al
field of the socialists; for the general strike was a political strike.
Besides, organized labor had been so badly beaten that it did not care.
It joined in the general strike out of sheer desperation. The workers
threw down their tools and left their tasks by the millions. Especially
notable were the machinists. Their heads were bloody, their organization
had apparently been destroyed, yet out they came, along with their
allies in the metal-working trades.

Even the common laborers and all unorganized labor ceased work. The
strike had tied everything up so that nobody could work. Besides, the
women proved to be the strongest promoters of the strike. They set their
faces against the war. They did not want their men to go forth to
die. Then, also, the idea of the general strike caught the mood of the
people. It struck their sense of humor. The idea was infectious. The
children struck in all the schools, and such teachers as came, went home
again from deserted class rooms. The general strike took the form of
a great national picnic. And the idea of the solidarity of labor, so
evidenced, appealed to the imagination of all. And, finally, there was
no danger to be incurred by the colossal frolic. When everybody was
guilty, how was anybody to be punished?

The United States was paralyzed. No one knew what was happening. There
were no newspapers, no letters, no despatches. Every community was as
completely isolated as though ten thousand miles of primeval wilderness
stretched between it and the rest of the world. For that matter, the
world had ceased to exist. And for a week this state of affairs was
maintained.

In San Francisco we did not know what was happening even across the bay
in Oakland or Berkeley. The effect on one's sensibilities was weird,
depressing. It seemed as though some great cosmic thing lay dead. The
pulse of the land had ceased to beat. Of a truth the nation had died.
There were no wagons rumbling on the streets, no factory whistles, no
hum of electricity in the air, no passing of street cars, no cries
of news-boys--nothing but persons who at rare intervals went by like
furtive ghosts, themselves oppressed and made unreal by the silence.

And during that week of silence the Oligarchy was taught its lesson. And
well it learned the lesson. The general strike was a warning. It should
never occur again. The Oligarchy would see to that.

At the end of the week, as had been prearranged, the telegraphers