Chapter XVI
Pushing the Anarchists—A Scene on a Street-car—How Herman Muntzenberg Gave Himself Away—The Secret Signal—“D——n the Informers”—A Satchelful of Bombs—More about Engel’s Murderous Plan—Drilling the Lehr und Wehr Verein—Breitenfeld’s Cowardice—An Anarchist Judas—The Hagemans—Dynamite in Gas-pipe—An Admirer of Lingg—A Scheme to Remove the Author—The Hospitalities of the Police Station—Mr. Jebolinski’s Indignation—A Bogus Milkman—An Unwilling Visitor—Mistaken for a Detective—An Eccentric Prisoner—Division of Labor at the Dynamite Factory—Clermont’s Dilemma—The Arrangements for the Haymarket.
THE Anarchists, both in and out of prison, had begun to discover about this time that there was a law in the land, and that its majesty would be vindicated. They were confronted with stubborn, serious facts, and they realized that they were in a world of perplexities. They had been circumvented at every step in their efforts at concealment, and their plot had been revealed in its most essential parts. Their leaders had been gathered in, and their comrades were being arrested every day. Cunning and shrewd as they supposed themselves to be, they had discovered that society was equal to the task of probing their secrets. At first they had assumed an air of bravado and indifference, but, seeing how easily their bluff could be called and how closely we had the record of each, they realized that evasion or silence was not calculated either to keep their necks out of the halter or to save them from the penitentiary. Those arrested nearly all turned craven cowards, and this situation of affairs did not contribute to the comfort of those still outside, who were in momentary dread of apprehension. Arrest followed arrest, and Mr. Furthmann and I were kept exceedingly busy in directing the taking of confessions and assimilating the material for future use. Still the good work went on.
The first victim, after the Hermann brothers, to fall under police control was Herman Muntzenberg. He was arrested on the evening of May 20, at eight o’clock, and the circumstances attending his arrest were somewhat peculiar. On the evening in question, Officers Schuettler and Hoffman were transferring the Hermann brothers from the Larrabee Street Station to the Chicago Avenue Station. They boarded an open street-car with their prisoners, whom they placed on a rear seat facing front, stationing themselves immediately behind on the platform. In the middle of the car, facing to the rear, sat a stranger. Presently the officers noticed that the man was making signs to the Hermanns. In response, Lorenz Hermann placed his right hand over his mouth. This was followed by another sign from the stranger. Officer Schuettler recognized the fact that the man was a friend of the Hermanns, and he requested the prisoners not to divulge the officers’ identity. The stranger seemed to be in doubt about something, left his seat, and, placing himself at the side of Abraham Hermann, started a conversation. He appeared to be an old acquaintance. This was sufficient for the officers. When the car reached the corner of Wells Street and Chicago Avenue, the stranger was about to leave. He was quietly told by the officers not to trouble himself just then to get off the car, but to keep his seat a little while longer. Naturally the man was surprised at this request of men whom he did not know, and indignantly declined to ride any farther. The officers promptly told him to consider himself under arrest and not to move if he valued his life. They had in the meantime recognized the man as the little fellow who had carried the satchel filled with dynamite bombs to Neff’s Hall, along with Lingg. It was Herman Muntzenberg.
The three prisoners were taken to the station, and Muntzenberg was locked up by himself over night. The next day he was brought into my office. The density of his ignorance respecting Anarchy or Anarchists was astonishing. Like the rest, he absolutely knew nothing. Some days afterwards, however, he took a different view of things. A confession was looked for, and he was given an opportunity.
“I see everybody is in trouble,” Muntzenberg began dolefully. “I am in for it myself. I cannot help anybody; nobody can help me.”
He hesitated, as if trying to decide what he should do, but finally, nerving himself, he continued:
“I will bear my own trouble. I will hurt no one else.”
“Ah,” said I, “there is Hermann, for instance; there are other people also who have given you away. They have all professed to be your friends in times past, and now they are trying to save their own necks and hang you. So you want to remain silent under their charges? Have you nothing to tell on the others?”
“That would do me no good,” answered Muntzenberg.
“Then,” said I, “what have you to say about yourself?”
“You don’t know the least thing about me,” defiantly remarked the little man.
“Probably you had such a bad headache from the smell of dynamite that you can’t remember anything.”
“Who told you I had a headache?” broke in Muntzenberg, now intensely interested.
“Were you not afraid,” I continued, not heeding the interruption, “that you would fall into the basement when you sat on the iron railing at the corner of North Avenue and Larrabee Street, near the police station, or did you feel confident that the bombs you had in your pocket would hold you in your place? Another thing—you are not in the habit of smoking cigars. Did they make you sick?”
Muntzenberg had remained somewhat passive up to this last shot, but he suddenly showed there was a good deal of vitality in him. His eyes flashed with excitement, and he was all attention.
“By the way,” I went on, “how much weight can you carry?”
“What do you mean?” interposed the anxious listener.
“I mean how much did that gray satchel weigh that you carried to 58 Clybourn Avenue May 4, about eight o’clock?”
“D——n the informers,” ejaculated the now irate little Anarchist. “Give me an hour to think matters over and call me again.”
He was sent back to his cell, and on the expiration of two hours he was brought back. He entered the office very meekly, and at once said:
“Captain, I see it is no use for me to be stubborn. Will you treat me like the others, if I tell all I have seen and what I have done myself?”
“I promise you the same right and privilege.”
Muntzenberg made his statement and was released by order of the State’s Attorney. He was a German, twenty-eight years old, five feet seven inches tall, stoutly built, with large head and eyes, and followed the trade of a blacksmith. At the time of his arrest he lived at No. 95 North Wells Street. On his release he promised to testify whenever wanted, but about the middle of the trial he took a leave of absence and has never been seen since. Once it was reported that he was dead, but the report could not be verified. Muntzenberg was a warm admirer of Lingg, Spies and Engel, and a persistent worker for their cause. He often lost several days’ work in a week to saunter out into the country, selling Most’s books and telling people to arm themselves. He earned good wages when he worked, and spent it all for Anarchy. Like others, he acknowledged that he had been led astray by incendiary literature. His statement was as follows:
“On May 4, about eight o’clock, I was sent to meet two men who carried a satchel filled with dynamite shells or bombs. I met them about a block from Thüringer Hall, 58 Clybourn Avenue. I told them that I had been asked to meet them and help carry the satchel. They said, ‘All right.’ I took it from them, put it on my shoulder and carried it to the hall. The satchel weighed about thirty pounds. In the afternoon of that day, about four o’clock, I came to the North Side and went to Hubner’s house, No. 11 Mohawk Street. He was not at home. I went out to look for him. I have known him for some time. I found him. The second time I wanted to see him I went to his house and found him at home in his room making transparencies for that night’s meeting at the Haymarket. He took lunch then, and after that we went to Seliger’s house, No. 442 Sedgwick Street. Reaching there, Hubner told Lingg and Seliger that I was his friend and all right. In the room of Lingg I saw two guns and two revolvers. Seliger was filling the bombs with dynamite. Lingg was cutting the fuse. One of them asked me if I had any sores on my hand. I said no. ‘Then,’ they said, ‘you can help us.’ My task was to fill in with dynamite the long gas-pipe shells. I filled six or eight shells or bombs. My head commenced to ache from the smell of the dynamite, so that I could not work any longer. Hubner also worked, putting caps on the fuse. I saw three or four men in the house at the time. I saw about ten round lead bombs on the bed, all empty. After they were finished they were put under the bed. I noticed about sixteen of the long gas-pipe shells or bombs about the room. At dark Hubner and I went to Neff’s Hall. Before leaving I saw one of the two, Lingg or Seliger, bring in a satchel and empty it of dirty clothes. As we were approaching the hall, Hubner asked me to see if they were coming. I went to see, and met them in the alley near the street. Both were carrying the satchel, each having hold of the ends of the handles on the satchel. I asked if I should help them. They answered yes. As they were tall men, I could not carry it with either one, and so I put it on my shoulder and carried it myself. I took it into the rear hall back of the saloon. After a little while one of them asked me where I had placed the satchel. I told him. He said that was not the right place and asked me to bring it back. So I went after it and put it into the narrow hallway. The satchel was two feet long, eighteen inches high and sixteen inches wide. It was covered with gray canvas. It weighed about thirty pounds. When I left Seliger’s house at dark, I took along with me three long bombs. I did so because one of the men there told me to do so. I knew they were bombs in the satchel when I carried them. Some one passed us on the street as we were going to the hall. Lingg said: ‘Those are heavy tools,’ meaning the contents of the satchel, to throw the party we met off his guard. I threw the three bombs I had into the lake on my way to Pullman, because I learned they were dangerous and I did not want them any longer. I saw at Neff’s Hall that night, May 4, a crowd of men together for a while, and then they began to part. They went away in groups of five or six. They all went on Clybourn Avenue to Larrabee Street. As we got to Larrabee Street, they all separated and spread on Larrabee Street. I went up to North Avenue and Larrabee Street to the police station with a strange man. I remained there for some time. I saw Seliger and Lingg near the station, going north on Larrabee Street. When I was at Seliger’s house one of the five men present said to me to throw bombs into the police station to kill the police, and if any patrol wagons escaped and came out to throw bombs into the wagons among the officers and shoot the horses. This was for the purpose of preventing them from giving assistance to each other. I smoked a cigar that night so that I would have a fire ready to light the bombs with and throw them if necessary. I only smoke cigars on Sundays, and, as I am not accustomed to smoke much, the cigar made me sick. I sat for some time on an iron railing on Larrabee Street, opposite the police station, on the southeast corner. I sat there about fifteen minutes. The wagon failed to come out, and, as I felt sick and could not do much anyway, I went home. Lingg and Seliger walked ahead of me. I saw them last when they crossed North Avenue, going north on Larrabee Street. The next evening I went to No. 58 Clybourn Avenue. I met Hubner, and he said that on the night of the shooting he was at Lincoln Park. I recognize this picture now shown me as being that of Seliger. I saw him making dynamite bombs at 442 Sedgwick Street on the afternoon of May 4 in company with Lingg. The man I have seen locked up in this station I saw working and making dynamite bombs in company with Seliger, and his name is Louis Lingg. When I was at Seliger’s house, Hubner told me to go to Lincoln Park, and there I would get my instructions.”
THE NEXT Anarchist brought into the station was AUGUST GRAGGE. He was a German, twenty-eight years of age, straight and stoutly built, a bricklayer by trade, and lived at No. 880 North Halsted Street. He was arrested on the 24th of May. I gave him an evening’s audience shortly after. It was apparent from his demeanor that he was a young man easily led astray by men of force and decision of character; therefore it was no wonder that he had become an extreme Anarchist, especially since he had been thrown a great deal into the company of some of the rankest leaders in the order and had attended meetings where gore and plunder formed the chief topics of discussion. When the authorities took him in hand, he soon modified his opinions. He stated that, like a great many others, he had been misled to believe that Anarchist doctrines were right and that no law existed to interfere with them; but after the law had been read to him, he acknowledged that he had pursued a wrong course. He had been a man of sober habits, and on being questioned he told a very straightforward story. After giving such information as he possessed he was released by the State’s Attorney, and he promised to mend his ways.
The statement he made to me was as follows:
“A man by the name of Lange and another, August Asher, coaxed me into the armed group. Charles Bock was our secretary four or five weeks ago. I heard Rau and Lingg speak in Neff’s Hall. Lingg spoke about dynamite and called on us to arm ourselves. They also wanted us to buy revolvers. I bought one—a big one—for $4. I paid $2 down. Asher and I went to the meeting at the Haymarket on the evening of May 4. I saw the circular that called that meeting. We had our big revolvers with us when we went there. When the shooting commenced we ran. I fell down, and about forty men ran over me and kept me down. I then lost my revolver. We had a meeting on Monday night, May 3, at Neff’s Hall. Abraham Hermann had three or four revolvers for sale. Asher always kept the Arbeiter-Zeitung, and at times I would read it. The first man I heard speak at the Haymarket was August Spies, then Parsons, and Fielden, next I saw Schnaubelt standing on the wagon with Spies. On account of its looking like rain it was decided to go to Zepf’s Hall. Parsons, however, told the people to remain, as he only had a few more words. The police finally came. Some of the people started to go away, but some one in a loud voice urged them to remain. Then firing commenced. I heard the explosion of the bomb. As I stated, I fell down. As soon as I could get up I started to run for the North Side. I went to Neff’s Hall. I found there several that I knew. I told them I had lost my revolver and then explained what had happened at the Haymarket. I carried my revolver in my hip pocket, and it dropped out as I fell. The revolver was loaded. I know Lingg. I have heard him speak at least four or five times. He would always call on the people to arm themselves. He also said that they were too slow in getting arms and that the time would come for their use and they ought to be ready.”
GUSTAV BREITENFELD was next arrested. He was a German, aged thirty, a brush-maker by trade, and lived in the lower flat of a two-story house at No. 18 Samuel Street. On May 4 he was commander of the second company of the Lehr und Wehr Verein, and he had previously taken an active part at all Anarchist meetings. He was regarded as a star Anarchist on the Northwest Side, and frequently visited the house of George Engel.
Gustav was an Anarchist jumping-jack. All that the leaders had to do was to pull the strings, and he responded. He served on all committees, and whenever in doubt as to any course of procedure he went to Engel for advice. He lacked judgment and brains, and he sought to make up the deficiency by consulting the leaders. But withal he was a dangerous man. He was quick-tempered, but a coward when he thought he was not likely to get the best of the situation.
On the night of May 4 he had his company ready near the city limits to murder people and set fire to buildings, only awaiting orders to set about the work of general destruction. They expected to see the police flee from the Haymarket, but as the reds did the running on that occasion, the combination failed. Their “signal” committees were scattered and their comrades became demoralized at the unexpected charge of the police.
Breitenfeld and his company heard the shooting at their place of rendezvous, and, failing to receive the signal to begin the attack, he went to Engel’s house to ascertain what was wrong. Learning of the drubbing his comrades had received at the Haymarket, he was not anxious to take similar “medicine,” and he skulked away like a whipped cur. A house had been chosen near the limits for the incendiary torches of his company, and it would have been in flames on their first advance if they had received the signal. But the company were dismissed, and all hurried home to escape danger. For two weeks they were in mortal dread of the police.
If, however, these misguided men had been started that night, with all things in their favor, there is no telling what fearful havoc they would have created. The company was composed of men desperate enough, under proper encouragement, to have murdered people asleep or awake. They would have held high carnival if the Haymarket meeting had come out according to expectations, and the able-bodied and the helpless would have suffered alike at their hands. Their plan was to shoot or stab everybody who opposed their onward march into the city, and, crazed with success, they would have hesitated at nothing.
Breitenfeld knew all the villainous arrangements, and he was therefore a man the police sought after. He was found on the 25th of May, at about seven o’clock, by Officers Stift and Schuettler, and brought to the Chicago Avenue Station. When I had the honor of meeting him, he at once assumed military airs, but he soon found himself reduced to the ranks. As he was one of the few who understood English, the law on conspiracies was read to him. Then he was informed that he had been indicted, and was told what could be proved against him. He became terribly excited, could hardly speak, but finally managed to say:
“Gentlemen, you have got the wrong man. You want to get my brother. I am not that Breitenfeld. I am a good, peaceable man.”
He was informed that lies were at a discount in the station just then, and that if he desired to speak and tell the truth an opportunity would be given him. If not, we would tolerate no nonsense. He refrained from speaking, and was sent below.
The next day he sent word that he wanted to see me. He was brought up, and on being seated before Assistant State’s Attorney Furthmann and all the officers, he said:
“Gentlemen, I beg your pardon. I told you a lie. I am the man you want. I have a wife and family, and I love them. I beg of you now, if you let me speak, I will tell the truth and everything I know.”
“Tell all you know,” said I, “and remember that I will know when you tell a falsehood.”
“I know you have everything by this time. If I tell you all and become a witness against these other fellows, will you let me go?”
“If you tell all and the truth, I will see the State’s Attorney for you and ask him to take you as a witness.”
Breitenfeld thereupon made a statement, and a few days later he was released. When subsequently called on to testify, he refused to do so. He had told others that the State could not convict anybody, and he would not help the prosecution. He was, therefore, let alone. He is still under indictment. With the lesson he had received it was thought he would reform. In this we were mistaken. He has since attended a number of meetings, and at the funeral of Mrs. Neebe turned out with his company. He is the same unrepentant Anarchist that he was before his trouble, but he is being carefully watched wherever he goes.
This is what he swore to at the station in the presence of Mr. Furthmann, myself and the officers:
“My name is Gustav Breitenfeld. I am thirty years old. I am married and I reside at No. 18 Samuel Street. I am a brush-maker. I am captain of the second company of the Lehr und Wehr Verein. We have twenty men in our company. I know Fischer and Schrade. Schrade is drill-sergeant of my company. On Sunday, May 2, I was at Pullman. I heard of the riot plan on Monday afternoon, May 3. I know George Engel, Deitz and Fischer. They are the principal leaders in the Northwest Side group and of the armed men. Heier is the name of the man who keeps Thalia Hall on Milwaukee Avenue. I know Kraemer; he lives in the rear of Engel’s house. I think I saw Kraemer at the meeting held on the evening of May 3, at 54 West Lake Street. I know Schmidt, the carrier of the Arbeiter-Zeitung. At that meeting I saw Krueger, Schrade, Gruenwald, Clermont, Kraemer, Deitz, Engel, Fischer, Schnaubelt and Waller. Waller was the chairman of the meeting. The first thing I heard they were denouncing the police force for killing the workingmen at McCormick’s factory. I saw the revenge circular, which called the people to arms. I heard Engel say that when the word ‘Ruhe’ should appear in the Arbeiter-Zeitung, every one should go to his meeting-place selected by them and be ready for action. I heard some one say that as soon as they saw the heavens illuminated with red fires, then was the time to commence the revolution. Engel and Fischer volunteered to carry the news from the Haymarket to the armed men stationed at Wicker Park. Engel volunteered to act as a spy. I know Engel to have sold arms. At the meeting of May 3, I heard some one asking for dynamite bombs. I heard Engel respond that the dynamite bombs were ready and in good hands. Fischer agreed to have the circulars, calling the Haymarket meeting, printed. It was said that there would be from 20,000 to 30,000 people at that meeting, and that the police would interfere. Then would be a good time to attack them and get revenge on them for the killing of six of their comrades. The word ‘Ruhe’ would signify that they should get ready and be on the look-out. Engel said that they should look for it in the Arbeiter-Zeitung on May 4, and they were all to go to their respective places, as agreed upon, with their arms or guns. The Haymarket meeting was decided upon as a trap to catch the police. Engel, Kraemer and Krueger went to the meeting to see if there was a big crowd there, and when they got back home Engel said there were only 250 men present. I went to see Engel on the morning of May 4 at his house. He told me he had been at the meeting and there were present the number I have given. I attended the meeting of the Northwest Side group that decided to call the meeting for the evening of May 3, at 54 West Lake Street. I heard, at the last-named place, several say that the dynamite bombs were in good hands. I met Waller at Thalia Hall on May 4, about eleven o’clock in the evening, and he remarked that they had had a very hot time of it at the Haymarket. I saw Fischer on Wednesday, May 5, at Thalia Hall, and he then told me that Spies had been arrested about four o’clock that morning. Spies is the only one I know of the Spies family. I have known him five years.”
WILLIAM HAGEMAN was the next to inspect our plain and unpretentious office. He came in on his dignity and carried an air about him that plainly exhibited his complete contempt for the police. He was a German, about thirty years old, round-shouldered, a stair-builder by occupation, was married and had one child. He lived at the time of his arrest on the lower floor of a house at No. 49 Reese Street, and he could always be found whenever Anarchist plots were to be executed. His brother was, like himself, a rampant Anarchist, but with cunning enough to escape arrest. William was found by Officers Schuettler and Hoffman, about seven o’clock on the morning of May 26. He did not long remain in ignorance of the cause of his arrest, and then he wanted me to understand:
“My brother is no Anarchist. If any one does any squealing on him, don’t pay any attention to it, because it all means me. I am the fellow. The people often get us mixed.”
“You are the worst Anarchist of the two,” I remarked.
Hageman wanted to know how I had come to that conclusion.
“We know all about you,” said I.
“If you know it, be sure and don’t forget it,” was the reply. “I am sure you won’t learn anything from me.”
“All right. But just as sure as you are sitting there, I will find out all your performances, and every one you associated with during the last two years, before you leave this station. And you will tell it to me yourself.”
“Never; I will die first. I will kill myself first. I will stand any torture you may inflict on me, but I will never tell on my comrades or any one that worked for our cause.”
“You probably don’t remember the job you pledged yourself to undertake on the night of May 4. It was not a very small one either, but, of course, your nerves not being very strong that evening, you came here to a neighboring saloon several times to brace up, and your friends, lying in the rear of this station, felt very much the same way as you did. So you spelled one another and strengthened your nerves. Say, William, who said that the bombs were not good? You remember the third window in the station on the east side of the building and the little quarrel about the bombs—whether a round lead bomb should be thrown or a long gas-pipe bomb. Do you remember the two policemen that crossed the alley and stood still for a moment in the middle of that alley when you fellows thought you were discovered—how you all got into the dark side of the alley and ran? Now, remember, when you get ready to talk, I will tell my side of the story, and should you get stuck, you see I can help you out a great deal. You might recall what little you know of the Haymarket, how you were surprised that only one bomb was thrown and how the fellows detailed for that duty did not attend to their business. Here, officers, show this gentleman the suite of rooms which he is to occupy for the next four weeks. If you desire anything extra that is not on our bill of fare, just touch the button, and you will be waited on promptly. Any inattention on the part of the waiters must be reported to this office. If you should conclude to make a long stay with us, you had better provide yourself with a good supply of tobacco. You understand that when a man is at sea he finds that there are a good many things he needs that would come in handy.”
He did not like his apartments—singular to relate. There was no fire escape, the linen on the bed was not changed every day, and the noise of his neighbors kept him awake of nights. He had struck the wrong hotel, but his apartments had been engaged for him and paid for by the taxpayers, and he could not gracefully withdraw.
Hageman first got tired, then angry, and finally desperate. He realized that he was in trouble and made up his mind to take me into his confidence. He reached this conclusion on the afternoon of May 27, and sent the janitor to the office with a message that he desired to see me. He was informed in return that he could not see me unless he meant to talk business. Hageman responded that he was ready to talk on any subject upon which he might be questioned, and he was accordingly brought into the office, into the presence of Mr. Furthmann, myself and the detectives.
“Well,” said I, “I understand that you want to see me.”
“Yes, I do,” was the response, “but not in the presence of all these fellows.”
“Why not?”
“Because my business is with you alone.”
“Well, you see, William, I am only one, and as what you tell here, which must be the truth, will have to be given by you in the Criminal Court, and as I may probably get killed before that time, there would be no one to testify to your statement if given to me alone.”
“Oh, that is the way you want to catch me!”
“There is no catch about it. If you don’t want to make a statement in the presence of all these men, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”
“Will you answer me one question?” asked Hageman, getting a little apprehensive that he might lose his only chance. “It is, has any one out of the many people locked up here squealed?”
“Well,” I answered, “most of them have already done so, and the others are fairly breaking their necks to follow suit.”
“This is a very unpleasant thing to do.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“Can I get out by telling you all I know, and can you keep me from testifying in court? You know this will kill a man forever.”
“Yes, but a great many policemen were killed, and they simply obeyed orders. If you think you are better than a policeman, you had better go down stairs again and await your trial in the Criminal Court.”
“Now, see here, Captain, I would never tell on anybody, but I have got a wife and little baby at home. It almost sets me crazy thinking of them, and for their sake I will tell all.”
Hageman did as he promised, but in the interview that ensued it became apparent that he was a double-faced man, and that, when it came to his family, he did not care a fig whether he landed the other fellows on the gallows or in the penitentiary. He had been a brave, boasting Anarchist. He had been accustomed to talk with his associates over foaming “schooners” of beer, and the more beer there was the greater his talk about killing people and overthrowing capital. He was a great reader of Anarchistic papers and literature, and the more fiery and unbridled the sentiment, the better he was pleased. He took a hand in every movement, attended all the meetings and picnics of the reds, and made himself quite a useful member of the order. He continually boasted of the bombs that he had hid away for use, and promised to let capitalists hear from him. The bombs he had were found to be of the round lead and gas-pipe patterns, and some of them he had received from Fischer a long time before May 4. He had been posted as to the manufacture of bombs by Lingg, and was a warm friend of Engel, whose talk about bombs suited him exactly. Hageman could not listen patiently to any discussion from which dynamite was left out, and in any peaceful gathering he was sure to become a disturber. If there was no dispute, he would start one himself, and, if necessary, back up his argument with blows. Whenever a dance or benefit was held to replenish the treasury for the purchase of dynamite, he was promptly on hand and exerted himself to the utmost to swell the receipts. Being such an active member, it was natural that he knew a great deal about his order, and he helped the State very materially with the points he furnished.
He was kept in custody until after the trial, and with the experience he had in prison one would think that he would cut loose altogether from Anarchy. Not so, however. While nearly all the others repented of their error, Hageman had no sooner regained his liberty than he became as radical as ever. He even threatened several times to kill State’s Attorney Grinnell, Judge Gary, myself and others. After the trial, I had a detective at every meeting of the Anarchists, and the reports brought me were that Hageman and Bernhard Schrade were the most violent and determined men in the union.
Hageman would boastingly say, “I never squealed to that man Schaack. If they had all done as I did, they would know very little about the Anarchists.”
One night, at 54 West Lake Street, this arrant knave was approached by one of his supposed warm friends, who happened, however, to be in my confidence, and who said to him:
“You don’t like Schaack, and I don’t like him. He is now here at the Desplaines Street Station. We can go into the alley and shoot him in his office. I have a revolver here with me now, and I will go into Florus’ and get one more. Then we will go and ‘do him.’ We will both go and fire together and run. But mind, let there be no arrest in our case; let us die before capture.”
“Do you mean this?” asked Hageman.
“Here is my hand. Here is my revolver, and if you play coward on me I will kill you standing up. Now, come on.”
Did Hageman respond? Not at all. He crawled on his belly with excuses.
“That man Schaack,” he said, “knows me so well that it is not safe to go around there.”
“Well,” replied his companion, “we can go through a vacant lot.”
“It is too dangerous, my boy,” said Hageman. “I could do all this well enough if I never would be found out.”
“Well,” said the companion, “you are a crazy coward, and don’t you ‘shoot your mouth’ hereafter where I am.”
Hageman subsided for the time, but he is again as rampant as ever.
Here is Hageman’s statement, which he made “for the sake of his own family,” but which helped to drive the nails into the coffins of other families:
“I was at the meeting held at Neff’s Hall, No. 121 West Lake Street. I saw Lingg there and heard him address the people, calling them to arms. I also saw Thielen, the two Lehmans and Peter Huber. Niendorf was chairman of the meeting, which had been called to consider the eight-hour movement. Some one at that meeting called out that there was a meeting at No. 54 West Lake Street and said, ‘Let us go there.’ Then a number of us went, including Huber, Thielen and myself. I stood at the right hand side as one entered the basement after I got there. The meeting lasted from half to three quarters of an hour. I saw there Fischer, Engel and Waller. Waller was chairman. I heard Engel speak. He told us to watch for the red fires, and when we saw them in the heavens, then was the time to commence the revolution. The fires were to be the signals for the outside posts that the riot at the Haymarket had commenced. It was also to be regarded as a signal that the police had made an attack on the meeting at the Haymarket, and then we should commence the work of destruction. Every one should pick out houses beforehand, so that they could be set on fire when the signal was given. Engel also said at this meeting that the stuff, meaning dynamite, was cheap, and that any member could buy some. He referred to the police and said that if they saw a patrol wagon on the street filled with officers they should destroy the wagon and the police by throwing bombs into the wagon. He (Engel) urged every man to do as much harm as possible, meaning destruction of property and killing people. I heard this plan repeated afterwards by a black-whiskered man named Waller. Waller said that this plan for the revolution had been adopted by the West Side armed group. Hermann and I were at the Haymarket meeting, but when the shooting began we ran away.”
ALBERT JEBOLINSKI was another welcome guest on the 26th of May. He had been frequently invited to partake of the hospitalities of the station, but he appeared to be contented with putting up with dingy quarters in out-of-the-way places rather than run the risk of meeting a policeman. But on the day in question he received such a pressing invitation from Schuettler and Hoffman that he finally yielded. He was a German Pole, thirty-five years of age, of slim build, and, with a dark mustache and large goatee, he looked like a Frenchman. He lived at the time in a two-story brick building, first flat, at No. 11 Penn Street. The officers knew that he was a very suspicious man and that he would run blocks to get out of the way of a policeman, so great was his hatred of the force. They therefore approached his house cautiously, lest he might mistake them for blue-coats. They called rather early,—four o’clock in the morning,—and Schuettler, giving a regular milkman’s rap on the door, brought Mrs. Jebolinski to the front.
“Who is there,” she shouted before venturing to open the door, “and what is wanted?”
“I am here—the milkman,” responded Schuettler. “I want to see you, madam.”
With this assurance Mrs. Jebolinski opened the door, but the moment she discovered that it was not the milkman, she slammed the door to—not quick enough, however, to close it, for the officer, seeing his chance, had thrust his foot between the door and the frame. Hoffman came at once to the rescue and informed the woman that I had sent him after her husband.
“We don’t know anything about Capt. Schaack,” she responded, and again tried to close the door.
“Well, madam, I am sure the Captain knows something about you folks.”
And with this bit of information the officers pushed the door open. This was too much for Mrs. Jebolinski. She shouted to her husband:
“O Albert, the spitzel, the police!”
“Don’t open the door for anybody,” came in stentorian tones from Albert in an adjoining room. “Keep them out!”
The officers had meantime effected an entrance, and, following up the voice, found Albert in bed.
“Good morning, Albert,” said Schuettler, in pleasant, cheerful tones.
“Who told you to come here?” gruffly demanded Albert.
“Capt. Schaack desires to see you on pressing business.”
“Oh, yes; he must be in love with me, since he sent you so early to see me. Has no one killed that d——d bloodhound yet?”
“No, Albert, you will have a chance to see him soon, and then you can kill him.”
“You go and tell Schaack that you have seen me, and that will be sufficient. I will die first before I go. You cannot take me out of here. I want my breakfast, and I will take a sleep before my wife calls me.”
So saying, Albert jumped back into bed. Officer Schuettler remonstrated, and was finally obliged to pull him out. Albert then refused to dress. Talking to him had no more effect than talking to a stone wall.
Hoffman then opened the door, and Schuettler grabbed Albert under his arm and walked out with him despite his kicks and resistance. They got him out into the bracing atmosphere of the morning, and, although Albert was not dressed for company, they started off with him.
Mrs. Jebolinski rushed out after them, and, wildly gesticulating, shouted:
“Bring him back, bring him back, and I will dress him.”
The officers retraced their steps, but not back into the house. They took Albert to the wood-shed, and there he was dressed.
At the station he was invited down stairs and told that there were so many who wanted to see me that he would probably have a rest for a week. He was locked up, and during the first day he would neither eat nor drink. He was not coaxed, however, and the next morning he called the janitor, saying:
“I am sick; will you give me a cup of coffee?”
The janitor replied that he would have to wait till nine o’clock, when the prisoners came down from court.
“Well,” said Albert, indignantly, “if I don’t get my coffee now, you can keep your breakfast.”
When nine o’clock came around the janitor made the round, inviting the sleepers to wake and get their breakfast.
“You can go to the d——l; you can’t make me eat,” said Jebolinski, and he settled himself for a nap.
But when the dinner hour came Albert made up for lost time and missed meals. At four o’clock he sent the janitor to the office to tell me that he wanted to see me. He was brought up.
“Well, Albert,” said I, “how much do you weigh now?”
“You had better let me go home. I will never tell you anything. It is no use keeping me here.”
“I don’t want you to tell me anything. I have secured more evidence in the last few days than I want, and now they are all arrested. I am going to prosecute you in court for conspiracy and murder; so you need not trouble yourself with being stubborn. I don’t want to see you again, not till I see you in court. Officer, take him back to the lock-up.”
“So you can do without me?”
“Yes, I am sure I can.”
Albert was escorted down stairs, but inside of two hours he asked for Officer Schuettler.
“I can see now,” he said to Schuettler, “that that man Schaack wants to hang me.”
“I am sure he is done with you,” replied the officer.
“I beg of you to tell the Captain I want to see him, and say to him that I will tell him about the bombs and everything else.”
Officer Schuettler reported the Anarchist’s wishes, and Jebolinski was once more brought up. He then confessed that he had four loaded bombs planted, which he would show if taken out.
He was accordingly taken in charge by Officers Schuettler and Hoffman, whom he led to a place north of Division Street near a planing-mill and linseed-oil factory. At that place there was a side-track, and, at a point where the locomotives were stopped to be dumped of their cinders, he unearthed his bombs. These bombs were covered with about four inches of cinders, midway between the rails, and when they were taken out they were found fully loaded, with fuse and caps. That there had been no explosion is almost a miracle. Had a locomotive been stationed over the spot for an hour, as frequently happened, the cinders would have been set on fire again. In an instant locomotive and all would have been blown to atoms, and no one would have known the precise cause. It was lucky for some engineer and fireman, and, in fact, for the locality, that no engine stood over the spot after those bombs had been planted.
On returning to the station, Jebolinski furnished the State with much valuable information. He was indicted and held as a witness. But he was never called, and after the trial he was given his liberty. He has been watched since and found to be attending strictly to his own business. In his statement he sets forth his attendance at the meeting at 121 West Lake Street, where were present Lingg, Rau and others, and his presence at the Haymarket meeting, from which he ran the moment the firing commenced. He also described the bombs,—three round lead and one long iron one,—which he had obtained from Hageman, the one-eyed carpenter.
PETER HUBER was another distinguished caller, by special invitation. He was escorted to the office by Officers Whalen and Stift and took things very coolly. He was a lank, lean, consumptive-looking fellow, only twenty-nine years of age, and earned his living as a cabinet-maker. He was a German, married, and had two children, living in a two-story frame house at No. 96 Hudson Avenue. His manner was very quiet, and no one would have taken him for an Anarchist. But Peter, nevertheless, was heart and soul in the movement, and had regularly attended all the meetings. He had never made a speech—he was too diffident for that; he had never advised any one on Anarchy, but he had come to be trusted, and he knew all the leaders and all about dynamite bombs. He was so undemonstrative and non-communicative that at first I took him to be a paid detective in the ranks of the Socialists. When he was asked a question, he would take his own time to answer, and, once interrupted in his talk, he would stop and say no more.
On the second day after his arrest—May 25—Huber offered to answer questions, and he did this without any inducement. He thereupon furnished the State with several good points, and freely told everything. He was indicted, but released by order of the State’s Attorney. He was ready to testify at the trial, but was not wanted. He has since kept away from Anarchist meetings, and is now a useful man to his family.
Huber’s statement ran as follows:
“I belonged to the North Side armed group. I know Seliger, Hubner, Lehman the carpenter, the two Hagemans and Lingg. Some time in February last, George Engel made a great speech in Neff’s Hall, No. 58 Clybourn Avenue. I keep the Arbeiter-Zeitung. The Sunday edition of that paper is called Die Fackel. I saw the letter ‘Y,’ and the meaning of it is that, whenever we should see it in the paper, then there would be a meeting held that evening, of the armed men, at No. 54 West Lake Street. May 3d there was one such meeting called for that evening. On that evening I went to the saloon at No. 71 West Lake Street and drank a glass of beer. From there I went to No. 54 West Lake Street. While in the saloon at No. 54 West Lake Street, I heard some one say that a meeting would be held down stairs in the basement. So we went down stairs. When I entered I saw about thirty or forty present. I sat down on a bench, and we sat there for some time before the meeting opened. I heard some one say that it would be an indignation meeting on account of our workingmen having been killed at McCormick’s factory by the police on that day. I saw at that meeting the circular calling for revenge and the people to arms, because of the killing of our brothers. I saw the same circular that same evening at the hall No. 71 West Lake Street. Waller was chairman of the meeting at No. 54 West Lake Street. I met there Hubner, Abraham Hermann, Fischer and Breitenfeld, the captain of the second company of the Lehr und Wehr Verein. I heard Engel make a speech, and during the whole time Breitenfeld was walking up and down the hall. I also saw Schnaubelt and Thielen there. I was at Neff’s Hall, No. 58 Clybourn Avenue, early Tuesday evening, May 4th, and saw there Lingg, Seliger and Hubner. I heard Engel, at No. 54 West Lake Street, explain his plan and the work that should be done under it. A meeting, he said, would be held at the Haymarket, and when the police interfered the crowd should attack them, and the armed men should be ready for action. Some one suggested that they should hold their meeting at the Market Square on the South Side, between Randolph and Madison Streets. Some one else remarked: ‘No, that is not a good place; it is a mouse trap.’ If they held the meeting there and the police interfered, and the crowd resisted them, the police would drive them all into the river. Some said, ‘That’s so,’ and then the meeting was fixed for the Haymarket, as Engel had suggested. We expected from 20,000 to 30,000 people present. We all had the idea that the police would interfere. Engel gave his plan about as follows: He said, ‘First call the meeting for the Haymarket,’ and then urged that the armed men be ready. He advised us to throw dynamite bombs into the stations, kill the police, throw dynamite bombs into the patrol wagons and shoot down the horses at the wagons. He repeated his plan for those who came in later to the meeting. The revenge circular was distributed both up stairs and down stairs at No. 54 West Lake Street. In the evening of May 3d, I saw Spies and Rau together in Zepf’s saloon. As to the word ‘Ruhe,’ I heard Engel say that when we saw that word appear in the paper, then we might know everything was right and ready. And we should watch for that signal. I heard Engel say that a man who could do no harm or create no disturbance should stay at home, as he was not wanted. When he had finished giving his plan, it was adopted. Schnaubelt said that outside cities, where they had comrades, should be notified at once as soon as the revolution was a success here. I saw Fischer at this meeting. He went to the Arbeiter-Zeitung to see if he could print the circular that night, calling the Haymarket meeting for the next evening. He came back and reported that the office was closed. He said he would attend to it in the morning. I saw Lingg, Seliger, Muntzenberg and Hubner in Neff’s saloon, No. 58 Clybourn Avenue, about eight o’clock on the evening of May 4th.”
BERNHARD SCHRADE, a German, was a peculiar combination of eccentricities. He was arrested by Officers Whalen and Loewenstein on the evening of May 26, at nine o’clock, on Milwaukee Avenue, near Division Street. He was twenty-eight years of age, six feet tall, of straight and muscular build, nervous and quick-tempered, a carpenter by occupation, and he lived at No. 581 Milwaukee Avenue. When he was seated in the station it did not take us long to ascertain all he knew about Anarchy. In speaking of the Haymarket, he said that the right men had not been in their places, or things would have turned out quite differently. They had plenty of arms and bombs, he explained, but the leaders did not know their business. Early in the evening there was a large crowd, he said, but the great majority of them left in disgust because there was not a larger gathering and the speeches were not radical enough to suit their ideas. They expected something fiery and impetuous. (This was about the time Mayor Harrison was at the meeting, and the speeches were accordingly very mild.) Those that left the meeting and did not go home, Schrade said, hung around the saloons in the neighborhood. If six hundred police, he further said, had attacked the crowd an hour earlier, few of them would have been left with their lives. He knew the arrangements, and, had the plan been carried out, the loss of life would have been appalling.
Schrade was subsequently released by order of Assistant State’s Attorney Furthmann, and promised that he would testify in court. He was several times sent after to give further information, and he always responded.
About one month after Schrade’s release, he and two others visited a saloon on North Avenue one night, and, after drinking a great deal of beer, they became exceedingly noisy and boisterous. The saloon-keeper attempted to quiet them, but was finally obliged to call an officer. Now, none of the bibulous individuals had any liking for a policeman. The moment they saw him enter they ordered him out and threatened that if he did not get out they would throw him out through the window. The officer was not at all alarmed, and, seeing that he was bent on keeping them quiet, the three disturbers pounced down upon him. The officer promptly brought his club into play, and soon his opponents measured their length upon the floor. The saw-dust was sprinkled with blood, but, before the reds could make a second assault, a citizen had brought the patrol wagon to the rescue. They were taken in charge and thrown into the wagon in their drunken stupor, and carted to the Larrabee Street Station.
On the way Schrade revived somewhat, and, not quite satisfied with the results of his former encounter, attempted to throw one of the officers over the side of the wagon. He was clinched by the throat, however, and kept quiet for the rest of the journey. The next morning the trio were fined in the Police Court and released on payment of the fines. Schrade became penitent and remained sober thereafter for some time. As he was out of work, I paid his board bill for two weeks, and kept him under surveillance to appear at the trial as a witness. When the trial began he was in good humor and told the State’s Attorney that he would give the same testimony that he had given at the station May 26. He was accordingly produced as a witness. On the stand he failed to unfold all the information he had previously given, but State’s Attorney Grinnell knew all the points in his former testimony, and before he got through with Schrade he made him a good witness for the State.
After the trial the police lost sight of Schrade for a long time, and wondered whether he had been quietly murdered by his former comrades or had left the city for his own good. But one day an officer reported to me that Schrade was still in the city. It was supposed, of course, that he would never again be found in the haunts of Socialists. It was discovered, however, that he was a member in good standing of Carpenters’ Union No. 241, formerly No. 1. This is the most rabid Anarchist organization in the city, and, were it not for some comparatively conservative members, would have long since sought revenge for the conviction and execution of the doomed conspirators.
Schrade and Hageman, since their restoration to full membership, were found to be as incendiary as ever in their utterances, and seemed to vie with each other in their efforts to show that they were better Anarchists even than before the time they informed on their companions and helped to bring them to the gallows. In fact, they became so demonstrative that some of the members threatened them with expulsion. For this they sought revenge by working upon weak-minded persons to influence them against the leaders in the organization. As long as the conservatives remain at the head of the carpenters’ union there is no special danger, but should such fanatics as Schrade and Hageman ever secure control, look out for blood.
AUGUST AHLERS was known to have been a close friend of Lingg, and accordingly I eagerly sought his acquaintance. But Ahlers after the Haymarket conceived an aversion to fresh air and kept himself in gloomy, unfrequented quarters. The officers knew that he had often visited Lingg’s room, sometimes remaining three or four hours, and, as Lingg never tolerated any one who could not be made useful, it was believed that Ahlers could furnish valuable information if found. Mrs. Seliger had stated that a great many visited Lingg, but most of them sought to conceal their faces or disguise themselves in some way, generally sneaking into the house as if they were going to steal something or kill somebody. This man Ahlers had been one of this kind. Lingg had every man who assisted him do certain special lines of work. Some would bring him lead, others gas-pipe, and others again charcoal, etc. Ahlers had helped in some way, and, with a pretty good description of him, the detectives were continually on the watch. Finally Officers Whalen and Loewenstein found him on the 26th of May, at No. 148 Chicago Avenue, and took him to the station. He had a sneaking demeanor, and when brought before me I asked him to give an account of himself between May 3d and May 6th. This he was unable to do, but after having been locked up for a while he gave some information about outside groups. As to Lingg he pretended to know very little, and as the officers could not identify him with any particular person, he was released on a promise of better behavior. He acknowledged having been a great admirer of the Anarchist leaders and a strong supporter of Anarchy, but now, he said, he would no longer affiliate with them. So far as the officers have observed, he has kept his promise and is attending strictly to his trade, that of a carpenter.
We had these kind of fellows by the hundred in this city on May 4, 1886, but fortunately God made most of them with big stomachs and no heart or courage.
VICTOR CLERMONT, a German, was almost dumbfounded when he was informed that I wanted to see him. Clermont is a French-sounding name, and, when Officers Whalen and Loewenstein took him in charge on suspicion, they mistook him for a Frenchman, especially as he looked very much like one, having a dark mustache and goatee. Clermont was taken to the station, and there gave his age as twenty-seven, occupation a cabinet-maker and pool-billiard maker, and his residence No. 116 Cornelia Street. When questioned with reference to Anarchy he expressed surprise that he should be taken for an Anarchist, but when he was informed as to his having mysteriously sneaked into dark basements which were lighted up with candles and whose doors were barricaded, he looked aghast.
“There is something wrong,” he said. “Somebody wants to involve me in the Haymarket trouble. I am sure I don’t know the least thing about Anarchists.”
“Well,” said I, “we will see if you can remember anything. Either you or your wife has some relatives living near the city. After the 4th of May you sent a lot of guns, rifles, ammunition and some bombs to them for safe-keeping. You took them away at night, and you have been so careful as to try and disguise yourself. Yet I cannot prosecute you on that. You have also been an active member on the Northwest Side in all Anarchist movements. You know all the things you have been engaged in, and so do we. I have your record right here.”
“Oh, yes,” said Victor, “I hear that you fellows have things down very fine, because you have everything your own way. Well, if I do acknowledge all I have done, what are you going to do with me?”
“I will do with you the same as I have done with others. I will hear your statement and see if you can tell the truth. If you lie to me or about any one else, I will stop you, and that is all. You are indicted, and I will send you to jail. If you tell the truth I will send for the State’s Attorney and ask him to let you go, but you must appear as a witness whenever we want you.”
“I suppose,” remarked Clermont, “that my case is like this—if I don’t, some one else will squeal.”
He then gave an account of himself and his Anarchist comrades. He was subsequently released and visited me very often for several weeks. He was out of employment and hard-up, and I gave him money with which to support himself. One evening he called and said to the officers that he had something important to tell me. I was very busy at the time and asked him if he wanted some money. Victor replied that he did not desire money. I offered him $5, however, and told him to come back the next day. He would not take the money at first, but when I told him that I could not wait any longer, he took it and left. On reaching Milwaukee and Chicago Avenues, he met some of his old cronies and told them that he was going away that night. Early next morning I was informed that he had gone. Victor remained away for a year, but, thinking things had blown over, he returned and set about to disabuse the Anarchists of the impression that he had ever “squealed.” While he has taken no active part in meetings since the trial, he appears to feel that he stands well with the Anarchists, and always tells them that when he was arrested “he never gave anything away.”
His statement was as follows. It was given at nine o’clock on the evening of May 26:
“I belong to the Northwest Side Lehr und Wehr Verein, the second company, of which Breitenfeld is captain. Some time ago, at a meeting held at 54 West Lake Street, it was stated that the police would break up their meetings if they knew when and where they held them, and that therefore it was necessary to adopt some secret way of calling their meetings. We adopted, ‘Y, komme,’ and when we saw that letter appear in the Arbeiter-Zeitung on any day we might know a meeting would be held at No. 54 West Lake Street. I was at Thalia Hall, May 3, early in the evening. We were to have held a meeting to elect new officers of the company, but no meeting was held. Some one came into the saloon and said that there were four of our workingmen killed at McCormick’s factory that afternoon. Then some one said that a call for a meeting that evening at No. 54 West Lake Street had been published in the Arbeiter-Zeitung, and a lot of us went there to learn further particulars about the shooting of our men. I there saw those circulars calling for revenge and the people to arms. That circular made me very excited. I was one of the first to get to that meeting at 54 West Lake Street. At the commencement of the meeting we put a man at each door to prevent any one listening or seeing what was going on in the inside, and to admit only members. That meeting was only called for the armed men. Waller was chairman. I heard Engel make a speech, and he presented the plan adopted by the Northwest Side group.” (Here follows a detailed account of the “plan,” agreeing in every particular with that given by other witnesses as to blowing up police stations, setting fire to buildings, killing people, the use of the word “Ruhe,” etc.) “We expected that there would be present at the Haymarket meeting from 30,000 to 40,000 people and that then there would be a good chance for us to commence our revolution and attack the police and the government. There were also to be spies at the meeting to communicate with the groups in the outlying sections (Wicker Park and Lincoln Park). But the spies did not do their work, and then after Engel’s speech several got to talking about guns, fires and bombs. On the motion of Fischer it was decided to have 10,000 circulars calling the Haymarket meeting printed, and he said he would attend to it. First Market Square was proposed, but some one objected by saying it was a mouse trap in case of trouble, and the Haymarket was agreed upon. Before finishing telling about his plan Engel said it had been adopted by the Northwest Side group and referred to Fischer to answer if that was not so. Fischer replied, ‘Yes, that is the plan.’”
I asked Clermont if that was the first time he had ever heard of the “plan,” and he replied:
“Yes, it was the first time I had heard of the revolutionary plan. I never heard of it before, and only heard of it through Engel that night. This was the only plan I heard of to be followed for the revolution. I was at the Haymarket and expected to find a big crowd. To my surprise I only found about five hundred present.”
Clermont is now again in Chicago, and as rabid a red as ever. He is a leader on the Northwest Side, and detectives have reported to me that he has declared himself in favor of “bullets instead of ballots.” He is also a prominent organizer in the Anarchist “Sunday-school” scheme.
Chapter XVII
Fluttering the Anarchist Dove-cote—Confessions by Piecemeal—Statements from the Small Fry—One of Schnaubelt’s Friends—“Some One Wants to Hang Me”—Neebe’s Bloodthirsty Threats—Burrowing in the Dark—The Starved-out Cut-throat—Torturing a Woman—Hopes of Habeas Corpus—“Little” Krueger’s Work—Planning a Rescue—The Signal “???” and its Meaning—A Red-haired Man’s Story—Firing the Socialist Heart—Meetings with Locked Doors—An Ambush for the Police—The Red Flag Episode—Beer and Philosophy—Baum’s Wife and Baby—A Wife-beating Revolutionist—Brother Eppinger’s Duties
THE work of ferreting out and arresting the conspirators might have stopped with the number already gathered in, so far as the necessity for procuring evidence to be used in court was concerned, but it was continued to the end that every conspicuous or minor character in the murderous plot might be made to feel the power of the law, which each had so persistently defied. I had the names and descriptions of all identified with Engel’s plan, their haunts, their traits of character, and their influence in the order, and detectives, under instructions, were continually on the search. Anarchist localities were overhauled, unfrequented places visited, and convenient hiding-places inspected. Every one wanted was finally brought from under cover. Not a guilty one escaped, except Schnaubelt. Anarchistic sympathizers did everything in their power to conceal their friends, but the police proved equal to the emergency.
RUDOLPH DANNENBERG, a German, was one who held himself aloof from the rest of humanity. He lived at No. 218 Fulton Street, and on the 27th of May Officers Loewenstein and Whalen found him surrounded by his family. During the few moments’ conversation I had with him, it became apparent that he was like all his associates—a firm enemy of the existing order of society. He stated that, although he was only a tailor, he could fire a revolver as unerringly as any one and throw a bomb as far as anybody. He declared that he thought himself adapted to something higher, something better than being a tailor, and he had joined the Anarchists in order to bring himself before the public and achieve distinction. He had carefully read the Arbeiter-Zeitung, had noticed the names of various people, and he did not see why he could not become great like them and see his name and deeds frequently paraded in the papers. He felt that he had the requisite ability, and communicated his ambition and his desires to his wife.
Mrs. Dannenberg was a plain, unassuming woman, and did not dare to remonstrate with a man who had finally discovered his forte. He strutted about the house with the conscious pride that greatness was within his grasp, and his changed demeanor really impressed the woman to the extent that she believed he was already a great man. Dannenberg lost no time in joining the Lehr und Wehr Verein, and eagerly made the acquaintance of all the leading men in the order. He secured recognition, and his heart swelled with joy when he attended the secret meetings held by the order.
All these little confessions were adroitly extracted by piecemeal. Noticing that here was a man who felt himself above the “goose” and the needle, I concluded to send him below to discover, if he could, the difference between being a tailor and an Anarchist in search of greatness. I treated him with perfect indifference, and he seemed to feel the indignity greatly. He was put in a cell, and for two days no one went near him except the janitor.
Dannenberg finally got uneasy and sent word that he desired to see me. He was informed in return that he would be sent to the County Jail the next day. He then wanted to know if he would not be given an opportunity to speak, and insisted on having a hearing. He was brought into the office and told that he would be given just five minutes to tell what he had to say.
“Gentlemen,” he said, in great haste, “you think because I am a tailor I am of no account, and consequently you seem disposed to punish me. My oath is just as good as the other fellows’.”
“What do you mean?” I inquired. “We have not asked you for your oath, and we do not want it.”
“Oh, I see now,” said Rudolph, beginning to get angry, “you only want the small fry. Well, look here, Captain, I don’t give a continental. I will tell on the other big fellows, now, for the fun of the thing. They must be punished as well as the little fellows. It is evident that the other big fellows want to talk themselves out.”
“I think you have got the thing down very fine,” were my consoling words.
“Yes, I know the people want to hang somebody,” said Rudolph, “and if they can only hang a tailor they will be satisfied.”
Time was called on the speaker, the five minutes having been exhausted, and Rudolph was about to be escorted down stairs.
“Stop! stop! officer, I have not commenced yet to talk, and I want to be heard.”
“Well,” said I, “you want to commence very soon.”
Dannenberg again planted himself firmly in his chair, and then proceeded to relieve himself of the burden on his mind. He gave quite an interesting statement, and was subsequently released by order of the State’s Attorney. He was indicted for murder before his release, and he left after promising to report when wanted. Some time after he was re-arrested and put in a room with fifteen others.
Every one of these fifteen was morose, sullen and dejected. There was not a cheerful word among them. They felt uncertain about their own fate and took a gloomy view of life. The presence of Dannenberg was like a cheerful fire in a blizzard. He had forgotten all about the misfortune of being a tailor and a crushed Anarchist, and he kept the company full of life with his wit and drollery.
On his final release, Dannenberg went back to his trade, quit Anarchy, and now takes the greatest sort of pride in telling his friends that he is simply a “knight of the needle.”
After stating his age to be thirty-two years, Dannenberg swore:
“I went to the meeting in the basement at No. 54 West Lake Street. I heard Engel speak. I heard Fischer say that he would attend to the printing of the circulars for the Haymarket meeting. I used to belong to the Lehr und Wehr Verein, but I quit two months ago. I was at Thalia Hall, on Milwaukee Avenue, Sunday, May 2d. I used to go there very often. I know George Engel. At the meeting at No. 54 West Lake Street, he was called on for a speech, and he responded. I heard him speak of his plan—a plan for riots, fires, the destruction of buildings and property, and the killing of people and the police. I heard him speak of the meeting to be held at the Haymarket, and that, if they started there, then would be the time for us to commence the rebellion all over the city. A man named Schrade, sitting by my side, remarked to me that Engel had made a very destructive speech. This talk made me laugh. Engel continued by saying that when we saw the heavens red, then was our time to commence. The Northwest Side group, he said, would meet at Wicker Park, and the North Side group at Lincoln Park. The moment we saw the fires, as a signal, then we should throw bombs, shoot down the policemen and everybody who stood in our way, and begin the general destruction of property and life. I never heard of this plan before this time. Engel was the only one who spoke of the plan. At this meeting I knew Breitenfeld and Waller, who was chairman. I heard some one at that meeting ask for dynamite bombs and how to get them, and some said: ‘You ought to know it by this time.’ Engel also spoke of the word ‘Ruhe.’ It was to be a signal word, and when it should appear in the Arbeiter-Zeitung, then was the time to be ready for a riot.”
CARL MAX EMIL ENGLISH registered at the station on the 1st of June. He might have been gathered in long before, but he was kept under watch in the hopes of bagging a more important Anarchist. It was known that English was a particular friend of Schnaubelt’s, and the officers kept their eye on him continually, thinking the bomb-thrower might be found through his unconscious intervention. But they waited and watched in vain, and finally Officers Palmer and Cosgrove arrested English on suspicion. He was turned over to me, and then it was ascertained that he knew more of the Anarchists in Pullman, where he worked, than he did of those in Chicago. When called an Anarchist he objected, and insisted that he was simply a Socialist—a distinction without a difference in his case. He stated, however, that all the Anarchists in America “looked upon Chicago as the main center of Anarchy,” and in Pullman they got all their inspiration from Chicago. He acknowledged an acquaintance with Muntzenberg, who, he said, had sold John Most’s books and other Anarchistic literature at Pullman. Muntzenberg had been in Pullman after the 4th of May, and had carried dynamite bombs with him. The Socialists, said English, had become frightened at this exhibition and had refrained from having any further dealings with Muntzenberg.
English was allowed to go, with an injunction that he had better stay in Pullman, where he belonged. He has since remained at home and is now giving more of his time to the study of sound literature on economic subjects. He came to America from Germany, in October, 1885, and was led astray by Most’s writings. Had he lived in Chicago he would have been a very handy man for Lingg. In the old country he had worked in the manufacture of torpedoes, etc., for the Government, and he was well posted on explosives. He was twenty-four years of age, and just such a man as Lingg could have utilized.
AUGUST KRAEMER, a German, thought he was sharper than the police. He had escaped their attentions, and he was felicitating himself that he knew how to elude them successfully. One day, however—June 1st—he was cheerfully greeted by Officers Whalen and Stift, and when they notified him of the pleasure his company would give us at the station, he became motionless with surprise. Recovering himself, he declared that it was an awful outrage to arrest a man for nothing and assured the officers again and again that he had never heard of Socialists or Anarchists, did not know a single one of that class and would not be able to recognize one if pointed out to him. In fact, he had not even heard that a bomb had been thrown at the Haymarket. He played this role of ignorance when brought before me, but I soon brought him to his senses.
“You have played the old lady long enough,” I said. “We are men here who do not believe a word you say, and don’t want any of your tea-party stories. Is not George Engel your friend? Did you not drink beer in Engel’s rear room, May 4th, about eleven o’clock? Were you not there when a lot of men waited for orders to blow up and burn down houses? Were you not at the Haymarket with Engel, and did you not walk around with him on the outskirts of the crowd?”
“Who told you this?” came promptly from Kraemer.
“One of those little gods you prayed to at Thalia Hall on Sundays. Why, you hypocrite, you and twenty more get together, talk and give your opinions about dynamite and how to construct poisoned daggers, and work out a plan to fight the police and militia, drink beer and liquor, and call that a prayer-meeting. What have you to say to all this? If you can not answer I will give it to you plainer.”
“Mein Gott, some one wants to hang me,” exclaimed August. “I know Herr Engel; he is a good man.”
“Yes, in your estimation.”
“If you only knew how awfully sorry he felt for the officers that were killed.”
“Oh, yes. Well, do you now think that we know something about you?”
“I admit that you know all about me, but Herr Engel said that night that it was wrong to have such a miscarriage. He did not believe in killing a few people. All revolutions, Engel believed, ought to come about by themselves, and then the police and soldiers would be with them. If the people would fight, then the authorities, police and all, would throw their guns away and run. Then the victory would be won without spilling any blood, but such a foolish thing as the Haymarket affair Engel would have nothing to do with.”
“Yes; all this Engel said after 10:30 o’clock that night, May 4th.”
“Yes, he said it in his back room.”
“That is all I want of you. Officers, lock up this dynamitard.”
“Captain, will you not let me make a statement?”
“Of what?”
“I know something. For God’s sake don’t lock me up.”
“Well, then, speak, double-quick time, and let there be no lying.”
Kraemer calmed himself and proceeded to unfold his story. He was subsequently released on promising to testify in court and that he would become a better man. He was indicted by the grand jury for conspiracy to murder. He was not asked to testify, and it was supposed that after all his troubles he would attend strictly to his own business, that of a carpenter. Not so. He was to be found in the company of the worst Anarchists between May 4th and the time of the execution, but, when he finally discovered that there was a law in the State to hang conspirators and murderers, he grew frightened. He now remains at home instead of skulking into dark cellars and devising means of revenge. He lived, at the time of his arrest, at No. 286 Milwaukee Avenue, in the rear, his friend Engel occupying the front part of the building. He was thirty-three years of age, married, well built, five feet eight inches in height, and an active man.
His statement was as follows:
“I attended the meeting at No. 54 West Lake Street the night of May 3d. I was there about fifteen minutes when the meeting was called to order. Some one suggested that every man of a group should see that every one present was one of their members. I was asked what group I belonged to. I could not tell. I do not belong to any group. Then I was told to go out because I could not give the pass-word. I told them that I belonged to the Socialists, but they told me I could not remain. I then went away. I have often been at Thalia Hall at the ‘Bible class.’ I met there frequently Engel and Fischer. That was in the month of April, 1886. At one meeting, when Engel and Fischer were present, some one called on the people to be ready with arms; that the time would soon come when they must be organized and ready to defend themselves. While I was at 54 West Lake Street that evening, May 3, some one complained that there were so few present and said that there had always been a good attendance until that night, and that it was very strange. As I could not give the sign I was put out. I heard Engel say that no revolution could be a success with only a small group; there must be general, united action.”
MARTIN BECHTEL was also requested to report at the station for an interview. He willingly responded, and conversed quite freely. He was a beer-brewer by profession, and on May 4 was foreman in the brewery of Bartholomae & Leicht. He was also president of the Brewers’ Union and presided at a meeting on the afternoon of May 3. His statement of that meeting was as follows:
“I had a meeting called of the brewers for that afternoon, and there I saw a lot of those ‘Revenge’ circulars. I saw all the men reading them, and, while some did not appear to care much, others got greatly excited over the way the police had been clubbing the people at McCormick’s factory. There was considerable excitement for awhile, and this was kept up until I called the meeting to order. I found that I had to be very strict before I could do anything. We transacted our business with great difficulty. I was interrupted now and then by some one coming in and talking excitedly about the police killing people at the factory. I restored order once more, when Oscar Neebe came in with a new supply of circulars and handed them around to the boys. Then the fire was in the straw again. After Neebe had distributed his circulars, he was called on for a speech, and whenever he was asked by any one if it was true that the police had been killing people in the manner described by the circular, he would answer: ‘Oh, yes; I know it is true. I saw it all. We must get ready and take revenge. Get ready; you all know what to do. You have all been to our meetings; you have all had instructions. Come out like men and show the capitalists what you are made of. Show these bloodhounds, these hirelings of the capitalists—I mean the blue-coated police—that we are not afraid of them. We must meet them and teach them a lesson. They have no regard for you or your families. You must feel the same to them.’ Such was the character of his speech and replies, and that is all I can report of the meeting.”
Mr. Bechtel was thanked for his information, and left the office.
It came out that during that day, after leaving that meeting, Neebe went into a saloon on Clark Street, near Division, and said that “by to-morrow or before to-morrow midnight the city of Chicago would swim in blood, or perhaps lie in ashes.” There would be a revolution, everything was ready, and he said that he would do his share of the work. At one time he was so wrought up with excitement that he fairly shouted at the top of his voice and made loud threats. In the trial, it was a fortunate thing for Neebe that certain documents were not at hand, or he would have undoubtedly been hung instead of being let off with the fifteen years’ sentence in the penitentiary which he is now working out. The documents desired were in some manner lost, and, when some of the material witnesses were looked for to appear at the trial, they could not be found.
Neebe knew perfectly well the character of the men he addressed at the brewers’ meeting. They were all fire-eaters on the question of Anarchy, and the name of the Brewers’ Union was simply adopted as a cloak. The brewing companies could greatly contribute to the promotion of law, order and decency by replacing every one of them with men who appreciate good government and the privileges of citizenship.
In one brewery on the North Side, these “reds” managed to get the teamsters and beer-peddlers inoculated with their heresy, and the result was that the police were often called upon to quell disturbances growing either out of arguments with customers or saloon patrons. The injury thus done to the trade of the company must have been large. Is it a fear of these men or is there a lack of better material that keeps them in their places? It is certain that such men are doing the brewing companies no good. They are a bad lot and need watching. They are watched.
MORITZ NEFF was the owner of what has been called the “Shanty of the Communists,” at No. 58 Clybourn Avenue, known also as “Neff’s Hall.” He was intimate with the leaders of Anarchy and knew a great deal about their movements. On the 1st of June, Schuettler and Stift were sent to tell him that I desired to see him. He came, not under arrest, but voluntarily, as soon as he had secured some one to run his saloon during his absence. He was a German, about thirty-six years of age, unmarried, and had kept the Anarchist headquarters for over seven years. He attended closely to business, rented his hall in the rear of the saloon to various unions and clubs, and made plenty of money. His place was a sort of “go-as-you-please” headquarters for the Anarchists, and if all their plottings there had been carried into execution the city of Chicago would not now stand as a monument of thrift, energy, enterprise and wealth. The hall was rented to any one who desired it. No questions were asked, and no publicity was ever given to the proceedings through Neff. He could keep secrets, and the Anarchists knew it. He also knew them thoroughly. He was a good judge of character, and, as most of his patrons were low-browed, ignorant and impulsive fellows, he would in the presence of some of the more sensible ones call them “fools and cattle.” Neff gave up his money freely to these people for the advancement of their cause, but he was never known to howl against law and order or make threats against capitalists, like other Anarchist saloon-keepers. He always kept on friendly terms with the police, and promised Lieutenant Baus to keep him posted whenever anything of importance transpired. This promise, however, seems to have been shrewdly made with a view to “pulling the wool over the eyes” of the Lieutenant. Neff would say, “Don’t trouble yourself. Whenever there is anything going on, I will put you on;” but he never found anything worth while reporting. The officers managed to gather a good deal of information respecting the character of the meetings held, but, as no important or dangerous results were ever expected to grow out of them, the Anarchists were permitted to remain unmolested.
On the night of May 4, after the Anarchists had been put to rout, those of the North Side group hastened from their various posts to meet at Neff’s place. They were still inclined to go on with the revolution, and Neff reproached them for not continuing it the moment it was started.
“What the d——l,” said he, “did you carry bombs for all night and not do anything? Why didn’t you go to the Chicago Avenue Station and blow the d——d building to h——l with every one in it?”
This staggered the hot-heads, and not one made a reply.
“Why,” continued Neff, “you are all cowards; not one of you dare go with me now.”
No one advanced to accept the challenge. Presently, the hour getting near eleven o’clock, Neff said:
“Get out! I am going to close up, and to-morrow we will have different music, and we will see who dances.”
Knowing the great resort his place had been for Anarchists, Neff was in momentary dread of becoming involved in the Haymarket affair. He was very uneasy, and, as described by an acquaintance of his, “his clothes and shirt collar did not fit him very well for a number of days.” When he entered my office, Neff straightened up and appeared as if his mind was made up for the worst and as if he had resolved that the police should be no wiser through any information he possessed. It was not long, however, before he discovered that we meant business, and that playing the fool in the matter would not be tolerated. In the room were Assistant State’s Attorney Furthmann, six detectives and myself, and he was kept busy framing answers that would not compromise himself. Finally Neff looked us all over very carefully and said:
“I know I am called here to answer questions and tell on the Anarchists. I will now tell all I know.”
He then gave a straightforward story and appeared as a witness at the trial, giving all its substantial points. After that trial he sold out his place and left the city. He remained away for a time, but recently came to Chicago on a visit. His conduct has been such as to justify the hope that he will hereafter hold himself aloof from Anarchists.
JOHN WEIMAN, a Suabian, was a peculiar genius. He was only twenty-three years of age, and yet he imagined that he could successfully hoodwink the police. He had been pointed out as an associate of some of the leaders, and it was decided to bring him to see what he had to say for himself. He lived at No. 30 Barker Street, and when notified, about the 6th of June, that I wished to become acquainted with him, he assumed a highly injured air. The moment he set foot inside the office, he threw up both hands and, in a loud voice, insisted that a great mistake had been made in arresting him.
“I am no Socialist, no Anarchist, no Nihilist, no Communist,” he declared. “I don’t know Spies, Parsons, Schwab, Fischer, Lingg, Engel, Neebe or Fielden. I never attended any meetings at No. 54, No. 71 or No. 120 West Lake Street, and I have never been in the Communisten-Bude [the Shanty of the Communists] at No. 58 Clybourn Avenue; never was at Mueller’s Hall basement, or at Thalia Hall, or at No. 63 Emma Street.”
“That is right, John,” said I. “Keep on and tell me a few more places where you have never been, and I shall be much obliged to you. Then I will know all the places and all the leaders of the whole Anarchist outfit.”
“Yes,” said John, “I have heard of you, and I don’t want to be troubled too much. I know that you are acquainted with all those places and know all the people who went there, and I heard of a lot of people getting arrested every day who knew all the leaders and frequented those meeting-places. I thought I would tell you all at first, because I am sick and I can’t stand much talking-to.”
“How came you to know so much?” I inquired; “that is to say, how do you know the names of the members?”
“Well, I have a friend, and he told me all these things, but he ran away from the city. I don’t know where he is now.”
“What is his name and where did he live?”
“He is a carpenter. I used to call him Carl. He lived on Randolph Street, near Union.”
Further inquiries failed to elicit anything of importance, and he was turned loose to wander at his own sweet pleasure.
EMIL MENDE, a German, was a man thoroughly capable of desperate deeds. He lived at No. 51 Meagher Street, and so villainous a disposition did he possess that his own sister and his brother-in-law were obliged to report him at the station. Even the people in his own neighborhood feared him, and those that knew him best shunned him. He was a dangerous man. For two months preceding May 4, he boasted how the Anarchists would blow up the city and kill every one who was not an Anarchist. He talked about it so often and in such an earnest way that his neighbors grew apprehensive lest he might set fire to the neighborhood. The children would run across the street to avoid meeting him. He was always full of liquor, and his chief study was how to get a living without work. He thought he had found it in Anarchy, and he stood ready to commit any crime to accomplish his purpose. He became a drunken loafer through attending Anarchistic meetings, and when his sister remonstrated with him he turned against her and threatened to kill her. His conduct finally became so unbearable that his brother-in-law, Emil Sauer, gave information against him to the police. Mende, he said, belonged to the Lehr und Wehr Verein of the Southwest Side group and would assemble with his comrades in lonely, retired places, where the police could not see them drill. They would sneak into the buildings selected for their meeting-places, and after their drills they would quietly sneak out again, like so many thieves who had committed a successful burglary. Sauer said he had come to know many of the members, but he did not know their names or where they lived. They all had numbers, were well armed with rifles and revolvers, and they drilled frequently.
“I remember the night of May 4,” said Sauer, “Mende left the house about eight o’clock. He looked wild and desperate. He carried with him a huge revolver and a lot of cartridges. About eleven o’clock the same evening, after the bomb had exploded, he came sneaking home, and had in his possession two rifles and three dynamite bombs. He brought them all into the house at first, and, becoming alarmed, he took them all to No. 647 South Canal Street. There he was seen either going under the house or under the sidewalk. When he came out he had nothing with him. Mende, when he first began to attend the meetings, had very little to say about Anarchy. He kept on, and during the six months preceding the Haymarket riot he was perfectly crazy on the subject. After he had become a member of the armed group, he would speak of nothing else but killing people and destroying the city. On the evening of May 4, before leaving home, he said:
“‘This is our night. This night we will show our strength. I would like to see any one oppose us. Nothing can stand before us. Before daylight to-morrow blood will flow deep in the streets, and the air will be hot. Then we will have a new government.’
“After he had been gone about twenty minutes, some one came in and asked for him. The man looked like a starved-out cut-throat. He was told that Mende had gone. The fellow remarked, ‘Then it is all right. I know where to find him.’ He pulled his hat over his eyes, turned up his coat collar and disappeared. This man was watched. He went west from our house, and about a block away he met five other men. They all went west together.
“On the afternoon of May 4, Mende said to me:
“‘I want you to go with us. Everything is very well planned. There is no fear that we will not get all the help we want after we have started. We are going to move like an army. If we should get whipped at first, or if we should have to run, then we all have places to go to. The Southwest Side group is going to a church on Eighteenth Street, and we will fortify ourselves there until we get help. We will have a lot of dynamite bombs to keep everybody away. We have rifles and revolvers, and no one will dare come near us. We can hold the fort there for a few days, and no one will trouble us. Only throw out a bomb once a day, and that will be sufficient to prevent the enemy from coming near. The North Side group is going to follow our plan. They are going to take charge of St. Michael’s Church. We have things down fine. You had better come along. There is no danger. We expect a lot of people here from Michigan and all the mining towns. They will all come here as soon as we begin the attack.’
“Mende asked me at one time to go with him,—this was during the McCormick strike,—and told me they were going to take with them tin cans, which would be filled with kerosene. These cans would have strong corks in them, and through each a hole had been drilled, for the insertion of a cap and fuse. They would simply light the fuse, throw the can into a lumber yard, and walk off. No one would discover who did it, and then they would see a big fire. ‘In this way we’ll bring these d——d capitalists to time.’ I told Mende that I would have nothing to do with him or his plans.
“Two days after the bomb had been thrown, he said to me:
“‘I know the man who threw the bomb, and, you bet, he is a good friend of mine. He will never be arrested.’
“About eight days after the explosion, he told me that he knew the man who made bombs, and that the man was going to leave the city. This man, he also said, had changed his clothes, and he (Mende) had got the clothes from a man named Sisterer, who lived on Sixteenth Street. I then asked him the name of the man who made the bombs, and he said it was Louis Lingg.”
Mrs. Sauer next related her grievances against her brother.
“This brute,” she began, “not being satisfied with having all the neighbors afraid of him, had to torment the life out of me, telling me that he belonged to those fellows who would kill, give no quarter and take none. In a fight the result would be victory or death. He would tell me that as soon as they had established their government the children of the capitalists would be hunted up and killed, and every trace of a capitalist wiped off the face of the earth. My brother reads all kinds of Anarchist books and papers. I saw him have a big revolver and a lot of cartridges, and he said:
“‘We are going to kill all the police now in a few days. They all must be killed. They stand in our way. We cannot get our rights so long as we let those bloodhounds live. So we have decided to kill them all. We are ready now, and you will not see any more of those fellows hanging around the corners.’
“He also said that the Fire Department was a well-organized body, and they, too, must be destroyed.
“‘Before the battle commences,’ he said, ‘we are going to fix the bridges with dynamite, so that, in case the Fire Department should come to the relief of the police or go to work to extinguish the fires that we start, we will blow the bridges, firemen, horses and all to h—l.’
“He further stated that the city would be set on fire in all parts, so that the police and firemen would be obliged to stay in their own neighborhoods, and it would be impossible for any large bodies of them to get together in one place. Then, when everything was in confusion, they had places selected where they would meet in a body and come into the center of the city, where they would rob and plunder every jewelry store and bank, and places where they could get the most valuable things they wanted.
“‘We have,’ he said, ‘all these places picked out already. We have on hand all the dynamite we want, and when we make a start we will have our tools and materials with us.’
“A few days after the 4th of May, my brother also said that it was too bad that their committee had become split up during the charge of the police at the Haymarket. They failed to get together again, and the men on the outside were expecting every second to receive orders from that committee to commence setting fires and killing people. He stated that on that night he was at the Hinman Street Station, and that it was surrounded by seventy-five men, fifty of them having rifles and the balance large revolvers and dynamite bombs. They waited in an alley for orders. Everything, he said, was complete; every man had his place and knew what work he had to perform. They only needed the signal from the committee. The plan was that, as soon as they had received their orders, some of them should get near the windows of the station and throw in bombs among the policemen. Then others were to be ready with their revolvers and shoot down any officer who had not been killed by the explosion and who attempted to save himself by jumping out through the window. The fifty men with rifles were to have placed themselves in front of the station, and as soon as the officers made an attempt to march out, they should kill them in the hallway before they could get outside. ‘But,’ said he, ‘the officers at this station will be killed yet, because they have interfered with us and injured the success of the strikers.’
“He spoke also about their going to barricade themselves in churches if they got whipped, until they had secured help. He said that they had a lot of bombs buried near the city, and they were there still for future use. ‘They will not spoil,’ he said. My brother further told me one night that he had to run home or he would have been arrested. I saw him come home, and he looked very much excited. He went into the back yard—just like the coward—and remained there for some time. Later he told me that a lot of them went together to blow up a freight-house with dynamite bombs. This freight-house is on the corner of Meagher and Jefferson Streets. He said that he had the place picked out, and everything was ready. Then one of their number, who stood guard, gave the signal to run, and they all ran away. They had a meeting-place appointed in case they should be disturbed, and there they met afterwards. They decided to renew the attack, but finally, at the suggestion of a man named Sisterer, that they postpone it till another night, they all went home. On his way home my brother thought that some detective was following him. He became frightened and started on the run, and ran until he arrived home safely.”
When a sister would tell such a story, fully corroborated by others, of a brother, it can easily be seen that he must have been a desperate man. It must be borne in mind that about the time Mrs. Sauer notified me of her brother’s acts the city was wrought up to a high pitch of excitement over the foul murder at the Haymarket, and there was a general sentiment that all the conspirators identified with that plot ought to hang. It required, therefore, no little courage on the part of a sister to give up her own brother to take his chances on the charges made.
Mende must have reached a very low, or rather a very high standing among the bloodthirsty bandits, and the revelations concerning him showed that he was not only capable of tormenting a poor woman by his savage threats, but willing and anxious to distinguish himself in any wild carnival of riot, bloodshed and incendiarism. He was a man the police wanted, and he was accordingly arrested by Officers Whalen and Loewenstein on the 7th of June. At the station he gave his age as twenty-nine years, and his occupation as that of a carpenter. He was tall, well-built, wore a heavy beard and weighed about 160 pounds. His appearance did not belie the statements made about him, and subsequent inquiries showed that he was all his sister had represented him to be. What he had told his sister about the arrangements around the Hinman Street Station was found to be strictly true, and the details about the riot at the Haymarket and the signal to the armed men in the outlying sections of the city were borne out by the statements of other Anarchists.
While on his way to the station, Mende seemed perfectly indifferent to his fate. It came out, however, that much of his stoical air had been inspired by statements previously communicated to him by his Anarchist associates. The attorneys of the Anarchists, Messrs. Salomon & Zeisler, had advised the order that in case of arrest the distressed brother should seek to notify some friend they might meet while being taken through the streets to the station, and then, the information being brought to them, they would at once secure a release on a writ of habeas corpus. Mende acted on this advice. He knew probably, like the rest, that, once locked up, his chances for communicating with his friends for a day or two would be exceedingly doubtful, and so, while he was being marched through the streets, he encountered a friend and told him his name; and that friend immediately rushed to the office of the attorneys and gave the name of the prisoner and the station to which he was being taken.
Mende had scarcely been locked up when the counsel came to the Chicago Avenue Station and demanded to see the prisoner. They were refused. On the next day they applied for a writ of habeas corpus and wanted the prisoner brought into court. The object of this was to put me on the stand in the case, and, by various questions, to obtain such information as the State might possess with reference to the Anarchists. I was not to be caught in such a trap, and State’s Attorney Grinnell decided to release the prisoner, have him indicted and subsequently re-arrested.
During the short time Mende was at the station he was plied with questions, but he answered them all with denials. He said that he had never spoken to his sister about Anarchy and had never belonged to any organization. Under cross-fire, however, he admitted that he had attended the meetings and owned a big revolver. The revolver, he said, he had sold to one Peter Mann about the 1st of June. After his experience at the station he was, as might have been expected, at war with his relatives, but he kept away from meetings.
POLIKARP SISTERER, a German Pole, was an associate of Mende, but, unlike that rapscallion, he was not violent or demonstrative. Having a family may have done much toward tempering his disposition, but still he was an Anarchist in the full sense of the word. He was a quiet, deep-plotting fellow, and perhaps on that account might be regarded as really a more dangerous man. He was a sober man, not given to beer-drinking and wine-guzzling like Mende; and, like Cassius of old, had a “lean and hungry look,” bringing him within that class concerning whom the injunction “Beware” might well be heeded in any special crisis. He was arrested on the 8th of June by Officers Whalen and Loewenstein and taken to the station. On the way thither he, like Mende, communicated his troubles to friends on the street, and was subsequently released under the same conditions. At the station he gave his age as thirty-one years, his occupation as that of a carpenter, and his residence as No. 85 West Sixteenth Street. He belonged, like Mende, to the Carpenters’ Union, which met at Zepf’s Hall, and took an active part in all Anarchistic movements. He was at first exceedingly non-communicative to the police, and insisted, whenever he did speak, that he had no secrets to divulge. He was shown to the “cooler” down stairs, and the next day he was in a talkative mood. He willingly took all the officers into his confidence and talked unreservedly. He said:
“I belong to the Carpenters’ Union, and Louis Lingg belongs to the same organization. I have known Lingg for about eight months. We were good friends, and, after the meetings of the union were over, Lingg and I often went home together. I got acquainted with him at those meetings. Lingg was a good worker for the carpenters, and they all like him for the interest he displayed in their behalf. I saw him at our union meeting on Monday evening about eight o’clock in Zepf’s Hall. He made a speech there and called all of us to arms and to be ready. He said that the police were ready to club us and would only protect the capitalists and work only in the interests of the capitalists. ‘You can see for yourselves,’ Lingg said ‘how the police acted at the McCormick factory; they clubbed our people, they killed six of our brothers, and now we will fight them and take revenge.’ He worked us all up, and every one was highly excited. He said that everything was ready and if we would only stick together we would win a certain victory. I saw at this meeting Hageman, Poch, Mende, Lehman, Louis Rentz and Kaiser. Rau and Niendorf were there and distributed the revenge circulars. That day—Monday—was a very exciting one among the Anarchists, and it would not have taken much to have started very serious trouble. Crowds of excited people were on Lake Street, from Union Street to the river, on that afternoon, and all were in bad temper. I attended the meeting on the afternoon of May 3d, at about three o’clock, at No. 71 West Lake Street, at Florus’ Hall. I never was at any meeting held at No. 54 West Lake Street, at Greif’s Hall, but I heard from others as to what had been done there. I saw Lingg again on the 5th of May, at Florus’ Hall. I spoke to him, but he had very little to say. He looked downhearted. While I was there he disappeared, and I never saw him again.”
“Did you not give him money and clothes to get out of the city?” I asked.
“Well, no one can prove that. If you think I did, you had better find your witness.”
“Do you mean to say that you did not help Lingg?”
Sisterer hung his head and would vouchsafe no answer.
He was released, as I have already stated, but since this episode in his career, he has taken the lesson to heart and appears to be determined to keep away from uncanny places on moonless nights.
AUGUST KRUEGER, alias “Little Krueger,” was a different sort of a man from the rest of his chosen brotherhood. He was quite an intelligent fellow, well educated, with genteel manners, well chosen language and rather natty dress. He was a draftsman by occupation, and he was highly skilled. He was, with all his bloodthirsty professions, a very clever fellow, and became quite popular with his low-browed associates. He belonged to the Northwest Side company of the Lehr und Wehr Verein and took great interest in the drills. His ideas, however, were somewhat different from those of the other Anarchists. He did not believe in riots, but thought a revolution should be brought about by a general uprising of the people. In the old country, he had been a Socialist, but had been obliged to leave some seven years before the time of the Haymarket riot. Arriving here, he identified himself with the Anarchists, and, taking a deep interest in all movements directed against capitalists, he soon became highly esteemed by Spies and others. He was at the Haymarket meeting, having come in the company of Schnaubelt, the bomb-thrower, and claimed that he also left the meeting in his company. While not in perfect accord with his associates on isolated riots, and while he did not sanction such methods to hurt people, Krueger still entered into their plans and worked hard for their cause, and when Spies and others had been condemned to die he originated a plot to release them from the jail, which, however, failing to secure members enough to carry it out, he finally abandoned.
After the Haymarket riot, Krueger was continually watched by the detectives, and on the 13th of June he was arrested. He was found at the Terra Cotta Works, on Clybourn and Wrightwood Avenues, and brought to the Chicago Avenue Station. Here he showed that he had considerable grit. He was the kind of man who would risk his life for a good chance in a general revolution, and, although he characterized some of the Anarchists as fools, he stubbornly refused to testify against them. He was kept for two hours under a steady fusillade of questions by Assistant State’s Attorney Furthmann, but he held out doggedly under the heavy fire. He could not be made to inform. He was subsequently released by order of the State’s Attorney. He was, when last heard of, still working for Messrs. Parkhurst & Co., the proprietors of the works, and appears to be well liked by them. In spite of his warning, he still adheres to his old ideas.
His answers to the questions asked him were as follows:
“I am twenty-one years of age. I came from Germany seven years ago. I reside at No. 72 Kenion Street, near Paulina. I was a member of the Lehr und Wehr Verein a year and a half. I know Breitenfeld. He is the commander of the second company of the Lehr und Wehr Verein. I am orderly sergeant and secretary of that company. Schrade was captain. I heard of the letter ‘Y’ about the first of April. We had a different signal. It was ‘???.’ This signal invited the armed organizations. I cannot say who originated the signal. The signal was then changed to ‘Y.’ We always met up-stairs under this signal ‘Y,’ except the last two meetings. I saw that letter last on Sunday preceding the riot. I went to that meeting at No. 54 West Lake Street (May 3) alone. I got to the meeting about 8:30 o’clock. I went into the saloon and then went down stairs. There were then only a few people present. Seeing that the meeting had not started, I went up stairs again. Breitenfeld had charge of the door. I was not asked to show my card, but I had it with me. It was a red card—No. 8. That is my number. We all go by numbers. I went down stairs again for a second time about a quarter to nine o’clock.”
A picture being shown him of Schnaubelt, he said:
“I might have seen him. On Tuesday night, May 4, I was at Engel’s house from nine o’clock to eleven o’clock. At the meeting I know that Fischer volunteered to have circulars printed for the Haymarket meeting. I am in favor of a complete revolution—that is, when a majority of the people are in favor of it. I am an Anarchist, and will remain one as long as I live. My father was one, and he was warden of a penitentiary in the old country. I had to leave there because I was an Anarchist. I am opposed to all single attacks, like that at the Haymarket. I am in favor, also, of peaceable agitation. I could say more about others, but they are in trouble enough now. I don’t want to be put down as a ‘squealer.’ I hope you will not insist on my becoming one, as I will not.”
EMIL NIENDORF, a German, was arrested on the 14th of June, by Officers Schuettler and Stift, and brought to the station. He had scarcely entered the place when he demanded to see me at once. On being brought into the office, he was asked what he wanted to say.
“Well,” opened up Niendorf, “I don’t want to be locked up here six weeks. Neither do I want you folks to believe that I am a stubborn man. I want to talk. I want to tell you who I am, what I have done, and I don’t want to be looked upon as a murderer. I am an eight-hour man. I want to get eight hours in a peaceable way. I do not want to kill people. I have no use for those rattle-heads.”
Niendorf was informed that all the officers connected with the station were too busy to attend to his case then, and that he would have to remain until the next day, when he would have an opportunity to tell all his troubles. He was locked up, but during the night, it appears, some prisoner or some one from the outside “put a flea in his ear,” telling him not to open his mouth, to be a brave man, and he would come out all right. The next morning at ten o’clock he was brought into my office, but he was not at all communicative. He sat down and said nothing.
“Well, Niendorf, how do you feel?” asked Mr. Furthmann. “How did you sleep?”
Not an answer.
“Are you sick?” interestedly inquired Furthmann.
No answer.
“Did any one insult you or hurt you?” continued Furthmann.
Still no response.
“Who has changed your mind since you were here?” I inquired.
Not a syllable of reply.
“See here,” said I, “you cannot make us feel bad. I will give you just two minutes by the watch to get over your lockjaw.”
This aroused Niendorf, and, looking around at all the officers present, he said:
“Gentlemen, I have been warned not to speak. I did not see the party, but some one called out my name and asked if I had been to the office yet. I answered no. The voice then said: ‘When you go there, don’t open your mouth, be motionless, and they will soon fire you out. Don’t forget.’”
“That is just what I expected,” I remarked. “Now you can do as you please—talk or not talk. That party is not a friend of yours, and he wants to see you go to jail. Officer, take him down stairs.”
“Are you not going to let me speak?” nervously inquired the prisoner.
“How long will it take you to find your speech?” exclaimed Furthmann.
“Have I got to swear to what I tell you?”
“Yes; you will have to do that whenever we send for you, and you must not leave the city without permission,” said I.
Niendorf then gave a statement of his knowledge of Anarchy. He appeared very ignorant, but, when spoken to, he showed that he was quite intelligent. He was twenty-six years of age, lived at No. 29 Croker Street, and, with fiery red hair, was a rather homely-looking man.
He was released, and after his departure the officers determined to ascertain whether it was an “Anarchist ghost” or a man in flesh and bones that had hovered about the station warning Niendorf not to squeal. A close watch was accordingly put in the cell department to fathom the mystery. About ten o’clock that night a young fellow called at the station for a night’s lodging. He was told to sit down and wait. He did so, and his wish was reported to me. Officer Loewenstein was sent back to look him over, and that officer presently returned and reported that the man did not look like a tramp. He looked more like an Israelite who had means, and the fellow was at once called into the office. There the officers unbuttoned his coat and discovered a clean young fellow, with a nice suit of clothes and a gold watch and chain.
“What is your name?” I asked sternly. “And don’t forget to give it right.”
“Oh, please,—I—I did not mean anything bad.”
“Are you not baptized; have you no name? Officer, lock him up until I find a name for him.”
“Let me go, and I will never come here again.”
“Who sent you here?” I demanded.
“I cannot tell—do let me go. I will never, I promise you, come back again.”
“I don’t think you will. When you leave here you will go through the ‘sewer.’”
With exclamations of great grief and remorse, he looked appealingly to all the officers in the room, and, recognizing Officer Loewenstein as one of his race, he fell on his knees and begged the officer not to have him put through the “sewer.”
“Were you not here last night?” asked the Captain.
“No, sir; it was another fellow.”
The turnkey of the station was sent for and confirmed the stranger’s denial. The now thoroughly frightened young man was then asked as to who the lodger of the night before was, but all he knew was that he himself had been hired by an unknown man that evening for one dollar to come and seek lodgings at the station to warn Anarchists. When the stranger had measurably recovered from his trepidation, he gave his name as Moses Wulf, and, his information being of no value, he was released with a severe lecture.
Niendorf’s statement ran as follows:
“I was at a meeting held May 3 at 8 P.M., at No. 122 West Lake Street. I was chairman. I heard some one state that the police had killed a dozen workingmen at McCormick’s factory. That created a great deal of excitement for some time at the meeting. Then some one shouted: ‘Better be quiet and let us attend to our own affairs.’ We were only looking after the eight-hour movement. I saw the revenge circular at that meeting, which called the people to arms. Louis Lingg was present to report some meeting and some business transactions as a committeeman. William Seliger was there as recording secretary of the meeting. Rau was there, and some one said to me that he had brought the circular. A man named Soenek made a speech and advised us to use force. It was decided, on motion, that we should act in sympathy with the people at McCormick’s factory. I have been a member of the North Side group for about a year. I was at a meeting at Zepf’s Hall May 3, which lasted till eleven o’clock P.M. About nine o’clock a man at the back door called out that all the men who belonged to the armed sections should go to 54 West Lake Street in the basement, where a meeting was to be held, and I saw a lot of members get up and leave the hall. I know Lingg belonged to the armed section. At one time he offered me some of his dynamite bombs. I told him I did not want any of them. He told me on another occasion that I had better take some and try some of his stuff. I told him that I was afraid to handle his stuff and I did not want it. Our meeting May 3 at Zepf’s Hall was known as that of the Central Labor Union. A little fellow named Lutz was financial secretary at that meeting. Rau was there only ten minutes. At a meeting held some time ago in Lake View, I was chairman. Lingg was one of the speakers, and also a man named Poch. Seliger called the meeting to order. I know Gruenwald; he is thirty-five years old, a carpenter by trade, five feet eight or nine inches tall, and has red whiskers. I heard Lingg say at several meetings that if any members wanted any of his ‘chocolate,’ meaning dynamite or dynamite bombs, he would supply them.”
JOHANNES GRUENEBERG, a German, had the distinction conferred on him of being one of the last of the more conspicuous Anarchists to be arrested. He had been known to the police for some time, in a general way, and inquiries about him brought out the fact that he was a prominent figure in Anarchistic circles. He knew where all the leaders lived, frequently visited them, and tramped around so often that he became quite a well-known character. Even the dogs that infested the localities through which he passed wagged their tails in cheerful recognition, and Grueneberg always had a kind word for both the brutes and his Anarchist friends. He was forty-five years of age, a married man with a family, and lived at No. 750 West Superior Street. He was a carpenter by trade. On the 17th of June he was working on a new building at No. 340 Dearborn Avenue, and, while right in the midst of an exhortation to the other workingmen on the beauties of Anarchy, he was interrupted by Officers Hoffman and Schuettler, who notified him that he was under arrest.
“That is just what I have been waiting for,” he exclaimed, not in the least disconcerted. “Is it that d——d Schaack that wants to see me? I will tell that fellow who I am. I will surprise him.”
“Johannes,” said Schuettler, “you can save yourself all of that trouble. Schaack knows all about you. I saw your name in the book.”
“Come on quick,” said Johannes, “I will show you a gamy man. Whenever I leave home I always bid my wife good-by, because I have expected to be arrested at any time, and did not know when I would see her again, for I will not squeal. I knew of these squealers, and I told my wife I would kill myself first before I would squeal.”
Officers and prisoner started for the station. Johannes opened up on a half run, and the officers could hardly keep up with him, so anxious did he appear. He entered the office with hair disordered and on end, and his eyes bulged out with excitement as he hurriedly surveyed some six officers who were in the office at the time.
“Which one of you fellows,” he wildly asked, “is Schaack? Show him to me quick.”
“Grueneberg,” said I, for I recognized him at once from the descriptions I had had of the man, “what is the matter?”
“Are you Schaack?”
“Yes, I am Schaack.”
“You sent for me to squeal, did you?”
He instantly pulled out a big jack-knife, and, handing it out towards me, he continued:
“Take this and cut my head off.”
He twice repeated the request, and, still holding out his extended hand, said:
“I will never squeal; you can kill me first.”
“I heard that you were crazy,” said I, “but I never thought you were quite so bad as this. You must suffer terribly. The weather is too warm for you. I think you had better go down stairs and have a glass of ice water.”
“No,” vehemently responded Johannes, “we had better settle this matter right now. I want to go out a free man, or else you will have to carry me out of here a dead man. I would thank you, however, for a glass of water, but don’t put me down stairs. I have heard too much of that place already.”
“Oh,” said I, “it is not a bad place. Just go down and see for yourself. You will like the place; it is nice and cool.”
“Please, Captain, let me sit in the next room,” said Johannes, cooling down considerably, and modulating his voice to a gentler key; “I will behave myself.”
His austerity of manner had completely vanished, and his ferocious mien and language had gradually disappeared. He saw in me a different man from what he had expected, and the courteous treatment accorded him had melted his heart and vanquished his anger. I granted his request and told an officer to sit with him in an adjoining room.
The moment the officer and prisoner were in the room, Johannes remarked:
“Schaack is not a bad fellow. Is he not going to stop arresting people?”
“Oh, no,” said the officer, “he has a long list yet.”
“Are you with him all the time?”
“I am.”
“Do you hear and see all?”
“I do.”
“Do the fellows all squeal?”
“Yes, every one of them. If they don’t squeal right away, they squeal the first chance they get.”
“I am too much of a man, and it would be very small in me to do so.”
“There have been as brave men as you in this office, and every one has squealed.”
“Well, when a man has a family, that cuts a big figure,” said Johannes, hesitatingly.
“If you are going to talk to Captain Schaack,” said the officer, reading the man’s mind, “you must understand that he does not want any fooling. You either tell him all or nothing, because some one has already told on you.”
This settled the matter with Grueneberg. He wanted to see me, and he was brought back into the office.
“I was a little excited,” began Johannes, apologetically.
“All right,” I assuringly replied; “sit down and tell on yourself first. I am going to give you a trial.”
Grueneberg then went on to say:
“Well, I am an Anarchist. I always worked hard for the working people. I am proud of it. I did good as long as I could, but now it is all up. I am a member of the Northwest Side group and always attended our meetings. I never missed one.
“On Monday night, May 3, I attended a meeting at Zepf’s Hall. I remained there until about 9:15 o’clock. From there I went to Greif’s Hall. This was a secret meeting of the armed men. While the meeting continued all the doors were kept locked, and guards stood on the outside of each door, and also on the inside, and extra guards on the sidewalk. If any one stopped on the sidewalk, he would be told to move on. I heard Engel speak of his plan; that it was a good one. If only every one would do his work, then the matter would be a very easy one of accomplishment. He stated that the plan had been made up last Sunday at 63 Emma Street, and had already been adopted by the Lehr und Wehr Verein and the groups. All who had heard of the plan, he said, were very much in favor of it, and all understood by this time how to act. ‘We are,’ he continued, ‘going to do this right, because all the boys look to us as the leaders, and we are going to call a meeting for to-morrow night at the Haymarket. Since all the people are excited, we will have a large crowd, and we will have things so shaped that the police will interfere. Then will be the chance to give it to them! I could notice by the acts of all present at this meeting that there was a great deal of bad blood among them against the police on account of the killing of so many people at McCormick’s.”
“Do you now believe that a single person was killed at McCormick’s?”
“Of course I do. You killed six men.”
“Not one was killed,” said I, “and you ought to know that by this time.”
“All I know,” said Johannes, “is what August Spies said. I was a carrier of the Anarchist, Engel’s paper. My route was on Madison Street, and on the Southwest Side,” he continued, dropping the 54 West Lake Street meeting.
“And what did you think of that paper?” I inquired.
“That was the best paper we ever had.”
“It was too bad,” added I, “that the sweet little paper died so young. Where was it printed?”
“I don’t know, because the papers were sent to my house by the Southwest Side group.”
“Who else carried that paper?”
“Messerschmidt, Schneider, Schoenfeld, Geimer and Kirbach. We each carried about fifty papers at a time.”
“Do you know anything more about the secret meeting at No. 54 West Lake Street, May 3d?”
“Well, I don’t know all. I went out twice.”
“And how did you get in every time?”
“I had a card, and I had to show that every time. That is all, and, besides, the boys all knew me.”
“What do you know about Louis Lingg?”
“He is a good man. I like him. He speaks to the point.”
“On dynamite,” I suggested.
“Yes, and on other things.”
“He only likes Anarchists,” I interrupted.
“Yes, that is so.”
“What do you know about the Arbeiter-Zeitung?”
“Well, it is a very good paper, but it is too mild.”
“Do you mean to tell me that a paper which advises people to murder and kill is too mild?” I asked.
“They don’t put force enough into it. They don’t keep up things as they ought to. I know all who visit there. I am a friend of all the Spieses.”
After being “roasted” for three hours, Johannes was permitted to go back to his work, and he left under the impression that, after all, he had not said anything criminally implicating any of his comrades. He was not asked to report when wanted, as he was too noisy a fellow to have around the station, and the officers were as well pleased to see him go as they had been pleased to arrest him. He inaugurated no reform on his release. On the contrary, he was again as rabid as ever and ran around night and day trying to gather a mob to go to the jail and liberate the Anarchists. He made no secret of his work. He loved the red flag, he said, and he would die for it if necessary. One night he came to me in company with two other fellows and demanded the return of a large red flag which at one time belonged to International Carpenters’ Union No. 1. This flag had been taken by the police with many others some time before. Grueneberg said that he had marched behind it many times and he was proud of it. He wanted to see the “dear old flag” once more and secure possession of it. I had the flag at the station, but, knowing that Anarchists had an “undying love” for Inspector Bonfield, I remarked:
“If you want the flag, all you have to do is to see the Inspector, and I am quite sure he will give it to you.”
An expression of intense disgust came over the faces of the three Anarchists, and Grueneberg excitedly exclaimed:
“Bonfield! Bonfield! Ah, the d——d black Bonfield! I see him? Oh, no! he is not gentleman enough for me to see.”
“Bonfield is a very clever fellow,” said I; “he likes such men as you.”
“Oh, yes; he would like my head in a bag. Good night, Mr. Schaack; I don’t want the flag.”
Grueneberg belonged at this time to Carpenters’ Union No. 241, and, on account of his peculiar and ridiculous actions, the members gradually grew suspicious of him and finally believed that he was a paid spy in the employ of some detective agency. They harbored their mistrust for a time, and then accused him of being a traitor. He demanded that charges be preferred against him, and it was done. Grueneberg failing to answer these charges, he was expelled from the union. A few weeks thereafter he reformed, and one day, meeting me, he said:
“I am done with these people. They are all cranks. No person can do enough for them. I worked with them night and day. They put me on all the committees. I had to do all the running, and for all my trouble and as a reward they call me a spy. I am working steady now and they can all go to the d——l. I am only sorry for my poor children—the way they suffered while I was giving my time to Anarchy. I have now worked four weeks and made full time. This I have not done before for the last two years.”
About two months after the above incident, Grueneberg and his family passed the Desplaines Street Station. Meeting me, Grueneberg spoke up, saying:
“Well, Captain, what do you think of my family now?”
“I must give you a great deal of credit,” said I pleasantly. “You are all looking remarkably well. A man that has gone as far as you in Anarchy deserves credit for such a great change, and if all the rest were kicked out of their unions, I think it would be a blessing to their poor wives and children.”
After bidding me good-by, Grueneberg and his family walked away proud and happy in their new condition, and I went to my office and drew this moral from the example of reform I had just seen: Here was a man who had belonged to the Anarchists for three or four years, and had been at one time one of the “rankest” kind. For two years his family had suffered want, and now, after having left the desperate band for two months only, his wife and children were once more made happy. Anarchy keeps men in poverty and families in trouble, distress and suffering.
Grueneberg up to the present time has kept away from his former associates, and his change appears permanent and sincere.
OTTO BAUM was one of the desperate Anarchists who made the air blue with imprecations against capital. He would have been gathered in with the others had it not been for his special care to keep out of the reach of the police. He lived at No. 137 Cleveland Avenue, was married and had three children, and, when he worked, which he rarely did, it was at the carpenter’s trade. He was a strong, robust man, nearly six feet high, and with black hair, full, black beard, and piercing black eyes, he presented a rather vicious appearance. When he first came to Chicago, some four years preceding the Haymarket meeting, he joined the Socialists, and he soon became a full-fledged Anarchist. He belonged to the notorious International Carpenters’ Union No. 1. This union had then a thousand members, and Baum’s number was 100. About two years ago the union changed its number to 241, and a worse set of Anarchists could not be found in the United States than the members of this organization just before the 4th of May, 1886. They were provided with all kinds of arms—revolvers, daggers, rifles, dynamite and fire-cans. Lingg was one of the leading spirits in this revolutionary gang. After the Haymarket explosion, when the police took up a hot pursuit of the conspirators, Baum changed his residence with his family and carefully kept off the streets during the daytime. On the conclusion of the trial of the leading conspirators, he became emboldened over the immunity he had enjoyed from arrest, and crawled out of his hole, like a coon does in the spring-time.
So great was Baum’s interest in Anarchy that he wholly neglected his family. He never troubled himself about wife or children, but hung around saloons guzzling beer and breathing vengeance against the police and society. He went lower and lower from day to day, and frequently reeled home in a drunken stupor, only to abuse his family. About a year and a half ago, when his last child was born, his neglect had left not a mouthful in the house, and, had it not been for the kindly assistance of friends and neighbors, the family would have been in a most deplorable condition. When the child was a week old, the wife, poor and sickly as she was, had to leave the house and seek work to supply the family with the necessaries of life. With food thus obtained, almost at the sacrifice of the poor woman’s life, the burly brute of a husband was always first at the table, and eagerly devoured what she had provided. Did he seek to obtain employment? Not at all. He preferred loafing and talking about Anarchy. The poor wife’s uncomplaining toil he rewarded with abuse and cruelty, calling her the vilest of names, and even kicking her about as if she were made of rubber. She was a delicate, sickly woman, but she bore his fiendish treatment, hoping that a change would come over him after the law had made an example of other Anarchists. But the change did not come, and finally she determined to seek the protection of the courts. Accordingly she went to the Chicago Avenue Police Court on the 6th of February, 1888, with her infant in her arms, and swore out a warrant against her husband.
The lazy giant was at once arrested, and on the next morning the poor woman appeared to testify against him. Being unable to speak English, an interpreter was called, and during the recital of her grievances and the many indignities imposed upon her by her liege lord, the court-room was as quiet almost as a death-chamber. All eagerly listened to her troubles, and, her statements being given in such a simple, convincing manner, many eyes were moist with tears. Justice Kersten, who presides over this court, has no regard for wife-beaters, and he promptly fined Baum $50.
“That,” said he, in an emphatic manner, “will keep you locked up for one hundred and three days.”
The brute was then locked up where so many of his former associates had been incarcerated two years previously, and in the afternoon he was sent to the House of Correction by Bailiff Scanlan.
During this episode it came out that Baum had been quite active in Anarchist circles, and at the time the Anarchists were confined in the County Jail he was engaged in an attempt to gather a mob to effect their liberation. One night he went about saying that he was determined to kill somebody before the next morning. The more he talked, the more frenzied he became, and with his frenzy grew his thirst for liquor, the need of which he felt to get up his courage to the required pitch. A few hours afterwards he was found in the yard fronting his house, asleep and “dead drunk.” The only courage he ever displayed was in lording it over his wife and beating her almost to death. He was a type of a very large class of Anarchists. He would call the better class of people tyrants, because they did not fill his pockets with plenty of money so that he could get drunk as often as he desired, but in his own household he was the meanest of tyrants.
Had Mrs. Baum been a little shrewder, she would not have had to endure his brutalities as long as she did. There are many other wives of Anarchists who are ill-treated by their husbands, but some of these managed to bring their lords to their senses by a neat ruse. While the investigations into the deeds of the Anarchists were going on the bandits would almost crawl into a sewer to get out of the way of the police, and, noticing the timely fright that overcame the “reds” whenever an officer or detective appeared in their midst, many shrewd wives quieted wrathful husbands by threatening to go out and see me. This ruse, I learn, was often resorted to to avert a beating from a drunken Anarchist.
GUSTAV POCH was a conspicuous figure in Anarchist plots, and never tired of working for the cause. But Anarchists are an anxious, jealous and thankless lot of people, and because Gustav was achieving a little more prominence than some of his immediate associates, they found fault with him and sought to degrade him. They might have secretly given him away to the police, and thus got him out of the way of their own advancement, but a fear for their own safety prevented such a course, and so they began calling him hard names. But I shall let Gustav state his own grievance. Here is a letter he wrote to his union:
CHICAGO, September 10, 1884.
At a meeting held on the 3rd of September, instant, of Branch No. 2, of Union No. 21, Carpenters and Joiners, the Secretary read a letter in which I, the undersigned, was insulted in a shameful manner. In this letter they called me a swindler simply for the purpose of breaking up the Union, and at the end of the letter they stated that I would be expelled from the Union on account of it. The letter was signed by Fr. Ebert and Dom. All these insults and injuries to my reputation I can’t let pass. My honor, my reputation and my future prosperity are damaged and at stake. I would, therefore, move that an investigation be made into the matter and that the instigators of the complaint be punished. What was their motive? For the last few weeks complaints have been made against me by the Secretary to the effect that I, as Acting Secretary, had made false entries on the books. As he could not exonerate himself in the eyes of my brothers, he drew up the letter, which was published at the meeting of September 3rd, and which was signed by Fritz Ebert and Dom, to put me in a bad light before the Union. The evidence: Fritz Ebert told me in the presence of John Zwirlein that the main object out of which this accusation originated was the following: I was selected by President Blair on the 3rd of May to the Main Committee in place of Brother Eppinger, who could not serve on account of having too much other work while the strike lasted. After that I held this position nineteen days. I got paid for twelve days, and they withheld seven days from me and said I was discharged from the Main Committee. Is there anything to show that I was expelled? Of course I put in my claim for $21 in writing, and no one ever told me what became of this claim. I was the only German-speaking representative on the Strike Committee, and I had to do more labor than any one else. Any one who participated in the strike during the last seven days can confirm this assertion. Now, how can Mr. Printer put up such a letter and show me up as a swindler?
In consequence of the insults inflicted on me, I beg for an investigation and for his punishment according to the rules and regulations of the Brotherhood.
GUSTAV POCH.
Chapter XVIII
The Plot against the Police—Anarchist Banners and Emblems—Stealing a Captured Flag—A Mystery at a Station-house—Finding the Fire-cans—Their Construction and Use—Imitating the Parisian Petroleuses—Glass Bombs—Putting the Women Forward—Cans and Bombs Still Hidden Among the Bohemians—Testing the Infernal Machines—The Effects of Anarchy—The Moral to be Drawn—Looking for Labor Sympathy—A Crazy Scheme—Gatling Gun vs. Dynamite—The Threatened Attack on the Station-houses—Watching the Third Window—Selecting a Weapon—Planning Murder—The Test of Would-be Assassins—The Meeting at Lincoln Park—Peril of the Hinman Street Station-house—A Fortunate Escape.
IN the numerous arrests and raids made, the police became thoroughly acquainted with the most notorious Anarchists in the city, the ins and outs of their resorts, and even the interior arrangement of their dwelling-places. Not only were suspects arrested, but search was made for contraband articles. A varied collection of arms, bombs, etc., and a large assortment of red bunting thus found their way to the Chicago Avenue Station. In all the public demonstrations made by the Anarchists in the city they had carried many flags, banners and transparencies as emblems of defiance, and whenever such were found they were carefully taken in charge. When the investigations were concluded, the inner room of my private office was well filled with a most curious display of these time-worn and weather-beaten ensigns, and the collection is very interesting as a reminder of a critical period in the history of Chicago. There are flags of a very primitive and cheap description, and flags more or less elaborate and expensive. They varied in size and differed in the degree of their crimson colors. Those belonging to groups were large and plain, showing frequent handling by dirt-begrimed hands, and were mounted on plain pine staffs. Those carried by the Lehr und Wehr Verein were of finer texture and larger in size, its principal standard, of silk, being a present from the female revolutionists and gorgeous in the amplitude of its folds. This silken standard was the pride and joy of the whole fraternity, and at one time it served to relieve the motley collection with its bright vermilion, but in some unaccountable manner it disappeared one day from a West Side police station. The reds had evidently set their hearts on recapturing it, and by some sort of legerdemain they succeeded. Who it was that accomplished the deed has never been disclosed, and in whose custody it is now is a profound secret, carefully kept by the Anarchists.
The men who were always relied upon to carry these flags in the processions of the reds were Ernst Hubner, Appelman, Paul Otto, Stohlbaum, W. Hageman, Seliger, Lutz, Gustav Lehman, Paul Lehman, and Mrs. Parsons, Mrs. Holmes and some other women, and possibly some of these may know something of the mysterious disappearance of the Anarchists’ chief standard.
During the searches by the department for other suspicious and inflammatory articles, several fire-cans were found in the northwest part of the city, on the 3d of June, by Officer Whalen. In exterior appearance these looked very harmless, but an examination of their contents showed them capable of doing a great deal of mischief. They each had a capacity of a quart, and were made of medium heavy tin, with a round hole in the center of the top, about an inch in diameter. This opening was provided with a threaded neck of tin about an inch high, with a cover to fit. Underneath the cover was a sort of clasp, into which fitted the neck of a small vial, and through the cover a small hole was bored, for the admission of a fuse into the vial. When ready for use the can would be filled with an explosive or with coal-oil, and the flask would contain powder. All that then remained would be to light the fuse, throw the can either into a lumber-yard or under the stairway of some residence or business block, and no one would know the perpetrator of a possibly disastrous fire. The cans found by Officer Whalen were loaded and had evidently been intended for use on the night of May 4. Fortunately the owner must have become frightened and hid them to escape arrest.
The suggestion for the manufacture of these cans came from across the water. A short time preceding May 4, at a meeting held in Thalia Hall, a few Frenchmen and several Germans, who had passed through the reign of the Commune in Paris in 1871, gave a general idea of the important part such cans had played in that city and added that women at that time did as good work with them as the men. Such fire-cans, together with glass balls filled with nitro-glycerine, were carried in baskets, and if the reds wanted to destroy a building they would throw a can through the window, or if they desired to annihilate a guard of soldiers they would hurl into their midst one of the glass balls, which would explode by concussion and tear the men to pieces.
These missiles had created great havoc in Paris, and the members of the Thalia Hall gathering were urged to adopt them for use in Chicago. At that time there were enough desperate Anarchists in the city to have used all that could have been manufactured, but some of the men at the meeting insisted that the women should be asked to assist in disposing of them to the destruction of the town. One big, loud-mouthed fellow, evidently a coward, shouted:
“My wife will do that. She is an Anarchist as good as any one of us.”
No doubt she was an Anarchist, as the city had a great many of these poor, deluded creatures at the time, who were willing to do almost anything their husbands might ask, but many of whom have since had occasion to feel the poverty into which they were finally forced by men who neglected work, family and all for the sake of talking revolution.
Many of these men were just cowardly enough to thrust their wives forward where danger lurked, and while they themselves enjoyed the safety of a groggery, they would have been pleased, “for principle’s sake,” to see their poor helpmeets go around and set fire to houses and other property, so that the dauntless husbands could brag of the brave achievements of “the family.”
The meeting in question must have set the Anarchists to thinking; and it is a matter of record that Parsons had fallen into the same idea when he addressed a secret meeting on the North Side, to which I shall subsequently refer. It is certain that many of these fire-cans were manufactured.
Besides the petroleum-cans discovered by Officer Whalen, a lot of the same kind were taken out of the city by way of West Lake Street on May 7, when the Anarchists were hurrying their ammunition out of town to prevent detection. According to the statements of some reformed reds, there are a great many of these cans and bombs still concealed in the Bohemian settlement in the southwest part of the city.
On the 8th of June, 1886, I decided to have the cans tested, and for this purpose detailed Officers Rehm and Coughlin. The latter had at one time been a miner, and was therefore experienced in the use of explosives. The two officers took one of the cans to the lake shore. The can was placed on a plot of grass and the fuse lighted. In eight seconds an explosion followed. The grass burned within a circumference of five feet. The flame extended four feet in height and continued for about three minutes. The officers gave it as their opinion that any one of the cans was sufficient to set a building on fire.
What a blessing it was for our citizens that this devilish invention did not spread its destructive work before May 4, 1886.
As stated at the outset, the police were brought, in all these raids, into close acquaintanceship with the malcontents, and often came in close contact with their families. Some of the sights they saw were shocking in the extreme, and they had many opportunities to sound the depths of misery and want entailed upon families by husbands gone daft on Anarchy. The tales of woe and domestic infelicity poured into their ears would fill many pages, but the general tenor of all can be judged by what has been revealed in the statements given in the preceding chapters.
Anarchy may look extremely inviting when depicted by a plausible speaker, but its practical side is strikingly brought out in the home life of its devotees. Any one visiting the homes of Anarchists, and carefully contrasting the surroundings with those of true laboring men not affected by the taint of revolution, would give Anarchy a wide berth. But unfortunately men get their brains turned over sophistical arguments against capital and madly rush to ruin without thinking of consequences until it is too late. Read the reports made to me at the time, and they all tell the same story of want and degradation.
There always has been and always will be a fascination about any scheme that promises ease without labor. So long as men can be found with impressionable minds that can be swayed by demagogues into a belief that Anarchy has in it the elements of comfort, splendor and luxury with very little toil, so long, no doubt, will dupes be found ready to sacrifice energy, thrift and independence for the life-degrading scarlet banner. But such ease can never be attained through blood in the United States. That fact has been established in Chicago, and the precedent ought to serve as a terrible warning to all malcontents. If the abject want of those who constitute the bulk of the revolutionists, whose very squalor has been the result of their zeal for Anarchy, is not sufficient to deter men from becoming Anarchists, the fate of the eight conspirators who were brought to trial in Chicago ought at least to prevent men from plotting murder, incendiarism and pillage.
With the tremendous odds against them, it is surprising that men could be found willing to take up arms for the destruction of life and property, and the action of the reds in Chicago can be explained only on the theory that they felt they had only to strike one severe blow to bring thousands of secret sympathizers into line, and cause capitalists to humble themselves in the dust before the Social Revolution. This theory is borne out by the statements of the many repentant Anarchists who came under the displeasure of the police. In their excited gatherings they had each propped up the hopes and spirits of the others, and all reason was sunk in the one frenzied, consuming desire to wreak vengeance upon those who had accumulated more wealth than themselves. They were bent on wresting away the wealth of others, and no mercy was to be shown to those who stood between them and that end.
The police, as protectors of wealth in property and property in wealth, were the immediate objects of their enmity and wrath, and throughout the Anarchistic conspiracy, as has been shown by the disclosures made, we were to receive their first and special attention before the grand onslaught upon capitalists. Crazed by their speakers and dazed with the glittering prospect held out to them, the human fiends proposed to exterminate us with dynamite and then vanquish the rich and abolish all forms of property.
Could anything be more absurd? And yet that is what they sought to accomplish on the eventful night of May 4th.
It would seem that the scheme to blow up the police stations could only originate in a lunatic asylum, but the confessions of those arrested show that men with apparently sound minds—minds at least sane enough to keep them out of such institutions—actually contemplated it and had made all the necessary arrangements to execute the plot. Strange must have been their conceptions of public sentiment when they believed that the execution of their bloody plan would result in the establishment of wider and freer social conditions, and strange, indeed, must have been their hallucinations when they thought that the devastation they proposed would be seconded and aided by the laboring men whom they counted upon as secret sympathizers ready to reveal their true feelings the moment the revolution was generally inaugurated.
The danger of the scheme to themselves did not strike them until the last moment, when their courage was to be put to a practical test, but, fortunately for themselves, they went no further than the Haymarket riot.
That they seriously contemplated more than they perpetrated is beyond dispute. They saw the intense excitement consequent on the eight-hour strike and the troubles at McCormick’s factory, and knew that the police stations would be filled with officers in readiness for emergencies. They had called the Haymarket meeting for the express purpose of provoking hostilities, and they regarded it as an opportune time to strike a terrible blow against the police all over the city. Their calculations in that respect were eminently correct.
The moment the reds began to incite a vicious mob to deeds of bloodshed, hostilities were provoked, and they got a dose of their own medicine. Had it not been for their precipitate flight they would have fared far worse. All the police stations were full of men, all the reserves having been called out for duty on the first sign of violent demonstrations, and these stood ready to make short work of all who might stand up against them in a conflict. It was fortunate for the conspirators that they considered “discretion the better part of valor” at the Haymarket, and doubly fortunate that they received no signal to commence their bloody operations at the stations.
The loss of life no doubt would have been appalling on both sides, but the outcome, as far as the triumph of law and order is concerned, would have been the same. The bomb would have done deadly work at the start, but the Gatling gun would have come to the rescue had the police been seriously crippled.
Missiles of dynamite hurled into the stations on that eventful night of May 4 would indeed have created terrible havoc. In fact, the reds could not have chosen a time more favorable for their bloody plans. The East Chicago Avenue Station that night contained a very large force. I had in reserve and waiting orders one hundred and twenty-five officers. They were all over the building, up and down stairs, in the court-room, in the reception-room and in every other available place. Many were in the office, which is used as a roll-call room, and in which all details of officers are made. This office is in the center of the building and overlooks an alley on the east. The officers were organized into five companies, and all duly numbered. Any company could be called at any time, and in less than five minutes it would be in marching order.
This precaution was taken in expectation of a call to the Haymarket, and the Anarchists, in the damnable conspiracies of that evening, had anticipated such preparations. They were accordingly on the ground. Fifteen members of the North Side group, as appears plainly from the confessions of some of the Anarchists, loitered around the station, waiting for orders or signal, or to abide their own pleasure as soon as they could see for themselves that the riot had begun on the West Side. When that time arrived, they were to watch the windows of the roll-call room from the alley and throw their infernal machines into the midst of the officers the moment the room was full.
The cut-throats skulked around the station like so many Indians around the cabin of a helpless settler, constantly dodging around in the darkness, fearful that they might be discovered. True to their instincts, however, these Chicago reds could not do without their beer while awake, and they made frequent trips to neighboring beer-saloons. About 9:30 o’clock Lieut. Baus and Lieut. Lloyd, each with a company of officers, returned from the Central Station, where I had sent them as a reserve during the Haymarket meeting, and when the Anarchists saw them in the roll-call room of my station, they sneaked around on the dark side of the alley and selected the third and fourth windows as those through which their deadly bombs should crash on their destructive mission. These windows are in the center of the large room. They had with them a number of bombs, both of the round lead and the long gas-pipe variety. While they stood underneath those windows, they got into a whispered quarrel about the kind of bomb that should be used.
Bock had a round lead bomb, and he said:
“I don’t think this will go off. Let one of you throw a larger bomb.”
Then Abraham Hermann became angry and said:
“You d——d fool, what the d——l are you here for, if your d——d bombs are no good? You are too much of a coward to throw them.”
Just at this point two officers left the station to visit a cigar-store, and stopped for a moment at the entrance of the alley to finish their conversation.
The Anarchists saw them, and, thinking that they had been discovered, they hurriedly made their exit in an opposite direction, running to the rear of the building on its dark side and then emerging on Superior Street. Some of them went over to the West Side, to the Haymarket meeting, and others sought different saloons on Clark Street.
After frequent libations, some met again on Superior Street in the vicinity of a wagon-manufacturing establishment, and, under the cover of numerous wagons standing on the street between Clark Street and La Salle Avenue, they decided that the men who then had bombs should proceed to the call-room windows, and the others, with revolvers, should take position in the alley diagonally across from the entrance of the station. Then, at the proper signal, the bombs were to be hurled into the room, and the men across the way were to fire a volley into such officers as might come out.
While this plan was being formed, I received an order from Inspector Bonfield to send all my men to the West Side double-quick, ready for action, with a hurried explanation of the riot and the killing of officers, and in less than four minutes I had seventy-five men on the way to the Haymarket. The Anarchists were still standing among the wagons, and, to their great surprise and dismay, they saw three patrol wagons passing with a tremendous speed. Their hearts at once fell into their boots, and they knew that the trouble had commenced. They repaired to Moody’s church and remained there a few moments deliberating what should be done. One of them tried to brace up the flagging spirits of his comrades by saying that “now the time had arrived when something must be done, but they must never tell of their being there.” Not one, however, seemed willing to execute the plot they had agreed upon. On the contrary, they turned up La Salle Avenue and ran to Neff’s Hall as fast as their legs could carry them. What occurred at that hall that night I have already shown in a preceding chapter.
The plan to throw bombs into the roll-call room was afterwards unfolded to me by one of those in the plot, and, had it not been for the two officers accidentally stopping at the entrance of the alley, many of the boys of the Fifth Precinct would have been murdered even before the commencement of the riot at the Haymarket. The ruffians who hung around that station were Abraham Hermann, Lorenz Hermann, the two Hageman brothers, Habizreiter, Heineman, Charles Bock, Heumann, and others from the North Side group and Lake View.
Another station in great danger that night was that on Larrabee Street, in charge of Lieut. John Baus, with forty-eight officers. It is located on the northwest corner of Larrabee Street and North Avenue, and is a two-story brick building with a basement. This basement contains a cell-room located in the center of the building, with windows on the North Avenue side, and that side was chosen for the scene of operations. The men especially relied upon to blow up this building were Lingg, Seliger, Muntzenberg, Huber, Thielen and Hirschberger, and they, together with other members of the North Side group, lingered in the vicinity, loaded with bombs, and waiting only to see “the heavens illuminated” or to receive a message from one of the runners. But before they knew what had transpired at the Haymarket a patrol wagon dashed out of the station and whizzed by with a load of officers. This dazed them, and they hurried to Neff’s Hall to learn particulars and receive new instructions. When they got there Neff told them that they were all a set of cowards and advised them to go home. They took his advice and were glad to crawl back into their holes.
Webster Avenue Station, in charge of Lieut. Elias E. Lloyd, with forty-four officers, also received attention. The building is a two-story frame located on the north side of the street, near Lincoln Avenue, and its principal apartment, the roll-call room, is on the first floor facing the street. The men especially assigned to the destruction of this station were Ernst Hubner, Gustav Lehman, Otto Lehman, Jebolinski and Lange, backed by several other frowsy and low-skulled sneaks, and these hovered around the station, hiding in dark recesses whenever some one casually passed along the sidewalk, or dodging into an alley whenever an officer was discovered approaching them. They all waited for “the signal which never came,” and, getting tired of stimulating each other with a courage they did not possess, they finally concluded to adjourn to Neff’s Hall. Whenever, on the way to that place, one upbraided the other for not throwing a bomb, each would point to the fact that the area in front of the building was always occupied by officers sitting in easy chairs and sniffing the evening breeze, and there was no chance to get near the cell-room; but they all promised one another that they would go back and blow the building into smithereens and the officers into shreds of flesh, regardless of personal consequences, if they should hear “good news” at Neff’s. But they did not go back. Lieut. Lloyd was not called on for assistance at the Haymarket until about eleven o’clock, and by that time the cowards had got their information at Neff’s and were glad for an excuse to make a “bee line” for home, if the hovels they lived in can be dignified by that designation.
There is no doubt that these wretches would have blown up the station if the police had dispersed the Haymarket meeting earlier in the evening, but by waiting so long they lost what little courage they had. There was no patrol wagon attached to this station at that time, but, as one of them told me afterwards, the Anarchists stood ready to hurl a bomb into a street-car had the officers come out earlier to take the cars in order to hasten to the assistance of the force at the Haymarket. They intended to make their work complete, and they were all well provided with bombs, even though they were rather short on courage. This was a part of the gang which had an appointment at Lincoln Park, only five blocks from the station, and some of them sought there early in the evening for a large number of recruits who failed to materialize when danger was in sight.
The spot chosen for the meeting-place in Lincoln Park was at “Schiller’s Denkmal” (monument). Here it was that a few gathered, but, not finding as many present as they expected, they separated to the several localities assigned them for the execution of their plot.
It will be recalled that, at the Monday night meeting preceding the Haymarket riot, those living on the North Side were ordered to report at Lincoln Park for definite instructions, and those on the West Side at Wicker Park, and the order seems to have been obeyed by a few of the more courageous Anarchists.
The vicinity of the Schiller monument was the place also where those who had been arrested and had made confessions met, along with other Anarchists, on the night preceding the taking of testimony in the trial of the prisoners, and on this occasion, Mr. Furthmann tells me, they agreed, with one exception, to inform the prosecution that they would not take the witness-stand to testify to the matters they had revealed to the State. If they were put on as witnesses, they agreed, they could swear that all they had told me and Mr. Furthmann with reference to the conspiracy was pure and unadulterated falsehood. Mr. Waller refused to be a party to such an agreement, and by his stubborn stand he caused several of the other witnesses for the State to change their minds and stick to the truth. Others, however, held out, and, when asked by the State to appear, refused. Waller proved a very strong witness, and, as Mr. Furthmann says, not one of the witnesses for the defense dared to contradict his testimony.
But to return to the contemplated attacks on the police stations. The Hinman Street house was the fourth one in the list marked for destruction. This station was in charge of Lieut. Richard Sheppard, and contained on the night in question thirty-four officers. It is a two-story brick building with basement, and is situated at the northwest corner of Hinman and Paulina Streets. The basement is used as a lock-up for the detention of prisoners, and all the offices are located on the first floor, facing Paulina Street. The patrol-wagon barn is situated in the rear of the station, contiguous to an alley, through which the street is reached. Around this locality between eighty and a hundred Anarchists gathered for work and to await the signal. Mende and Sisterer were at the head of this murderous gang. Some were to exploit with rifles from the alley north of the station and on the east side of the street; others, with dynamite bombs, were to look after the officers in the rooms where they might happen to be most numerous, and those with revolvers were to station themselves in the alley directly behind the station to shoot down any of the officers who might come out in the patrol wagon, and also to kill the horses. Others, again, with revolvers, were to post themselves in front of the station to kill those who might escape the deadly bombs and seek safety by rushing into the street. The riflemen were to come as a reserve force to shoot down any who might have escaped both the revolvers and bombs. They were a desperate set and appeared determined on the execution of the plot. The men who composed the gang were Germans, Bohemians and Poles, all members of the West Side group, and some outsiders who worked in freight-houses and lumber-yards, and not one of them had any love for a policeman. This district had been for several years the scene of numerous strikes, and, as the officers had always suppressed the rioters, the latter were viciously disposed towards the guardians of the peace. Some of these reds were very anxious to see the work of annihilation commence, and they loitered around in small squads so as not to arouse suspicion until they could learn whether the revolution had been inaugurated at the Haymarket meeting. There was no call on this station for assistance at the time of the explosion, as Inspector Bonfield thought it possible that trouble might arise at McCormick’s, and the officers in that locality might thus be required in that direction; and as the diabolical conspirators saw no officers or patrol wagon move out, they became anxious to know how the Haymarket affair had terminated, and one by one they sneaked away from their hiding-places. When they finally learned particulars about the shooting, they ran home, and, like the cowards they were, kept under cover for several days. Later in the evening one company was ordered from this station to guard Desplaines Street, after the wounded officers had all been brought from the Haymarket. When the wagon had reached Halsted and Harrison Streets, however, Capt. O’Donnell halted it and ordered the officers back to the station, as it had been ascertained that all the Anarchists had sought their homes for the night.
It was very fortunate that the officers were not called out earlier in the evening. If Inspector Bonfield had ordered them to report a few moments after the riot, very few of the men would have escaped alive. I have since learned that the brigands who were sneaking around that station that night numbered nearly one hundred, and as one-half of them were under the influence of liquor, it is very likely that they would have committed desperate deeds had the occasion offered.
Chapter XIX
The Legal Battle—The Beginning of Proceedings in Court—Work in the Grand Jury Room—The Circulation of Anarchistic Literature—A Witness who was not Positive—Side Lights on the Testimony—The Indictments Returned—Selecting a Jury—Sketches of the Jurymen—Ready for the Struggle.
THE case was now in condition to be turned over to the courts. The detective work was done, and, as I flatter myself, and as the result proved, well done. A deliberate and fiendish conspiracy to bring about riot, destruction and death had been proven. The Haymarket gathering was projected to invite a police attack, and this attack was to be the pretext for dynamite, murder and the social revolution. Of course much of the information given in the preceding pages was not used either in the grand jury room or at the trial. It was not necessary. State’s Attorney Grinnell, with his usual wisdom and tact, selected only the best, strongest and most reliable witnesses, and left out the minor ones. The statements of all those who “squealed” were conclusive, criminative and corroborative, but their presentation in court would have simply lumbered up the case.
As a result of the energetic work of Coroner Hertz the principal conspirators had been bound over, without bail, at the inquest.
The grand jury was impaneled on the 17th of May, 1886, and was composed of the following named persons: John N. Hills (foreman), George Watts, Peter Clinton, George Adams, Charles Schultz, Thomas Broderick, William Bartels, Fred. Wilkinson, P. J. Maloney, John Held, A. J. Grover, Frank N. Seavert, E. A. Jessel, Theodore Schultze, Alfred Thorp, N. J. Webber, Adolph Wilke, Fred Gall, Edward S. Dreyer, John M. Clark, John C. Neemes, N. J. Quan and T. W. Hall.
Judge John G. Rogers delivered a long, able and forcible charge to the members of this grand jury. He first called attention to the necessity of their not being influenced in their acts by fear, favor or affection, and then dwelt upon what constitutes freedom of speech. He said:
“We hear a good deal these days about what is called the freedom of speech. Now, there is a good deal of misconception of the Constitution of the United States and of the Constitution of the State of Illinois, and I may say of all States in the Union, upon this question of freedom of speech. I have copied the provisions upon which persons rely who continually say that in this free country men have a right to assemble—men have a right to speak and say what they please. There is no such right. There is no such constitutional right. The constitutional rights as expressed in the Constitution are: ‘That Congress shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.’ The same principle is carried along into the State Constitutions; and in the Constitution of the State of Illinois, and in its Bill of Rights, there is a provision that ‘every person may freely speak, write and publish on all subjects, being responsible for the use of that liberty.’ And in another provision the people have a right ‘to assemble in peaceable manner, to consult for the common good, to make known their opinions to their representatives, and to apply for a redress of grievances.’
You will perceive in a moment that the construction of the United States constitutional right has been interpreted, if I may so express myself, in the Constitution of the State of Illinois, and that interpretation is the one that the courts have always recognized, and that, while a man may speak freely and write and publish upon all subjects, he is responsible for the abuse of the liberty of speech. I refer to these constitutional rights because some men are so inconsistent as to say there shall be no law for any such rights, yet claim the protection of these rights in the broadest sense, and, with an interpretation satisfactory to their own minds, that a man may get up, and, in a public speech to a public crowd, advise murder and arson, the destruction of property and the injury of people. That is a wild license which the Constitution of this country has never recognized any more than it has been recognized in the worst despotisms of old and of monarchical Europe. I hope and you hope it will never be recognized.”
The eminent jurist then illustrated the point of responsibility. If, said he, he should get up and there advise members of the jury that the foreman ought to be hanged for some assumed offense, he would be advising the commission of a crime; and if his advice was followed he himself who incited the hanging would be just as guilty of murder as the ones who did it. He next referred to the Haymarket riot and counseled the jury to look not only to the man who actually committed the crime, but to those who stood behind him, who actually advised it. He held that the men who so advised were equally guilty and should be held responsible for it. “What,” he said “is an incendiary speech but inciting men to commit wild acts?” He spoke of the red flag in Chicago and said: “What is a red flag in a procession, or a black flag, but a menace, a threat? It is understood to be emblematic of blood, and that no quarter will be given. Flags of that sort ought not to be permitted to be borne in processions in this city.” He referred to the labor troubles of the Knights of Labor, which, he acknowledged, happily had no connection with the Haymarket or with Anarchy, and then, for the guidance of the jury in reaching conclusions on the Anarchistic conspiracy, he quoted the statutes on what constituted conspiracy and the penalty for riots. In closing Judge Rogers counseled the jury to consider all evidence submitted with fairness and impartiality.
The next day the grand jury entered upon its work. A great many witnesses appeared before it, but many of them were not required at the trial, as their testimony would neither add to nor detract from the strength of the case. Facts were brought out under the latitude allowed in a grand jury room that could not, under court procedure, be brought into a cause on trial because of their not bearing directly on the charges, or not tending to supply some material connecting link in the chain of evidence. Some of this testimony, while not serving to throw any special light upon the conspiracy, may yet illustrate some phases of Anarchy growing out of the propagation of Anarchistic ideas and features incidental to the cause celebre; and for that purpose I have carefully scanned over the official grand jury reports and selected such omitted points as will serve to give a better general idea of the whole subject.
The sale and circulation of Anarchistic literature in Chicago was one of the matters into which inquiry was made. Anton Laufermann, a Division Street bookseller, testified that Most had written “The Solution of the Socialistic Question,” “The Movement in Old Rome, or Cæsarism,” “The Bastile at Platzensee,” and other works, including “The Science of War.” It appeared that these Anarchistic books were not, as a rule, handled by booksellers.
Edward Deuss, city editor of the Arbeiter-Zeitung, told the grand jury that the dynamite book—Most’s “Science of War”—was usually sold by men at picnics and similar gatherings, and that a book-store would be the last place to look for it. The men who peddled this literature were volunteers who made no money out of the sales.
This evidence was corroborated by other persons. The plan seemed to be to scatter Most’s works quietly among the people, thus avoiding any of the difficulties or dangers which might follow from open and undisguised sale. The main source of supply was manifestly the Arbeiter-Zeitung office. The books were easy to get: nearly all the arrested Anarchists had copies of the dynamite book in their possession. One of the most persistent colporteurs was Muntzenberg. The hundreds of copies of incendiary books and pamphlets were passed around from one man to another, and it is out of the question to attempt to estimate the amount of injury they have done. The evidence upon this point—so much, at least, as came from the office of the Arbeiter-Zeitung—was unsatisfactory. This, however, was to have been expected when the character and peculiar beliefs of the witnesses is considered. For instance, Gerhardt Lizius, an editorial writer on this paper, after being questioned, without satisfactory results, about the interior arrangements of the Arbeiter-Zeitung and various articles about the premises, was asked to define Anarchy and Socialism.
“A Socialist,” he said, “wants the State to regulate everything, while we don’t want any authority whatever. We want the people to associate themselves for production and consummation (of the highest good), according to their own desires.”
“How does it happen that capital is in your way?” asked Mr. Grinnell.
“Because the capitalist has taken something from us that is not his, that we have created.”
“What is the manner the Anarchists have adopted in reaching that which they have not got now?”
“We want to get it any way we can—peaceably if we can, and forcibly if we must.”
“Even to the extent of a capitalist’s life?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe in the use of dynamite?”
“Yes.”
“You say that you should not divide your property with your neighbor. Why should the capitalist?”
“We don’t want him to divide anything. We want him to make it public property. He has got as much right to it as we have. Everybody, according to our view, should have the right of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That means that I should have the right to the means of life, and that means, of course, that we should have the right to everything that nature gives us, so that every man, if he wants, can work, and everybody make a living. If he don’t want to work, then of course he should not make a living.”
“The Arbeiter-Zeitung was an Anarchistic paper?”
“Yes.”
“Did the Arbeiter-Zeitung divide its things?”
“There was nothing to divide there. We didn’t make any money.”
“Supposing that you and I should want the same thing—how would you settle that question?”
“Well, I guess there can be more than one of these things made.”
“I might want a cow that you would want, or a horse; you might want the same thing—how would you settle that matter?”
“I work for it and get it.”
“I thought you did not believe in that?” continued Mr. Grinnell.
“You did not hear me say anything of the kind. I said that we should have the right to work so that we could make a living. We didn’t want anything without work.”
“Now, you figure that a man who has got a hundred thousand dollars by reason of having worked hard, stands in your way; isn’t that your idea?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose I have got ten cows and you don’t get any; you have been lazy and haven’t earned your ten cows. Now, how do you get half of my cows?”
“You are looking at this thing from the standpoint of the present system of society. It is impossible for any of you gentleman, if you are not Socialists and don’t understand what Socialism is, to get at the idea at all as to how things are run. You have to look at it from the standpoint of Socialism.”
“Your idea is to have society without any law?”
“The Government is only for the oppression of people. We would have to organize for some purposes.”
“Supposing this Government should get something in its mails that you would happen to want, should you have a right to take it?”
“No, sir.”
“Suppose you did take it, what would be done with you?”
“No man is supposed to take anything that does not belong to him.”
“You would have law to punish people, wouldn’t you?”
“No, sir.”
Being asked if he had seen about the Arbeiter-Zeitung office any implements of warfare, Lizius answered in the negative—not even pistols or anything of that kind.
“Do you believe that the man who threw the bomb over there [meaning the Haymarket] did right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that it was a righteous act in shooting down the policemen?”
“Yes, sir.”
The reason he advanced for his belief was that it was an act of self-defense; that the police, according to his knowledge, had attacked the crowd with clubs before the bomb was thrown. This sort of misinformation seems to have been spread among the ignorant Anarchists, and Lizius, when he said he believed it, knew better and simply adopted it as an excuse for their acts.
“Do you believe in the existence of a God?” asked one of the jurymen.
“No, sir.”
“Have you any regard for law at all?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you any regard for the obligation of an oath taken before the grand jury?”
“No, sir.”
“You have been sworn here ‘by the ever-living God.’ You have no regard for that oath, have you?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you told the truth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you come to tell the truth?”
“I am not in the habit of lying. There is no cause for it.”
“If you had a good cause, would you lie? Would you lie to save a life?”
“If it hung upon such a slender thread as that, I would.”
“Would you, if you thought it would help the cause of Anarchy?”
“I don’t see how it could.”
Among the many witnesses examined in the grand jury room was Ernst Legner. It will be remembered that the defense, at the trial, claimed that this man had been spirited away by the prosecution. This was done, of course, with a view to damaging the case of the State before the jury. Now, the facts are these: Legner’s name was placed on the back of the indictment somehow—I do not know why. Certainly neither the State nor the defense could have used him, and he would have been even less valuable for the prisoners than for the prosecution. Legner was a man who was sure of nothing. His testimony before the grand jury was continually and invariably qualified by the statement that he “could not be positive;” that he “was not sure.” For instance, here is some of his testimony:
Did he meet Chris Spies at that meeting? He could not say. “I saw him that night, but I couldn’t say whether I saw him there. I don’t recollect. I couldn’t say positive. I couldn’t say anything positive about that.”
This answer prompted Mr. Grinnell to ask: “Since when have you grown so unpositive?”
“Well, in that way, I guess ever since,” was his lucid reply.
“You remember me, don’t you, down at the Central Station, talking with you?”
“No, sir.”
“Don’t you remember coming in, seeing me and your brother come in?”
“Well, that was in the City Hall.”
“Well, that is what we call Central Station. You saw me there, did you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You remember your brother told you he had advised you to keep away from those people, and advised you to tell the truth about this transaction?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you then and there told me that you saw Chris Spies right near that wagon that night?”
“Well, I might have seen him, but I won’t say anything positive on that.”
“Have you seen him since then?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“When?”
“I saw him yesterday.”
“And he talked—you spoke to him about this case then, didn’t you?”
“I only spoke to him—I told him that he looked pale, and that was all the speaking, and he went off. I was going west, and he was going east.”
“Now, why should there be any confusion in your mind to-day where you saw him that night?”
“Well, I saw him that night, but I could not say positive whether I saw him there or not, at the meeting.”
“You said a moment ago that you looked around, and you thought you saw him right there?”
“Well, yes. That is where I said; I could not say positive; I saw him, but I could not say positive.”
This sort of fire was kept up for some time, but the witness always dodged behind “I could not say positive.” He was asked how long it was after August Spies got through speaking when he (Spies) left, but the only answer was: “Well, that is something I don’t know certain.”
Now, why should the State want such a witness, or what interest could it have in spiriting him away? He certainly developed a remarkable want of memory, and with his testimony before the grand jury the defendants, if they had put him on the stand, could not have utilized him on their side. If he knew anything, as would seem to be the case, judging from his brother’s advice to tell everything and some statements he had previously made to the State’s Attorney, it all must have been in favor of the State. It is a justifiable conclusion that Chris Spies, on meeting him the day preceding his appearance before the grand jury, must have influenced him to testify the way he did. The truth about the whole matter is that the defendants would not have touched Legner had he been procurable, and if he went out of the city it must have been at their instigation. The above samples of his testimony show that his appearance on the stand would have made him dead timber to either side.
A good deal was also said about the absence of Mr. Brazleton, an Inter-Ocean reporter, from the witness-stand. He was not produced by the State because many of his statements were not of a positive character.
As there were so many other witnesses who had paid special attention to the incendiary character of the speeches, and remembered distinctly the various details in connection with the Haymarket meeting, there was no occasion to use Brazleton as a witness. All the others who were put on the stand gave fuller particulars and corroborated each other in all essential points. Had the general information of the others been of the same nature as that of Brazleton, it might have been well to have used him as a witness, but, with so much direct testimony as the State possessed, his evidence was not necessary. The defense simply sought to make a point on his absence—that is all.
A great deal has been said with reference to Schnaubelt. There is no doubt that he threw the fatal bomb. The defense at the trial of Spies and the others sought, however, to discredit such a belief. They asserted that there was not an iota of evidence to sustain such an opinion, and for their part they did not believe it. Per contra, it may be said that if he was innocent he took the wrong course to show it. Schnaubelt was arrested by Officers Palmer and Boyd, of the Central Station. Before the grand jury Palmer testified as follows:
“I was told that he was working at 224 Washington Street, rooms 5 and 6. I went up there and found him and brought him to the Central Station. That was on the 6th of this month.”
“Did he have whiskers, or not?”
“His face was shaved clean, except a mustache.”
“You had been looking for a man with whiskers?”
“Yes. I was told by his employer that he shaved his whiskers off the morning after the riot.”
“Did he say anything to you about having shaved himself?”
“I asked him why he shaved, and he said he always did it in the summer time.”
“Do you know what the size of his whiskers was?”
“About six or eight inches long.”
“Did you have any talk with him when you brought him to the Central Station?”
“Yes. I asked him if he was at the scene of the riot on the Tuesday night previous, and he said he was. I asked him where he was. He said he was up on the wagon. I asked him where he was when the bomb was thrown. He said he was on the wagon half a minute before the bomb was thrown, but he had got off, and when it exploded he supposed he was about fifty feet from the wagon.”
“He was let go that morning?”
“Yes.” “Tell us about his place of work and what you found out yesterday?”
“Captain Schaack sent a couple of men to me yesterday to find out if we could get this man again. I took them over to where I had found him previously. His employer told me that after he got away from me on the 6th of this month [May] he came back and finished the day’s work, and he had not shown up from that time to this. His tools were there, and he did not call for his money. His sister had called for the money several days after he quit, but he did not give it to her.”
“He had a good job, didn’t he?”
“He was a machinist, working at a turning-lathe.”
Schnaubelt was described as having sandy whiskers, about six feet tall, weighing about 190 pounds, large and bony, not very fleshy, and about twenty-four years of age.
Lieut. John Shea, then in charge of the Central Station, testified to the same facts and that the police had been unable to find the man in the city.
At the time there were no strong circumstances connecting Schnaubelt with the massacre, but suspicious evidence ought to have held him in custody for a day or two until all his antecedents could have been inquired into. His release was a sad mistake, and the fact that he hastened out of the city shows the fear he had of being directly connected with the throwing of the bomb. The evidence of various parties points to him as the guilty party, and it was fortunate for him that he escaped.
C. M. Hardy, a leading attorney of Chicago, testified to a conversation which he had had with Spies the day before the Haymarket tragedy.
During this conversation, which occurred accidentally in a restaurant, “Spies,” to use the words of the witness, “turned and said to me laughingly, ‘Are you with us?’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘If you mean that I am in favor of the laborer getting well paid for his labor, I am with you, but no further than that.’ ‘Well,’ he said, still laughing, ‘you had better be, for we are going to raise h——l,’ and then went on.”
On the 28th of May the grand jury concluded its labors and returned into court fifteen indictments for murder, conspiracy and riot, against Spies, Parsons, Fischer, Engel, Lingg, Fielden, Schwab, Neebe, Schnaubelt and some lesser lights in the Anarchistic circle.
The trial began on the 19th of June. No case ever brought before the Chicago courts excited so much interest or brought out a greater crowd. Not one tithe of the throng of people who were eager to see the notorious defendants were able to find place in the court-room.
Judge Joseph E. Gary presided, and with his suave, dignified bearing and his prompt manner of handling legal details and technicalities, he impressed all with the conviction that, while the Anarchists would have a full and fair trial, no trifling with the law would be permitted. The case was one which not alone interested Chicago, but touched the stability and welfare of every city of any considerable size in the United States. The eyes of the whole country were riveted on Chicago, and the outside world was eagerly watching the results of a case, the first in America, to determine whether dynamite was to be considered a legal weapon in the settlement of socio-political problems in a free republic.
Time was when our system of government was looked upon abroad as an experiment of doubtful nature, but when it had passed the experimental period it was pointed to by foreign friends as furnishing no pretext for Socialistic or Anarchistic outbursts of violence, and as supplying no favorable conditions for the growth even of Anarchistic doctrines. In a speech before the French Legislative Assembly, De Tocqueville once said, pointing to America: “There shall you see a people among whom all conditions of men are more on an equality even than among us; where the social state, the manners, the laws, everything is democratic; where all emanates from the people and returns to the people, and where, at the same time, every individual enjoys a greater amount of liberty, a more entire independence, than in any other part of the world, at any period of time; a country, I repeat it, essentially democratic—the only democracy in the wide world at this day, and the only republic truly democratic which we know of in history. And in this republic you will look in vain for Socialism.”
Still, Anarchy found lodgment in America through men exiled under the rigorous baiting of their own country—men whose early education had been set against all government and whose prejudices operated against the study of our institutions. In the violent culmination of their doctrines at the Haymarket the point was reached where it became necessary to demonstrate that it is a rank growth and has no excuse in a republic in which the utmost liberty is allowed consistent with the rights of life and property.
When, therefore, this trial opened, both the Judge and the State’s Attorney felt that a great responsibility had been laid upon their shoulders, and that the whole civilized world would sit in judgment upon the manner in which they performed their duty. They entered into the case with no revengeful feelings, but held firmly to their course, mindful of the rights of the defendants, but determined to maintain law and justice. The case was called on the day indicated, in the main court-room of the Criminal Court building, and the moment the State’s Attorney had announced his readiness to commence proceedings, the defendants’ counsel entered a motion for a separate trial of each of the prisoners. This was argued and overruled.
On the morning of June 21, at ten o’clock, everything was in readiness for the trial proper, and the work of selecting the jury was entered upon. Within the bar of the court sat the eminent counsel of both sides. On the left, in front of the bench, there was State’s Attorney Grinnell, surrounded by his assistants, Francis W. Walker and Edmund Furthmann, and Special State’s Counsel George C. Ingham, and on the right of the bench sat the defendants’ attorneys, Capt. W. P. Black, W. A. Foster, Sigismund Zeisler and Moses Salomon, flanked by the prisoners and their relatives. The remaining space within the bar was occupied by attorneys of the city as spectators, and the rest of the court-room was filled with a motley throng, including here and there representatives of the fair sex drawn by personal interest or moved by morbid curiosity. The prisoners were dressed in their best, each with a button-hole bouquet.
During the preliminary proceedings, as we have noted elsewhere, Parsons had joined his associates, and his bronzed appearance, from out-door exposure, was in marked contrast with that of his pale-looking companions.
The task of selecting a jury proceeded, but it was not an easy thing to find men unbiased and unprejudiced. Four weeks were consumed in this work, but finally twelve “good men and true” were chosen, as follows: F. S. Osborne, Major James H. Cole, S. G. Randall, A. H. Reed, J. H. Brayton, A. Hamilton, G. W. Adams, J. B. Greiner, C. B. Todd, C. H. Ludwig, T. E. Denker and H. T. Sandford.
So notable was the trial, and so tremendous the interests involved, that the reader will naturally want to know something of the personnel of the jury whose verdict vindicated and guaranteed law and order in America:
FRANK S. OSBORNE, a resident at No. 134 Dearborn Avenue, the foreman of the jury, was born in Columbus, Ohio, and at the time of the trial was thirty-nine years of age. He filled the position of chief salesman in the retail department of Marshall Field & Co., and was a man of liberal ideas and good education. He possessed keen judgment, and proved a critical examiner of all the evidence submitted. He readily grasped all the strong and weak points in the defense, and showed himself a thorough master of the evidence.
MAJ. JAMES H. COLE, a resident at No. 987 Lawndale Avenue, was born in Utica, New York, and was fifty-three years of age. During the war he was a Captain, and subsequently rose to the rank of Major in the Forty-first Ohio Infantry. After the close of the Rebellion, he engaged in the railroad business as contractor and constructor, residing at different times in Vermont, Ohio, Tennessee, Illinois and Iowa. He came to Chicago in 1879, and was book-keeper for the Continental Insurance Company until shortly before serving on the jury.
CHARLES B. TODD, a resident at No. 1013 West Polk Street, was born in Elmira, New York, and was forty-seven years of age. He had served in the Sixth New York Heavy Artillery, and since his arrival in Chicago, four years preceding, had been a salesman in the Putnam Clothing House.
ALANSON H. REED, a resident at No. 3442 Groveland Park, was born in Boston, Mass., and was forty-nine years of age. He was a member of the firm of Reed & Sons, at No. 136 State Street, and during the trial proved a close listener to all the evidence.
JAMES H. BRAYTON, a resident of Englewood, and Principal of the Webster School, on Wentworth Avenue, in Chicago, was born in Lyons, New York, and was forty years of age.
THEODORE E. DENKER, a resident of Woodlawn Park, in the town of Hyde Park, was born in Wisconsin and was twenty-seven years of age. He was shipping clerk for H. H. King & Co.
GEORGE W. ADAMS, a resident of Evanston, was born in Indiana, and was twenty-seven years of age. He traveled in Michigan as commercial agent of Geo. W. Pitkin & Co., dealers in liquid paints, on Clinton Street, Chicago.
CHARLES H. LUDWIG, a resident at 4101 State Street, was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and was twenty-seven years of age. He was a book-keeper in the mantel manufactory of C. L. Page & Co.
JOHN B. GREINER, residing at No. 70 North California Avenue, was born in Columbus, Ohio, and was twenty-five years of age. He was a stenographer in the freight department of the Chicago and Northwestern Railway. Mr. Greiner’s mother was, after the trial, the recipient of so many threatening letters from the reds that she almost lost her mind.
ANDREW HAMILTON, a resident at 1521 Forty-first Street, was a hardware merchant at No. 3913 Cottage Grove Avenue. He had resided in Chicago twenty years.
HARRY T. SANDFORD, a resident of Oak Park, was born in New York City, and was twenty-five years of age. He was a son of Attorney Sandford, compiler of the Supreme Court Reports of New York, and since his arrival in Chicago had been voucher clerk in the auditor’s office of the Chicago and Northwestern Railway.
SCOTT G. RANDALL, a resident at No. 42 La Salle Street, was born in Erie County, Pennsylvania and was twenty-three years of age. He had lived in Chicago for three years, and was a salesman in the employ of J. C. Vaughn, seedsman, at No. 45 La Salle Street.