An Insult from the Commander-in-Chief:

"The fact can not be disregarded nor explained away that for some reason or other the life of the soldier as at present constituted is not one to attract the best and most de= sirable class of enlisted men.

"The [military] service should be made so attractive that it would not be difficult to obtain intelligent and desirable men and to hold them.”—William H. Taft, Secretary of War (later President and Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy): Annual Report of Secretary of War, 1907, page 14. Mr. Taft repeated this insult in a public speech. (See New York Times, April 26, 1908.)

In Section 28, page 191 of this book you will find the Department of War urging milk, molasses and syrup as a sort of fly-bait inducement for use in snaring intelligent and desirable men into the Army.

In the Report of the Secretary of War, 1907, page 79, is the following from the General Staff:

"The bulk of recruits come and must always come from the agricultural, artisan, . . . laboring classes."

He must be

If volunteers

Their com

"The soldier is a peculiar animal. taught to despise all those of civil life. are called for . . . they must be petted. mander must never be ignored, even when they know him to be a fool. . . . The soldiers of an army are, as a general rule, of one class, are full of . . . passion . . . and

not brought into contact with the softening influences of respectable women. General Viscount Woolsey (British Army): The Soldier's Pocket-Book, pages 4, 5, 6, 134, 177

How long will strong men of the working class accept a kick as a compliment-from so-called "great" men?

CHAPTER ONE.

A Confidential Word With the Man of the Working Class.

BROTHER!

Whoever you are, wherever you are on all the earth, I

greet you.

You are a member of the working class.

I am a member of the working class.

We are brothers.

Class brothers.

Let us repeat that:-Class Brothers.

Let us write that on our hearts and stamp it on our brains-Class Brothers.

I extend to you my right hand.

I make you a pledge.

Here is my pledge to you:

I refuse to kill your father. I refuse to slay your mother's son. I refuse to plunge a bayonet into the breast of your sister's brother. I refuse to slaughter your sweetheart's lover. I refuse to murder your wife's husband. I refuse to butcher your little child's father. I refuse to wet the earth with blood and blind kind eyes with tears. I refuse to assassinate you and then hide my stained fists in the folds of any flag.

I refuse to be flattered into hell's nightmare by a class of well-fed snobs, crooks and cowards who despise our class socially, rob our class economically and betray our class politically.

Will you thus pledge me and pledge all the members of our working class?

Sit down a moment, and let us talk over this matter of We working people have been tricked-tricked into a sort of huge steel-trap called war.

war.

Really, the smooth "leading citizens" tried their best to flim-flam me, too. They cunningly urged me to join the militia and the army and be ready to go to war. Their voices were soft, their smiles were bland, they made war look bright, very bright. But I concluded not to train for war or go to war at least not until the brightness of war became bright enough to attract those cunning people to war who tried to make war look bright to me. I have waited a long time. I am still waiting. Thus I have had plenty of opportunity to think it all over. And the more I think about war the more clearly I see that a bayonet is a stinger, made by the working class, sharpened by the working class, nicely polished by the working class, and then "patriotically" thrust into the working class by the working class-for the capitalist class.

The busy human bees sting themselves.

If I should enlist for service in the Department of Murder I should feel thoroughly embarrassed and ashamed of myself. It is all clear to me now. This is the way of it,

brother:

In going to war I must work like a horse and be as poor as a mouse, must be as humble as a toad, as meek as a sheep and obey like a dog; I must fight like a tiger, be as cruel as a shark, bear burdens like a mule and eat stale food like a half-starved wolf; for fifteen or twenty dollars a month I must turn against my own working class and thus make an ass and a cat's-paw of myself; and after the war I should be socially despised and snubbed as a sucker and a cur by the same distinguished "leading citizens" who wheedled me to war and afterward gave me the horse-laugh;—and thus I should feel like a monkey and look like a plucked goose in January.

Indeed I am glad to see it all clearly.

I want you to see it clearly.

The "leading citizens" shall never have opportunity to laugh at me for doing drill "stunts" they would not do themselves and for going to a war they could not be induced to go to themselves. Moreover, no member of the working class

can ever say that I voluntarily took up arms against my own class.

If, however, years ago, I had joined the militia or the army I should have been entirely innocent of doing voluntary wrong against my class, because I did not understand—then. But it is different now. All is changed now-because I do understand now. And I want you to understand this matter. Indeed we members of the working class should help one another understand. And this book is for that purpose. You will permit me to explain very frankly-won't you?

You will notice that this is a small book*-very much smaller than the vast subject of wholesale murder called war. But kindly remember that this book of suggestions—chiefly suggestions-is written for those, the working class, whose lives are too weary and whose eyes are frequently too full of dust and sweat and tears for them to read large and "learned" works on war. This book is indeed written in behalf of the working class—and the working class only. The lives and loves of the working class, the hopes and the happiness of the working class, the blood and tears of the working class are too sacred to be viciously wasted as they have been wasted and are wasted by the crafty kings, tsars, presidents, emperors, and the industrial tyrants of the earth.

This book contains no flattery.

We are flattered too much-by cunning people.

Flattery confuses most people. Flattery blinds us, and that is why business men and their unarmed guardsmen flatter the working people.

A multitude of intelligent honey bees can be confused, hopelessly confused, at swarming time, simply by beating an empty tin pan or drum near them and calling loudly the almost patriotically stupid word, "Boowah! Boowah! Woowah! Woowah!" And, indeed, down on the old home farm in Ohio

* The present wholly unpretentious book has a distinct purpose (announced in the Preface and also on this page), and has, too, it is hoped, an effective plan and method for the realization of that purpose. Readers in search of conventionally elaborated theses on war are referred, for suggestions, to Chapter Twelve, Sections 8 and 9.

we often "brainstormed" our swarming bees by just such simple means-in order to hold them in slavery and thus have them near and tame. We wished to rob them when they worked-later on.

This device works perfectly in human society also. The capitalist class use this method with great success on the human honey bees, the working class.

Millions of intelligent working men can be confused-and more easily robbed later on-simply by flattering them carefully and then beating a drum near them and cunningly calling out the pleasingly empty words, "The Flag! The Flag! Patriotism! Patriotism! Brave boys!"

Bewildered moths rush into a flame of fire because it is bright. Bewildered working people rush to war and singe their own happiness, snuff out their own lives-like mothsbecause war is painted bright. In the shining candle flame moths virtually commit suicide. In the glittering "glory" of war multitudes of the working class practically commit suicide. This will be clearer to you as you read these chapters.

Brother, let me help you tear the mask off this legalized outrage against the working class, this huge and “glorious” crime called war. At this horrible "Death's feast" we working people spit in one another's faces, we scream in wild rage at one another, we curse and kill our own working class brothers, we foolishly wallow in our own blood and desolate our own homes-simply because we are craftily ordered to do so. Thus we are both savage and ridiculous. Ridiculous did I say? Yes, ridiculous. That word ridiculous sounds like a harsh word-doesn't it? But, remember, in all wars the working class are always meanly belittled, wronged-outraged.

We are the plucked geese in January-patriotically.

When we working people hear a fife and drum and see some handsomely dressed, well-fed military officers and see their long butcher-knives called swords-our confused hearts beat fast, our blood becomes blindly and suicidally hot and eager. . . . Look out, brother! Take care! Remember: Always in all wars everywhere the working class are confused,