ata of
civilization and change the face of the world? that conventions and
institutions, laws and decrees crumble before the whirlwind of human
passions? that their city was not of special, but of universal
significance? And how were these, who still believed themselves to be
dwelling under the old dispensation, to comprehend that environments
change, and changing demand new and terrible Philosophies? When night
fell on that fateful Tuesday the voice of Syndicalism had been raised in
a temple dedicated to ordered, Anglo-Saxon liberty--the Hampton City
Hall.

Only for a night and a day did the rebellion lack both a leader and a
philosophy. Meanwhile, in obedience to the unerring instinct for drama
peculiar to great metropolitan dailies, newspaper correspondents were
alighting from every train, interviewing officials and members of labour
unions and mill agents: interviewing Claude Ditmar, the strongest man in
Hampton that day. He at least knew what ought to be done, and even before
his siren broke the silence of the morning hours in vigorous and emphatic
terms he had informed the Mayor and Council of their obvious duty. These
strikers were helots, unorganized scum; the regular unions--by
comparison respectable--held aloof from them. Here, in effect, was his
argument: a strong show of force was imperative; if the police and
deputies were inadequate, request the Governor to call out the local
militia; but above all, waste no time, arrest the ringleaders, the
plotters, break up all gatherings, keep the streets clear. He demanded
from the law protection of his property, protection for those whose right
to continue at work was inalienable. He was listened to with sympathy and
respect--but nothing was done! The world had turned upside down indeed if
the City Government of Hampton refused to take the advice of the agent of
the Chippering Mill! American institutions were a failure! But such was
the fact. Some unnamed fear, outweighing their dread of the retributions
of Capital, possessed these men, made them supine, derelict in the face
of their obvious duty.

By the faint grey light of that bitter January morning Ditmar made his
way to the mill. In Faber Street dark figures flitted silently across the
ghostly whiteness of the snow, and gathered in groups on the corners;
seeking to avoid these, other figures hurried along the sidewalks close
to the buildings, to be halted, accosted, pleaded with--threatened,
perhaps. Picketing