Authors: Sandra Robbins
“Honey, why aren't you home where you belong? You don't have to vote to be able to clean out your kitchen sink.”
His friends roared at the insult, and he swaggered back into the street. They patted him on the back and laughed at his bravery.
Sarah gritted her teeth and stared straight ahead. She longed to charge forward and bring her sign down on the head of the young man, but she knew the foolishness of such an act.
She blinked from the perspiration that rolled into her eyes and grasped her sign tighter. She thought of the other women who had been arrested in the past few weeks. How had her group escaped the wrath of the police? The erratic arrests and sentences of the demonstrators followed no logic. Some women were given two to three days in jail while others had charges dismissed. Many of those arrested were still detained at the Washington jail awaiting their fate, but some had even been sentenced to short stays at Occoquan Workhouse.
Sarah looked at the other five women who picketed with her today. Henrietta stood next to her and held a sign that proclaimed in bold letters
Kaiser Wilson
. Underneath the derisive title, a message that referred to the president's hypocrisy read:
Have you forgotten your sympathy with the poor Germans because they were not self-governed? 20,000,000 American women are not self-governed. Take the beam out of your own eye
. She wondered if the president had seen that one.
A hot wind blew across the sidewalk, and Sarah sensed a change in her surroundings. The taunts grew louder as the size of the crowd increased, and her heart pumped at the warning flitting through her mind. Within minutes a mob had filled the wide street, and angry voices shouted at them from all sides. From her spot on the sidewalk, she couldn't see the back of the group.
Fear rose in her throat at the change she sensed taking place in the gathering. She reached up to touch her mother's locket and smiled at the gesture, for it did not hang there. The pendant, from which she drew strength, had been left at Cameron House. Roger's attack had damaged the catch on the chain, and Dora was to take it to the jeweler for repair. She was supposed to pick it up later today.
She focused her attention back on the angry crowd that faced her. The young man at the front, encouraged by his friends, continued to strut about and shout. “They're all mentally deranged. Are we going to put up with women telling men what to do?”
“No!” An angry chorus rang out from the crowd.
Sarah glanced at her friends and saw fright in their eyes at the restless tension rumbling through the atmosphere. She pulled herself to her full height and pushed her sign upward as a signal for them to do the same.
Without warning, the young man ran forward again, grabbed Sarah's sign, and pushed her backward. In one swift movement he cracked it across his knee, splintering the handle, and threw it to the ground.
Sarah staggered to her feet in time to see five other men grab her friends and pin their arms to their sides. Henrietta fought against the man holding her, and he threw her to the ground.
“Stop this! We're not hurting anyone!” She cast a panicked look around for a policeman and saw two standing with their arms crossed observing the altercation. She screamed at them. “Please, do something!”
At the sound of her voice, the policemen stepped forward, grabbed two of the men, and pushed them toward the curb. Then they motioned the men to release the women. “That's enough. You men get on back out to the street.”
Sarah bent to help Henrietta. Before she could offer any aid, one of the officers spun her around and pushed her face against the fence. Strong hands gripped her arms and pulled them behind her. Cold metal encircled her wrists, and Sarah heard the snap of locking handcuffs. She glanced around to see her friends with their arms behind them also. With a sick feeling she realized they had just been arrested.
Fear rose in her throat, and she struggled to remember the words she'd memorized to use in this situation.
Stay calm. Don't resist arrest. Nothing is going to happen to you
.
The crowd cheered as the officers herded them toward the street where a police wagon, sat. An officer opened the door and motioned them to climb inside. “Ladies, you are under arrest for obstructing sidewalk traffic. Just do as you're told, and no one'll get hurt.”
With her head held high, Sarah followed the other demonstrators to the wagon, where the man who had attacked her stood at the side of the vehicle. He stepped closer when she approached and leaned over for one last taunt. “You're off to jail.” He leaned closer and whispered in a loud voice. “I hear they have rats in the cells.”
Sarah glared at him, lifted her foot, and kicked him in the shin with all her strength. The man bent over in pain, and Sarah scrambled aboard before he could recover. Henrietta huddled on the bench, and Sarah took a seat next to her. The girl shook with sobs, and Sarah's heart sank at her friend's distress.
She scooted closer to her in an effort to comfort her. “Henrietta, it'll be all right. We may have to stay two or three days, but we'll be back soon.”
Henrietta raised a tear-stained face to stare at Sarah. “Do you really think so?”
Sarah swallowed her own fear and summoned some confidence before she replied. “I'll wager we'll be back at headquarters within three days.”
As the wagon rolled down the street, Sarah hoped her prediction proved true. Would they be fortunate enough to have the charges dropped as some had been, or would they have to stay in jail a few days? Whatever happened, her course was set, and she had to follow it.
Sarah jerked into a sitting position in her bed and opened her eyes. The unfamiliar surroundings puzzled her. Where was she? One glance around the small room and the cell bars across one side of it answered her question. Her shoulders slumped and a shiver rippled through her body. Her prediction of three days had lengthened to seven in the Washington jail, but they were scheduled for police court tomorrow.
She'd slept little in the last week. She needed some rest before the court ordeal, but she doubted that would be possible. She lay back down and turned to face the wall. Even in this position, the light that burned in the hallway all night lit the wall next to her bed. There was no way to escape its probing rays. She covered her head with her thin pillow and wondered what tomorrow would bring.
Eight hours later when she and her friends were ushered into the courtroom, she wished she had been able to sleep the night before. Her eyelids drooped and her legs wobbled as she walked to the bench where they would sit. As she bent her knees, a dizziness swept over her, and she pressed her hand to the seat to balance herself.
After a few seconds the dizziness eased, and Sarah glanced over her shoulder. A ray of hope blossomed as she stared into the faces of Alice and Marian seated in the courtroom. They waved and smiled in encouragement, and Sarah nodded in their direction before she turned back to face the front of the room.
She'd barely had time to get settled, when the door to the judge's chambers opened, and a man in a black robe appeared.
“All rise.”
A hush settled on the courtroom as the judge entered.
Sarah and her friends, dressed in the same clothes they wore seven days ago, rose from their bench and waited until the judge sat down. The bailiff paused before addressing the room again. “Police court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Mullowny presiding. Please be seated.”
Sarah sank back to her seat. She heard a soft sob and glanced at Henrietta, who sat next to her. She reached for Henrietta's hand and squeezed. Henrietta pressed her hand in return but didn't take her eyes off the judge, whose penetrating gaze swept across the prisoners.
The judge uttered a disgusted grunt before he turned his attention to papers lying in front of him. He adjusted his glasses and flipped through the pages before he looked up at the packed courtroom.
“Today we'll hear charges against Henrietta Morris, Sarah Whittaker, Ernestine Stevens, Rose Wainscott, Laura Barnes, and Helen Mitchell. The accused are being brought before this court for obstructing sidewalk traffic at the White House.” He peered over the top of his glasses. “Is Chief of Police Major Pullman here?”
A tall man dressed in a police uniform stood. The decorations on his jacket identified him as the chief of police. “Yes, sir. I'm here.”
The judge stared at him. “Please explain the charges against these women.”
The chief straightened his back and pulled his shoulders back. “Your Honor, after repeated warnings, the militant demonstrators of the National Woman's Party have blocked the sidewalk traffic at the White House each day. The police have been patient with these people, but they return to stir up more trouble. They incite bystanders with their slogans and demonstrations, and their presence on the sidewalk is a hindrance to those citizens wishing to walk there. The police have exhausted their options with dealing with this nuisance and ask for help from this court with this problem.”
The judge turned his attention back to the women and leaned forward as he spoke. “I've seen your fellow violators of the law in here for weeks. Your display of unpatriotic behavior begins to try my patience.”
Sarah wanted to protest, but Chief Pullman's menacing stance struck terror in her heart. With his hands behind his back, he shot a sinister look at the women. “Your Honor, the short sentences these women have received haven't deterred them. If it pleases the court, I would suggest lengthening the sentences of convicted demonstrators in hopes of discouraging their supporters.”
The judge shuffled the papers before him and stacked them before he looked up at the women. “I agree with Chief Pullman. With America at war and our young men fighting in Europe, I find your total disregard of support for the president and your unpatriotic actions reprehensible. Since you violate the law day after day on the streets of Washington, D.C., I feel a harsher sentence is in order. Therefore, I sentence each of you to sixty days in the Occoquan Workhouse in Fairfax, Virginia.”
Having spoken, he banged his gavel, stood, and exited the room. The bailiff called out to the stunned crowd in the courtroom. “All rise. Court is adjourned.”
Henrietta wailed and threw her hands over her face. Sarah placed her arm around her shoulders to comfort her and looked over her shoulder at Alice and Marian. Their stunned faces registered shock.
Before she could speak, a guard stepped in front of her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to her feet. As he pushed her toward the side door, she called out to Alice and Marian. “Don't worry about us. We'll be all right, but please take care of Dora for me.”
She saw Marian nod before the guard shoved her through the door. Outside, a police wagon sat next to the building, and the guards hustled them toward it. Two women in front of her climbed inside, but Sarah stopped and faced one of the guards. “Are we on our way to Occoquan now?”
The man grabbed her arm and attempted to push her aboard. “Get in.”
Sarah twisted away from his grip and planted her feet in a wide stance. “Tell us where you're taking us. I demand to know.”
The officer raised the nightstick in his hand and stepped closer to her. “You're a prisoner, and I don't have to tell you anything. Now get inside before I pick you up and throw you in.”
Sarah raised her trembling chin in defiance and jumped into the back of the wagon next to Henrietta. Muffled sobs from the other women surrounded her. Her heart pounded like a drum, but she had to calm the other women. She took a deep breath and sat up straight.
“Ladies, do you realize we have an opportunity to make a bold statement about our commitment? We're going to jail for a cause we believe in passionately. Let's make a pact that we won't let them get the best of us.”
A wail erupted from Henrietta. “But what do you think they'll do to us?”
Sarah put her arm around Henrietta's shoulders and drew her close. “They won't hurt us. Surely the president wouldn't let that happen to women who are political prisoners. And that's what we are. Keep saying it to yourself until you believe it. We are political prisoners, and we're fighting to become citizens of this country. We knew it wouldn't be easy, but let's make a pact that we won't give up no matter what they do to us.”
The women wiped tears from their eyes, and Henrietta managed a small grin. Sarah threw her head back and laughed. The sobs stopped, but Sarah knew that uncertainty of the unknown frightened all of them, including herself. She twisted in her seat, threw back her head, and yelled, “Occoquan, get ready for us. Here we come.”
The women giggled then, and Sarah laughed all the harder. She hoped she'd convinced them of her courage. Now she had to keep telling herself not to give up. So far no one had spent sixty days at the workhouse, but there was always a first time.
The officers climbed in the front of the police wagon and started the motor. Sarah, who knew little about the city, had no idea how far they would travel before reaching their destination.
The prisoners faced each other on benches bolted to the sides of the windowless vehicle and swayed with the movement as they bumped over the streets of Washington.
After a period of perhaps an hour, the crunch of tires on gravel announced their arrival. The back doors opened, flooding the dim interior of the wagon with sunlight. Sarah blinked and shrank from the blinding light, but the bang of the officer's billy club on the side of the door demanded they exit.
Sarah climbed down and surveyed her surroundings. Rolling farmland spread in every direction, and an orchard dotted the landscape in the distance. The similarity of the land to Richland Creek struck her, but her present circumstances didn't resemble that long-ago life.
The guard nudged Sarah with his nightstick. “Welcome to your new home. Move on inside.”
Her legs cramped from the ride, and she shuffled toward the large frame building before her. This didn't look like a prison. She imagined all prisons had high walls and fences, but this rambling structure didn't. It stood alone beside the road surrounded with fields.
Their skirts rustled as they swept across the walkway leading to the door. They halted at the entrance, and the guard banged three times. “Delivering prisoners. Open up.”
The door opened, and Sarah stepped inside. The others followed her and clustered close in a large receiving area. The door clanged shut behind her, and the reality of their situation struck Sarah. They were now shut off from the outside world and at the mercy of people who considered them criminals.
A door to the side of the room opened, and a man and woman entered. They stopped in front of the prisoners and studied each one. The gaze of the woman frightened Sarah, and the stern expression of the man caused her knees to tremble.
The man stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. His sinister eyes and mocking smile warned Sarah of impending evil. He scrutinized each one carefully before speaking. “Let me introduce myself. I am the warden here. You have just entered my world. I make the laws, and you obey them. I'm the boss, and you'll do what I say or suffer the consequences. Do you understand?”
Sarah's eyes widened, and he glared at her. “Don't look me in the face, prisoner. Did you hear my question?”
Sarah dropped her gaze, and the women nodded.
His face flushed. “Prisoners, I asked you a question. I expect an answer. Do you understand?”
Terror seized Sarah. “Yes.”
His hands fell to his sides, and his fingers curled into a fist. He stepped closer to her. “You will address me by saying âyes, sir' when you answer. Do that now.”
Sarah's stomach churned, and she fought to keep from becoming sick. She managed to respond with the others. “Yes, sir.”
“That's better. This is Matron Herndon. She'll be in charge of you during your sentence. Do what she says, or you'll deal with me.”
He turned and strode from the room. Sarah glanced up and fixed her stare on the woman who stood in his place. Her rumpled uniform fit loosely on her thin frame, and her hair dangled from the tight bun behind her head. The grim line of her clenched lips and the menacing stare directed toward them caused Sarah to cringe.
She motioned the women to stand beside each other in a line. When they repositioned themselves, she walked slowly in front of them, studying the faces of each prisoner. When she reached the end, she jerked her head in the direction of the doors.
The male guards who had brought them in exited, leaving them with the matron and several uniformed women whom Sarah supposed to be other prison employees. She glanced back at Matron Herndon and saw she held a nightstick in her hand.
Sarah jumped at the sound of the woman's voice. “You're in my care now. You will shower and be given a uniform before you enter the prison population. Take off all your clothes and drop them where you stand.”
Henrietta sobbed and clutched at Sarah's arm. The others clustered closer together. Sarah looked toward the matron. “Please, Matron Herndon, these women are not accustomed to undressing in front of anyone. Would you please allow each of us to undress after we enter the shower?”
The matron opened her mouth to speak but then walked behind the women toward Sarah instead. Sarah dared not turn her head, but she knew when the woman stopped behind her. She heard the swish of the nightstick right before an agonizing blow struck the back of her legs. She toppled forward and tumbled to the floor. In pain she looked up at the fierce expression on the matron's face.
She bent toward Sarah with the stick raised above her head. “Who do you think you are? You don't tell me what to do. Now get up off the floor, drop your clothes, and walk to that shower.”
Grimacing from the pain in her legs, Sarah pulled herself to her feet and began to unbutton her dress. One after another, her garments hit the floor until she stood naked in front of everyone. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the other women had their eyes averted, but the matron chuckled.
“Now that wasn't so hard, was it?” One of the attendants stepped forward and handed Sarah a bar of soap. The matron motioned toward the door leading to the shower. “Now get in there and wash.”
Sarah looked at the half used bar of soap in her hand. She wondered who last used it but knew better than to ask that question. With head held high, she walked across the floor and into the shower.
As she stepped back into the room afterward, she averted her gaze at the sight of the women standing naked together. Humiliation burned in their red faces that were wet with tears. The matron motioned her toward a table stacked with clothing. “Pick up your underwear off the floor, and come get your workhouse uniform here.”
Sarah walked to the table and looked at the sack dresses lying there. Dirt smudged the fronts of all of them, and the smell of perspiration assaulted her nostrils. Her stomach roiled, and nausea rose in her throat.
“These clothes not good enough for a fancy lady like you? Well, that's all you'll get here.” The matron, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face, stood next to the table.
Sarah struggled to control the sick taste that now poured into her mouth. She did not want to throw up on the floor at the matron's feet. She concentrated on getting dressed and pulled on her underwear. Then she picked up one of the dresses and slipped it over her head. The rough material enveloped her figure and drooped from the shoulders. Matron Herndon laughed and pushed her back to the center of the room.