in canvas, thrown overboard from a
launch, but in none of the daily papers was there any mention of bodies
having been found. Six uncalled-for membership cards, deposited by men
who took passage on the Verona, may represent as many murders by the
cowards on the dock. Those cards are made out to Fred Berger, William
Colman, Tom Ellis, Edward Raymond, Peter Viberts, and Chas. E. Taylor.
Some of the deputies gloatingly declared that the death toll of the
workers was twelve men at the lowest count.

So wanton was the slaughter of the helpless men and boys that strong men
who witnessed the scene turned away vomiting. From the hillside the
women--those whom the deputies were pretending to protect from the
"incoming horde,"--casting aside all womanly fears, raced to the dock in
a vain endeavor to stop the commission of further crime, crying out in
their frenzy, "The curs! The curs! The dirty curs! They're nothing but
murderers!" They, as well as the men who tried to launch boats to rescue
the men in the water, were halted by the same citizen deputies whose
names head the list of Red Cross donors.

For a short period of time, seemingly endless hours to the unarmed and
helpless men on the boat, the rain of lead continued. Tho the boat had
righted itself, the men were still unable to extricate themselves from
the positions into which they had been thrown. Near the top of one heap
lay Abraham Rabinowitz, a young Jewish college graduate, and as he
struggled to regain his footing a bullet tore off the whole back part
of his head, his blood and brains splashing down over Raymond Lee and
Michael Reilly who lay just beneath him. Rabinowitz died in the arms of
Leonard Broman, his "pal" in the harvest fields, without ever having
regained consciousness.

"Hold me up, fellow workers!" suddenly called out Gus Johnson as he was
fatally stricken by a bullet. "I want to finish the song." Then, above
the din of the gunfire and curses of the deputies, the final verse of
"Hold the Fort" rang out in defiance of industrial tyranny, and with the
termination of the words "Cheer, my comrades, cheer!" the bright red
death-foam flecked the ever-to-be silent lips of the brave Swedish
revolutionist.

Splintering the stairways, seats and woodwork, and wounding many of the
men crouched in hiding, thousands of rounds of ammunition found their
way into the boat during the ten long minutes of the onslaught. Finally,
with a 41 Colts revolver to enforce his