Twice it
escaped our grasp. We could see a crowd of strikers watching us
on the other side. The deputies who held our end of the bridge saw
them too. We were strangers; came from no one knew where. They
must have concluded that we were in league with the enemy and
signalling to him. When for the third time our big white flag was
wafted toward the shops, a committee of citizens came up from the
street and let us know in as few words as possible that any other
place would be healthier for us just then than Elmira.
In vain we protested that we were noncombatants and engaged in
peaceful industry. The committee pointed to the flag and to the
crowd at the farther end of the bridge. They eyed our preparations
for making gas askance, and politely but firmly insisted that
the next train out of town was especially suited for our purpose.
There was nothing to be done. It was another case of circumstantial
evidence, and in the absence of backing of any kind we did the only
thing we could; packed up and went. It was not a time for trifling.
The slaughter of a number of militiamen in a Pennsylvania round-house
that was set on fire by the strikers was fresh in the public mind.
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