Living My Life - Emma Goldman [175]
I knew that our friends were concerned only for our safety, but I could not agree with them. I did not feel about San Diego as Ben did; to me it was but one of the many towns in the United States where free speech had been gagged and its defenders maltreated. To such places I always kept returning until the right of free speech was again established there. That was one of the motives for my wanting to go back to San Diego, but it was by no means the strongest motive. I was certain that Ben would not be freed from the hold of that city unless he returned to the scene of the May outrage. My love for him had grown more intense with the years. I could not permit him to go to San Diego alone. I therefore informed my comrades that I would go with Ben, no matter what might be awaiting us there. [ ... ]
An active worker in our ranks volunteered to precede us to San Diego, secure a hall, and advertise my lecture, which was again to be on An Enemy of the People. Before long he notified us that all was well and promising.
After our last meeting in Los Angeles we were taken by our friends Dr. and Mrs. Percival T. Gerson to the railroad station. On the way Ben’s excitement reached such a pitch that the doctor suggested a sanatorium instead of San Diego. But Ben insisted that nothing would cure him except to go back. In the train he became deathly pale, and large drops of perspiration poured over his face. His body shook with nervousness and fear. All night he tossed about sleeplessly in his berth. [ ... ]
It was early dawn, and only a few passengers got off the train. The platform was deserted as we made our way towards the exit. But before we had proceeded far, five men suddenly confronted us. Four of them exposed detective badges and informed us that we were under arrest. I demanded the reason for our detention, but they gruffly ordered us to come with them.
San Diego was asleep as we walked to the police station. Something in the appearance of the man accompanying the officers seemed familiar to me. I strove to remember where I had seen him before. Then it dawned on me that it was he who had come to my room in the U. S. Grant Hotel to tell me that I was wanted by the authorities. I recognized him as the reporter who had caused our former difficulties there. He was a leader of the Vigilantes!
Ben and I were locked up. There was nothing to be done but await developments. I again took up my book. Weary, I put my head on the little cell table and dozed off.
“You must have been very tired to sleep like that,” the matron said as she woke me. “Didn’t you hear the racket?” She looked fixedly at me. “Better have some coffee,” she added, not unkindly. “You may need your strength before the day is over.”
Noises and yelling came from the street. “The Vigilantes,” the matron said in a low voice. There were loud cries outside and I could hear voices calling: “Reitman! We want Reitman!” Then came the tooting of automobile horns and the shriek of the riot signal. And again cries of “Reitman!” My heart sank.
The riot call boomed and howled. The noises beat like tomtoms on my brain. Why had I ever let Ben come, I thought; it was madness, madness! They could not forgive him for returning. They wanted his life!
In a frenzy I rapped on my cell door. The matron arrived and with her the Chief of Police and several detectives.
“I want to see Dr. Reitman!” I demanded.
“That’s what we’ve come for,” the Chief replied. “He wants you to consent to being taken out of town, and your other comrade too.”
“What other comrade?”
“The chap who arranged your meeting. He’s in the jail, and lucky for him he is.”
“You’re playing the benefactor again,” I retorted; “but you won’t dupe me this time. Take those two out of town. I will not go under your protection.”
“All right,” he growled. “Come and talk to Reitman yourself.”