Chapter X
The Core of the Conspiracy—Search of the Arbeiter-Zeitung Office—The Captured Manuscript—Jealousies in the Police Department—The Case Threatened with Failure—Stupidity at the Central Office—Fischer Brought In—Rotten Detective Work—The Arrest of Spies—His Egregious Vanity—An Anarchist “Ladies’ Man”—Wine Suppers with the Actresses—Nina Van Zandt’s Antecedents—Her Romantic Connection with the Case—Fashionable Toilets—Did Spies Really Love Her?—His Curious Conduct—The Proxy Marriage—The End of the Romance—The Other Conspirators—Mrs. Parsons’ Origin—The Bomb-Thrower in Custody—The Assassin Kicked Out of the Chief’s Office—Schnaubelt and the Detectives—Suspicious Conduct at Headquarters—Schnaubelt Ordered to Keep Away From the City Hall—An Amazing Incident—A Friendly Tip to a Murderer—My Impressions of the Schnaubelt Episode—Balthasar Rau and Mr. Furthmann—Phantom Shackles in a Pullman—Experiments with Dynamite—An Explosive Dangerous to Friend and Foe—Testing the Bombs—Fielden and the Chief.
IT was not difficult to locate the moral responsibility for the bold and bloody attack on law and authority. The seditious utterances of such men as Spies, Parsons, Fielden, Schwab and other leaders at public gatherings for weeks and months preceding the eight-hour strike, and the defiant declarations of such papers as the Arbeiter-Zeitung and the Alarm, clearly pointed to the sources from which came the inspiration for the crowning crime of Anarchy. It was likewise a strongly settled conviction that the thrower of the bomb was not simply a Guiteau-like crank, but that there must have been a deliberate, organized conspiracy, of which he was a duly constituted agent. In the work, therefore, of getting at the inside facts, the points sought were: What was the exact nature of that conspiracy, and who constituted the chief conspirators? The possession of every detail in connection with these two points was absolutely necessary in order to fix the criminal responsibility, and to the solution of this problem the officers bent all their energies.
The detectives were well aware that the office of the Arbeiter-Zeitung had been the headquarters for the central, controlling body of the Anarchist organizations in Chicago, and on the morning following the explosion Inspector Bonfield determined to raid the establishment and bring in such of the leaders as might be found there. Several detectives were assigned to this duty, and they soon returned, having under arrest August Spies, his brother Chris, Michael Schwab and Adolph Fischer. These were locked up at the Central Station. Shortly thereafter fifteen or sixteen compositors of the paper were arrested and brought to the same place. They were a meek-looking set, and were visibly moved with fear.
Immediately after 12 o’clock, State’s Attorney Grinnell, Assistant State’s Attorney Furthmann, Lieut. Joseph Kipley, Lieut. John D. Shea, Detectives James Bonfield, Slayton, Baer, Palmer, Thehorn and several other officers repaired to the Arbeiter-Zeitung building and made a most thorough search of every room in the premises. A lot of manuscript was found on hooks attached to the printers’ cases, and this was carefully wrapped up and taken away. The files of the Arbeiter-Zeitung and Alarm were also piled into a wagon and carted to the Central Station.
Subsequent investigation by Mr. Furthmann of all the scraps of paper brought over by the police revealed Spies’ manuscript with the signal word “Ruhe,” the manuscript of the “Revenge Circular,” issued on the afternoon of May 4, the manuscript for the “Y, come Monday night” notice, Spies’ copy of the article headed “Blood,” published in the Arbeiter-Zeitung of May 4, and a number of other documents damaging in their character. This discovery was regarded as highly important, and in the trial it proved extremely serviceable to the State. It likewise served, as will be shown, in furnishing a point by which, when I came to take up the case I was enabled to finally lay bare the whole conspiracy from its inception to its conclusion.
With the clues obtained from the Arbeiter-Zeitung office, the officers were enabled to put some pointed questions to the prisoners, but they failed to properly utilize even the meager information they had managed to extract. At this time the Police Department, from the Chief to the detective branch, was rent with rivalries, dissensions and jealousies, and it did not require much frowning or many innuendoes from the one to destroy in the other any special interest in pursuing a clue to its legitimate results. At the start all the officers were on a keen scent, and while outwardly all seemed working like Trojans in order to meet public expectations, which was keyed up to its highest pitch, not alone in Chicago but throughout the country, still the fear that one might get the credit for the work done by another operated to destroy discipline and deaden personal enthusiasm. Outside events alone prevented a complete failure in the prosecution.
The arrested Anarchists, however, knew nothing of these dissensions. All they knew was that public indignation was strong against them, and they realized that they were in a very embarrassing situation.
FISCHER seemed to feel his position at the station more keenly than the others. On his arrest he was found to have in his possession a 44-caliber revolver, a file sharpened so as to make it serviceable as a dagger, and a detonation cap, and, as he was the foreman of the compositors in the office, his trepidation may have been caused by a suspicion that possibly the officers took him to be the leader of an armed gang among them. Before the raid on the office it appears that he had endeavored to hide these weapons, but he had been unable to unload himself, as the others in the office would not consent to concealment in their vicinity, lest discovery in the event of an investigation might criminate them in the conspiracy. Fischer was on his way down stairs to find a hiding-place for his weapons at the very moment when he was overtaken by the police and relieved of all further trouble. The dagger was a peculiar instrument, and it was the general opinion of those who examined it that it had been dipped in some deadly poison from which, through a slight scratch or through a deep plunge of the weapon, death would be speedy.
Fischer always seemed thoroughly unscrupulous as to the means to be used to bring about the death of capitalists, and he never tired of uttering dire threats against the foes of Socialism. He was a tall, lithe and muscular-looking man, and, with a resolute purpose, he impressed his comrades as one who would not easily be balked. It is difficult to determine just how Fischer came to imbibe his bloodthirsty principles, as little is known of his antecedents. At the time of his arrest he was twenty-seven years old and married. He had been in the United States thirteen or fourteen years. He had learned the printer’s trade in Nashville, Tenn., working for a brother who conducted there a German paper. Subsequently he acquired an interest in a German publication at Little Rock, Ark., and in 1881 he moved to St. Louis, where he worked at the case and where he became known for his extreme ideas on Socialism. He soon found his way to Chicago, where he felt satisfied he would find more congenial spirits in the work upon which he had set his heart. Here he became associated with Engel and Fehling in the publication of a German paper, the Anarchist, but as this did not live long, he became a compositor on the Arbeiter-Zeitung. Wherever he was, he always talked Anarchy and showed a most implacable hatred of existing society.
When brought to the station, Fischer weakened perceptibly, but afterwards braced up and yielded no information except as to his whereabouts for several days prior to the Haymarket meeting. He had no love for the police, and he did everything in his power to trip us up in our subsequent investigations. From the moment of his arrest to the day of his execution he adopted a most secretive policy.
SPIES also weakened at first when brought into the station, almost trembling with fear, but, after the first flush of excitement had passed, he took on an air of bravado, and exhibited a bold front in spite of the documentary disclosures against him. He became glib of tongue, but stoutly denied any knowledge of a conspiracy to precipitate a riot at the Haymarket. He was savagely denounced by Superintendent Ebersold, but he stood his ground and resolved to act the part of the innocent victim. His active participation in all large demonstrations, notably those at the McCormick factory and the Haymarket, made him a splendid mark for critical examination, but every effort to extract definite information proved futile.
Spies was a young man of considerable ability, having enjoyed more than a common school education in Germany, and in all his talks he demonstrated that he had been a diligent reader of history and an enthusiastic student of Socialism and Anarchy. With all his reading, however, it was apparent that he had not carefully digested his information. He always acted as if self-conscious of great knowledge. He was a strong and effective speaker, but in all his harangues there seemed to be lacking the element of sincerity. For a long time some of his associates doubted if he really meant what he said, and there are Anarchists to-day who do not believe that he was at any time really in earnest in his public utterances. They think that he exerted himself simply for the purpose of being looked upon as a popular leader and hero, and that he worked for the cause only as a means of obtaining an easy living. He was exceedingly vain and pompous, and courted public notoriety.
Spies had received a very good salary as editor of the Arbeiter-Zeitung and enjoyed nothing better than to write a fiery editorial or deliver an incendiary speech. It all served to rivet attention on himself. The more attention, the more it pleased his vanity. His constant desire was to place himself on dress parade, so to speak, and he generally sought out, when he lunched down town at noon, some fashionable or crowded restaurant. He would strut to a table which could only be reached by passing other crowded tables, and enjoy the sotto voce remarks as he passed or as he sat at the table he had selected—“There is Spies, the noted Anarchist.” No common Anarchist, lager-beer-and-pretzel lunch-houses suited him.
It was at a large restaurant, on the 3d of May, at noon, that he met a well-known attorney, to whom he was introduced and with whom he had some conversation of a joking, bantering nature. The attorney testified before the grand jury subsequently as to this conversation, and the substance of it will be found in the chapter devoted to a review of its proceedings. But it transpires that there was some further conversation that does not appear in the report of the grand jury investigation, but which has since been brought out through the recollection of another party, and, which, while it was given in an off-hand way, fully showed that Spies desired to make a great impression on the mind of his casual acquaintance as well as to intimate the existence of some secret understanding for bringing on bloodshed. On that occasion Spies, after being assured that the attorney was not an Anarchist, remarked:
“You had better be one, for in less than twenty-four hours a Socialist, well armed, with a market on his shoulder, will appear out of every door, and whoever has not got the sign or pass-word will be shot down in his tracks. I am about going out now to McCormick’s factory, west of here, for the purpose of addressing a multitude of workingmen, and I will raise h——l before I get through.”
Besides his fancy for popular restaurants, there was another peculiarity about Spies. He frequently attended the German theaters, ostensibly for the recreation he might find in the plays, but the principal motive was the cultivation of the actresses’ acquaintance. Introductions, which he sought eagerly, were followed by invitations to wine suppers. He was good company, and his lady acquaintances were not averse to accepting his invitations even though he was an Anarchist. Possibly they doubted the sincerity of his convictions—although they entertained no question about the reality of his cash. None of them, however, seem to have visited him during his incarceration, save one, a tall woman who now lives on Wells Street near Chicago Avenue.
During his troubles Spies made the acquaintance of a woman in another station of life. It was during his trial that Miss Nina Van Zandt became interested in him and espoused his cause. She had read of his case, and there seemed to be a charm about his conduct as described in the newspapers that prompted her to seek his acquaintance. She was a young girl of rare beauty and considerable mental endowment, and she had moved in the best society, but, notwithstanding her social position and culture, she sought an introduction and soon fell desperately in love with the Anarchist. She was an only child and the petted daughter of parents of high social connections, and her immediate relatives were wealthy people in Pittsburg. Her parents threw no obstacles in the way of her attachment, and she espoused Spies’ cause with her whole impetuous nature, and cast her lot with the conspirator and his rabble of low-browed followers. It may have been love, but it was love which could only have been the product of a disordered mind.
During the later stages of Spies’ trial she was a constant visitor at the County Jail, frequently accompanied by her mother and sometimes by her father, and on each occasion she would bring him some delicacy or token of her esteem. Rare flowers and bouquets she either brought or sent daily, and the affection she evinced seemed a growth of months instead of days. She had great confidence in the jury and implicitly believed that acquittal would result at their hands. Her presence invariably graced the court-room, whenever possible, and the defendants themselves could not have been more eager listeners to the proceedings. When her love for Spies became publicly known, she attracted great attention, but her demeanor would have led one to believe that she was entirely unconscious of the notoriety she had achieved. This was not the case. It rather pleased her, and, to still further intensify public attention and curiosity, she made it a point to display a most varied wardrobe during the progress of the trial. At the forenoon session she would appear in court with one fashionable outfit, and this she would change for an equally stunning attire in the afternoon. She had a striking figure, was stately in appearance, dignified in manner, and with a fine, handsome face, it was no wonder that she became an object of marked attention, in the Court-house as well as upon the streets.
But withal she never lost sight of her lover nor of the court proceedings. Spies was in her mind constantly, and every movement in the trial excited her closest attention. It was indeed a strange infatuation she displayed for the Anarchist, and it was the more strange since Spies seemed indifferent to her attentions. The public gradually began to learn of this state of affairs through rumors and newspaper reports, but the general opinion was that, if such was the case, Spies had accepted her attentions simply as a matter either of expediency or from an innate desire for notoriety on his part. The public was right. Spies was playing for points, as billiardists would say. To be sure, he received her kindly and very courteously, and indulged in the expressions which lovers are wont to exchange, but those who watched him closely and long could never discover that his love came from the heart. He simply saw in her devotion and in her standing in society a possible chance for favorably influencing the minds of the jury, and thus, through her, he hoped to secure a release from the troubles surrounding him. When this failed and death stared him in the face, he still figured that she could prove serviceable to him in influencing her wealthy relatives to aid him financially in further conducting his case, or help him in some manner in effecting a change in public sentiment. Such were undoubtedly his motives—at least close observers of his actions hold that theory. When, later on, things did not move exactly in the line he had hoped for, he willingly assented to a marriage, and entered into the arrangements for its celebration with apparent eagerness.
This course, Spies no doubt supposed, would demonstrate to the unfeeling world that there existed a devout mutual attachment, and his claims for interested consideration at the hands of her relatives would become greatly strengthened. But it only proved his desperate situation. His love had been questioned by the public, and marriage was calculated to settle the doubt. The public did not take kindly to the proposed ceremony. The moment the newspapers had announced such a contemplated step, the utmost indignation was aroused, and protest upon protest poured in upon Sheriff Matson. Mr. Matson promptly declared that no marriage should take place between the two while Spies was in his custody, and thereafter Miss Van Zandt was placed under the strictest surveillance whenever she visited her affianced.
But all this unexpected interference in what he regarded as his own business only tended to make Spies desperate, and, spurred on by his outside Anarchist friends, who had likewise become indignant over a public intermeddling in a love affair, he dropped his diplomacy and resolved that the wishes of his ardent lady love should not be baffled either by officials or by the public. Miss Nina in her unreasoning infatuation readily acquiesced in the suggestion of a proxy marriage, and Justice Engelhardt was consulted. This gentleman claimed that under the statutes such a marriage would be valid, and he consented to a performance of the ceremony. Accordingly, on the 29th of January, 1887, a proxy marriage was performed between Miss Nina and Chris Spies, a brother of the doomed man. The attorneys of Chicago regarded the ceremony as illegal, but the Anarchists considered it as binding as if directly contracted.
Miss Nina continued her visits to the jail after this mock proceeding, but lynx-eyed officials saw to it that there was no one present during her interviews with Spies to secretly and legally splice them together. She was devoted to him at all times and all the time, and whenever she was not well enough to visit him for some days or was kept away by other circumstances, she would write him tender missives of love and encouragement. She clung to him to the last, and in their final interview, two days preceding his execution, she wept most bitterly.
Her love was remarkable, but throughout it all Spies proved himself wholly unworthy. He was a reprobate cunningly playing upon her feelings, caring very little for her, and he must have known that her station in life at that time made her an unsuitable companion. For him, however, she renounced friends and all. After his death she went into deep mourning, hung a cabinet photograph of him in the parlor window of her father’s fashionable residence on Huron Street, and locked herself in against the outer world for a number of days. She still cherishes Spies’ memory and keeps in her parlor a marble bust of the executed Anarchist. Recently she has been extending her acquaintanceship among Anarchists outside of Chicago, and she has lately visited some of the most rabid and demonstrative Socialists at Ottawa, Illinois.
Spies was born in Friedewald, in the province of Hesse, Germany, in 1855. He came to America in 1872, and one year later arrived in Chicago, where he engaged in various occupations until he relieved Paul Grottkau as editor of the Arbeiter-Zeitung in 1876. His identification with Socialism began in Chicago in 1875. He was unmarried and supported his mother and a sister, Miss Gretchen Spies. He has two brothers in Chicago, Chris and Henry.
MICHAEL SCHWAB, when confronted by the officers, looked like an exclamation point, and had his long, bushy hairs been porcupine quills, each would have stood straight on end. He was bewildered, dumbfounded, and there was a distant, far-off expression in his eye. He realized that he was in trouble, and to the many questions put to him by the officers he stammered apologetic but non-committal answers. It was clearly to be seen that he had been like clay in the potter’s hand, a mere dupe of his associates. He was far less talented and less active than the other leaders, but still in his own way he had played quite a conspicuous part in the Anarchist drama. He had seen something of the world as a peripatetic book-binder. Through his varied experience, his nature had grown irritable and crusty, and Anarchy seemed the only thing suited to right the wrongs of mankind. He fell in with the ideas of the cranks in Chicago, and soon wormed himself into an assistant editorial position of $18 a week on the Arbeiter-Zeitung. In appearance Schwab was ungainly and ferocious, but when put to the test he was calm and mild as a lamb. The only thing really vicious about him was in his incendiary writings and speeches. He aimed with his limited capacity to be a great leader, but the moment he got into the clutches of the law and found himself in peril of his life he retracted everything which he had so persistently and stubbornly advocated. His new troubles brought out the fact that he had written and spoken simply for the money that was in the business, and not because he sincerely believed in the theories he preached. He was at all times a supple tool in the hands of Spies and Parsons, and during the remainder of his days in the penitentiary he will have ample opportunities to repent of his past misdeeds.
Schwab was born in the village of Kibringen-on-the-Main, near Mannheim, in Bavaria, in 1853, and emigrated to the United States in 1879, reaching Chicago in the year following. He afterwards traveled from point to point in the West, roughed it a little, and three or four years later drifted back to Chicago. He is a brother of the notorious Anarchist of New York, Justus Schwab, and has a wife and two children, who are now being supported by friends.
ALBERT R. PARSONS was another leader wanted by the police, and the search for him was immediately instituted. Officers went to his house only to discover that he had escaped, and for some time it was believed that he was in hiding among his friends in the city. Every effort, however, to find him failed, and there were all sorts of speculations as to his whereabouts. It was found out afterwards that he had become alarmed over the aspect of affairs resulting from the Haymarket meeting, and, thinking “discretion the better part of valor,” he had gathered a few dollars together, boarded an outgoing train, and landed at Geneva, Ill., thoroughly disguised. He sought out the home of a friend named Holmes, who cherished Anarchist sentiments, and remained with him three or four days in concealment. With a dilapidated outfit, he concluded to shift his abiding-place, and accordingly he went to Elgin, Ill., where he was taken care of. From this point, in the course of a few days, he went to Waukesha, Wis., and there hunted around for work as a tramp carpenter. Waukesha is a great resort for Chicago people, but no one recognized him in his changed appearance. He succeeded in finding employment, and for some time worked as a carpenter, unknown and undetected. The labor proving too arduous for his undeveloped muscles and contrary to his principles as an Anarchist, he began to look out for easier work, and this he managed to secure as a painter. For seven weeks he remained at Waukesha, communicating with his wife under an assumed name and through a third party living out of Chicago.
When the trial opened, the counsel for the Anarchists were confident that the State had not sufficient evidence to convict, and upon assurances from Capt. Black that an acquittal was certain, Parsons decided to surrender himself to the authorities. He boarded a train, reached the city, and, securing a hack, drove to his home, on Milwaukee Avenue, where he met his wife. After remaining there for three or four hours, he got into a hack, in company with Mrs. Parsons, and drove down to the Criminal Court building. It was on the 21st of June, after Judge Gary had overruled a motion for separate trials, that Parsons reached the building. He alighted, tripped up the stairs, and entered the court-room. If a bomb had exploded on the outside, it would scarcely have created a greater surprise than the appearance of Parsons as he stalked in and took his seat with the prisoners.
Parsons was born in Montgomery, Ala., June 20, 1848, and after he had reached the age of five, his brother, Gen. W. H. Parsons, of the Confederate army, took his education in charge at the latter’s home in Tyler, Texas. When young Parsons was eleven years of age, he learned the printer’s trade, and finally drifted into the service of the Confederate army. After the “unpleasantness,” he branched out as editor of a paper at Waco, Texas, and then connected himself with the Houston Telegraph. He identified himself about this time with the Republican party, and, taking an active part in politics, he became Secretary of the State Senate under the Federal Government.
In 1872 he married a mulatto at Houston, and, being discarded by his brother and friends, he emigrated with her to Chicago in 1873. No sooner had he reached Chicago than he joined the Socialists. He worked for a time as a newspaper compositor, but his radical ideas and obtrusive arguments prevented him from holding any position permanently. He eventually became editor of the Alarm and depended on his Anarchist friends for a livelihood. He was always active at their meetings, both secret and public, and paraded himself as a labor agitator. He managed to become a member of the Knights of Labor, but that body as a whole, after seeing how extremely radical were his theories, repudiated him.
When his troubles overtook him in connection with the trial, Parsons’ brother came to his defense and took a keen interest in his case, working for him until the very last. Mrs. Parsons had early identified herself with her husband’s views, and was one among several others to organize a women’s branch of the Anarchists. She can make an effective address, and she always took a leading part in extending the membership of her union. On the question of her birth, she maintains that she is of Mexican extraction, with no negro blood in her veins, but her swarthy complexion and distinctively negro features do not bear out her assertions. Since her husband’s execution she has appeared on the stump in various parts of the United States, and she is now even more violent than ever.
OSCAR W. NEEBE was fortunate in the failure of the prosecution to show his direct complicity in the Haymarket murder. There was no doubt as to his active participation in all the plots of the Anarchist leaders, and, had it not been for the loss of some important papers, he would now be serving a life sentence instead of a fifteen years’ term in the penitentiary. He took an active part in stirring up the members of the Brewers’ Union after the McCormick riot, and he contributed no little towards sending many of those members to the Haymarket meeting, ready for violence and desperate deeds. Immediately following the Haymarket slaughter, he was placed under arrest and taken to the Central Station at the City Hall. He was there questioned in a general way, but the near-sighted officials then in charge of that important department were unable to see any reason for his detention and permitted him to depart with his friend Schnaubelt, who had been gathered in about the same time. This led him to believe that he had friends at the Central Headquarters. His belief in his “influence” was somewhat shaken, however, when I ordered a search of his house on the 8th of May. The officers on that occasion found one Springfield rifle, one Colt’s 38-caliber revolver, one sword and belt of the Lehr und Wehr Verein, a red flag, a transparency, a lot of circulars calling different meetings, including the one calling for “revenge,” and several cards of Anarchist groups, and with all these and other evidence of his connection with the great conspiracy, I went before the grand jury and had him indicted for conspiracy to murder. On the 27th of May, about 6 o’clock, Deputy Sheriff Alexander Reed called at the Chicago Avenue Station and asked me for assistance to arrest Neebe under the indictment. I detailed Officer Whalen for this duty, and the two called at the man’s house, No. 307 Sedgwick Street. The deputy sheriff informed Neebe that he was under arrest, and the officer explained the nature of the charge against him. They told him that they would be obliged to take him to the County Jail.
Neebe smiled when notified of the charge, and remarked in a most careless manner:
“Is that all? That’s nothing. I will get out on bail right away.”
But he did not; he had to linger for a long time.
Neebe was born in the State of New York, in 1850, of German parents, and since his location in Chicago he had succeeded in establishing a prosperous business in the sale of yeast to grocers and traders. He was ambitious to distinguish himself in other directions, however, and he chose Anarchy as a basis for building up a reputation as a leader among men. He achieved considerable notoriety, as he was active, energetic and pushing, and at the time of the Board of Trade demonstration he acted as chief marshal of the procession.
Neebe was in the habit of taking members of the North Side group to Sheffield, Ind., for the purpose of practicing and experimenting with dynamite bombs. It was on one of these experimenting excursions that he lost the joints of all the fingers of his right hand by a premature explosion. When questioned about it, he told all his friends and even his own family that he had lost his fingers in assisting a friend to lift a sharp building-stone on the South Side. His family physician was asked with reference to the matter, and, after some hesitation, finally stated that Neebe had admitted that he had lost his fingers through the explosion of a bomb. In the explanation Neebe gave to his friends he overlooked the fact that if a sharp building-stone had taken off his fingers it would not have taken his thumb, because that member of the hand is never in a position to be crushed when one lifts a heavy stone.
After his trial and conviction, Neebe’s wife and little children often visited him at the jail, and Mrs. Neebe sought as well as she could to raise his drooping spirits. But she subsequently took sick, and after a short illness died. A most demonstrative funeral was arranged by the Anarchists. The hall in which the ceremonies were conducted was profusely decorated with flowers and emblems of mourning. Under most binding pledges on the part of the Anarchists, Sheriff Matson permitted Neebe, under proper official escort, to take a last look at the remains of his wife at the residence, and the scene was a most impressive one. Mrs. Neebe had been a firm believer in the doctrines advocated by her husband, but his friends claimed that the unexpected troubles of the family had precipitated sickness and brought on death. At one time it was thought that some serious disturbance might grow out of the demonstration, and that, with Neebe back at his home, an attempt at his rescue from the hands of the county officials might be made. But the police were present to see that order was maintained. The only thing bordering on disorder was the fiery speeches of the orators at the hall to which the remains were first taken, and from which an immense procession started to the place of burial.
The death of his wife was a severe blow to Neebe. Verily, the way of the transgressor is hard. He was subsequently removed to the penitentiary, and possibly by the time his sentence expires he may be able to see life in a different light than through Anarchist spectacles.
RUDOLPH SCHNAUBELT is indeed a fortunate man, and, wherever he is at present, he must be felicitating himself on his escape from a felon’s death. On the morning of May 5, after all the help in the Arbeiter-Zeitung had been arrested, Schnaubelt was gathered in and taken to the Central Station. He was suspected of complicity in the conspiracy, but there seemed to be so “little against the young man,” that he was promptly released without the slightest pains being taken to inquire into his antecedents. Under the free and easy system then prevailing in the department, there seemed to be no idea that officers were employed for other purposes than simply drawing salaries. I looked carefully into the release of Schnaubelt, and the more I saw of it, the more I was convinced that the examination of this most important prisoner was the same kind of investigation as those one could have seen at some of the primaries three or four years ago, when, if a man happened to be of a certain political faith, he would be passed along with the remark, “He’s all right,” and permitted to vote. Schnaubelt was simply asked two or three questions and then allowed to go. The stupid detectives knew he was a close friend of Spies and Fielden, who were already locked up, and to prove that friendship now that they were in trouble, Schnaubelt frequently dropped in at the City Hall to inquire after them. He continued to hang around under the tolerance of the officials, and I have always believed that the only thing that saved him from being locked up was the fortunate circumstance that no one put a sign on his back reading that he was the bomb-thrower.
Officers Palmer and Cosgrove had managed to get a slight clue against this man, and they arrested him again on the 6th of May. They stated their case to Lieut. John D. Shea, and by him the arrest was reported to his superior officer. What was the result? Shea did not care to be bothered with the case. The head of the department likewise did not care to be troubled. They accordingly saved themselves all further annoyance by telling Schnaubelt to go away. The prisoner, with singular stolidity, did not seem to care particularly, and had to be told again that he was at liberty to go where he pleased. It is a wonder that the officials did not offer him a cigar in acknowledgment of their kindly feelings. When Schnaubelt was released, Officer Palmer remonstrated with the Lieutenant, but he was told to let the man alone and not bring him there any more. That ended the matter with the officer. Several other detectives had meanwhile learned of Schnaubelt’s close friendship with Spies and other Anarchists, but when they learned of the instructions Officers Palmer and Cosgrove had received they likewise dropped all investigations when they reached Schnaubelt. The man naturally felt pleased at such friendly favor and remained in the city until about the 13th of May.
It was on the 14th of May that I first received information about the part Schnaubelt had played in all the Anarchist meetings and that I learned something of his special intimacy with Fischer and Balthasar Rau.
“You get him,” said my informant, “and I will tell you something interesting that will surprise everybody.”
At this time the man was called Schnabel, and the information was that he was working in a store on the South Side. I at once sent Officers Whalen and Stift to hunt him up. While engaged in the search they met Officers Palmer and Cosgrove. Whalen explained their mission, and then Palmer asked:
“Are you not afraid to arrest him?”
Whalen wanted to know why there should be any fear in the case, and Palmer remarked:
“Well, you are running a chance of getting yourselves in trouble. We wanted to arrest Schnaubelt in the Arbeiter-Zeitung office, and we were not allowed to do so. We found him, Neebe, Fischer, Mrs. Parsons, Mrs. Schwab and Mrs. Holmes in the editor’s room. Shea told us not to arrest him, that he was a ‘big stiff,’ and then and there he told Schnaubelt to get away from there or he would kick him out. All the others were arrested, but he was let go. I was detailed to remain around the building. Schnaubelt came around there again afterwards, and I arrested him and took him to the Central Station. There the man was told to go and get out. On the next day he came around there again. I had in the meantime obtained a little information about him, and I arrested him and took him to the Central Station. I was again asked if I had not been told to let him alone and was curtly informed that I was altogether too officious. Schnaubelt was again released. I explained that he was a partner of Fischer, that he had the big revolver and dagger; but it was no use—he was permitted to leave.”
Officer Whalen replied: “We work for a different man, and I would like to see Schnaubelt if he is in the city.”
Officer Gosgrove remarked that he knew where the man was working, and the two officers proffered their services to pilot Whalen and Stift to the place. They went to No. 224 Washington Street, third floor, but on reaching there they learned that “the bird had flown.” He had not even drawn the wages due him, having sent his sister after the money. It subsequently transpired that Schnaubelt was the very man who had thrown the bomb at the Haymarket, but he had “taken time by the forelock” and skipped for parts unknown. Possibly he had got tired of being kicked out of the office of the Chief of Police and left Chicago in disgust, or possibly his friends at the Central Station may have given him a “tip” to save himself from serious trouble.
Some two weeks thereafter I received information as to where Schnaubelt could be found.
I told Mr. Grinnell what I had learned, and he asked me to send a few men at once and get him. I informed Mr. Grinnell that I could not detail officers outside of the city limits without the consent of the Chief. Mr. Grinnell thought I had better do so anyway. I insisted that I must see the Chief first, and Mr. Grinnell remarked:
“If you do, that will be the end of that matter.”
I went, however, to the Chief’s office, and stated my business. I was there told that they would get the man. The Chief said that he would go out to California and thus head him off. I reported back to Mr. Grinnell the result of my interview, and he remarked:
“Well, that is just what I expected—jealousy, and that is all.”
Schnaubelt thus had a good friend at the City Hall, and he cannot thank the officers there too much for having saved him the painful necessity of going down to death on the 11th of November, 1887, with the other conspirators.
BALTHASAR RAU was another man who did not tarry in Chicago. He had been a faithful lieutenant of Spies and had earned a living as solicitor for the Arbeiter-Zeitung. He took a keen interest in all of Spies’ plans, and on Saturday afternoon preceding the day of the riot visited the vicinity of McCormick’s factory to secure points about the strike for his friend’s information. He reported that ten thousand striking lumber-shovers had met on that day and had appointed a committee to wait upon the lumber bosses to induce them to inaugurate the eight-hour system in the various yards. Rau had seen the gathering, and, as the committee appointed by it were to report to another meeting the following Monday, he knew that it would bring together just such a throng, if not a larger one than the previous assemblage. He so posted Spies, and in turn was advised by his friend to insert in the Fackel of Sunday, May 2, the notice “Y, come Monday night,” which was the signal for the armed groups to meet that night at No. 54 West Lake Street. The bandits did meet, and matured the conspiracy which was carried out the following night at the Haymarket. On Monday Rau went with Spies to McCormick’s factory, aided in inciting the people to a riot, and then accompanied his friend to the strikers’ headquarters on Lake Street, where they informed the people that ten or twelve of their brother workmen had been brutally shot down by the “bloodhounds”—the police—that afternoon.
In consequence of his intimacy with Spies, Rau was at once—and the only one at first—suspected of being the thrower of the fatal bomb. He seemed to realize that he was under suspicion, for he speedily left the city after the explosion. Assistant State’s Attorney Furthmann learned that he had fled to Omaha and promptly repaired to that city. By instructions, James Bonfield was to secure the necessary requisition papers for Rau’s extradition from the State of Nebraska and was to follow Furthmann to Omaha. The Assistant State’s Attorney found Rau willing to talk, and asked him to write as he had been dictated, to the text of the signal, “Y, come Monday night.” Rau promptly discovered that Furthmann knew some of the inside facts in the conspiracy, and tremblingly asked what he could do to save his neck from the rope. He was informed that nothing short of “unconditional surrender” would help him out of his scrape, and that he must not keep back any information. He then unbosomed himself and told everything he knew.
While these things were taking place the leaders of the Anarchist group in Omaha were collecting money to take Rau away from Mr. Furthmann by habeas corpus proceedings. Rau had meanwhile been locked up in a cell where he could not easily be reached by his friends, and, as he did not like his surroundings, he was anxious to return to Chicago even without extradition papers. It was on a Monday before daylight that he agreed to go, and Mr. Furthmann promptly took him across the river to Council Bluffs, in the State of Iowa, to avoid litigation, as he had learned that the Omaha judge was ready and willing to assist the Anarchists of that section in effecting Rau’s release. At this time the extradition papers had not arrived. On taking up the trip to Chicago Rau became more communicative than ever and entered into details quite interestingly.
Some one in the parlor car which conveyed them to Chicago recognized Mr. Furthmann, and it was whispered around:
“There’s Furthmann with the bomb-thrower!”
A flutter of excitement speedily developed, and soon a demand was made on Furthmann that unless he handcuffed Rau the passengers would object to his sitting in the parlor car, and they certainly would not allow Rau to sleep in the same car unless shackles were placed about his limbs. A great deal of parleying ensued. Finally Mr. Furthmann consented to appease the now thoroughly frightened passengers. Only one condition was imposed by Mr. Furthmann, and that was that the handcuffs and shackles should be furnished, as he had none in his possession. The implements were immediately telegraphed for, and were on hand when Cedar Rapids was reached. But the idea of handcuffing and shackling a man who was willingly returning without extradition papers was repulsive to Mr. Furthmann.
A novel thought flashed through the Assistant State’s Attorney’s mind. He informed Rau of everything that had transpired, and told him that he did not desire to shackle him in any way. But for the purpose of quieting the passengers he would rattle the iron bracelets around in good shape if Rau would give up his coat, vest, pantaloons, shirt, drawers, stockings and shoes and hat during the night. This was done, and the passengers, hearing the rattling of the chains at intervals during the night, rested in the sweet confidence that a violent outburst on the part of a wild Anarchist had been averted.
The prisoner was safely landed in Chicago, and not a handcuff or shackle had been placed about him. He was taken to the Chicago Avenue Station, and there put through an examination by State’s Attorney Grinnell.
In the statement he made to Mr. Grinnell and myself Rau gave his age as thirty, his occupation as that of a printer, and his residence as No. 418 Larrabee Street.
“We had,” he said, “an excursion to Sheffield, Indiana, and there were present August Spies, Schwab, Neebe, Engel and Schnaubelt. Those are the only ones I can now remember. Engel and Schnaubelt were the ones to set dynamite bombs for experiments.”
“Why do you good people use dynamite bombs, and what do you intend to do with them?” asked Mr. Grinnell.
Rau hesitated, but finally replied: “The time we shot off the dynamite bombs at Sheffield, at the time of the explosion there were only a few of us present. They were the parties whose names I have given and a man who came with Engel. We exploded only two bombs, and they were made of iron and were round.”
“What is the meaning and for what purpose does that letter ‘Y’ appear in the Arbeiter-Zeitung?” asked Mr. Furthmann.
“The last time I saw it was on Sunday, May 2, 1886. The Sunday issue of the Arbeiter-Zeitung is called the Fackel. Lorenz Hermann was requested to have the letter ‘Y’ inserted in the paper, and it was printed in the issue mentioned. He brought the notice to the office. We did not charge anything for notices brought in by the members of the armed section. And that letter ‘Y’ was intended to signify that there would be a meeting at No. 54 West Lake Street, May 3, for the armed men. I was at Zepf’s Hall at a meeting held Monday, May 3. I had with me a lot of ‘Revenge’ circulars, calling people to arms. I gave the circulars to the boys who were present at the meeting. It was after nine o’clock. One meeting had been called by the carpenters for that night. August Belz is the man who told me the meaning of the word. He asked me at Greif’s Hall if I knew the meaning of the word ‘Ruhe,’ and if I knew what effect its publication would have. He then told me that they had agreed that the word ‘Ruhe’ should apply to a meeting at the Haymarket. If it appeared in the Arbeiter-Zeitung, he said, then there would be trouble. The trouble would be fighting the police, storming buildings and throwing dynamite bombs. When I saw that word in the Arbeiter-Zeitung, I was working in the office of that paper. I remarked to August Spies that that would make trouble in the city, and his answer was that Fischer did it, meaning that Fischer was responsible for it. Spies, after I had told him what trouble it would make, got excited and called Schnaubelt. Spies asked him, ‘How is this?’ referring to the word ‘Ruhe.’ Schnaubelt replied, ‘Well, they want to throw dynamite bombs.’ He also said that if the police interfered, then there would be trouble at the Haymarket. He further said that the people stationed on the outskirts of the city, east, west, south and north, should be informed as to when the riot commenced and when their time had arrived for storming the city. When Fischer was asked about this word ‘Ruhe’ he was close-mouthed. He would not say anything to us. I heard Spies say in his office, ‘If that word “Ruhe” is in the paper, there will be trouble, and I don’t want that. That will break up our organization.’ Spies said: ‘I will print hand-bills to stop the meeting at the Haymarket May 4.’ He said he would attend to that himself. I said that we had better put up signs on the corners to notify the people that there would be no meeting at the Haymarket that night. Spies said that if there was a meeting, then there would be trouble. Schnaubelt was to go to the North Side that afternoon, May 4, and tell the people that there would be no meeting at the Haymarket that night. On May 4, in the evening, some one called at the office and wanted Spies to speak at the meeting at Deering Station; but he could not be found, and consequently we sent Schwab. Afterwards I went over to the West Side meeting at the Haymarket. I saw Spies standing on a wagon, making a speech to the people present. When he saw me he called me and asked me to go and find Parsons. Spies said, ‘I want help here, and he must help me out.’ I went to look for Parsons, and I found him. Parsons and Fielden were together. I told them what Spies had said and I asked them to go and help him. They did go—I went along. We got there speedily. I asked Fischer for an explanation as to the publication in our paper of the notice calling the people to arms, but he would give me no satisfaction.”
“Why did you not give me this statement first when I asked you for this information?” asked Mr. Grinnell.
“Because I was afraid it would hurt myself, or it might convict me. That is the reason why I did not tell you at first. I saw dynamite in the Arbeiter-Zeitung building. I saw dynamite lying on a shelf in the back room from the office. I know George Engel and Fehling. They printed the Anarchist. It was a small paper. They only published six numbers.”
EDMUND DEUSS was also sought for with some interest. He had been city editor of the Arbeiter-Zeitung under Spies. The first week after the bomb had been thrown the authorities at police headquarters were informed that Paul Grottkau and Deuss, both ex-employés of the Arbeiter-Zeitung, were then living in Milwaukee. Mr. Furthmann thought some points might be gathered from them, and accordingly went to that city. He found them both. Grottkau, who has since tasted the bitterness of prison life for his preachments of violence in the “Cream City,” expressed himself as pleased that Spies had been placed under arrest and charged with responsibility for the murder at the Haymarket.
“I knew long ago,” said Grottkau, “that August Spies would thus end his crazy and ambitious career.”
Grottkau and Spies had not been on very friendly terms since the latter had succeeded in displacing the former from the editorship of the Arbeiter-Zeitung. But, however strong his enmity, Grottkau would not give us any information regarding Spies, or dynamite practices, or anything else that would tend to put a rope around Spies’ neck or hurt any of his companions. He referred Mr. Furthmann to Deuss, who was then depending upon Grottkau for a livelihood and who received a dollar now and then for writing a firebrand article for a paper Grottkau was editing in Milwaukee.
Deuss was found in a neighboring saloon without a cent in his pocket. He stood wistfully eyeing the saloon patrons, hoping to fall in with some one willing to buy him a glass of beer or a cigar. Mr. Furthmann at once opened a conversation about the Chicago Anarchists. Deuss promised to tell everything he knew in regard to the Arbeiter-Zeitung, the dynamite brought there, the men in the building of that paper and the nefarious things practiced by them, on condition that Mr. Furthmann would first buy him a good cigar, several sandwiches and the necessary beer. The conditions were complied with, and Deuss rattled away a long story. He proved to be the first man to inform Mr. Furthmann as to when the dynamite that was afterwards found in the Arbeiter-Zeitung had been brought there, and where it had been placed. A grease-spot caused by dynamite was afterwards found exactly where Deuss said the explosive material had been placed, which was right next to the desk used by Malkoff, a reporter for the paper and an exiled Russian Anarchist. Rau at that time, it appears, did not know the properties of dynamite, for on one occasion a stray match was thrown upon the dynamite sack in the office and he was nearly frightened out of his wits.
“Don’t you know what you are doing?” he exclaimed.
“You greenhorn,” was the answer, “Malkoff has handled this stuff for years and knows by this time, as you ought to know, that dynamite cannot be exploded by contact with fire in such a form.”
This information, though unimportant on its face, assisted Mr. Furthmann greatly in making Deuss talk, and served also as a straw showing that the man had given up all the information he possessed.
* * * * *
SO FAR Mr. Furthmann had managed to secure many valuable clues, and we studied at once the best method of following them up. In running down the pointers, one day Mr. Furthmann sought Dr. Newman, one of the surgeons who had rendered heroic service in attending the wounded on the night after the explosion. The doctor was asked with reference to the metal and pieces of lead which he had taken from the bodies of some of the men wounded at the Haymarket. He informed Mr. Furthmann that a young man named Hahn, a shoemaker on the West Side, had come to the hospital wounded by the explosion, and that upon examination a wound had been found in the fleshy part of his thigh, from which a piece of iron had been removed. This piece was nothing less than the nut which had been used to assist in holding together the two halves of the composition bomb which had been exploded at the Haymarket. This discovery was a most important one. It proved at the trial the best piece of evidence used, by the prosecution, as it demonstrated that the bomb exploded at the Haymarket was one of the bombs manufactured by Louis Lingg, since fifty bolts and nuts of the same size and description were subsequently found in Lingg’s possession.
The metal removed from the person of the wounded officers was placed in the hands of Professors Haines and Delafontaine, expert chemists, for analysis, and they found that it contained the same quantity of lead, zinc, tin and other ingredients, and the same proportion of impurities as the bombs found in Lingg’s possession. Even a trace of the copper discovered in the bomb exploded at the Haymarket was shown to have come from the candlestick used by Lingg. A small fragment was missing from the candlestick, and it was clearly shown that it had found its way into that deadly bomb.
During this period I also learned that Lingg had not been the first and only one to experiment with dynamite in Chicago. I learned that as far back as 1881 there had been some desperate men among the Socialists, but by keeping their secrets to themselves they had managed to keep the general body of the party and the public at large in ignorance of their clandestine operations. They had even experimented with dynamite, hoping to perfect it so that it could be handled with safety; but somehow they had failed to discover means for making its use practicable. They had adopted various expedients to test its strength when confined in a small implement, and in their labors several had received serious injuries. Four or five men are living to-day who were crippled by the rash and ineffectual experiments. One Communist was particularly active in studying the properties of the explosive and devising a plan to make it serviceable in a combat with the police. This man had fled from France after the downfall of the Paris Commune, and thought himself quite capable of getting dynamite down to such a fine point that when his new-found brethren in Anarchy started their revolution they would be more successful than his French associates had been. He finally succeeded in making an explosive similar to dynamite, but which was found very unsafe to handle. After some of the Anarchists had tried it and got hurt, they refrained from further meddling, and dropped both the Frenchman and his explosive. For along time thereafter dynamite was not heard of.
A man living on West Lake Street, however, still entertained hopes, and finally supplied some of the Anarchists with a dynamite prescription by which they could use it with great effect. In imparting his knowledge he told them to keep the “stuff” hermetically sealed, for if the air reached it an explosion would surely follow. Some found this true, to their sorrow.
Then a man residing on West Twelfth Street stepped to the front and supplied what he claimed could be successfully used. One Sunday some half dozen Anarchists went out to Riverside to test the new compound by putting some of it under a lot of stone near the Desplaines River, but, to their surprise and mortification, they found that it was so weak that it scarcely made a noise.
Subsequently the Southwest Side group took up the dynamite problem and experimented with the “stuff.” The members of this group, known at the time familiarly as “the Bridgeport group,” were the craziest lot of Anarchists in the city, and, judging from their talk, were always ready to participate in a riot or a revolution. They were great readers of books on Socialism, Communism, Anarchy and Nihilism, and they had drilled themselves thoroughly in arms for the coming uprising. But they wanted something more potent and effective than simple guns and revolvers, and, as they possessed a work on “The Wonders of Chemistry,” they saw no reason why they could not carry out its instructions with reference to dynamite and find some means for putting them to practical use. They accordingly experimented. They had a friend in a drug-store on State Street, near Van Buren, and from him they obtained their supplies by paying a good round price. This store finally became known to all the Socialists in the city, but, as the owner became frightened at the publicity obtained, he declined to furnish any more material for experiments. The Anarchists, however, had met with some small success, and they were not discouraged. They found another friend on West Twelfth Street, and this party sold them dynamite cartridges such as are used by miners.
There were in the city at the time the Bridgeport group, the Town of Lake group, the South Side group, the Southwest Side group, the Freiheit group, the Northwest Side group, the North Side group, the Karl Marx group, the English group, the Lake View group (near Clybourn Avenue), and another group which existed only a short time, all together having a membership list of about 1,500 men, who hailed with great delight the report that with some further experiments the dynamite cartridges could be made serviceable not only for blowing up buildings, but also for use in a hand-to-hand conflict in a crowd.
The members of the Lehr und Wehr Verein were not then interested in this branch of Socialism. They drilled with arms and believed in meeting the enemy with guns. It was about this time—October, 1883—that the national convention of Socialists was held at Pittsburg to formulate plans and principles, and there was a division of sentiment on the use of dynamite. The radical delegates from Chicago, as stated in a preceding chapter, were numerous, and insisted on employing the most effective weapon they could find to exterminate capitalists. The result of the conflict was that on their return home they made it a point to bring over the members of the Lehr und Wehr Verein, some of whom had opposed them at Pittsburg, to their ideas, and some time thereafter they succeeded in having the superiority of dynamite over guns almost generally conceded. Not only that, but some of the members became enthusiastic in the experiments being made. One member had even reached a point beyond his competitors in making round cast-iron bombs, and succeeded in turning out fifty pieces. A few were tried, with what success is not known, but one night two friends of the man went to him, told him that they had heard of his having bombs and that his arrest would be made the next day. In fact, they assured him that he had been spotted for some time by detectives. This frightened the man, and he begged his friends to assist him in carrying the bombs away and thus help him out of his troubles. The three then went to work, removed the bombs, and, to effectually destroy all evidence, threw them into the lake.
This procedure gave the great man of the Lehr und Wehr Verein a chance to breathe a little easier, the air seemed to be more bracing, and he could look into the eye of a policeman, when he passed one, with more assurance and confidence. But one of those bombs got astray while being removed, just before the others were submerged, and it afterwards came into the possession of the police. It has had its picture taken and looks quite innocent on paper.
An engraving of it is herewith presented. This sort of iron bomb was afterwards adopted as a model, and became quite popular with the brave dynamite experimenters until some one manufactured a smaller one that could be carried handily in a coat pocket.
They next adopted the long iron gas-pipe bomb, six inches in length, which could be carried in the inside vest pocket. Every one fell in love with the new invention, especially Fischer, and he kept a large soap-box full of the bombs at his home, carefully concealed under his bed.
But the Anarchists were bent on still greater improvements. They continued their experiments, and the next new invention was the round lead bomb, called by them the “Czar bomb.” This was the kind brought to August Spies’ office by “the man from Cleveland,” or rather by Louis Lingg. One of these bombs is shown in a full-page engraving presented elsewhere. They had been designated as the “Czar bomb” until bombs began to fill my office, and then they were referred to as “the round lead bombs.” The police knew them as Lingg’s bombs.
Some of Fischer’s bombs were scattered among trusted Anarchists in the Board of Trade procession, and their effectiveness would have been tried on that occasion had it not been for police interference. The character and explosiveness of the “Lingg bomb” are described in the testimony of the officers and expert chemists during the trial.
SAMUEL FIELDEN was found at his home during the day of May 5th, and placed under arrest. He accepted the situation calmly, and, without a remonstrance, accompanied the officers to the Central Station. Officer Slayton, who had him in care, introduced him to the Lieutenant in charge of the detective department, and, in view of the conspicuous part the prisoner had played at the Haymarket, one would suppose that he would have been subjected to a very rigorous examination as to his movements for several days preceding the evening of May 4. But nothing of the kind occurred. The Lieutenant proceeded to denounce him in English more vigorous than elegant, and delivered himself of an opinion about the man and the work of the Anarchists at the Haymarket. Fielden stood it all without a murmur, and probably would have said nothing had not the Lieutenant called him a Dutchman. That allusion was the “last straw.” Fielden remonstrated and emphatically declared that he was an Englishman. He was subsequently turned over to Superintendent Ebersold, and, while exhibiting his wound, caused by a shot during the Haymarket riot, he was informed by that officer that it ought to have gone through his head. The observation was a pertinent one at the moment, and possibly the felicity of its expression may have satisfied the official that with it his duty had ended in the case. At any rate, Fielden was not catechized to any material extent by the Chief, and that official, as well as the head of the detective department, was no wiser than before the man’s arrest.
The prisoner, who had been shown to have declared at the Haymarket, “Here come the bloodhounds, the police; you do your duty and I’ll do mine,” and to have fired a shot in the direction of the police after dismounting from the speakers’ wagon, was then passed into a cell. His house was searched, but nothing of a criminating character was discovered. He undoubtedly possessed a great deal of information respecting the revolutionary plot. Had it not been for work done outside of the Central Station, Fielden would have been speedily released, and possibly some apology might have been offered him for the inconvenience occasioned by his arrest and the unintentional reflection cast upon the English and German nationalities.
Fielden was kept locked up, indicted, and finally convicted on discoveries made independently of the Chief’s office or the detective department. The education, demeanor and independence of the man were well calculated to deceive the most expert readers of human nature, and his emphatic assertions regarding the want of any knowledge of a conspiracy would have made him a free man to-day had his case rested on the efforts of the Central Station. Fielden was a sort of diamond in the rough. He possessed much native ability, a ruggedness of character which commanded admiration, and a force and volubility of speech which swayed the unlettered masses. Had he passed through either an academic or collegiate training, there is no telling what eminence he might have achieved in the higher walks of life. His rough, uncouth appearance greatly heightened the effect of his utterances, as few looked for eloquence from such a man. He was born in Dodmorden, Lancashire, England, in 1847, and spent a number of his earlier years in a cotton mill. While thus engaged he became a Sunday-school teacher at the age of eighteen, and some time later branched out as an itinerant Methodist exhorter. Some time after (1868) he came to America, settling in New York, and the next year he found his way to Chicago. He went to work at Summit, a hamlet a few miles southwest of town, on the farm of ex-Mayor John Wentworth, but he did not remain there long before he migrated to Arkansas and Louisiana to engage in railroad construction work. In 1871 he returned to Chicago and engaged in manual labor, principally as teamster in handling stone. In 1880 he became a member of the Liberal League, and under the training and guidance of George Schilling he soon became a rabid Socialist. From that the step was only a short one to unbridled Anarchy, and the pupil finally became a teacher to Schilling in advanced theories on the state of society they all sought to inaugurate. Fielden finally became a boon companion of Spies and Parsons, and all the rugged eloquence he could command was given to the cause. He was a more forcible speaker than either of the two just named, and whenever he preached force, as he always did after becoming an Anarchist, his language commanded wider attention and made a deeper impression. Had it not been for his own sincere penitence for his past misdeeds and the intervention of influential friends because of that penitence, he would have died on the gallows. But he recanted at the last moment of hope for clemency, and the Governor commuted his sentence to imprisonment for life. He is a married man with two small children, and the misery he wrought upon them has been beyond expression. Such is the fruit of Anarchy.
Chapter XI
My Connection with the Anarchist Cases—A Scene at the Central Office—Mr. Hanssen’s Discovery—Politics and Detective Work—Jealousy against Inspector Bonfield—Dynamiters on Exhibition—Courtesies to the Prize-fighters—A Friendly Tip—My First Light on the Case—A Promise of Confidence—One Night’s Work—The Chief Agrees to my Taking up the Case—Laying Our Plans—“We Have Found the Bomb Factory!”—Is it a Trap?—A Patrol-wagon Full of Dynamite—No Help Hoped for from Headquarters—Conference with State’s Attorney Grinnell—Furthmann’s Work—Opening up the Plot—Trouble with the Newspaper Men—Unexpected Advantage of Hostile Criticism—Information from Unexpected Quarters—Queer Episodes of the Hunt—Clues Good, Bad and Indifferent—A Mysterious Lady with a Veil—A Conference in my Back Yard—The Anarchists Alarmed—A Breezy Conference with Ebersold—Threatening Letters—Menaces Sent to the Wives of the Men Working on the Case—How the Ladies Behaved—The Judge and Mrs. Gary—Detectives on Each Other’s Trail—The Humors of the Case—Amusing Incidents.
I HAVE often been asked how it was that I came to have charge of the detective work which was done in bringing the Anarchists to justice, and I think that the time has now come for the whole story to be told. I think it would be a false delicacy for me, in this book, which I mean to make, as nearly as I can, a fair and truthful record of the Anarchist case, to pass over the notorious incompetency which prevailed at Police Headquarters at that time. It cannot be denied that, had the case been left in the hands of the men of the Central Office, the prosecution would have come to naught, and these red-handed murderers would have gone unwhipped of justice. This was something which every good citizen would have been bound to prevent, and more than others a police officer, for into our hands is intrusted the care of the lives and property of the community and the preservation of law and order. I knew as well as my questioners that the case belonged to the Central Office. There was the Chief; there were the two heads of the detective department; there was the detective corps, supposed to contain the keenest and the best officers on the force.
From the first I was satisfied that the men at headquarters neither appreciated the gravity of the occasion, nor were they able to cope with the conspirators—a set of wily, secret and able men, who had made a special study of the art and mystery of baffling the law and avoiding the police. There was neither order, discipline nor brains at headquarters. Every officer did as he liked, and the department was rent and paralyzed with the feuds and jealousies between the chiefs and the subordinates. This, too, was at a time when the people of Chicago were in a condition of mind almost bordering upon panic. They were looking to us for protection. The red flag was flaunted in the streets, demagogues were shouting dynamite in a dozen parts of the city, riotous mobs had already met the police—and the police were in charge of a man who—it is a charity to say no more—had neither a proper conception of his duties nor the ability to perform them.
For instance, on the evening of May 3 all the captains of the city were ordered to meet at the Chief’s office, and, together with Inspector Bonfield, they responded promptly. While the situation was being discussed, there was a rap at the door. I was nearest the entrance, and I opened it. Mr. Hanssen, one of the editors of the Freie Presse, was there. He handed in a paper, saying that it was of most serious import—so serious that, as soon as he had seen it, he had felt it his duty to bring it to police headquarters. It was the “Revenge” circular, of which so much is said elsewhere in this book, and which afterwards became so notorious. I handed it to Chief Ebersold, who glanced at it and said it was all nonsense. “Why,” said he, “we are prepared for them.” Bonfield looked it over, and thought it serious. I was sure that it meant mischief and murder, but the rest treated it as a farce. Now, what was to be expected from men who had no clearer idea of the gravity of the crisis that was upon us than the story of this incident conveys.
On the next evening the crash of dynamite was for the first time heard on the streets of an American city. The Red Terror was upon us.
What was done?
Every citizen of Chicago demanded justice for the brave men who had fallen—justice on the miscreants who had done them to death. Knowing what I did of the manner in which the detective work was apt to be done, it will not be wondered that I at once made up my mind to do what lay in my power to hunt these murderers down. Even had I not so concluded, the events of that day, the 5th of May, would have fastened the determination in my mind. At ten o’clock in the morning I was ordered by telephone to report at the Central Station at once with two companies—trouble was momentarily expected on the Black Road. When I had disposed my men at the City Hall, and arranged for the patrol wagons we were to occupy if a call should come, there was nothing to do but wait in the Chief’s office till we were summoned. No one ever had a better opportunity of seeing how the police business of the city was transacted.
It was a time of acute excitement, the day after the Haymarket. The Chief was in a state of alarm that would have been ridiculous if it had not been pitiable. Whenever the telephone rang, he would start nervously and demand, “Is that on the prairie, or the Black Road?” and when assured that there was no trouble, his relief was absurdly manifest. Among the detectives the topic was whether they would be called on to work in the Anarchist case and how many they would be expected to arrest.
Another question that bothered them was: What would the old man (Mayor Harrison) say if they went to work arresting Anarchists, and how would he like it?
The officers who did their duty after such a stupendous crime as the slaughter of the police officers would never have lost anything in the end, even if they should have lost their positions. The question, “How would Harrison like it?” as asked by one of the detectives, should, therefore, have cut no figure, and possibly it did not. Probably the officer fell back upon it as an excuse for his own laziness and incompetence. But one thing is certain, and that is that the department did nothing to speak of in the case.
I saw some of those red-handed murderers come out of that office smiling and laughing instead of being made to feel that they were about to have a rope around their necks.
In fact, the Central Office was run so that no one could tell who was officer, waiter or janitor. Everybody had a full sweep in and out of the office, and if a prisoner happened to be brought in by some well-meaning officer, everybody was allowed to hear the investigation. It was a sort of town meeting, and it was free to all.
At that time Inspector Bonfield had been receiving a great deal of favorable mention in the newspapers, in connection with the labor troubles, and this aroused the jealousy of Chief Ebersold. The Chief accordingly concluded to attend to all the business himself, assisted by his pet gang of ignorant detectives, and they made a fine mess of it. But forces were at work, in spite of the internal difficulties, which rescued the case from utter failure.
On the morning of May 5, at an early hour, Inspector Bonfield had a short interview with State’s Attorney Grinnell; but exactly what transpired no one but themselves knew. Before noon of that day, however, the result could be plainly seen. Officers James Bonfield, Palmer, Slayton and a few others had by that time succeeded in arresting August Spies, Chris Spies, Schwab, Fischer and Fielden. Of course, this step only served to create more jealousy in the Central Station.
After the prisoners had been brought in, some of the newspaper reporters endeavored to obtain interviews with them, but they were not permitted to get anywhere near the Anarchists.
In the meantime, and while the working officers were out hunting for more of the chief conspirators, the lieutenants in command of the detective department concluded that they would enjoy a little breathing-spell. Accordingly they took a stroll among the fashionable saloons on Clark Street. There they met their friends, and while sampling the various decoctions compounded by the cocktail dispensers, they fell in with a party of professional prize-fighters, heavy-weight and light-weight, and match-makers for man and beast. They found there was more sport in that party than in taking risks by going out into the suburbs through tough streets and dirty alleyways looking for Anarchists.
At any rate, after a lot of wine had been consumed and good cigars tested, round after round, one of the pug-faced sluggers made the remark to one of the lieutenants that he would like to see the Anarchists who had been arrested, and the officer addressed responded: “Of course you can see them—all you gentlemen can see them. Come right along with us.”
They all fell into line, went over to the Central Station, were taken down stairs to the lock-up, and there told to go around and look for themselves. This was some time after nine o’clock in the evening, and after the party had satisfied their curiosity, they returned to the saloon which they had left. The vigilant reporters had noticed this proceeding, and, holding a short conference, they resolved to insist on seeing the prisoners also. They told the officials that the public had as much right to know about the parties arrested as a gang of prize-fighters, whether Sullivans or lesser lights in the prize-ring firmament, and the lieutenants at once recognized the force of the argument. Between eleven and twelve that night one reporter from each paper in the city was allowed to see the Anarchists, and interviews were secured for publication the next morning.
When I understood how the whole affair was being managed during that day, I came to the conclusion that the case would never be worked up by that department, and I was more resolved than ever that if the opportunity came I would not rest until the criminals were brought to justice.
Inspector Bonfield had likewise become disgusted with the nervous actions of the Chief and the heads of the detective department, and he decided to confine his operations to the West Side. He went over there that day,—May 5,—and as a result he cleaned out all Lake Street from the river to Halsted Street. He broke up all the Anarchist rendezvous, captured their guns, confiscated their flags, and created general dismay among the reds. Some sought safety by fleeing to the roofs, others escaped through back alleys, and still others got into the dark recesses of basements. When they learned that “Black” Bonfield, as they called him, was on their track, consternation took possession of them all. The Inspector had no easy task. He looked up all their halls and meeting-places, hunted for “Revenge” circulars at every place he visited, and in every instance he found plenty of them as evidence of the extensive circulation given that document among Anarchists. He gathered them all together, and in the trial they proved of great service to the State as showing that all had notice to come to the Haymarket meeting with arms and be prepared for a deadly conflict. After that day Inspector Bonfield turned all his attention to the sick and wounded officers and their families, and, as a consequence, the Central Station was left without a competent head. But the Central considered itself capable of handling the case, and Bonfield never asked any questions. Ebersold and the dual-headed monstrosities in charge of the detective department struggled along, and, with a great deal of bluster, endeavored to show to the outside world that they were moving along finely. But they accomplished absolutely nothing. Insults in various ways were heaped upon Bonfield, so that every one about the City Hall noticed them. Even on the 5th of May, the slights cast upon the Inspector were commented upon by some of the officers in the Central. Some of the officers friendly to the incompetents would declare that Bonfield did not know his business and that he was to blame for the killing of the officers, but there were others who took a different view and regretted that he was not kept continually at work on the case. In fact, the only ones about the building, after the incompetent heads took charge, who showed a willingness to work and who tried to do their duty, were Officers James Bonfield, Palmer and Slayton. All the rest looked scared, absent-minded and indifferent.
On the next morning—May 6—I was again at the Central Headquarters. I learned then how deep and wide-spread was the spirit that pervaded the department. Nothing was done, and nothing was proposed to be done. I also learned of the treatment accorded Officer Palmer by the lieutenants in charge of the department.
The whole trouble appeared to be that no one cared about doing anything, and that if any one had the temerity to bring information in, he would be kicked out. While such was the stupidity or the lethargy of the head officials, I was powerless to act. I could not take the case away from my superior officer on information rejected and spurned by those in authority about police headquarters, and I almost despaired of ever seeing the culprits brought to punishment.
An incident occurred, however, which changed the whole course of events. On my way home to supper that evening, about six o’clock—May 6—I met a man near my house. He acted as though greatly frightened, but he had some information he wished to impart to me. He was afraid to speak, as he said it was life or death to him.
“If I speak,” he said, “and these people [the Anarchists] find it out, they will kill me sure. On the other hand, when I think of how many were killed, it drives me nearly crazy. I can probably help to bring the murderers to justice, and I cannot forgive myself unless I try to assist.”
I told the man that as a good citizen it was his duty to tell everything he knew about the affair, and that I should consider everything he said strictly confidential. My personal pledge being given to him that I would not get him into trouble by exposing him to the reds, he began his statement. The man did not tell very much, but after I had gathered together all the little threads carefully, the whole proved of considerable service. After supper I went to a great many places and remained out till four o’clock the next morning. The following day I instructed some of my people how to get information respecting the throwing of the Haymarket bomb, and I told them where they might leave their information if they obtained any. I got back to the station at 9 A.M., and found in my closed letter-box a slip of paper containing about five lines of important news. I scanned the paper closely, and those who stood around told me afterwards that they noticed that my face brightened up considerably.
I knew then that I had a very light starter in the case, but a good one. I could readily see also that everything had to be handled with the greatest care, and by preserving the utmost confidence with the informers. I knew, too, that nothing must be told even in the Chief’s office or in the detective department.
I had previously discovered that there was not a man among the three heads of the Central that knew how to listen to information, how to put questions or remember conversation, or, in fact, to have anything in shape, or to keep secrets, and I therefore decided to keep my own counsel.
On the morning of the 7th of May, at nine o’clock, I arrived at the Chief’s office and asked him if he had any good news. He replied that it was hard to get at the bottom of the affair. I then asked him if he would give me the privilege of working up the case. He looked at me a moment and then said, “Yes.”
“Yes, Captain,” he added, after a brief pause, “I will—sure. If you can do anything, do it. I hope you will do it. I shall be pleased if you can only do it.”
I then said: “With your permission I will work this case and all there is in the case. You will hear from me soon, but if you should not hear from me in three months, do not ask for me. I am going to work night and day until this case is cleared up. Good day.”
Then I started for the North Side. Arriving at the station, Lieut. Larsen handed me a little note which had been left for me. It was small, but full of information, and was the first fruit of one night’s work. I immediately turned over the command of the station and all the details to Lieut. Larsen, and at once called in my old reliable officers, those whom I knew to be honest and true, strong and vigilant, intelligent and brave. They began earnestly and were with me through all the investigations up to November 11, 1887. They were Michael Whalen, John Stift, Michael Hoffman, Hermann Schuettler, Jacob Loewenstein and Charles Rehm, and they reported to me promptly at the office, where they received their first instructions. I told them that this must be like all the other cases we had worked, secret and only known among ourselves. All information and reports must come to me as soon as possible, and all details must be attended to strictly. I further told them that they must expect a forty-eight hours’ stretch of work frequently before we got to the end; that they must keep in mind that their lives would often be in danger, but they should only kill in dire necessity. Insults or abuses they must not take from any one. I knew that they would get into many of those h—l-holes, where the women were a great deal worse than the men, and I proposed that the officers should show that they were not to be trifled with in the discharge of their duties.
The field chosen for work was the vicinity of Clybourn Avenue, Sedgwick Street and North Avenue. The officers were provided with chisels, jimmies and keys and one or two dark lanterns, and after these preliminary arrangements they mounted a patrol wagon and started for the scene of their operations. This detail was in charge of Officer Whalen, and the first objective point was Sedgwick Street, near the residence of Seliger. They began searching all the houses, barns and wood-sheds belonging to Anarchists, and created quite a consternation in the locality.
While they were thus engaged, I was temporarily called away from my office, and on my return I was soon called up by a telephone message from the Larrabee Street Station. Answering the call, I recognized the voice of Officer Whalen, and some important news was at once communicated.
“We have found the bomb factory,” said Officer Whalen. “It is in the rear of No. 442 Sedgwick Street. The house is full of bombs and all kinds of material. My men are all there, and I am almost afraid to touch any of the stuff. There are some very queer-looking things, besides round lead bombs and very long iron bombs, about the house, and probably some trap may have been set to blow us all up the moment the articles are disturbed.”
I questioned him as to whether there was any one about the house, and, being answered in the negative, I instructed the officer to handle everything himself and exercise great caution. Everything that looked suspicious was to be packed in a box and sent to the Chicago Avenue Station. I further instructed the officer to hunt up the parties who lived there, place them under arrest and send them also to the same station.
Whalen then returned to the house, packed up all the “stuff” and hunted for the occupants, who were nowhere to be found. He ascertained their names, however, and learned from the neighbors that the head of the house worked in Meyer’s Mill, a sash and door factory on the North Pier. This information was telephoned to me, and I instructed Lieut. Larsen just what I desired in the way of securing the man’s arrest. The Lieutenant called up the Larrabee Street Station patrol wagon, and, with a number of officers, he repaired to the mill. He there found his man, William Seliger, and brought him to the Chicago Avenue Station.
Meanwhile Officer Whalen and his men were busy getting their load of deadly missiles, and, still unsatisfied, they got some shovels and picks and went to mining in the back yard of the bomb factory. They found a lot of lead and gas pipes buried in the ground, and after they had collected about all the suspicious-looking articles they could find, they brought it all to the station. This was the first of a series of searches kept up night and day for two weeks, and no house or place where an Anarchist or Socialist resided escaped police attention. The houses were examined from top to bottom, and when the officers had finished their labors in this direction the Chicago Avenue Station was filled with all kinds of arms, some old and some new, nearly every nation on the globe being represented in the collection.
On the evening of May 7, about eight o’clock, a gentleman called at my house, and in a most confidential manner desired to post me about an arrest that ought to be made.
“You had a fellow taken from Meyer’s Mill,” said he, “but you left a man worse than the one you arrested.” He gave the name of the party and then silently took his departure.
On the next day Officer Whalen was detailed to bring the man to the station, but when the officers arrived at the mill the bird had flown. This man’s name was Mueller, No. 2. He has never returned to the factory, although his tool chest is still there, and $27 still stands due to him on the books of the concern to this date.
With the information so far secured I became confident that I had an opening to the case, but, knowing that no aid could be had from the Central Headquarters, I refrained, I think wisely, from asking for assistance. In Mr. Grinnell and his staff, however, I had every confidence, and I went to his office. I told him what discoveries had been made, giving him all the details, and said to him that in working up the case I should frequently need his advice. He promptly said: “Schaack, you can command my services and those of every man in my office at any time.” I thanked him, and felt greatly strengthened in the task I had before me.
Mr. Furthmann was directed to go with me and assist in the same way that he had assisted in working up the evidence in the Mulkowsky murder case.
I then felt highly gratified, and stronger and more resolute than ever, because of my new partner in the case. When we were about to go, Mr. Grinnell said, “I will be up to-night and see you.” He called, as promised. We then told him what progress we had made during the day, and he expressed himself as greatly pleased. He urged us to keep everything as secret as possible and not to take any more people into our confidence than was absolutely necessary. Having given us this advice, he left us, but we continued our work until three o’clock the next morning. We met again—Furthmann and myself—the next day at nine o’clock, and that day we worked with great success. The boys brought us in good news every hour. Good citizens would leave letters at my house, and these would be immediately sent to me by my wife. Before eight o’clock that night we had gained an entrance to the conspiracy plot. Mr. Grinnell was sent for, and he called on us at once. He was informed of all the facts and said:
“You boys have done well. You have found the missing link, and you have it right.”
Mr. Grinnell became enthusiastic over the work accomplished and recognized the fact that the right parties were under arrest, and that what had been morally certain before as to a conspiracy had now been made a legal certainty susceptible of the strongest proof. In reaching this point, a great deal of work had been done, and in its performance talent, tact and ingenuity of a very high order seemed essential. Mr. Grinnell inspired us with confidence, however, and was kind enough to say, just before going home that night:
“Schaack, I want to say that you are one of the greatest detectives in America.”
When the case had been worked up to the discovery of the leading facts at this time, the reporters for the various papers in Chicago began to gather at the Chicago Avenue Station, and they plied me with all sorts of questions. They desired all the information I possessed, but their laudable ambition was not gratified. Nothing respecting the merits of the case was furnished them. This provoked quite a number of the newspaper craft, and they sought to even up things by scoring me and my assistants in the columns of their papers. They continued their attacks, evidently expecting that I would weaken and tell all I knew, but in this they were mistaken, as their shafts fell harmless at my feet.
The more the papers blamed us, the better we liked it. It made our work much easier, because we received a great deal of good information from persons who would not have told us anything without positive assurance of secrecy.
This was in fact a potent factor in our success, and the newspaper-reading public really lost nothing by it. The latest news respecting the Anarchist conspiracy was always presented by the dailies, and, while there may have been wanting many of the essential and interesting facts, the public demand was measurably satisfied. At any rate, the interests of justice could not be permitted to be overshadowed by those of the newspapers, and I held unflinchingly to the course mapped out until the day of the trial. The result proved the wisdom of the plan, and the encomiums bestowed on me by the press on the evidence I finally accumulated more than offset the former bitter attacks.
Had it not been for the caution and secrecy which we made our rule all through the investigation, the plot would not have been successfully unraveled. Recognizing this trait in my management of the case, men close to the Anarchists gave points they otherwise would not have dared to give, and there was scarcely an hour during the investigation that I did not find some trails leading up to the arch-conspirators. I even received private letters on my way home to meals. Persons would meet me on the street, hand me letters and pass right on. Some of these letters were purposely misleading, while others contained good points; but by putting one thing with another, and working up everything, something tangible was generally produced. In many of the notes a few words would signify a great deal, and the clues would be run down to the last point. Of course, sometimes the detectives made long and weary walks with no results. But whenever the boys met with disappointments in not getting just what they expected, and even when they were kept up all night, they never grumbled or expressed dissatisfaction.
On the morning of May 8, at eight o’clock, we all met for general consultation behind locked doors in an inner room, and, while thus occupied with the case, I was notified that a lady desired to see me on important business. I immediately responded, and as I entered the main office I was confronted by a woman very heavily veiled. She briefly stated her mission and said that she desired an interview in private. I took her into another office, and, after the door had been locked, she said:
“You must excuse me. I will not uncover my face. Don’t ask me anything about myself, and I will tell you something.”
She was a German lady, well educated, and she spoke in an earnest, truthful manner. Being assured that no questions would be asked to establish her identity, she then told me where to send and what would be found at the indicated place. Before making her exit she remarked:
“You will have to attend to this matter this very day and before four o’clock.”
Her information proved highly interesting and valuable, and I thanked her for it. In less than half an hour one of the detectives was set to work on her “pointers,” and before two o’clock he returned to the station with “a good fat bird” and a lot of new evidence. Who the lady was is a mystery. She left the station as mysteriously as she had entered.
In the evening of the same day we met again and put together the results of each one’s investigations. The work accomplished was surprising to all. Mr. Grinnell called, and, seeing what had been done, was more than pleased. At this time we had some of the Anarchists already behind the bars. That night we worked until two o’clock the next morning, and it was half an hour later when I directed my steps homeward. As I neared my house, I saw the indistinct outlines of a man standing close to a large bill-board about ten feet north of my residence. The figure proved to be a tall man, and, as I came to a halt, the stranger spoke up in German:
“Is this Mr. Schaack?”
“I am,” I replied, “and what are you doing standing there?”
The stranger asked me to wait for a moment, and I complied, hardly knowing what to make out of the man’s intentions toward me at such an unseemly hour in the morning; but at the same time I kept my eye steadily upon him for any hostile demonstrations. The strange individual hurriedly placed a cloth of some sort over his face, and I began to think some Anarchist had been commissioned to murder me. Still, the coolness and self-possession of the man and the seeming absence of the usual bluster incident to the commission of a foul crime reassured me. Noticing all this, by way of making the man understand that I was prepared for him if he had any murderous intentions, I said: “If you make any attack upon me I will kill you dead!”
“Mein Gott, nein. I only want to tell you something,” was the reply.
I told him that that was all right and asked him into the back yard, when he said he would talk to me. I made the stranger go ahead of me, and when we reached the yard the man gave me a long story.
“I dare not,” said he, “write to you. I dare not come near you during the daytime. I don’t want you to know me, but I think you are the right man to talk to. I would not talk to anyone else.”
During the whole conversation the man kept his improvised mask on, and made it clear that his motive in so doing was to prevent the possibility of his being made to appear in court to verify the statements he desired to communicate. He gave information mainly bearing on the conspiracy meeting which had been held on the evening of May 3, at No. 54 West Lake Street, and the interview lasted until about three o’clock.
When we parted I was no wiser as to his identity than I had been before, and to this day I don’t know with whom I talked there in my back yard that early morning.
In the forenoon of the 9th of May my trusted assistants again met in the office to compare notes. At this meeting I told Mr. Furthmann what a ghost I had seen that night, and in our deliberations that ghost aided us a great deal.
As a result the detectives started out with new instructions, and they were ordered to be back at the office at one o’clock in the afternoon. All reported promptly except a few who had struck a good trail and who kept out until six o’clock. The reports of those present showed good results. They started out again at two o’clock with new instructions and were ordered to report as soon as they had completed their work. Between three and five o’clock that afternoon things became exceedingly lively. The Anarchists began to move about like hornets disturbed in their nest, and some jumped around as if charged with electricity. Towards six o’clock the detectives reported back to the office, and an exchange of notes showed that it had been a day more fruitful of results than the day preceding. I found that a strong chain had been wrought connecting all the leading Anarchists in Chicago with the Haymarket murder, and I knew that no mistakes had been made in the arrest of those who had already been locked up.
During the same evening Mr. Grinnell and Mr. George Ingham gave me a call, and anxiously inquired about the progress made in the case. Mr. Grinnell assured Mr. Furthmann and myself that Mr. Ingham was all right, being with them, and with this statement all the facts were laid before them.
When the whole situation had been explained, Mr. Ingham said:
“Mr. Grinnell, now you have a case.”
“George,” replied Mr. Grinnell, “up to the time when Capt. Schaack began his work I had no case whatsoever. I would have been laughed out of court, but now I say we have a good, strong case, and it will be in excellent shape. The boys are making it stronger every day. They have got things down fine, and they are going to bring out everything there is in it.”
We worked that night until one o’clock, and met again the next morning at eight, vigorous and keen for further developments. At this time we had our hands full, with an abundance of material on which to work. During the night several letters were dropped in my letter-box, and they all contained good news. Some of the letters were somewhat obscure, their import having to be guessed at from suggestive circumstances, but they nevertheless helped. With fresh instructions the detectives started out for the day and reported back at one o’clock as per orders. Everything was discovered to have worked well. About two o’clock a man was noticed standing across the street from the station. His actions were somewhat strange, and one of the officers remarked that the fellow appeared to be watching the building very closely. I told the officer to keep watch of him, and in the event of his walking away to follow him. The man did not move, and as he remained there for nearly half an hour I ordered the officer to go across the street and ascertain what the stranger was watching. The man declined to speak at first, but, after the officer had threatened to lock him up, he stated that he desired to see me, but did not want to go into the building. He then requested the officer to tell me that he would meet me at the corner of La Salle and Chicago Avenues, and I was so notified.
I started at once to see the man, but as soon as he saw me he started off. When he got to the corner he turned north on La Salle Avenue, and I followed. When I got within twenty feet of him he looked around, and then dropped a letter, pointing his fingers to it as he passed on, without stopping. I picked up the letter and went back to the station. This letter contained very important matter and kept us busy for two days. This man was a stranger to me. I had never seen him before to my knowledge, and I have never seen him since.
After this day the office had all it could do and all the information it needed. After six days and nights of hard and exacting labor, the real troubles of all engaged in the case began. The newspapers now appreciated the work accomplished, and they were not slow to bestow great praise upon all connected with the case. This did not please Mr. Ebersold, the Chief, and on the 11th of May he sent for me to report at once.
The moment I entered the office at the Central Station I saw that there was “fire in the eye” of the Superintendent, and the atmosphere was somewhat above the boiling-point.
“Are you Chief of Police or am I?” broke in Mr. Ebersold, in a gruff, blustering manner, the moment I had set my foot inside of the private office.
“You are,” said I, “or at least you are supposed to be. I certainly don’t desire to be.”
This shot did not contribute anything to the comfort of the Chief, and he grew hotter than ever, and desired me to understand that he was the Chief, and no one else. Mr. Ebersold then proceeded to unburden his mind. He said that his friends had told him that they had thought he was Chief, but since they had not seen his name published in connection with the case, they had reached a different conclusion. He further stated that ministers even, and professors, too, and other people, had come to him and said that “Capt. Schaack was getting too much notoriety.” He declared that he wanted me to stop the newspapers writing anything more about me and to let the credit be given to the head of the department.
“I want this thing stopped!” declared the Chief, as he struck the desk vigorously with his fist and glowered savagely at me.
I told him that I had not asked any newspaper to write me up and I would not tell any of them to stop, simply because it was not my business.
I had progressed too far to think of allowing all the work already done to be set at naught by the incompetents then at the head of what was facetiously called the defective department. I therefore took occasion to say, just before leaving the Chief’s presence, that, now that I had opened up the case, I proposed to finish it, even if I did not remain on the force one day after my work had been fully accomplished. A day or two after this interview I met Mr. Grinnell and related the circumstances. The State’s Attorney said:
“Captain, you are doing well; you keep on and work just as you have been doing.”
During the afternoon of May 10, the detectives of the Chicago Avenue Station discovered a lot of bombs, guns and revolvers, which they brought to the station. They also arrested a few Anarchists, who pretended to be as harmless and spotless as little lambs, but who, before they went to sleep that night in our hotel, discovered that they had a great many black spots on them. The force continued at work till three o’clock the next morning. The following day they met again at eight o’clock in the morning, and several arrests were made that day.
At about this time the mail was burdened with a great many letters, some very encouraging in the cheering and complimentary sentiments they conveyed, and others very threatening in their character. The latter class were full of most dire menaces, suggesting all sorts of torture in the event that I did not stop prosecuting the Anarchists, and the whole formed a very interesting collection. It was evident that many of them had been written by cranks, and that some bore marks of having been inspired by religious enthusiasts. One wrote that enough men had already been killed without hunting for innocent men as a sacrifice for the Haymarket murder, and another wrote urging that the whole lot of the Anarchist brood be hung as fast as they could be arrested. Several drew on their imaginations and volunteered “pointers” which bore on their face evidences of falsehood. Others would say that their prayers were constantly with the police in their efforts, and expressed a hope that out of it all might come the extirpation of Anarchy from American soil. These communications poured in upon me in such numbers that I had no time to read them through, and even the most savage and bloodthirsty hardly gave me a moment’s thought. As a matter of fact I was never for a moment alarmed about my own personal safety. All of the letters I received I filed away, and some day, when I do not know what else to do to amuse myself, I purpose to run them over again and enjoy another hearty laugh. Meanwhile Anarchist after Anarchist was overhauled, and after one clue had been worked out another was undertaken with the utmost secrecy. The detectives continued persistently at work, and for two months they carefully kept their own counsel, never permitting themselves to be drawn into conversation by outsiders respecting the case.
Their experience was highly exciting at all times, and the various haunts of the Anarchists were kept in a lively commotion. The social miscreants never knew when the investigations would end, and they were in constant dread. Finding that threats upon the lives of State’s Attorney Grinnell, Assistant State’s Attorney Furthmann, myself, and the officers engaged in the case, had failed to have the desired effect, they turned their attention to writing letters to our wives. These letters were written in a most vindictive and fiendish spirit. They threatened not only bodily harm to these ladies, but promised to inflict death by horrible tortures upon their husbands and children, if the prosecution was not dropped; and they vowed vengeance also upon property by the use of explosives that would leave to each house only a vestige of its former location. Some of these letters were general in their character, and others particularized the kind of death in store for all engaged in the case. One said that on some unexpected day we would be blown to atoms by a bomb; another pictured how a husband would be brought home in a mangled, unrecognizable mass. Still another would suggest that, if a husband proved missing, his remains might be looked for fifty feet under the water, firmly tied to a rock or a piece of iron. Another, again, stated that on the first opportunity the husband would be gagged, bound hand and foot, and placed across some railroad track to horribly contemplate death under the wheels of a fast approaching train. Still another would say: “When your husband is brought home be sure and pull the poisoned dagger out of his body.” One writer penned a tender epistle and closed by urging the mother to be sure to “kiss your children good-by when you leave them out on the street.” One letter was written with red ink and stated that “this blood is out of the veins of a determined man that would die for Anarchy.” One man expressed sorrow for the woman and then concluded: “But we cannot help this. If you have any property you had better have a will made by your liege lord to yourself, because he is going to die so quick that he will not know that he ever was alive.” Another said: “Take a good description of your husband’s clothes. He will be missing before long, and probably after some years you will hear that in some wild forest a lot of clothes have been found tied to some tree, and these clothes will be stuffed with bones.”
Epistolary threats of this kind were sent almost daily to the wives of the officers and officials, and, if published, the collection would form a volume in itself. The threats I have given are only a tithe of the whole, but I have given enough to illustrate the general trend of the letters. We paid no attention to them, but the women, of more delicate and sensitive disposition, took them more to heart. The constant receipt of such letters naturally made a deep impression on their minds, and some of the ladies had dark forebodings. But the officers always took a cheerful view, and urged that it was only cowards who resorted to threats. They still continued their work, undaunted by these denunciations and menaces, and frequently remained out all night in their work in some of the most desperate districts of the city, sometimes keeping up forty-eight hours at a stretch.
Mrs. Schaack, a generally strong and courageous woman and deeply interested in all my work, did not bear up as well as some of the others under the pressure. She had been sick for over eight months, and, when these letters began to reach her, she had just reached a convalescent state. Having thus passed through a long siege of illness, her system was in a highly nervous condition, and it was, therefore, quite natural that sometimes she should become greatly solicitous for my personal safety whenever a very savage and gory letter accidentally reached her eye. When the trial finally began, I begged her to take the three children and visit for two months a place six hundred miles away from Chicago, where she could not only enjoy a comparative serenity of mind, but build up her shattered constitution, under more favorable circumstances and climatic conditions. She acted on my advice. While away, she was in constant receipt of such letters as were calculated to make her reassured as to my comfort, and she rapidly gained in health and strength.
Mrs. Grinnell bore up remarkably well under the severe strain. She had come in for a goodly share of these murder-threatening letters, but, being blessed with good health and strong nerves, she never displayed signs of weakness.
She was a brave lady. Whenever I saw her with Mr. Grinnell, she would always say: “Captain, I want you and Mr. Grinnell and all the boys to keep on with your noble work.” She at all times appeared very pleasant and not the least disturbed.
Mrs. Furthmann was not overlooked by the letter-writers, but her husband arranged matters so that their epistles did not fall into her hands. He would gather them in, and, with what the mail brought him every day for his own individual benefit, he had plenty of hair-raising literature. But he paid no attention to the threats and never for a moment relaxed his efforts on account of them. These letters became so numerous and frequent that after a time the officers would jestingly allude to them as their “love letters.”
But the Anarchists did not stop with writing letters. One night they held a small meeting in the rear room of a saloon on North Avenue, and there was a great deal of talk and bluster about what they ought to do to “bring the officials to their senses.” One suggested that they should blow up the house of Officer Michael Hoffman, but that officer appears to have had a friend there. That friend opposed the plan and said:
“Cowards, if you want to do anything, why don’t you meet the man himself and attack him? Why do you seek to hurt his wife and innocent children?”
This appealed to their sense of humanity, and they at once decided to abandon the scheme. Finally one cut-throat arose, and, in a braggadocio style, broke out, in a loud, coarse and beer-laden voice:
“Well, we will drop that plan, but you all know where he lives and we all have bombs yet. Any one that does not care for a screeching woman or squealing young ones, let him go and see the shingles fly off the roof.”
On a subsequent night about two o’clock in the morning a carriage drove up to the officer’s house, and one of the occupants shouted out, “Mike!” The officer drew to the window, and his wife opened it. At first, mistaking her for the officer, they halloaed, “We only want to see you for a moment.” When the woman asked what was wanted they said, “We don’t want to see you. Where is Mike?” Being informed that he was not at home, one of the burly fellows said, just as the carriage started away, “A d——d good thing for him that he is not at home.”
This band of intimidators and cowards did not overlook me. On two occasions they sought to burn my house, but each time they were foiled in their attempt. They sneaked, true to their nature, into the back yard, and started a fire by means of a kerosene-saturated torch or by the use of an explosive. The fires, however, failed to do any damage.
When the trial of the arch-conspirators began, these same unpunished red-handed cranks began to give their attention to Judge Gary and his wife. They fairly overwhelmed them with letters of a most threatening character, and whenever there was any ruling of the court which they regarded as inimical to their friends’ interests, they were particularly vituperative. But throughout the whole trial neither the Judge nor his wife was at all intimidated. They paid no attention to them, and nearly every day Mrs. Gary sat by the side of her husband on the bench, giving the strictest attention to the proceedings. She was there in the forenoon and in the afternoon. When the two went out to lunch together, a detective would always follow them, without their request or knowledge, and the same course would be pursued when they went home at night or came down in the morning. I had this done as a precautionary measure, as there was no telling at that time but what some demented Anarchist might seek vengeance upon the Judge for some fancied wrong to the defendants. Sometimes, after lunch, Mrs. Gary would return in the company of some lady friends, but she would invariably, after an exchange of pleasantries with them, rejoin her husband on the bench, where she would remain until the adjournment of court. Once in a while the Judge would find a moment’s interval to talk to her, and the devoted appearance of the venerable couple formed a most pleasing and picturesque background to the crowded and excited court scene throughout the trial. She was there during all the arguments, and listened most intently to the reading of the verdict which finally sent the defendants to the gallows. From the beginning of the trial to its end she never displayed a sign of weakness or fear.
While the investigations were in progress, and even during the trial, a lot of cranks and desperate men flocked into the city from outside points, and there was no telling what villainous deeds they might perpetrate and then escape undetected. For this reason I thought it prudent to place a watchman at the house of every one actively engaged in the case, and both night and day the lives as well as property of all were closely watched to prevent the execution of any of the numerous threats made against the officials by the red-handed fiends. The attempt on my own house was made before these guards were placed, but after that there was no trouble. The Anarchists, seeing the precautions that had been taken, gave the houses no further attention, and thereafter vented their spleen in denunciatory letters.
From the very start of the investigations, I engaged the services of private men to work under my instructions, and they invariably submitted their reports to me at my house. They never called at the house without first notifying me, and this notification would be by means of a sign at a place near my residence. I would always look at the spot before entering the house, and if I found the sign, I would also find my man in the vicinity.
I would then go up-stairs, fix the rooms so that no one could see who might enter, and leave a sign at the window. In a few minutes my friend would appear at the door. Not one of my officers ever knew any of these men so employed, but they knew the officers.
Many funny incidents naturally grew out of this situation. It was very amusing to listen to the officers. One would tell me: “I saw such and such a fellow, a rank Anarchist, on the street to-day in company with a stranger,” or: “I saw a couple of them in such and such a saloon together, and one of them had a stranger with him, who looked like a wild Anarchist.” Then the officers would describe the fellow, and one of them would say:
“I know he is an Anarchist. He and the stranger walked around the jail building, and the next time I meet that stranger I will bring him in. It will do no harm to give him a few days’ entertainment in the station. I want to introduce him to you. I bet you will keep him, and you can, no doubt, learn something from him. I think he is a stranger in the city, and he is here for no good purpose.”
The officer was bound to bring him in, and this placed me in a rather awkward position. All I could do, however, was to say, “Don’t be too hasty; wait till you find him connected with others.”
This worked well for a while, but after a time some of these men who were in my secret service were brought in. One morning I arrived at the station and found that they had been locked up in a cell. As they had received at the start rigid instructions not to reveal their identity under any circumstances, they did not send for me the moment they were arrested, and so they had to remain until the next day, when I promptly released them.
At one time, one of these privates reported to me that he had seen a fellow around with some of the worst Anarchists in the city, that every one regarded him as sound in the Anarchist faith, and that he and the others were in Chicago to liberate the Anarchists from the jail. The private further stated that the stranger had never been seen except in the company of old-time revolutionists. That was enough for the detective to warrant arrest. I told him to make the fellow’s acquaintance and draw him out, but be in no haste. A few days later, the detective reported that he had spoken to the stranger and that he would become well acquainted with him shortly.
At this time every Anarchist resort was watched very closely. I told the private to ascertain where the stranger lived, but he must not push himself too rapidly forward; he must make an engagement to meet the man in the evening and stay with him as late as possible. Just as soon as they parted, he was to double back on the stranger and follow him. A few nights later the private reported again and said that they had been together one evening for three hours, when they parted on the corner of Madison and Canal Streets. He told the stranger that he would go back to the South Side, and then, by following him after parting, he found that the stranger started north. The man turned on Lake Street west and entered No. 71 West Lake Street, one of the worst Anarchist resorts in the city. This place was kept by a man named Florus, a rank “red.” The private waited for his friend to come out, remaining in the vicinity until Florus closed his saloon; but no one came. The next day the private reported the facts to me, and said that the stranger evidently had a room at Florus’ house. I told the private to try and get the stranger on the North Side so that I could have a look at him. He started out to hunt up his friend.
On the evening of that same day, detective No. 2 reported. He said that he had a fellow spotted whom he described as one of a gang that had come from St. Paul. He remarked that the fellow was very sharp, but not sharp enough for him. He also stated that the stranger appeared to like him, but that he did not trust him very much.
No. 2 further said: “I have been around with him every evening. He is very good company, and I am sure that he is an Anarchist. But I can’t get at his motives.”
I then told him to get the man up here on the North Side where I would be able to see him.
“All right, but you want to get a good look at him; the fellow changes his clothes often. He is a foxy fellow.”
I said that I would always be at the station from one to three o’clock, so as to take a look at the man when they passed.
On the next day I was on the look-out, but no one came. The second day I again watched, and, to my great surprise, at two o’clock I saw two fellows, both in my employ, coming east on Chicago Avenue from Wells Street, and on the same side where the station is located. They were engaged in conversation, and neither looked aside as they passed. I got up on the steps of the front entrance and remained there as they came by. They had no sooner got past, when the fellow on the inside lifted his hand to the right hip, and after a few steps further the other fellow put his left hand behind his back and worked his fingers—thus each man giving the tip on the other. They proceeded towards the Water-works.
When all this was over, I almost fell in a fit laughing at the joke. It was extremely ludicrous, but I had to keep it all to myself. The privates kept at work, but I did not tell either the occupation of the other. I had promised every man in my employ that I would not give him away, and I kept my word. One of these detectives had been assigned for duty north of Kinzie Street on the West Side, and the other had been set to work particularly along Lake Street. By invitation of some Anarchists on Milwaukee Avenue, the detective in the district north had left his field and gone with them to the halls of the “reds” on Lake Street, and in this way the two detectives had made each other’s acquaintance and got mixed up.
I was now in a predicament to straighten matters out and prevent the men from wasting time on each other. I finally told each separately that the other was working for Billy Pinkerton, and that he should pay no more attention to him. This worked satisfactorily. Now and then I received a report stating that my detective had seen that Pinkerton man at such or such a place. This will be the first time, however, that either one knows the other’s exact identity, and they can now laugh over their mixed-up condition and see what a fix I was in at that time.
Chapter XII
Tracking the Conspirators—Female Anarchists—A Bevy of Beauties Beauties—Petticoated Ugliness—The Breathless Messenger—A Detective’s Danger—Turning the Tables—“That Man is a Detective!”—A Close Call—Gaining Revolutionists’ Confidence—Vouched for by the Conspirators—Speech-making Extraordinary—The Hiding-place in the Anarchists’ Hall—Betrayed by a Woman—The Assassination of Detective Brown at Cedar Lake—Saloon-keepers and the Revolution—“Anarchists for Revenue Only”—Another Murder Plot—The Peep-hole Found—Hunting for Detectives—Some Amusing Ruses of the Revolutionists—A Collector of “Red” Literature and his Dangerous Bonfire—Ebersold’s Vacation—Threatening the Jury—Measures Taken for their Protection—Grinnell’s Danger—A “Bad Man” in Court—The Find at the Arbeiter-Zeitung Office—Schnaubelt’s Impudent Letter—Captured Correspondence—The Anarchist’s Complete Letter-writer.
IN the light of all the facts that have developed, I do not believe that it is too large a statement, nor too egotistical, to say that, but for the work done at the Chicago Avenue Station, the Anarchist leaders would soon have been given their liberty, and Anarchy would have been as rampant as ever in Chicago—worse indeed than before; for the conspirators would then have despised as well as hated the law. What the work was, the reader will better understand after he has gone through this and the succeeding chapters.
I did not depend wholly upon police effort, but at once employed a number of outside men, choosing especially those who were familiar with the Anarchists and their haunts. The funds for this purpose were supplied to me by public-spirited citizens who wished the law vindicated and order preserved in Chicago. I received reports from the men thus employed from the beginning of the case up to November 20, 1887. There are 253 of the reports in all, and a most interesting history of Chicago Anarchy do they make even in themselves.
They always conveyed important information and gave valuable clues. They confined their efforts wholly to Anarchists, and their principal duty was to ascertain if the reds intended to organize again for another riot or an incendiary attempt upon the city. They were also to learn if steps were contemplated to effect the rescue of the Anarchists who were locked up in the County Jail, and whether they were getting up any further murder plots. At each Anarchist meeting I had at least one man present to note the proceedings and learn what plots they were maturing. Generally before midnight I would know all that had transpired at meetings of any importance. From many meetings I learned that the Anarchists were discussing plans to revenge themselves on the police, but in each case, as soon as they were about to take some definite action, some one would move an adjournment or suggest the appointment of a committee to work out the plan in some better shape. When the next meeting was held the fellows who had done the loudest shouting would be absent, and then those who happened to be on hand would vent their wrath upon the absentees by calling them cowards. In many of the smaller meetings held on Milwaukee Avenue or in that vicinity, a lot of crazy women were usually present, and whenever a proposition arose to kill some one or to blow up the city with dynamite, these “squaws” proved the most bloodthirsty.
In fact, if any man laid out a plan to perpetrate mischief, they would show themselves much more eager to carry it out than the men, and it always seemed a pleasure to the Anarchists to have them present. They were always invited to the “war dances.” Judge Gary, Mr. Grinnell, Mr. Bonfield and myself were usually remembered at these gatherings, and they fairly went wild whenever bloodthirsty sentiments were uttered against us. The reporters and the so-called capitalistic press also shared in the general denunciations. At one meeting, held on North Halsted Street, there were thirteen of these creatures in petticoats present, the most hideous-looking females that could possibly be found. If a reward of money had been offered for an uglier set, no one could have profited upon the collection. Some of them were pock-marked, others freckle-faced and red-haired, and others again held their snuff-boxes in their hands while the congress was in session. One female appeared at one of these meetings with her husband’s boots on, and there was another one about six feet tall. She was a beauty! She was raw-boned, had a turn-up nose, and looked as though she might have carried the red flag in Paris during the reign of the Commune.
This meeting continued all right for about two hours. Then a rap came on the locked door. The guard reported that one of their cause desired admittance, giving his name at the same time,—and the new arrival was permitted to enter. He was a large man with a black beard and large eyes, and very shabbily dressed. He looked as though he had been driving a coal cart for a year without washing or combing. He also had the appearance of being on the verge of hydrophobia. As soon as he reached the interior of the hall he blurted out hastily, in a loud voice:
“Ladies and brothers of our cause! Please stop all proceedings—I am out of breath—I will sit down for a few minutes.”
All present looked at the man with a great deal of curiosity and patiently waited for him to recover his breath. The interval was about five minutes. Then the stranger jumped up and said:
“I am from Jefferson. I ran all the way [a distance of five miles]. I was informed that you were holding a meeting here this evening, and that there is a spy in your midst.”
At this bit of information every one became highly excited, and the stranger immediately proceeded to inquire if there was anyone they suspected. They all looked at each other, and, becoming satisfied that they were all friends of Anarchy, waited for the man to give them more precise information. The stranger then continued:
“The man is described to me, and that is all I know.”
He looked around for a moment and finally said, pointing to the man addressed:
“If I am not damnably mistaken, you are the man!” At the same time he ordered the guard to lock the door and pull out the key.
“Now,” he resumed, addressing the man to whom he had pointed, who was none other than a detective in my service, “you will have to give a good account of yourself.”
This placed my man in a rather embarrassing position, but he was equal to the emergency.
“I am an Anarchist,” he spoke up promptly, in a loud, clear and firm tone of voice, “and I have been one for years, and you are simply one of those Pinkerton bummers. What business have you here in our meetings, I would like to know. The other day I passed Pinkerton’s office. I was sitting in a car, and I saw you coming down stairs. I suppose you met some fool that gave you a little information so as to get in here. All you want to know evidently is how many are present here, and, if possible, learn what we are doing. You get out of here in five seconds, or I will shoot you down like a rat.”
The officer then pulled out of his pocket a large revolver, and, brandishing it in the air, asked:
“Shall I kill that bloodhound?”
The women cried out in a chorus: “Yes, yes; kill him!” The men, however, did not like the proposition. One of them said: “Don’t kill him here; take him out somewhere else and shoot him.” This seemed to meet with general approval.
The turn of affairs completely surprised the stranger, and he became so frightened that he could not speak. No one in the meeting knew him, and he was powerless to speak in his own defense. The officer held his revolver directed at the man’s face and kept toying with it in the vicinity of his nose. Finally the fellow stammered out:
“I am all right, and you will find me out so.”
At last the women again broke in, with a demand that the intruder be immediately ejected, and the men responded promptly by kicking him out of the door. He had no sooner reached the outside than he started on a keen run, in momentary dread of his life, and he kept up his rapid gait until he thought he was at a safe distance.
The officer was then the hero of the moment, but he recognized the fact that he himself was not absolutely safe after this episode. It occurred to him that possibly the stranger might hunt up some one on Milwaukee Avenue who could identify him and assure the meeting that he was a true and reliable Anarchist, and thus turn the tables against the officer. The moment, therefore, he had regained his seat, he decided to resort to strategy, and said:
“We will have to adjourn at once. This fellow will run to the station-house and bring the patrol wagon with a lot of officers, and we will all be arrested.”
In less than three minutes the meeting adjourned, and then the officer advised them all to go home immediately and not to remain a second if they did not desire to be arrested. The Anarchists did as he suggested, and scattered for home in a hurry.
This detective did not attend any more of the meetings, but was content in congratulating himself on having come out of that assembly without a bruise or a scratch.
About January, 1887, one of my privates informed me that there was a place on Clybourn Avenue where the Anarchists were accustomed to hold private meetings. He said that he could not get in as yet, and I told him to pick up some one whom he could work handily. He must first form the man’s acquaintance, and then hang around the saloons in the neighborhood and read the Arbeiter-Zeitung. I gave him one of John Most’s books and made him wear a red necktie. I advised him also to get about half drunk, sing the Marseillaise and curse the police. By so doing, I told him, it would not be long before he would find a partner. Several times subsequently the detective visited the Anarchist resorts, accompanied by a little boy who belonged to one of his friends, and in less than two weeks he had wormed himself into the confidence of the gang who frequented Clybourn Avenue. If any one asked him his name he would say:
“I don’t give my name to people I don’t know. I am against law and order, and that is sufficient. I don’t believe in having good men hung to satisfy the rich. They will not hang if I can help any.”
For the first couple of weeks, the newly formed friends of this detective would not take him to any of their meetings. I advised him not to make inquiries. As soon as they thought him all right, they would speak themselves. Within three weeks some one took him to a meeting and vouched for him as being true to their cause. At the first meeting he attended he saw that he was as intelligent as any one of them, and so he delivered a short speech. That captured them, and they pronounced him a good man. They asked him to call again at their next meeting, and he promised that he would be on hand. He then reported to me. I told him to find a weak spot around the building, where I could put some one to protect him in case of discovery and danger. A few days after he reported again that there was a vacant basement under the house, and that it was very low. There was only a common door with an ordinary lock. I then promised him that I would put a strong man in there at every meeting, and in case he should be attacked by the gang, he should shout, “Police.” Then, the moment the door was broken in, he was to cry out, “Brother!” so that the man coming to his assistance would know him at once. I also told him that at the next meeting he should ascertain the size of the room and notice whatever furniture might be there and where it was standing. This he did. He made a small diagram.
I then detailed a man to take a position in the basement at several meetings, but, running short of men shortly afterwards, I was obliged to take this man away. But this did not cripple us. On another occasion the private reported again, handed me a plat of the room and gave me some desired information. I sent for Officer Schuettler. He responded promptly, and I told him what I wanted done. He said that he was ready to carry out my instructions. I told him to go and buy a one-inch auger, and next procure a funnel with the large end the circumference of a saucer, and a pipe about four inches long. After an hour’s absence he returned with the desired articles. I handed him several keys with which to open the door, showed him the plat, and told him where to bore a hole. I also told him to secure a cork and plug up the hole after he was through. I then instructed him to get into the place about half an hour before the meeting opened and have his apparatus in working order. I gave Officer Schuettler the dates on which meetings were to be held, and then he started out with good hope in his new undertaking. A few days subsequently the officer reported back, and his face was wreathed in smiles.
“You must have had success,” I said.
“Yes, everything worked like a charm.”
He handed me a good report and remarked that it contained the most important part of the business done by the meeting. He suggested that he ought to have some one with him so that he could secure all the details. For the next meeting I sent another officer with him, and this man had a dark lantern. Schuettler would listen, and as he whispered the words and sentiments of the speakers, the other officer, with the aid of the light from his lantern, would commit them to paper. The next morning I received a full report of all the transactions.
This sort of work was kept up for several months, and during all this time I was kept pretty well informed of the secret movements of the old North Side groups. At the beginning of all their meetings the speakers would declare their wish to see Judge Gary, Mr. Grinnell, all the officers working on the case and myself hung. They generally closed with a promise to kill all capitalists and blow up all the newspaper buildings.
One private detective, whom I had at work for me for a long time, proved very valuable. He belonged to a union and showed very fine judgment. He would watch only the most radical leaders and ascertain their intentions. He was a rabid Anarchist himself, but he did not believe in killing people or precipitating riots so long as it would not help their cause. He often used to say to me:
“Captain, I will be true to you. I will help you all I can to prevent some of these fools from committing any more murders.”
He said that some of his people had not sense enough to know what they were doing, and that, whenever he met a man of family who talked about killing somebody, he would remonstrate with him. For this good and sensible advice some of the reds called him a coward and a spy. At one time, on Lake Street, a big, burly brute called him a coward and a creeping thing. My man stepped up to the fellow and said:
“I will make you eat your own words, or you will have to kill me.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked the big ruffian.
“Fight a duel,” retorted the detective. “I will give you twenty minutes’ time in which to secure a revolver and get ready. I will pay your car-fare, and we will go out to Garfield Park. No one shall go with us, and if you don’t accept my challenge, I will kill you anyhow.”
“Are you in earnest?” asked the other.
“Never more so in my life,” was the reply.
The boasting coward then begged for more time, which was not granted, and, seeing the challenger determined, he winced.
“I believe you are a good man. I am sorry that I have insulted you, and I beg your pardon. Let up on this. If you don’t feel like doing so, for God’s sake do it for my wife and family.”
The young fellow then struck the braggart in the face and walked away. The whimpering coward never raised his hand nor uttered another word.
This man whom I had employed did not like Spies. He termed Spies a rattle-head, and disapproved of his arguments in the Fackel that the 1st of May was the time for the Anarchists to rise. In this view all the more sensible conspirators agreed. They knew that they could not accomplish anything, and therefore they kept away. My man was one of this latter class. He said everything was working nicely in their favor, but Spies killed everything. He told me that one night he was in company with Spies, and that Spies said:
“I do not care how little I can accomplish. I want revenge on the police. They killed my brother—a d——d policeman killed him at a picnic. He shot him dead, and I will never stop until I have more than double revenge.”
This statement of Spies’ about the killing was true. The brother killed was a young tough, and had been shot by Officer Tamillo.
My man said that from the moment of this interview he had no more use for Spies. This detective ceased work for a few months, but he thereafter resumed his secret service, as he found that, in view of the strikes and laying-off, he could hardly make a living otherwise. I put him to work again, and he did well, continuing for two months. One day he came to me and wanted $30. I gave it to him, and he started away. He would report to me daily through the mail, and whenever he had anything of special importance to communicate he always knew just where to find me. I missed his reports for five days, and I failed to learn anything of him during that time. On the 2nd of August I was severely injured by being thrown out of my buggy, and I was obliged to keep to the house for two weeks. On the 5th of August I received a communication from the Coroner of Lake County, Indiana, asking me if I had a man named Charles Brown working for me as a detective. The letter was as follows:
HAMMOND, LAKE COUNTY, Indiana, August 3, 1887.
Captain Schaack—Sir: I enclose a copy of a statement of a witness who identified the bodies of two parties drowned in Cedar Lake; also the badge pin found on the man. A Mr. Heise stated to me before he saw the body that the man was a detective and wore his police badge on his breast. The body had been found by a hard case by the name of Green and some pals of his, on the southeast corner of Cedar Lake. When the body was landed, all the garments on it were undershirt, drawers and pants. All the rest had disappeared. His coat was found later, but nothing in the pockets. The rest was not found. Mr. Heise said that he had some money, a watch and chain and a revolver when he left Chicago. Other parties say that the man Green changed a $20 note for him some time before he was drowned. There are some very mysterious circumstances with regard to his condition as found and reported by Green and Scotty, when they found the body, with regard to vest, watch, money and revolver. I think a little detective work might show up the matter.
Respectfully yours, G. VAN DE WALKER, Coroner, Lake Co., Indiana.
Three days after, I learned that this was the same man I had employed, and I placed Officer Schuettler on the case to unravel, if possible, the mystery surrounding his death. The officer in a few days reported that it was exceedingly difficult to obtain a clue, as no one seemed disposed to give any information as to foul play; but enough was learned in a general way to warrant the conclusion that underhanded methods had been used to accomplish the man’s death.
I recalled certain incidents in connection with the man’s work as a detective, and, placing them by the side of the seemingly accidental drowning, I became convinced that a deliberate crime had been committed.
One day this private asked me if I would allow him to tell a young lady what he was working at. I told him that he must do nothing of the kind; that if he did so I would have no further use for him. He then begged me to permit him to use my name as his friend, and I told him I had no objection to that. But I found out later that he had said more to the young lady than I had consented to, and I believe his indiscretion in that respect is what cost him his life.
From the moment that the girl ascertained his secret occupation he was a doomed man. She let other Anarchists into the secret, and they at once set about devising means for ending his life.
The information I received later was that it had been decided upon that the young woman should inveigle him to Cedar Lake, and then, when he was in her power, to do away with him. The two left the city together, and were followed by the others in the conspiracy to the place where his body was found. Before taking the trip on the water, she was seen talking with some mysterious-looking individuals, and they then and there decided upon the details of the plan. She was to get him to row out into deep water, and, when they had got fairly started, her friends were to follow in another rowboat at a convenient distance. When they reached the middle of the lake she was to keep a close watch on the other boat, and as they neared her boat she was to suddenly throw herself on one side and tip the boat over so that both occupants would be thrown into the water. Her friends were then to be close at hand, pick her up and save her from drowning. The programme was carried out so far as related to the capsizing of the boat, but the men did not get near enough in time to save her. She went down with her companion and was drowned with him.
There is no doubt as to the truth of this plot. It was in entire keeping with Anarchistic methods; and parties who were at the lake at the time state that they saw the young lady get up in the boat, and that while thus standing she swung it over, precipitating herself and her lover into the water. I had men engaged on the case for some time, but the investigation always ended in the same way—an undoubted conclusion that the detective’s life was taken by reason of a plot, but no evidence to establish the guilt of the conspirators. From the information I received, I am satisfied that the whole matter was carefully planned and carried out by the woman.
From May 7, 1886, to November 20, 1887, I had a great deal of work, there were so many things to look after, but after matters had become systematized and the force had been brought down to good working order, the burdens of the office became much easier than most people would suppose.
In the first place, I had one hundred and sixty rank Anarchists to look after; but as soon as these became known to my men, it was an easy matter for the officers to report where they had seen them and with whom they associated. Then I had ten small halls to watch where the Anarchists met night and day. There were also seventeen saloons where these people were accustomed to congregate. Three of these latter had small halls connected with them. Twelve of the other saloons had rear rooms where the reds would sit at times and hold small meetings. After we had all their haunts located, and knowing the kind of men who frequented them, the work of keeping track of them was not so hard. Some of these Anarchists would enter boldly into these places, while others would almost crawl on their stomachs to get into the resorts without being seen. Others again would disguise themselves so that their identity could not become known to detectives.
The officers made no attempt to close these places, and possibly the reader may ask why such notorious and dangerous resorts were permitted to continue unmolested.
My reason for not closing them was that the Anarchists were bound to meet in some place. We knew their resorts thoroughly, and I had plenty of my men among them, who worked ostensibly for the cause of Anarchy, but who continually furnished me pointers. Again, we knew just where they would meet and could always have our men present. If I had shut them out from these places, they would have been driven into private houses, broken up into smaller factions, and our work would have been made much broader and harder in keeping track of them and their doings. So long as I had the machine, so to speak, in my own hands, and knew all that had been done and said, we let them alone. And the results justified our course.
Among the saloon-keepers there was one who seemed to have a special liking for me. This man, who had a place on Lake Street, on taking his first drink in the morning would invariably drink to my health, saying: “I hope that that d——d Luxemburger, Schaack, will be killed before I go to bed to-night;” and when he was about to close his doggery for the day, he would take two drinks and say: “I hope I will find Schaack hanging to a lamp-post in the morning when I get up.”
When the saloon-keepers were particularly loaded with beer, they shouted louder than any one else for Anarchy, and the louder and more vehemently they shouted the more “solid” did they become with their Anarchist customers. At every meeting held at these places, collections were taken up, and the saloon-keepers could always be counted upon to contribute liberally.
The worst of these ignorant fools never did realize why the saloon-keepers shouted so lustily for Anarchy until they came home to find their wives and little ones crying for bread. Then, perhaps, it faintly dawned upon their minds that the saloon-keepers were after their nickels. These liquor-sellers were Anarchists for revenue only, and they sought in every way to keep on the right side of the rank and file of the party. They always looked to it, the first thing in the morning, that plenty of Anarchist literature and a dozen or so copies of the Arbeiter-Zeitung were duly on the tables of their places, and in some saloons beer-bloated bums, who could manage to read fairly, were engaged to read aloud such articles as were particularly calculated to stir up the passions of the benighted patrons. Robber and hypocrite are terms too weak to apply to these saloon-keepers. Some of them had “walking delegates” by their side, and if an Anarchist seemed to them to be “going wrong” by seeking work, the delegate and assistant robber would tell him to go back to his headquarters and wait, assuring him that they would have all things right in a few days.
And this is the way these poor fools and their families were kept in continual misery. Many of the dupes have had their eyes opened and have quit frequenting these places and the underground caves. What is the result? Their families are better looked after, and the difference in their comfort is very apparent. They used to call the Chicago Avenue Station “Schaack’s Bastile,” but let me say that those saloon-keepers with their low and contemptible resorts were the real bastile-keepers. Hundreds and hundreds of men, heads and fathers of families, have been kept in squalid want by spending their very last cent in these holes, and their dependents have been left without food, proper clothing or fuel. I believe in unions for proper objects, but even these should not be continued for the benefit of such saloon-keepers.
All these men were great heroes so long as they could hope to enrich themselves, but when the chief conspirators were locked up in jail, and liberal contributions were demanded for the defense, their enthusiasm in the holy cause of Anarchy was considerably cooled.
While Chicago is regarded as the head center of Anarchy in America, people of other cities and States should not imagine that the vicious reds are all in this city. There are plenty of them scattered throughout the country, and this fact was made quite manifest at the time the Anarchists were being arrested. Friends of the imprisoned men came to Chicago from all over the United States, and financial assistance poured in on all sides. Those who came here were open in their declarations of sympathy and never attempted to conceal their actions.
When these same men were at their homes they did not dare to openly say a word in favor of Anarchy, because they were few in numbers; but should there be enough to make a formidable showing, they will throw off their mask and assume a defiant, menacing attitude.
These arrivals, just as soon as they became known, were kept under espionage, and every movement they made was looked after, lest they might commit some desperate deed. Of course there were a great many whom the police did not discover, and it is a wonder that, during the excitement incident to the arrest of so many Anarchists and the searches made of Anarchistic houses, some diabolical act was not perpetrated. Possibly they discovered that the omnipresent police were so thoroughly on the inside of their conspiracy that detection was inevitable. It is certain that they knew that I had become thoroughly posted as to the inside workings of Anarchy, and the sound fear which I was able to inspire by a bold and aggressive policy no doubt acted as a restraint upon any violent outburst of passion and revenge.
It was constant vigilance alone that averted trouble, and no Anarchist of a specially vicious disposition was permitted to feel that his movements were overlooked or unwatched. For this purpose I had Anarchists among Anarchists to inform on Anarchists, and all the meetings were thus kept under strict surveillance. Even private houses were watched. On one occasion I desired to secure certain information. One of the private detectives was accordingly detailed to watch the rear of a certain building from an alley. He was there for two days without being observed by any one, but on the third day he was noticed by a police officer. The officer asked him what he was doing in that locality, and the private responded:
“I am waiting for a friend of mine who is working in this barn, and I expect him around soon.”
The officer placed no reliance on the statement, and so he hustled him out of the alley. The detective walked on a short distance, and, as soon as the officer was out of sight, retraced his steps and returned to the place, this time finding a different point for his observations. He had scarcely thought himself secure from further interruptions, when the back gate of the next yard opened, and in walked the same officer. Both were alike surprised. But this time there were no questions asked and no explanations demanded. The officer promptly seized the detective by the collar and marched him to the Chicago Avenue Station. The detective kept his identity to himself, and of course found himself speedily assigned to a cell over night. On the next morning, as I sauntered through the lock-up, I discovered my friend in durance vile, and, promptly looking up the record, found that he had been booked for disorderly conduct.
I then returned and told him that, when brought into court, he should not say anything to the judge, but play the part of a fool and simpleton. His case came up; he was fined $5 and sent back to the lock-up. I went to him later, handed him the money, and in half an hour he paid his fine and left. The detective went back to his post, but the officer was not put on that beat again. My man worked for about two weeks and finished his job.
Of course, the detectives in the case had varied experiences. On another occasion it was desirable to know what was being done at some secret meetings held at Thalia Hall, No. 703 Milwaukee Avenue. This was after the trial of the Anarchists had begun. I assigned a few detectives in that direction, and shortly afterwards the proceedings might as well have been open so far as the police were concerned.
My boys had a great deal of fun. They managed to discover a way by which they secured an entrance under the stage, and at the first meeting they attended they amused themselves by cutting a hole through that portion of the stage facing the audience. When they had done this, they could see all present and hear everything that was said. Many a night they held to that port-hole and enjoyed the circus on the outside. They heard many a speech of a threatening character against Judge Gary, Mr. Grinnell, Mr. Bonfield and myself, and sometimes they had to listen to some rampant speaker who would depict the pleasure all Anarchists would enjoy at seeing the funerals of these officials passing through the streets. Of course, those who were the most bitter had the least courage, and so long as the auditors only listened to speeches, my boys were perfectly satisfied that no immediate danger was to be apprehended.
I finally learned that some of the Anarchists had become suspicious, and therefore ordered Officer Schuettler and the others to remain away, as they would otherwise be discovered. And they would have been. One day the Anarchists made a careful search of the building, and they found the hole through which the boys had peeped. They then decided on a plan. It was that during the next meeting, which they felt certain some of my boys would attend, a great commotion should be made in the hall. This would surely bring one of the detectives with his eye very near the hole. Then one of the Anarchists should stealthily creep up on the side, suddenly plunge a sharp iron through the hole, and kill the man within.
One officer, who proved of great assistance to me, was Charles Nordrum. He became engaged in the case shortly after the Haymarket riot, and after a time became a regular attaché of the detective department. He was born in Norway on the 9th of November, 1858, and had lived in Chicago since 1868. He joined the police force in November, 1884, and, possessing a great deal of tact and shrewdness, his services were soon enlisted in the work of hunting up the red conspirators. He worked at times with Officer Schuettler, but reported to Ebersold. Both were known to my officers, but they did not know of my private workers. Nordrum was especially detailed to look after some meetings at Thalia Hall, at the Emma Street Hall, in the rear room of Zepf’s saloon, in the rear room of Greif’s saloon, at No. 600 Blue Island Avenue, and at the Northwestern Hall, and he did not overlook meetings held in the cellars of some of the more prominent Anarchists on the Northwest Side and of others who were in sympathy with the Anarchists. He wormed himself into the good graces of quite a number of the reds, and was always kindly received by them. After a time the police stopped the holding of meetings in some of the halls, and then the Anarchist sympathizers harbored the reds in their cellars, furnishing candles for illumination and nail-kegs for seats. On the 5th of July, 1887, Nordrum was exposed at No. 599 Milwaukee Avenue, and he was at once surrounded by an infuriated mob. The Anarchists with whom he had associated attempted to kill him, but the officer, after a desperate fight, succeeded in reaching the door before any serious violence had been done him. This, of course, destroyed his further usefulness among them, but out of his knowledge of the men and their affairs two arrests were effected. He and Officer Schuettler brought in Emil Wende and Frederick Kost, members of the Terra Cotta Union. These men had been selected to buy each member of their group a 42-caliber revolver and one box of cartridges, and the weapons so secured were to have been used on the police on the day of the execution. The weapons had been purchased, and as soon as the principals had been placed under arrest, a descent was made upon the supply. All the revolvers were captured and brought to the Central Station.
Noticing how successfully they had been circumvented in all their movements, the Anarchists naturally came to the conclusion that detectives were working in their ranks either in the interest of myself or of Billy Pinkerton, and they resolved to discover, if possible, the men so engaged. One day a very intelligent fellow called at my office and wanted to know if I desired any more men to work for me among the Anarchists. He stated that he was well acquainted with all the reds, and, if I would pay him well, he would render good service.
I called him into my private office, and I closely questioned him. I learned that he knew a great many of them, and I told him that I wanted one good man. He then considered himself engaged, and said to me:
“Now you had better tell me all the men that are working for you and show them all to me so we can work together.”
I told him that if he could find out any one of my men I would pay him $20 a week, and then he might consider himself engaged. He went away, but he never came back to claim the $20.
This ruse having failed, the Anarchists devised another. One day early in August, 1886, they sent one of my countrymen, a Luxemburger, to me. This fellow began to play his cards very nicely, and sought to carve a very pretty little path into my confidence, but he had not proceeded very far before my suspicions were aroused, and he got nothing to satisfy either himself or those who sent him. While our conversation was going on one of the officers came in, and, noticing the fellow, called me into another room. The officer then stated that he had seen the man hanging around West Lake Street, had seen him drunk frequently, and had once found him in tears, saying that he had come from Paris, had seen the downfall of the Commune there, and that now that Anarchy was suppressed in Chicago all hope for liberty was gone, and he would be ready to die at his own hands after he should have first killed somebody. I returned to the office.
“See here, old fellow,” said I, “I have spies amongst the Anarchists, but I do not want spies among my own command.”
The man was then asked if he could do any work, and when he said that he had not done any work in a long time, I remarked that I had a job for him. He became interested and wanted to know what kind of a job it was.
“It is under Superintendent Felton at the House of Correction, and he will assign you to work that will keep the dogs from biting you for six months. You are a vagrant, and I will bring you into court to-morrow morning and have you fined $100. That will be six months.”
The man begged piteously to be spared that punishment, and I plied him with questions. He stated that, inasmuch as he was of the same nationality as myself, the Anarchists thought he could readily get into my secrets, and they had forced him to come. I told him that my officers knew him and had him spotted, and that unless he left the city by the next day I would have him arrested and sent to the work-house. He left the station, and I have never seen him since. Since then I have received a letter from Michigan, saying that if the writer had me there I would never see Chicago again, as he would find work for me for awhile, and I am confident that it came from my old friend.
During the progress of the investigations some curious characters were encountered. Some sought me, as I have already noted, but in most instances I had to hunt them. One eccentric genius was especially noticeable. He had started out with the intention of reading himself into the Anarchist faith, and for this purpose be became a constant reader of the Arbeiter-Zeitung and its Sunday edition, the Fackel. For some time he wavered in his opinion, but the more he read the more he became convinced that there was something in Anarchy. At last he became so deeply imbued that he almost regarded it a sacrilege to destroy the copies he had purchased for his enlightenment. He carefully stowed the papers away in the closet in his room, and when he returned from work he would open the door and examine his collection much as a miser inspects his hoard.
May 4 finally came, and with it the event he had looked forward to so longingly. But the outcome did not suit him. He noticed that the police were getting uncomfortably close to his locality, but he did not feel any special concern until one evening a patrol wagon pulled up in front of No. 105 Wells Street, near his own domicile. He saw the officers approaching in the direction of the entrance, and, jumping from his chair near the window, shouted to his landlady:
“For heaven’s sake!—the police are coming to search the house—what will I do? If they come into my room and find my papers, I will be arrested and locked up as an Anarchist. Let me burn my papers in your stove.”
The landlady would not permit it, as she feared arrest as an accomplice. The young man almost fell on his knees in pleading with her for permission. Finding his appeals useless, he hastened to his room, lit a fire in a sheet-iron stove there, and began to burn his whole collection. His haste was so great that he crammed too many papers in at once, and the stove became overheated. The wall paper began to burn, and the Anarchist had to give his attention to moving the bed and furniture away from the walls. He did not dare to give an alarm of fire, and yet he saw that the whole room would be in flames in a few moments. He seized a pitcher of water, emptied its contents on the wall, opened the door and called for the landlady to come to his assistance. She responded, and when she saw the situation, she cried out, “Fire, fire!” He endeavored to make her desist from her cries and urged her to bring him water. Water was brought and soused all over the stove and the walls.
By this time the house was full of smoke, and they opened the window. An officer in the wagon noticed the smoke, and shouted to some of his companions that there was a fire next door up-stairs. The young man overheard this and hastened to tell the officer that it was only smoke and that no assistance was required.
The landlady now ran away to escape possible arrest, and the young man was left alone. He again assured the officer below that the smoke had all cleared away, and he slammed down the window.
After thus escaping police investigation, the youthful Anarchist felt happy, and he had reasons to be, as he would certainly have been arrested, in view of his actions, had the officers ever entered his room. Others had been arrested under less suspicious circumstances, and it took some of them a long time to satisfactorily explain their position. The young man has since become connected with a newspaper. He may deny this in his paper, but I will never “give him away.”
While pursuing the investigations, and never losing hope of finding Parsons, I was one day informed by Officer Henry Fechter that a man who knew the foxy Anarchist had seen the fugitive at Geneva, Wis., and his arrest might be easily effected. The officer was a detail at the time at the Northwestern Railroad depot, and his informant was a reliable gentleman. I instructed the officer to report his information to Chief Ebersold, as I was helpless in the matter, having no authority to send an officer outside of the city limits. That was the last I ever heard of it. The information was evidently pigeonholed, and Parsons continued to bask in rural sunshine and enjoy himself until the day he came into court of his own free will. This was not the only instance of supine neglect in the Chief’s office and the detective department. I have already spoken of the case of Schnaubelt, the bomb-thrower, but there is still another striking illustration. It was shortly after the selection of a jury to try the Anarchists. The Bonfield brothers and myself were obliged to be in court nearly all the time, and the Anarchists on the outside, observing this, began to concoct plots for taking revenge on the city. In this emergency the Chief decided to go to California, and, in order that he might have cheerful company, he invited Lieut. Joseph Kipley, of the so-called detective department, and Capt. William Buckley, of the First Precinct.
When Mr. Grinnell heard of this contemplated trip, at a time when, for the sake of public appearance at least, the Chief ought to have remained at home, he firmly remonstrated and reminded the official of his duty. But Ebersold shook his head.
“I have got my tickets,” said he; “what will I do with them?”
“Throw them into the lake,” replied Mr. Grinnell.
But the Chief was obstinate, and he and his party left for the Pacific Coast. The force was then left in command of Inspector John Bonfield, who thus had double duty imposed upon him.
The moment the work of impaneling the jury had begun, the outside Anarchists began to exert themselves to put some of their own men into the jury-box. When they found that the State was too vigilant, however, they next set about to secure such witnesses as could be counted upon to swear their friends out of jail. Take the evidence of the strongest witnesses put on the stand by the defense, and the critical, unbiased examiner will readily discover that many of them were simply perjurers.
But the labors of the reds were in vain, and when they began to realize that the jury did not seem impressed with the character of their evidence, the outside barbarians grew desperate and resolved on a new line of tactics.
One day I received a note from one of my men warning me to protect the jury. The Anarchists, he said, were working out a scheme to injure some of the jurors, and if they could succeed in that, they were confident the case would have to be begun anew. If the case ever came up again, no man would care to risk his life in a trial of the conspirators, and their brothers would go free. If, however, the State should secure a full set of jurors, they would give them a dose of dynamite, and that would certainly end the case. Then they could keep on with Anarchy and make the capitalists cower before them. This plan, I was informed, had met the entire approval of the gang.
I conferred with Mr. Grinnell, and as a result we doubled the watch to protect the jury. We made it a point also to know when the jurors went out for a walk or a drive, and, without their knowledge, trustworthy men were always with them or near them until their return. The hotel in which they were quartered was only about two hundred feet from the Criminal Court building, but whenever they came to the court in the morning, or went to their meals during recess, or left the court building after each day’s adjournment, twelve detectives along the line kept vigilant watch of all suspicious characters. Besides the detectives there were fifteen officers in uniform, and during the last three days of the trial we even redoubled our vigilance. There were twenty-five officers on the street, twenty-five more in the court-room, and twenty-five men about the building. All these men were in uniform, so that the “cranks” could see them, and it proved to be a very good precaution. During the night, detectives and regular patrolmen were watching inside and outside at the jurors’ hotel.
On the last day of the arguments, when Mr. Grinnell was closing for the State, something very suspicious was noticed in the court-room. A man with a very mysterious air had been seen around the building for eight days preceding, and it was recalled that he came at varying hours of the day. On each occasion he held a few moments’ private talk with some of those Anarchists who had displayed interest in the proceedings, after which he always disappeared. The parties he generally talked with were Belz, who assisted in conducting the defense, Mrs. Parsons and Mrs. Holmes. He was about five feet ten inches tall, about forty years of age, weighed about 180 pounds, had a round face, short, stubby, sandy beard and mustache, a nose built on the feminine plan, large, gray, piercing eyes, and withal he was not a very prepossessing man.
During the last hour, when Mr. Grinnell was making his plea to the jury, this man entered the court-room and took a seat in the front, right in the midst of the Anarchists’ families. This brought him within seven or eight feet behind the State’s Attorney. He crossed his arms over his stomach, and leaned pretty well forward, keeping his hands concealed under his coat. I was surprised at the fellow’s impudence, because the court-room at the time was so still that a whisper could have been distinctly heard all over the room. I sat at a table, with Mr. Walker to the left and Mr. Ingham to the right, and I called the attention of these two gentlemen to the mysterious man and his queer attitude. They watched his nervous actions, and became alarmed lest he might be there for some vicious object. The man had indeed a desperate look, but it was thought best not to interrupt the proceedings just then. Under the strict orders of Judge Gary, everybody was obliged to be seated in the court-room, and when the seats were full no more were admitted. This was another good precaution at such a trial. The police officials had thus a clear view of the whole room.
At times, whenever there happened to be some severe allusions to the defendants by Mr. Grinnell, the stranger would twist himself around uneasily, all the time, however, maintaining his peculiar attitude. Mr. Ingham remarked that he was afraid the stranger might suddenly jump on Mr. Grinnell and stab him in the back. Mr. Walker expressed a similar opinion. I said that he should get no chance to do that, as I would kill him before he could take one step toward Mr. Grinnell, and at the same time I got my trusty 38-caliber Colt’s revolver in position where I could produce it the instant it was needed. We all agreed that this would be the right course to take. At one time the man looked sharply at me, and I gave him a savage look right into his eyes. From that time I kept him busy looking at me.
As soon as Mr. Grinnell had concluded the man jumped up, drew near to Belz and spoke to him. Then he turned to a woman and handed her a paper. Meanwhile I had already called a detective to watch him, and as soon as the stranger reached the corridor he was searched. Nothing dangerous was found about his person, but it was impossible to learn where he lived or what was his name. He would give no account of himself, and he was taken down stairs and kept there until all the detectives had taken a good look at him. He was then told to go and never show himself around the building again.
On the next morning a revolver was found in the building, and the opinion among those posted on the affair was that it must have belonged to the mysterious visitor. He had evidently come with a desperate determination to shoot some one, even at the sacrifice of his own life, but, seeing how slim were his chances for getting near his victim after the close watch kept upon him, he abandoned his intention and dropped his revolver to destroy any evidence against himself.
Possibly he may have been simply engaged in playing a “bluff” on his Anarchist friends, his intention being to make them believe that he had nerve enough to go right into a court-room and shoot down an official, and afterwards to excuse his failure by referring to his friends for proof that he was so closely watched that he had no opportunity to get near his victim.
Mr. Grinnell was shortly afterwards informed of the incident, and he remarked that possibly a “crank” might have been found by the Anarchists to make an assault that they themselves had not the courage to undertake.
As I have already indicated, a great many documents and letters, public and private, fell into the hands of the police during the searches made, and from the collection I give a few for the purpose of showing what kind of a dynamite office was being run by Parsons and Spies.
The following was found by Detective James Bonfield on Parsons’ desk in the Alarm office, May 5, 1886:
Dealers in Marble and Granite Cemetery Work.—No. 193 Woodland Avenue, CLEVELAND, OHIO, April 29, 1886.
Comrade Parsons:—Providing we send you the following dispatch: “Another bouncing boy, weight 11 pounds, all are well—signal Fred Smith,”—can you send us No. 1 for the amount we sent you by telegram. Please give us your lowest estimate. Also state by what express company you will send it to us.
Parsons had nothing to do with either handling or selling dynamite, if his own statements are to be accepted. Still he and Spies and their crowd seem to have had a great many inquiries for the “good stuff” Parsons used to refer to in his speeches, and which he urged his followers to carry in their vest pockets during the day and keep under their pillows at night. Another evidence of their guilt was found on the same day by Detective Bonfield in the Arbeiter-Zeitung office, on Spies’ desk:
THE ÆTNA POWDER COMPANY, Works: Miller, Ind., Lake County. Manufacturers and Dealers. Office: No. 98 Lake Street, Chicago.
High Explosives and Blasting Supplies. ORDER NO. ——. Sold to Cash. CHICAGO, October 24, 1885.
10 lbs. No. 1, 1¼, $3.50; 100 T T caps, $1.00; 100 feet double T fuse, 75 cts.—$5.25.
Paid—Ætna Powder Company, I. F.
In justice to the company it should be explained that they had no knowledge of the purposes for which the material was to be used.
I have already referred to the great courtesy shown Schnaubelt at the Central Station—how, when he was brought by Officer Palmer for the third time before Lieut. Shea and the Chief, he was promptly ordered released, and how he finally and hastily concluded to leave the city in order to save the detective department any further trouble on his account. It subsequently transpired that the direction he took was for the great and boundless West; but in all his wanderings he always seems to have kindly remembered his friends in Chicago for permitting him to take so extended a journey. He even wrote back to some of them, and one letter, which, was put in the possession of Officer Palmer, is especially worthy of publicity. It reads as follows:
PORTLAND, OREGON.
To the Chief of Police, Chicago—My Dear Old Jackass: Thanks to your pig-headed lieutenant, I am here sound and safe. Before this reaches you I have left here, and the only thing I regret is that we did not kill more of your blue-coated hounds.
SCHNAUBELT.
The following, received by Parsons and Spies, are self-explanatory:
EUFAULA, April 13, 1886
Dear Comrade Parsons:—I have received your papers and am very much obliged for them. Glad that you like my article. I am writing now for To-Day, of London, and for the Alarm, and am going to write for La Tribune du Peuple de Paris. Situated as I am now, I can be of no good but by writing, and I intend to avail myself of it. You may be astonished if I tell you that I never use the word “Anarchy.” I stick to the old word “Socialism.” It can be understood and does not require any knowledge of Greek to make out its meaning. If I was to seek in the Greek language for a word to express where I stand, I would call myself an Anticrat, opposed to any kind of crazy notions, democracy as well as aristocracy. I am for individual responsibility and social action. I am for liberty, but within society, not above it, and, first of all, I am for equality of conditions. I want organization first, revolution second, social economy reorganization third, and abolition of governmental action last of all. If you could confiscate the government to-morrow, I would have no objection to use it for a while.
Anarchism has a very dangerous drift toward individualism, as you may perceive by reading Liberty, of Boston, and individualism is bound to generate some kind of a crazy notion and end in despotism. Beware of individualistic Anarchism and stick to the socialistic.
We are in a state of warfare with all the crazes and must use all the weapons of warfare within our reach. Our present weapons—strikes and boycotting—are dangerous, and expulsive if we were to use the ballot. The workers are the many; the masters the few. Before upsetting the government, let us try to use it. Mayors, councilmen, aldermen, governors, and so forth, have a good deal to say about how the police and militia shall be used, and judges have a good deal to say when workingmen are prosecuted for claiming their rights. Could not the workers organize to conquer these offices? What do you think of that? What do you think of that?
Salute and Fraternity.
FREDERIC TAFFERD.
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WHAT CHEER, KEOKUK COUNTY, IOWA, April 18, 1886.
A. R. Parsons, Esq.—Dear Sir: We organized a group of the Lehr und Wehr Verein in this town on the above date. The organizer was your comrade John McGinn, of Rock Spring, Wyoming. Inclosed you will find the amount for the cards—names as follows:
John H. Nicholson, miner; age, 41 Arthur Cowrey, ” ” 42 William Morgan, ” ” 34 Isaac Little, ” ” 39 Benjamin E. Williams, ” ” 37 William Jackson, ” ” 39 John McGinn, ” ” 29 William H. Osborne, ” ” 36 John R. Thomas, ” ” 33
I suppose you will need to know who is chief and secretary of the group. John McGinn is chief and John H. Nicholson is the secretary. I remain yours, in the care of John H. Nicholson, What Cheer, Keokuk County, Iowa, Box 697.
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ST. LOUIS, March 27, 1886.
Mrs. and Mr. Parsons:—We were quite sorry to learn of your sickness, which prevented you to be with us at the Commune Festival, while we were just as glad to see that Mrs. Parsons did accept our invitation. My hope and wish that you are well again for the present. The Commune Festival was well attended by a large crowd, and it was a great disappointment for the J. W. P. A. being forced to announce the absence of the English speaker. I am quite aware that it would have been a great lift for our principles if Mrs. Parsons could have been present. However, St. Louis is not Chicago, and the movement is not as well progressing as in Chicago. No wonder. I have been teached lately a lesson myself, and therefore withdraw as a member of the group. We herewith send you a little collection of picture cards, which Mary had saved up for your children. We intended to send them along with Mrs. Parsons. Mary has already two large scrap-books full of such collections. Hail for the revolution.
Yours respectfully, J. M. MENTYER.
P. S.—If you have any old Alarms to spare, I would make good use of them at present during this railroad strike. I shall soon send some money again. I also send you the Chronicle so you can see what declaration the Knights of Labor have issued in answer to Monster Robber Gould.
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Personal. PORT JARVIS, N. Y., October 31, 1885.
My Dear Comrade:—Well, I will stay here, as I wrote you. I started out on a “tramp” to look for a job. I stayed nearly a week at New Haven and spoke there, though why Liberty should head his letter from there “Unfortunate for Herr Most,” is more than I can see. I came here and looked up an old friend, John G. Mills. He proposed starting a small job book-bindery. He puts in capital and I the skill. That seems fair; while I will be sure of a mere living for the winter, there is no guarantee that capital will gain by it. So the timidity of capital must be overcome. Well, the bargain is this: When I pay back the advance capital (and until I do so I am not to draw in amount over $5.00 a week), paid it all, then I am to own half and we will start equal partners, and he furnishes more capital if necessary on half paid back. I have agreed, as I believe it is the best I can do, and it opens a good prospect. It is probable that I will not be very active in “the cause” here, as every moment will be occupied, but I am willing to go anywhere within reasonable distance this winter and give a lecture to any group for mere expenses—car-fare and board—and believe I could stir up the boys. New Jersey, Pennsylvania and New York, all three join together here, and any of the three States would be convenient. I should give a lecture rather than a speech, but it would be extempore. Can’t you drop a line to Philadelphia, or some point near? Buffalo is nearly as near.
When I feel like giving you an article I shall mail it, but, of course, you will use it or lay it over as you feel about it. I think I can put a point strongly, but do not want to crowd out anything else.
If you can use me on your paper, draw on me for all the copy you like. I like the Alarm and think it has improved since last spring. Any points I can get from French papers, I will give you the benefit of. I never got that card. Is it contrary to custom?
Yours truly, LUM.