior. The stench was sickening, but there they were forced to lay, without even so much as a gunny sack to protect them from the cold. Shortly after sunrise they were told to come to “breakfast.” Emerging from the filthy kennel they were escorted to the mess table a short distance away. A dozen guards kept them covered with guns loaded with riot ammunition while two grimy negro cooks dished out a little slop on tin plates and told them to eat. There were no knives, forks or spoons at hand. “Use your fingers,” said the head negro when remonstrance was made.
Beneath the table were a number of wash boilers and buckets filled with the accumulated garbage of several days and the stench arising therefrom was nauseating enough to insult the gizzard of a buzzard. It is quite needless to state that they had no appetite.
They returned to the tent hungrier and more distressed than ever. The day was raw and cold and they were chilled to the marrow. Faint and sick Mr. Richmond approached the captain of the guard and implored him for God’s sake to obtain some blankets. His appeal was cut short with an oath from that dignitary.
A little later a murderous looking gatling gun was drawn up, trained on the prisoner’s tent, and they were subjected to the nerve rending ordeal of posing as targets. The excitement attending this outrageous intimidation completely unnerved some of them.
Attorney Tully Scott, formerly of Kansas, succeeded in getting them liberated through some legal procedure and after unwinding a few miles of military red tape the commanding general turned them over to Sheriff Robertson of Teller county, when for the first time they learned that they were defendants in a libel case.
It was a deliberate plot to suppress a paper for telling the truth about the uniformed hirelings who were guilty of the outrages above mentioned.
The excuse for the taking of the Record force was that in the issue of the day before, there was an article of about six lines which referred to two tools of the mine owners as ex-convicts. It was learned that in the case of Vannick it was true, but Scanlon, with all his faults, had not, as yet worn the stripes. However, there was a correction coming out the following morning. The whole truth of the matter was that the military was watching every movement of the Record for a chance to raid the office. The real reason of the military raiding the office at that hour, was to suppress the official organ of the Western Federation of Miners. The district had only the one paper that stood up for the cause, and of course the enemy did not have a very warm feeling of friendship for the Record. The reader will at once realize that even had the editor been guilty of criminal libel the operators or the mechanical force could not legally be held responsible. But when the military endeavored to suppress the Record they reckoned without their host. Again the writer will quote: “The best laid plans o’ mice,” etc. The writer would advise the warrior Chase, when he again undertakes to suppress the press, to not only arrest the force at work, but every living printer in the county—and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to carefully guard the cemeteries, for the press is a hard game to beat—even by a warrior of the ability of Chase, as he has doubtless discovered.
Continue reading “Hellraisers Journal: Emma F. Langdon Reports on Cripple Creek Strike: Military Despotism, the Bullpen at Camp Goldfield” →
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