b below. Axes and knives were gathered by
armfuls, and borne out into the streets to the whirling mass. Great
barrels of liquor were rolled into the gutters and burst asunder.
Bread and meat were dragged from the shops and savagely devoured. The
police gathered and planted themselves with spitting pistols before
the human surge. They went down like grass under stampeded cattle.
Frightened clerks and operators rushed to the wires and sent wild,
incoherent appeals for help to New York. Pandemonium had the reins,
the carnal mind was unleashed.

On rolled the mob, straight on to the massive stone house of Pillette,
the resident manager of the great Ames mills. On over the high iron
fence, like hungry dock rats. On through the battered gate. On up the
broad drive, shouting, shooting, moaning, raving. On over the veranda,
and in through broken windows and shattered doors, swarming like flies
over reeking carrion, until the flames which burst through the peaked
roof of the mansion drove them forth, and made them draw sullenly,
protestingly away, leaving the tattered bodies of Pillette and his
wife and daughters to be consumed in the roaring furnace.

Oh, ye workers, ye toilers at loom and forge, it is indeed you who
bear the world's burdens! It is you who create the rich man's wealth,
and fight his battles. So ye fought in the great war between North and
South, and protected the rich man at home, hovering in fright over his
money bags. It is you who put into his hands the bayonet which he
turns against you to guard his wealth and maintain his iniquitous
privilege. It is indeed in your hands that the destinies of this great
nation lie; but what will ye do with your marvelous opportunity?
What, with your stupendous, untried strength? Will ye once more set up
the golden calf, and prostrate yourselves before it? Will ye again
enthrone ecclesiastical despotism, and grovel before image of Virgin
and Saint? Will ye raise high the powers of mediaeval darkness, and
bend your necks anew to the yoke of ignorance and stagnation? But
think you now that flames and dynamite will break your present bonds?
Aye, America may be made a land without a pauper, without a
millionaire, without industrial strife. But fire and sword will not
effect the transformation. Yes, perhaps, as has been said, our
"comfortable social system and its authority will some day be blown to
atoms." But shall we then be better off than we are to-day? For shall
we know t