I begged them to dress neither in gold, silver
or costly array, and spoke of the sin of wearing the corpses of dead birds
and plumage of birds, and closed by saying: "These may be my dying
words." At the close Sister Shell, a W. C. T. U. said to me: "What
do you mean by 'my dying words?' for you never looked better in your
life." I said: "You will know later." I never told anyone then of my
intention of smashing saloons in Wichita.
I took a valise with me, and in that valise I put a rod of iron, perhaps
a foot long, and as large around as my thumb. I also took a cane
with me. I found out by smashing in Kiowa that I could use a rock but
once, so I took the cane with me. I got down to Wichita about seven
o'clock in the evening, that day, and went to the hotel near the Santa Fe
depot and left my valise. I went up town to select the place I would begin
at first. I went into about fourteen places, where men were drinking
at bars, the same as they do in licensed places. The police standing with
the others. This outrage of law and decency was in violation of the oaths
taken by every city officer, including mayor and councilmen, and they were
as much bound to destroy these joints as they would be to arrest a murderer,
or break up a den of thieves, but many of these so-called officers
encouraged the violation of the law and patronized these places. I have
often explained that this was the scheme of politicians and brewers to
make prohibition a failure, by encouraging in every way the violation of
the constitution.
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