“And I am in Wygant's cotton mill,” said another. “And I'm not young, and when I'm turned out, it will not be easy for me. But I will help.” “And I, too,” put in Lippman, the cigar store keeper; “my wife can tend the shop!” There was a general laugh at this. And then Friedrich Bremer sprang up. “My father has been warned!” he cried. “But I will speak also!” “And I!” exclaimed Samuel. “I think I am going to be a Socialist. Will you let me help?” “No one's help will be refused in a crisis like this,” said Everley. “We must stand by our guns, for if they can crush us this time, it may be years before we can be heard.” And then, somewhere in the hall, a voice began to sing. Others took it up, until the walls of the building shook with a mighty chant. “What is it?” whispered Samuel to Friedrich. “It is called 'The Red Flag,'” replied Friedrich. And Samuel sat spellbound, listening while they sang: Hark to the thunder, hark to the tramp--a myriad army comes! An army sprung from a hundred lands, speaking a hundred tongues! And overhead a portent new, a blood-red banner see! The nations gather in affright to ask what the sign may be. Banner of crimson, banner bright, banner flaunting the sky! What is the word that ye bring to men, the hope that ye hold on high? We come from the fields, we come from the forge, we come from the land and sea-- We come in the right of our new-born might to set the people free! Masters, we left you a world to make, the planning was yours to do-- We were the toilers, humble and sad, we gave our faith to you. And now with a dread in our hearts we stand and gaze at the work of the years-- We have builded a temple with pillars white, ye have stained it with blood and tears! For our little ones with their teeming hopes ye have roofed the sweatshop den, And our daughters fair ye have prisoned in the reeking brothel's pen! And so for the sign of our murdered hopes our blood-red banner see-- We come in the right of our new-born might to set the people free! Tremble, oh masters--tremble all who live by others' toil-- We come your dungeon walls to raze, your citadel to spoil! Yours is the power of club and jail, yours is the axe and fire-- But ours is the hope of human hearts and the strength of the soul's desire! Ours is the blazing banner, sweeping the sky along! Ours the host, the marching host--hark to our battle song! Chanting of brotherhood, chanting of freedom, dreaming the world to be-- We come in the right of our new-born might to set the people free! CHAPTER XXXI