His weekly paper had enormous power.  To the workers he had begun to preach class consciousness, and the doctrine of being true to their class.  From class consciousness to class hatred was but a step.  Ostensibly he stood for a vast equality, world wide and beneficent; actually he preached an inflammable doctrine of an earth where the last shall be first.  He advocated the overthrow of all centralized government, and considered the wages system robbery.  Under it workers were slaves, and employers of workers slave-masters.  It was with such phrases that he had for months been consistently inflaming the inflammable foreign element in and around the city, and not the foreign element only.  A certain percentage of American-born workmen fell before the hammer-like blows of his words, repeated and driven home each week.

He had no scruples, and preached none.  He preached only revolt, and in that revolt defiance of all existing laws.  He had no religion; Christ to him was a pitiful weakling, a historic victim of the same system that still crucified those who fought the established order.  In his new world there would be no churches and no laws.  He advocated bloodshed, arson, sabotage of all sorts, as a means to an end.

Fanatic he was, but practical fanatic, and the more dangerous for that.  He had viewed the failure of the plan to capture a city in the northwest in February with irritation, but without discouragement.  They had acted prematurely there and without sufficient secrecy.  That was all.  The plan in itself was right.  And he had watched the scant reports of the uprising in the newspapers with amusement and scorn.  The very steps taken to suppress the facts showed the uneasiness of the authorities and left the nation with a feeling of false security.

The people were always like that.  Twice in a hundred years France had experienced the commune.  Each time she had been warned, and each time she had waited too long.  Ever so often in the life of every nation came these periodic outbursts of discontent, economic in their origin, and ran their course like diseases, contagious, violent and deadly.

The commune always followed long and costly wars.  The people would dance, but they revolted at paying the piper.

The plan in Seattle had been well enough conceived; the city light plant was to have been taken over during the early evening of February 6, and at ten o’clock that night the city was to have gone dark.  But the reign of terrorization that was to follow had revolted Jim Osborne, one of their leaders, and from his hotel bedroom he had notified the authorities.  Word had gone out to “get” Osborne.

If it had not been for Osborne, and the conservative element behind him, a flame would have been kindled at Seattle that would have burnt across the nation.