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.
[Illustration: HERMANN MUNTZENBERG.
From a Photograph.]
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:
[Illustration: A HASTY TOILET.]
“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.
[Illustration: A DANGEROUS STORING-PLACE.]
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.
[Illustration: AN OBSTREPEROUS PRISONER.]
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.