I firmly believe that, no matter how we behaved, Whittaker had determined to attack us as part of the government plan to suppress picketing.... Its (the attack’s) perfectly unexpected ferocity stunned us. I saw two men seize Mrs. Lewis, lift her from her feet, and catapult her through the doorway. I saw three men take Miss Burns, twisting her arms behind her, and then two other men grasp her shoulders. There were six to ten guards in the room, and many others collected on the porch—forty to fifty in all. These all rushed in with Whittaker when he first entered. Instantly the room was in havoc. The guards brought from the male prison fell upon us. I saw Miss Lincoln, a slight young girl, thrown to the floor. Mrs. Nolan, a delicate old lady of seventy-three, was mastered by two men. The furniture was overturned, and the room was a scene of havoc. Whittaker in the center of the room directed the whole attack, inciting the guards to every brutality. The whole group of women were thrown, dragged, and hurled out of the office, down the steps, and across the road and field to the Administration Building, where another group of bullies was waiting for us. The assistant superintendent, Captain Reams, was one of these, armed with a stick which he flourished at us, as did another man. The women were thrown roughly down on benches. In the meantime, Lucy Burns, fighting desperately all the way, had been deposited in a cell opposite. As always, when she was arrested, she took charge of the situation. In her clear, beautiful voice, she began calling the roll one name after another, to see if all were there and alive. The guards called, “Shut up!” but she paid no more attention to them than if they had not spoken. “Where is Mrs. Lewis?” she demanded. Mrs. Cosu answered: “They have just thrown her in here.” The guard yelled to them that if they spoke again, he would put them in strait-jackets. Mrs. Nolan and Mrs. Cosu were so terrified that they kept still for a while. But Lucy Burns went right on calling the roll. When she refused—at the guard’s orders—to stop this, they handcuffed her wrists and fastened the handcuffs above her head to the cell door. They threatened her with a buckle gag. Little Julia Emory could do nothing to help, of course, but she put her hands above her head in exactly the same position and stood before her door until they released Lucy Burns. Lucy Burns wore her handcuffs all night. Mrs. Henry Butterworth, for some capricious reason, was taken away from the rest, and placed in a part of the jail where there were only men. They told her that she was alone with the men, and that they could do what they pleased with her. Her Night of Terror was doubly terrifying—with this menace hanging over her. For a description of the rest of that night, and of succeeding days, I quote the account of Paula Jakobi: