generations the
Group flourished. Then an agent of the Iron Heel managed to
become a member, penetrated all its secrets, and brought
about its total annihilation. This occurred in 2002 A.D.
The members were executed one at a time, at intervals of
three weeks, and their bodies exposed in the labor-ghetto of
San Francisco.

Colonel Ingram and Colonel Van Gilbert are two more familiar figures
that I was later to encounter. Colonel Ingram rose high in the Oligarchy
and became Minister to Germany. He was cordially detested by the
proletariat of both countries. It was in Berlin that I met him, where,
as an accredited international spy of the Iron Heel, I was received by
him and afforded much assistance. Incidentally, I may state that in my
dual role I managed a few important things for the Revolution.

Colonel Van Gilbert became known as "Snarling" Van Gilbert. His
important part was played in drafting the new code after the Chicago
Commune. But before that, as trial judge, he had earned sentence of
death by his fiendish malignancy. I was one of those that tried him and
passed sentence upon him. Anna Roylston carried out the execution.

Still another figure arises out of the old life--Jackson's lawyer. Least
of all would I have expected again to meet this man, Joseph Hurd. It was
a strange meeting. Late at night, two years after the Chicago Commune,
Ernest and I arrived together at the Benton Harbor refuge. This was
in Michigan, across the lake from Chicago. We arrived just at the
conclusion of the trial of a spy. Sentence of death had been passed, and
he was being led away. Such was the scene as we came upon it. The next
moment the wretched man had wrenched free from his captors and flung
himself at my feet, his arms clutching me about the knees in a vicelike
grip as he prayed in a frenzy for mercy. As he turned his agonized face
up to me, I recognized him as Joseph Hurd. Of all the terrible things
I have witnessed, never have I been so unnerved as by this frantic
creature's pleading for life. He was mad for life. It was pitiable. He
refused to let go of me, despite the hands of a dozen comrades. And when
at last he was dragged shrieking away, I sank down fainting upon the
floor. It is far easier to see brave men die than to hear a coward beg
for life.*

* The Benton Harbor refuge was a catacomb, the entrance of
which was cunningly contrived by way of a well. It has been
m