My own story
other pages. Our headquarters, I may say in passing, remained closed
less than forty-eight hours. We are so organised that the arrest of
leaders does not seriously cripple us. Every one has an understudy, and
when one leader drops out her substitute is ready instantly to take her
place.
In this emergency there appeared as chief organiser in Miss Kenney's
place, Miss Grace Roe, one of the young Suffragettes of whom I, as
belonging to the older generation, am so proud. Faced by difficulties
as great as the Government could make them, Miss Roe at once showed
herself to be equal to the situation, and to have the gift of unswerving
loyalty combined with a strong and rapid judgment of things and people.
Aiding her was Mrs. Dacre Fox, who surprised us all by her amazing
ability to act as assistant editor of _The Suffragette_, manage a host
of affairs in the office, and preside at our weekly meetings. Another
member of the Union who came prominently to the front at the time of
this crisis was Mrs. Mansel.
In two days' time the office was open and running quite as usual, no
outward sign showing the grief and indignation felt for our imprisoned
comrades. Most of them refused bail and instantly hunger struck
appearing in court for trial three days later in a pitiful state. Mrs.
Drummond was so obviously ill and in need of medical attention that she
was discharged and was very soon afterwards operated upon. Mr. Drew, the
printer, was forced to sign an undertaking not to publish the paper
again. The others were sentenced to terms varying from six to eighteen
months. Mr. Clayton was sentenced to twenty-one months, and after
desperate resistance, during which he was forcibly fed many times,
escaped his prison. The others, following the same example, starved
their way to liberty, and have ever since been pursued at intervals and
rearrested under the Cat and Mouse Act.
After my discharge, April 12th, I remained in the nursing home until
partially restored, then, under the eyes of the police, I motored out to
Woking, the country home of my friend, Dr. Ethel Smyth. This house,
like the nursing home, was guarded by a small army of police. I never
went to the window, I never took the air in the garden without being
conscious of watching eyes. The situation became intolerable, and I
determined to end it. On May 26th there was a great meeting at the
London Pavillion, and I gave notice that I would attend it. Supported by
Dr. Flora Murray, Dr. Ethel Smyth and my devoted Nurse Pine, I walked
downstairs, to be confronted at the door by a detective, who demanded to
know where I was going. I was in a weak state, much weaker than I had
imagined, and in refusing the right of a man to question my movements I
exhausted the last remnant of my strength and sank fainting in the arms
of my friends. As soon as I recovered I got into the motor car. The
detective instantly took his place beside me and told the chauffeur to
drive to Bow Street Station. The chauffeur replied that he took his
orders only from Mrs. Pankhurst, whereupon the detective summoned a
taxicab and, placing me under arrest, took me to Bow Street.
Under the Cat and Mouse Act a paroled prisoner can be thus arrested
without the formality of a warrant, nor does the time she has spent at
liberty, in regaining her health, count off from her prison sentence.
The magistrate at Bow Street was therefore quite within his legal rights
when he ordered me returned to Holloway. I felt it my duty,
nevertheless, to point out to him the inhumanity of his act. I said to
him: "I was released from Holloway on account of my health. Since then I
have been treated exactly as if I were in prison. It has become
absolutely impossible for any one to recover health under such
conditions, and this morning I decided to make this protest against a
state of affairs unparalleled in a civilised country."
The magistrate replied formally: "You quite understand what the position
is. You have been arrested on this warrant and all I have to do is to
make an order recommending you to prison."
"I think" I said, "that you should do so, with a full sense of
responsibility. If I am taken to Holloway on your warrant I shall resume
the protest I made before which led to my release, and I shall go on
indefinitely until I die, or until the Government decide, since they
have taken upon themselves to employ you and other people to administer
the laws, that they must recognise women as citizens and give them some
control over the laws of this country."
It was a five days' hunger strike this time, because the extreme
weakness of my condition made it impossible for me to endure a longer
term. I was released on May 30th on a seven days' licence, and in a
half-alive state was again carried to a nursing home. Less than a week
later, while I was still bed-ridden, a terrible event occurred, one that
should have shaken the stolid British public into a realisation of the
seriousness of the situation precipitated by the Government. Emily
Wilding Davison, who had been associated with the militant movement
since 1906, gave up her life for the women's cause by throwing herself
in the path of the thing, next to property, held most sacred to
Englishmen--sport. Miss Davison went to the races at Epsom, and
breaking through the barriers which separated the vast crowds from the
race course, rushed in the path of the galloping horses and caught the
bridle of the King's horse, which was leading all the others. The horse
fell, throwing his jockey and crushing Miss Davison in such shocking
fashion that she was carried from the course in a dying condition.
Everything possible was done to save her life. The great surgeon, Mr.
Mansell Moullin, put everything aside and devoted himself to her case,
but though he operated most skilfully, the injuries she had received
were so frightful that she died four days later without once having
recovered consciousness. Members of the Union were beside her when she
breathed her last, on June 8th, and on June 14th they gave her a great
public funeral in London. Crowds lined the streets as the funeral car,
followed by thousands of women, passed slowly and sadly to St. George's
Church, Bloomsbury, where the memorial services were held.
Emily Wilding Davison was a character almost inevitably developed by a
struggle such as ours. She was a B. A. of London University, and had
taken first class honours at Oxford in English Language and Literature.
Yet the women's cause made such an appeal to her reason and her
sympathies that she put every intellectual and social appeal aside and
devoted herself untiringly and fearlessly to the work of the Union. She
had suffered many imprisonments, had been forcibly fed and most brutally
treated. On one occasion when she had barricaded her cell against the
prison doctors, a hose pipe was turned on her from the window and she
was drenched and all but drowned in the icy water while workmen were
breaking down her cell door. Miss Davison, after this experience,
expressed to several of her friends the deep conviction that now, as in
days called uncivilised, the conscience of the people would awaken only
to the sacrifice of a human life. At one time in prison she tried to
kill herself by throwing herself head-long from one of the upper
galleries, but she succeeded only in sustaining cruel injuries. Ever
after that time she clung to her conviction that one great tragedy, the
deliberate throwing into the breach of a human life, would put an end to
the intolerable torture of women. And so she threw herself at the King's
horse, in full view of the King and Queen and a great multitude of their
Majesties' subjects, offering up her life as a petition to the King,
praying for the release of suffering women throughout England and the
world. No one can possibly doubt that that prayer can forever remain
unanswered, for she took it straight to the Throne of the King of all
the worlds.
The death of Miss Davison was a great shock to me and a very great grief
as well, and although I was scarcely able to leave my bed I determined
to risk everything to attend her funeral. This was not to be, however,
for as I left the house I was again arrested by detectives who lay in
waiting. Again the farce of trying to make me serve a three years'
sentence was undertaken. But now the militant women had discovered a new
and more terrible weapon with which to defy the unjust laws of England,
and this weapon--the thirst strike--I turned against my gaolers with
such effect that they were forced within three days to release me.
The hunger strike I have described as a dreadful ordeal, but it is a
mild experience compared with the thirst strike, which is from beginning
to end simple and unmitigated torture. Hunger striking reduces a
prisoner's weight very quickly, but thirst striking reduces weight so
alarmingly fast that prison doctors were at first thrown into absolute
panic of fright. Later they became somewhat hardened, but even now they
regard the thirst strike with terror. I am not sure that I can convey to
the reader the effect of days spent without a single drop of water taken
into the system. The body cannot endure loss of moisture. It cries out
in protest with every nerve. The muscles waste, the skin becomes
shrunken and flabby, the facial appearance alters horribly, all these
outward symptoms being eloquent of the acute suffering of the entire
physical being. Every natural function is, of course, suspended, and the
poisons which are unable to pass out of the body are retained and
absorbed. The body becomes cold and shivery, there is constant headache
and nausea, and sometimes there is fever. The mouth and tongue become
coated and swollen, the throat thickens and the voice sinks to a thready
whisper.
When, at the end of the third day of my first thirst strike, I was sent
home I was in a condition of jaundice from which I have never completely
recovered. So badly was I affected that the prison authorities made no
attempt to arrest me for nearly a month after my release. On July 13th I
felt strong enough once more to protest against the odious Cat and Mouse
Act, and, with Miss Annie Kenney, who was also at liberty "on medical
grounds," I went to a meeting at the London Pavillion. At the close of
the meeting, during which Miss Kenney's prison licence was auctioned off
for L12, we attempted for the first time the open escape which we have
so frequently since effected. Miss Kenney, from the platform, announced
that we should openly leave the hall, and she forthwith walked coolly
down into the audience. The police rushed in in overwhelming numbers,
and after a desperate fight, succeeded in capturing her. Other
detectives and policemen hurried to the side door of the hall to
intercept me, but I disappointed them by leaving by the front door and
escaping to a friend's house in a cab.
The police soon traced me to the house of my friend, the distinguished
scientist, Mrs. Hertha Ayrton, and the place straightway became a
besieged fortress. Day and night the house was surrounded, not only by
police, but by crowds of women sympathisers. On the Saturday following
my appearance at the Pavillion we gave the police a bit of excitement of
a kind they do not relish. A cab drove up to Mrs. Ayrton's door, and
several well-known members of the Union alighted and hurried indoors. At
once the word was circulated that a rescue was being attempted, and the
police drew resolutely around the cab. Soon a veiled woman appeared in
the doorway, surrounded by Suffragettes, who, when the veiled lady
attempted to get into the cab, resisted with all their strength the
efforts of the police to lay hands upon her. The cry went up from all