CHAPTER IV

My first act on reaching Holloway was to demand that the Governor be

sent for. When he came I told him that the Suffragettes had resolved

that they would no longer submit to being treated as ordinary

law-breakers. In the course of our trial two Cabinet Ministers had

admitted that we were political offenders, and therefore we should

henceforth refuse to be searched or to undress in the presence of the

wardresses. For myself I claimed the right, and I hoped the others would

do likewise, to speak to my friends during exercise, or whenever I came

in contact with them. The Governor, after reflection, yielded to the

first two demands, but said that he would have to consult the Home

Office before permitting us to break the rule of silence. We were

accordingly allowed to change our clothing privately, and, as a further

concession, were placed in adjoining cells. This was little advantage to

me, however, since within a few days I was removed to a hospital cell,

suffering from the illness which prison life always inflicts on me. Here

the Governor visited me with the unwelcome news that the Home Secretary

had refused to allow me the privilege of speech with my fellow

prisoners. I asked him if I might, when I was strong enough to walk,

take exercise with my friends. To this he assented, and I soon had the

joy of seeing my daughter and the other brave comrades, and walking

with them in the dismal courtyard of the prison. Single file we walked,

at a distance of three or four feet from one another, back and forth

under the stony eyes of the wardresses. The rough flags of the pavement

hurt our feet, shod in heavy, shapeless prison boots. The autumn days

were cold and cheerless, and we shivered violently under our scanty

cloaks. But of all our hardships the ceaseless silence of our lives was

worst.

At the end of the second week I decided I would no longer endure it.

That afternoon at exercise I suddenly called my daughter by name and

bade her stand still until I came up to her. Of course she stopped, and

when I reached her side we linked arms and began to talk in low tones. A

wardress ran up to us, saying: "I shall listen to everything you say." I

replied: "You are welcome to do that, but I shall insist on my right to

speak to my daughter." Another wardress had hastily left the yard, and

now she returned with a large number of wardresses. They seized me and

quickly removed me to my cell, while the other suffrage prisoners

cheered my action at the top of their voices. For their "mutiny" they

got three days' solitary confinement, and I, for mine, a much more

severe punishment. Unrepentant, I told the Governor that, in spite of

any punishment he might impose on me, I would never again submit to the

silence rule. To forbid a mother to speak to her daughter was infamous.

For this I was characterised as a "dangerous criminal" and was sent into

solitary confinement, without exercise or chapel, while a wardress was

stationed constantly at my cell door to see that I communicated with no

one.

[Illustration: MRS. PANKHURST AND MISS CHRISTABEL PANKHURST IN PRISON

DRESS]

It was two weeks before I saw any of my friends again, and meantime the

health of Mrs. Drummond had been so seriously impaired that she was

released for hospital treatment. My daughter also, I learned, was ill,

and in desperation I made application to the Board of Visiting

Magistrates to be allowed to see her. After a long conference, during

which I was made to wait outside in the corridor, the magistrates

returned a refusal, saying that I might renew my application in a month.

The answer then, they said, would depend on my conduct. A month! My girl

might be dead by that time. My anxiety sent me to bed ill again, but,

although I did not know it, relief was already on its way. I had told

the visiting magistrates that I would wait until public opinion got

within those walls, and this happened sooner than I had dared to hope.

Mrs. Drummond, as soon as she was able to appear in public, and the

other suffrage prisoners, as they were released, spread broadcast the

story of our mutiny, and of a subsequent one led by Miss Wallace Dunlop,

which sent a large number of women into solitary confinement. The

Suffragettes marched by thousands to Holloway, thronging the approaches

to the prison street. Round and round the prison they marched, singing

the Women's Marseillaise and cheering. Faintly the sound came to our

ears, infinitely lightening our burden of pain and loneliness. The

following week they came again, so we afterwards learned, but this time

the police turned them back long before they reached the confines of

the prison.

The demonstrations, together with a volley of questions asked in the

House of Commons, told at last. Orders came from the Home Office that I

was to see my daughter, and that we were to be allowed to exercise and

to talk together for one hour each day. In addition, we were to be

permitted the rare privilege of reading a daily newspaper. Then, on

December 8th, the day of Christabel's release, orders came that I, too,

should be discharged, two weeks before the expiration of my sentence.

At the welcome breakfast given us, as released prisoners, at Lincoln's

Inn Hotel, I told our members that henceforth we should all insist on

refusing to abide by ordinary prison rules. We did not propose to break

laws and then shirk punishment. We simply meant to assert our right to

be recognised as political prisoners. We reached this point after due

reflection. We first set ourselves not to complain of prison, not to say

anything about it, to avoid it, to keep away from all side issues, to

keep along the straight path of political reform, to get the vote;

because we knew that when we had won it we could reform prisons and a

great many other abuses as well. But now that we had had in the witness

box the admission of Cabinet Ministers that we are political offenders,

we should in future demand the treatment given to men political

offenders in all civilised countries. "If nations," I said, "are still

so governed that they make political offenders, then Great Britain is

going to treat her political offenders as well as political offenders

are treated by other nations. If it were the custom to treat political

offenders as ordinary offenders against the well-being of society are

treated, we should not have complained if we were treated like that; but

it is not the international custom to do it, and so, for the dignity of

the women of the country, and for the sake of the consciences of the men

of the country, and for the sake of our nation amongst the nations of

the earth, we are not going to allow the Liberal government to treat us

like ordinary law-breakers in future."

I said the same thing that night in a great meeting held in Queen's Hall

to welcome the released prisoners, and, although we all knew that our

determination involved a bitter struggle, our women endorsed it without

a moment's hesitation. Had they been able to look forward to the events

which were even then overshadowing us, could they have foreseen the new

forms of suffering and danger that lay in waiting, I am certain that

they would still have done the same thing, for our experiences had

taught us to dispense with fear. Whatever of timidity, of shrinking from

pain or hardship any of us had originally possessed, it had all

vanished. There were no terrors that we were not now ready to face.

The year 1909 marks an important point in our struggle, partly because

of this decision of ours, never again to submit to be classed with

criminals; and partly because in this year we forced the Liberal

Government to go on record, publicly, in regard to the oldest of

popular rights, the right of petition. We had long contemplated this

step, and now the time seemed ripe for taking it.

In the closing days of 1908 Mr. Asquith, speaking on the policy to be

carried out in 1909, commented on the various deputations he was obliged

at that time to receive. They called on him, he said, "from all quarters

and in all causes, on an average of something like two hours on three

days in every week." The deputations all asked for different things,

and, although all of the things could not possibly be included in the

King's speech, Mr. Asquith was inclined to agree that many of them ought

to be included. This declaration from the Prime Minister that he was

constantly receiving deputations of men, and listening favourably to

their suggestions of what policies to pursue, aroused in the

Suffragettes feelings of deep indignation. This in part they expressed

on January 25th, when the first meeting of the Cabinet Council took

place. A small deputation from the W. S. P. U. proceeded to Downing

Street to claim the right to be heard, as men were heard. For knocking

at the door of the official residence four of the women, including my

sister, Mrs. Clark, were arrested and sent to prison for one month.

A month later the seventh of our Women's Parliaments was called against

this and against the fact that no mention of women had been included in

the King's speech. Led by Mrs. Pethick Lawrence, Lady Constance Lytton

and Miss Daisy Solomon, a deputation of women endeavoured to carry the

resolution to the House of Commons. They were promptly arrested and,

next day, were sent to prison on sentences of from one to two months.

The time was rapidly approaching when the legality of these arrests

would have to be tested. In June of the year 1909 the test was made.

It will be remembered that we had endeavoured to force the authorities

to make good their threat to charge us under the obsolete Charles II

"Tumultuous Petitions Act," which prescribes severe penalties for

persons proceeding to Parliament in groups of more than twelve for the

purpose of presenting petitions. It had been stated that if we were

charged under that act our case would be given a hearing before a judge

and jury instead of a police magistrate. Since this was exactly what we

desired to have happen we had sent deputation after deputation of more

than twelve persons, but always they were tried in police courts, and

were sent to prison often for periods as long as that prescribed in the

Charles II Act. Now we determined to do something still more ambitious;

we resolved to test, not the Charles II Act, but the constitutional

right of the subject to petition the Prime Minister as the seat of

power.

The right of petition, which has existed in England since the earliest

known period, was written into the Bill of Rights which became law in

1689 on the accession of William and Mary. It was, in fact, one of the

conditions attaching to the accession of the joint monarchs. According

to the Bill of Rights, "It is the right of subjects to petition the King

and all commitments, and prosecutions for such petitionings are

illegal." The power of the King having passed almost completely into

the hands of Parliament, the Prime Minister now stands where the King's

majesty stood in former times. Clearly, then, the right of the subject

to petition the Prime Minister cannot be legally denied. Thus were we

advised, and in order to keep within the strict letter of the law, we

accepted the limitations of the right of petition laid down in the

Charles II Act, and decided that our petition should be carried to the

House of Commons by small groups of women.

Again I called together, on the evening of June 29th, a Parliament of

women. Previously I had written to Mr. Asquith stating that a deputation

of women would wait on him at the House of Commons at eight o'clock in

the evening. I wrote him further that we were not to be refused, as we

insisted upon our constitutional right to be received. To my note the

Prime Minister returned a formal note declining to receive us.

Nevertheless we continued our preparations, because we knew that the

Prime Minister would continue to decline, but that in the end he would

be forced to receive us.

An incident which occurred a week before the date of the deputation was

destined to have important consequences. Miss Wallace Dunlop went to St.

Stephen's Hall in the House of Commons, and marked with printer's ink on

the stone work of the Hall an extract from the Bill of Rights. The first

time she made the attempt she was interrupted by a policeman, but two

days later she succeeded in stamping on the ancient walls the reminder

to Parliament that women as well as men possess constitutional rights,

and that they were proposing to exercise those rights. She was arrested

and sentenced to prison for one month, in the third division. The option

of a heavy fine was given her, which of course she refused. Miss Wallace

Dunlop's prison term began on June 22d. Perhaps her deed had something

to do with the unusual interest taken in the approaching deputation, an

interest which was shown not only by the public but by many members of

Parliament. In the House of Commons a strong feeling that the women

ought this time to be received manifested itself in many questions put

to the Government. One member even asked leave to move the adjournment

of the House on a matter of urgent public importance, namely the danger

to the public peace, owing to the refusal of the Prime Minister to

receive the deputation. This was denied, however, and the Government

mendaciously disclaimed all responsibility for what action the police

might take toward the deputation. The Home Secretary, Mr. Gladstone,

when asked by Mr. Kier Hardie to give instructions that the deputation,

if orderly, should be admitted to St. Stephen's, replied: "I cannot say

what action the police ought to take in the matter." Our Women's

Parliament met at half past seven on the evening of June 29th, and the

petition to the Prime Minister was read and adopted. Then our deputation

set forth. Accompanying me as leader were two highly respectable women

of advanced years, Mrs. Saul Solomon, whose husband had been Prime

Minister at the Cape, and Miss Neligan, one of the foremost of the

pioneer educators of England. We three and five other women were

preceded by Miss Elsie Howey, who, riding fast, went on horse-back to

announce our coming to the enormous crowds that filled the streets. She,

we afterward learned, progressed as far as the approaches to the House

of Commons before being turned back by the police. As for the

deputation, it pressed on through the crowd as far as St. Margaret's

Church, Westminster, where we found a long line of police blocking the

road. We paused for a moment, gathering strength for the ordeal of

trying to push through the lines, when an unexpected thing happened. An

order was given from some one, and instantly the police lines parted,

leaving a clear space through which we walked towards the House. We were

escorted on our way by Inspector Wells, and as we passed the crowd broke

into vociferous cheering, firmly believing that we were after all to be

received. As for myself I did little speculating as to what was about to

happen. I simply led my deputation on as far as the entrance to St.

Stephen's Hall. There we encountered another strong force of police

commanded by our old acquaintance, Inspector Scantlebury, who stepped

forward and handed me a letter. I opened it and read in aloud to the

women. "The Prime Minister, for the reasons which he has already given

in a written reply to their request, regrets that he is unable to

receive the proposed deputation."

I dropped the note to the ground and said: "I stand upon my rights, as a

subject of the King, to petition the Prime Minister, and I am firmly

resolved to stand here until I am received."

[Illustration: INSPECTOR WELLS CONDUCTING MRS. PANKHURST TO THE HOUSE OF

COMMONS

_June, 1908_]

Inspector Scantlebury turned away and walked rapidly towards the door

of the Strangers' Entrance. I turned to Inspector Jarvis, who remained,

to several members of Parliament and some newspaper men who stood

looking on, and begged them to take my message to the Prime Minister,

but no one responded, and the Inspector, seizing my arm, began to push

me away. I now knew that the deputation would not be received and that

the old miserable business of refusing to leave, of being forced

backward, and returning again and again until arrested, would have to be

re-enacted. I had to take into account that I was accompanied by two

fragile old ladies, who, brave as they were to be there at all, could

not possibly endure what I knew must follow. I quickly decided that I

should have to force an immediate arrest, so I committed an act of

technical assault on the person of Inspector Jarvis, striking him very

lightly on the cheek. He said instantly, "I understand why you did

that," and I supposed then that we would instantly be taken. But the

other police apparently did not grasp the situation, for they began

pushing and jostling our women. I said to the inspector: "Shall I have

to do it again?" and he said "Yes." So I struck him lightly a second

time, and then he ordered the police to make the arrests.

The matter did not end with the arrest of our deputation of eight women.

In recurring deputations of twelve the Suffragettes again and again

pressed forward in vain endeavour to reach the House of Commons. In

spite of the fact that the crowds were friendly and did everything they

could to aid the women, their deputations were broken up by the police

and many of the women arrested. By nine o'clock Parliament Square was

empty, an enormous force of mounted police having beaten the people back

into Victoria Street and across Westminster Bridge. For a short time all

looked tranquil, but soon little groups of women, seven or eight at a

time, kept appearing mysteriously and making spirited dashes toward the

House. This extraordinary procedure greatly exasperated the police, who

could not unravel the mystery of where the women came from. As a matter

of bygone history the explanation is that the W. S. P. U. had hired

thirty offices in the neighborhood, in the shelter of which the women

waited until it was time for them to sally forth. It was a striking

demonstration of the ingenuity of women opposing the physical force of

men, but it served still another purpose. It diverted the attention of

the police from another demonstration which was going on. Other

Suffragettes had gone to the official residence of the First Lord of the

Admiralty, to the Home Office, the Treasury and Privy Council Offices,

and had registered their contempt for the Government's refusal to

receive the deputation by the time-honoured method of breaking a window

in each place.

One hundred and eight women were arrested that night, but instead of

submitting to arrests and trial, the Women's Social and Political Union

announced that they were prepared to prove that the Government and not

the women had broken the law in refusing to receive the petition. My

case, coupled with that of the Hon. Mrs. Haverfield, was selected as a

test case for all the others, and Lord Robert Cecil was retained for the

defence. Mr. Muskett, who conducted the case for the prosecution, tried

to prove that our women had not gone to the House of Commons to present

a petition, but this was easily demonstrated to be an unwarranted claim.

The speeches of the leader, the official articles published in our

newspaper, _Votes for Women_, and the letters sent to Mr. Asquith, not

to speak of the indisputable facts that every member of the deputation

carried a copy of the petition in her hand, furnished evidence enough of

the nature of our errand. The whole case of the subject's right of

petition was then brought forward for discussion. Mr. Muskett spoke

first, then our council, Mr. Henle, then Lord Robert Cecil. Last of all

I spoke, describing the events of June 29th. I told the magistrate that

should he decide that we and not the Government had been guilty of an

infraction of the law, we should refuse to be bound over, but should all

choose to go to prison. In that case we should not submit to being

treated like criminals. "There are one hundred and eight of us here

to-day," I said, pointing to the benches where my fellow-prisoners sat,

"and just as we have thought it is our duty to defy the police in the

street, so when we get into prison, as we are political prisoners, we

shall do our best to bring back into the twentieth century the treatment

of political prisoners which was thought right in the case of William

Cobbett, and other political offenders of his time."

The magistrate, Sir Albert de Rutzen, an elderly, amiable man, rather

bewildered by this unprecedented situation, then gave his decision. He

agreed with Mr. Henle and Lord Robert Cecil that the right of petition

was clearly guaranteed to every subject, but he thought that when the

women were refused permission to enter the House of Commons, and when

Mr. Asquith had said that he would not receive them, the women acted

wrongly to persist in their demands. He should, therefore, fine them

five pounds each, or sentence them to prison for one month in the second

division. The sentence would be suspended for the present until learned

counsel could obtain a decision from a higher court on the legal point

of the right of petition.

I then put in a claim for all the prisoners, and asked that all their

cases might be held over until the test case was decided, and this was

agreed to, except in regard to fourteen women charged with

window-breaking. They were tried separately and sent to prison on

sentences varying from six weeks to two months. Of them later.

The appeal against Sir Albert de Rutzen's decision was tried in a

Divisional Court early in December of that year. Lord Robert Cecil again

appeared for the defence, and in a masterly piece of argumentation,

contended that in England there was and always had been the right of

petition, and that the right had always been considered a necessary

condition of a free country and a civilised Government. The right of

petition, he pointed out, had three characteristics: In the first place,

it was the right to petition the actual repositories of power; in the

second place, it was the right to petition in person; and in the third

place, the right must be exercised reasonably. A long list of historical

precedents were offered in support of the right to petition in person,

but Lord Robert argued that even if these did not exist, the right was

admitted in the Charles II "Tumultuous Petitions Act," which provides

"That no person or persons whatsoever shall repair to His Majesty or

both or either Houses of Parliament upon pretence of presenting or

delivering any petition, complaint, remonstrance, or declaration or

other address, accompanied with excessive number of people ..." etc. The

Bill of Rights had specially confirmed the right of petition in so far

as the King personally was concerned. "The women," pursued Lord Robert,

"had gone to Parliament Square on June 29th in the exercise of a plain

constitutional right, and that in going there with a petition they had

acted according to the only constitutional method they possessed, being

voteless, for the redress of their grievances."

If then it were true, as contended, the subject not only possessed the

right to petition, but to petition in person, the only point to be

considered was whether the right had been exercised reasonably. If

persons desired to interview the Prime Minister, it was surely

reasonable to go to the House of Commons, and to present themselves at

the Strangers' Entrance. Mrs. Pankhurst, Mrs. Haverfield and the others

had, as the evidence showed, proceeded along the public highway and had

been escorted to the door of the House of Commons by an officer of the

police, and could not therefore, up to that point, have been acting in

an unlawful manner. The police had kept clear a large open space

opposite the House of Commons, the crowd being kept at a certain

distance away. Within the open space there were only persons having

business in the House of Commons, members of the police force and the

eight women who formed the deputation. It could not possibly be

contended that these eight women had caused an obstruction. It was true

that a police officer told them that the Prime Minister was not in the

House of Commons, but when one desired an interview with a Member of

Parliament one did not make his request of a casual policeman in the

street. Moreover, the police did not possess any authority to stop

anyone from going into the House of Commons.

The letter given the women, in which the Prime Minister said that he

could not or would not see them, had been cited. Now, had the Prime

Minister, in his letter, said that he could not or would not see the

women at that time, that the time was not convenient; but that he would

at some future time, at a more convenient time, receive them, that would

have been a sufficient answer. The women would not have been justified

in refusing to accept such an answer, because the right to petition must

be exercised reasonably. But the letter contained an unqualified

refusal, and that, if we allow the right of petition to exist, was no

answer at all. Last of all Lord Robert argued that if there is a right

to petition a Member of Parliament, then it must be incumbent on the

part of a Member of Parliament to receive the petition, and that no one

has a right to interfere with the petitioner. If the eight women were

legally justified in presenting their petition, then they were also

justified in refusing to obey the orders of the police to leave the

place.

In an address full of bias, and revealing plainly that he had no

accurate knowledge of any of the events that had led up to the case in

hand, the Lord Chief Justice delivered judgment. He said that he

entirely agreed with Lord Robert Cecil as to the right to present a

petition to the Prime Minister, either as Prime Minister or as a Member

of Parliament; and he agreed also that petitions to the King should be

presented to the Prime Minister. But the claim of the women, he said,

was not merely to present a petition, but to be received in a

deputation. He did not think it likely that Mr. Asquith would have

refused to receive a petition from the women, but his refusal to receive

the deputation was not unnatural, "in consequence of what we know did

happen on previous occasions."[1]

Referring to the Metropolitan Police Act of 1839, which provides that it

shall be lawful for the Commissioner of Police to make regulations and

to give instructions to the constable for keeping order, and for

preventing any obstruction of thoroughfares in the immediate

neighbourhood of the House of Commons, and the Sessional Order

empowering the police to keep clear the approaches to the House of

Commons, the Lord Chief Justice decided that I and the other women were

guilty of an infraction of the law when we insisted on a right to enter

the House of Commons. The Lord Chief Justice therefore ruled that our

conviction in the lower court had been proper, and our appeal was

dismissed with costs.

Thus was destroyed in England the ancient constitutional right of

petition, secured to the people by the Bill of Rights, and cherished by

uncounted generations of Englishmen. I say the right was destroyed, for

of how much value is a petition which cannot be presented in person? The

decision of the high court was appalling to the members of the

W. S. P. U., as it closed the last approach, by constitutional means, to

our enfranchisement. Far from discouraging or disheartening us, it

simply spurred us on to new and more aggressive forms of militancy.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Mr. Asquith had never, since becoming Prime Minister, received a

deputation of women, nor had he ever received a deputation of the W. S.

P. U. So it was absurd of the Lord Chief Justice to speak of "what did

happen, on previous occasions."