The Last Hours of the Doomed Men—Planning a Rescue—The Feeling
in Chicago—Police Precautions—Looking for a Leak—Vitriol for
a Detective—Guarding the Jail—The Dread of Dynamite—How the
Anarchists Passed their Last Night—The Final Partings—Parsons
Sings “Annie Laurie”—Putting up the Gallows—Scenes Outside the
Prison—A Cordon of Officers—Mrs. Parsons Makes a Scene—The Death
Warrants—Courage of the Condemned—Shackled and Shrouded for the
Grave—The March to the Scaffold—Under the Dangling Ropes—The
Last Words—“Hoch die Anarchie!”—“My Silence will be More Terrible
than Speech”—“Let the Voice of the People be Heard”—The Chute to
Death—Preparations for the Funeral—Scenes at the Homes of the
Dead Anarchists—The Passage to Waldheim—Howell Trogden Carries
the American Flag—Captain Black’s Eulogy—The Burial—Speeches
by Grottkau and Currlin—Was Engel Sincere?—His Advice to his
Daughter—A Curious Episode—Adolph Fischer and his Death-watch.
THE Anarchists of Chicago now became desperate. Many of them had
calculated on the worst for some time, and they had formed into small
groups to be better able to plot for their imprisoned friends with the
least possible danger of police detection. While assembling in large
bodies, they had discovered that many of their secrets were in my
possession, and after the decision of the Illinois Supreme Court they
realized that it was essential to the success of any movement they
might decide upon to keep all knowledge of it within the circle of true
and trusted men. The leading lights in the order accordingly resorted
to private residences, as I have already stated.
Sometimes they were joined in meetings of a general nature by some who
had previously been anti-Anarchists, but who since the decision of the
Illinois court had secretly expressed sympathy with the condemned men.
Becoming emboldened by what they thought to be a growing sentiment in
favor of the prisoners, these secret abettors finally threw off their
masks, and, openly expressing their views, many of them speedily lost
the esteem and friendship of neighbors by whom they had previously
been highly regarded. With a view to aiding to effect a general change
in public sentiment, some of these sympathizers even threw open
their doors to Anarchists, as I have indicated in a prior chapter.
But whenever some risky project was contemplated the small bands of
conspirators saw to it that none but avowed and tried adherents of the
red flag were present.
It was at this time that the police discovered the plot to release the
doomed men, and one day Detective Schuettler learned of a place where
numerous secret conferences were being held from time to time. He was
under orders of Mr. Ebersold, who had taken him away from the Chicago
Avenue Station with a view to crippling my force, but nevertheless the
detective found a way, even while engaged in other directions, to keep
a keen eye on secret revolutionary movements. He had been too long in
the service to lose his interest in things Anarchistic, and he resolved
to get at the bottom of the rumored clandestine gatherings.
Learning that star-chamber sessions were being held in the room of an
old-time Communist named Theodore Appell, at No. 234 West Division
Street, Schuettler at once rented an adjoining room. In this apartment
there was a closet, and after reconnoitering about the premises at a
favorable opportunity, he discovered that by cutting a hole in the
closet wall he could obtain a good view of those who might be present
at future meetings. A hole was accordingly cut. This gave him a fine
chance both to see and hear. Everything worked nicely for a time, but
finally the conspirators became suspicious, as they found their secrets
getting beyond their own circle, and, satisfied that the leakage was
not due to members in their own set, they instituted a search. The
result was that the officer’s peep-hole was discovered. That closed
their deliberations in that place, but they resolved to take revenge
on the man who had thus obtruded his attentions upon them. For this
purpose they decided to hold a mock meeting in the old quarters, and
then and there, when they were satisfied that the concealed individual
had his eye at the hole, to discharge a syringe filled with vitriol.
This would destroy the eye-sight as well as disfigure for life the face
of the man who had dared to intrude on their secrecy. I learned of this
plan, however, and warned the officer. Schuettler never again went near
that closet. But he had already gathered all the information that was
needed.
The conspirators left the place like young birds leave the old nest,
with a flop and a flourish, never to return; but we had learned that
they had in view the liberation of their friends in jail.
This information put the authorities on their guard, and it is possible
that this timely discovery averted a jail delivery.
But the Anarchists did not lose hope. When they learned that the United
States Supreme Court had refused to interfere with the execution they
became more desperate than ever. Where before they had been revengeful,
they now were frantic, and their schemes now embraced more drastic
and destructive measures. They considered propositions looking to a
blowing-up of the jail building with dynamite, and in the turmoil and
confusion incident to the wreckage of a part of the building and the
destruction of life within they contemplated a rush to the untouched
portion containing their comrades, whom they would thus rescue from the
hands of the law. This diabolical plot was earnestly debated, and about
the time the reds became satisfied that the Governor would not step in
between their convicted leaders and the gallows they even went so far
as to advocate an explosion that would not only rob the gallows of its
victims, but kill those whom curiosity might assemble about the jail a
short time before the expected event. If their comrades must die, they
should not die alone. The disgrace of an execution must be averted, and
a terrible lesson imparted to the enemies of Anarchy.
But the jail officials joined me in most rigid measures to prevent the
execution of each and all of the plots, and officers and detectives
were stationed in goodly numbers about the building, night and day, to
watch the movements of suspicious characters. When the decision of the
Governor was finally announced this vigilance was redoubled, and we
made sure that no secret mines had been constructed under any of the
sidewalks surrounding the building or across under the alley on the
west side of the jail structure.
[Illustration: THE CHICAGO WATER-WORKS.
From a Photograph.]
It was not only the liberation of the imprisoned Anarchists that was
aimed at in the numerous conspiracies which came to our knowledge about
this time. One plot which was reported to me embraced a wanton scheme
of incendiarism and pillage, and in order to facilitate this, it was
proposed to cut off the water supply of the city by demolishing the
stand-pipe in the Water-works tower. In some manner the conspirators
had learned the exact spot in the tower where a charge of dynamite
would accomplish the most effective execution, and the reports brought
to me showed that this project was debated most minutely. For the space
of two months we were required therefore to keep extra guard over the
source of Chicago’s water supply, and the contemplated attack of the
reds was not attempted.
While the plots on the outside of the jail were thus met with
vigilance, the doomed conspirators within appeared quiet and
resigned. They received the Governor’s decision with extraordinary
composure, and, having felt throughout that day that they must face
the inevitable on the morrow, they busied themselves in arranging
their earthly affairs, writing letters to friends and relatives and
giving directions as to the disposition of personal matters and the
publication of their autobiographies and other manuscripts. Early in
the evening they received their immediate friends and relatives to
bid them farewell, and through all that trying ordeal they remained
unmoved. Tears coursed down the blanched faces of wives, sisters
and daughters as the last loving words were spoken, but no emotion
of despair or grief seemed to agitate the men. They were solemn and
stoical in their demeanor, and their efforts were mainly directed to
administering words of cheer and consolation. When the final parting
had taken place, they returned to their cells, and their last night on
earth was varied with letter-writing and chats with the death-watch.
None of them retired early. Parsons did not seek his couch till after
midnight, and then it was some time before the rapid thoughts coursing
through his brain would permit him to sleep. Before morning he broke
the stillness of his surroundings by singing a favorite song of his
earlier days—“Annie Laurie.” The clear tones echoing down the corridor
startled all then awake, and prisoners and death-watch eagerly inclined
their heads to catch every word and note. When Parsons drew near the
closing stanza, his voice tripped and hesitated, unmistakably showing
that his feelings were giving way to the recollections of former times.
Spies lay down to rest at a late hour, but his thoughts, as he chatted
with his death-watch, seemed busy with the events that had brought
him to a murderer’s doom. He denounced the verdict as iniquitous, and
declared that the people would shortly see the error of hanging men for
seeking the welfare of the laboring classes.
Fischer was the quietest and most self-composed of all, and he had very
little to say even to his death-watch. He soon apparently fell into a
slumber and seemed to rest easily.
Engel was also remarkably self-possessed, and he was the last to retire
to his couch—not because of thoughts of the morrow occupying his mind,
but for another reason, as will appear further along.
During the latter part of the night, if any one of them had happened
to be awake, the horrible preparations for the execution could have
been distinctly heard. Around the corner, in the corridor north of the
one in which their cells were located, the gallows were being placed
in position, and, even though the sounds of the hammer were subdued,
the echo plainly told the character of the work the carpenters were
engaged upon. It was the same scaffold on which the three Italians had
two years before atoned for the death of a murdered countryman, and on
which the murderer Mulkowsky had also paid the penalty for his foul
crime. It was a large structure—large enough to have dropped seven men
had the original sentence of the trial court been carried into full
execution. At the end of each rope one hundred and eighty pound weights
were attached, so as to give a heavier fall, and, thus arranged, by
daylight the trap of death was ready for its victims.
When morning dawned, the four Anarchists arose early, but each seemed
to have had a restful night. Their demeanor had not changed perceptibly
from that of other mornings. After their ablutions they perused the
morning papers and subsequently partook of breakfast, brought in from a
neighboring restaurant. They ate quite heartily, and then each turned
his attention again to letter-writing. Their communications were mainly
directed to their families and to friends in the city, and some to
Anarchists in other parts of the country, and very nearly the last
they penned were directed to the Sheriff and to the Coroner and had
reference to the disposition of their bodies and personal effects after
death.
[Illustration: CANUTE R. MATSON.
From a Photograph.]
During the fleeting morning hours, the Anarchists were visited by the
Rev. Mr. Bolton, of the First Methodist Episcopal Church of Chicago,
who came to assist in their spiritual preparation for death, but while
each received him courteously, they all declined his kindly proffered
ministrations. They had no faith in the gospel and frankly told the
clergyman that they did not desire his services. They wanted to die as
they had lived, with no faith in God or man as exalted above general
humanity. Some of them even went into discussion with the clergyman,
stoutly combatting every point he made to reach their hearts; but the
talk always ended as it had begun—in a positive refusal to accept any
spiritual guidance or advice. The Rev. Mr. Bolton was forced to retire
without having made any impression, and the men treated the whole
matter afterwards in a most indifferent and flippant manner.
While the unfortunates on the inside were apparently unmoved by their
impending fate, commotion and excitement prevailed on the outside of
the jail. At a very early hour in the morning a contingent of the
police force, numbering three hundred men, was detailed to preserve
order and keep away from the immediate vicinity of the building all
persons not having proper credentials or not properly vouched for.
Across Michigan and Illinois Streets, on the east side of Clark Street,
and on Dearborn Avenue at its intersections with the two first-named
streets, stout ropes were stretched, and within the inclosure thus
formed and at the barriers squads of policemen were marching up and
down with glistening bayonets and Winchester rifles. There were also
policemen in and about the Criminal Court and jail building and on the
roof, commanding the streets below in all directions. There was thus a
most complete arrangement to meet any unexpected attack or any violent
hostile demonstration.
As the hour approached for the execution the streets beyond the ropes
became crowded with people of all grades and descriptions, impelled by
curiosity; but they were all kept moving by policemen scattered along
the thoroughfares amongst them, so that no groups might gather and
under the excitement of the moment precipitate a row or a riot. Along
toward ten o’clock Mrs. Parsons, dressed in mourning and accompanied
by her two children, presented herself at the ropes and demanded
admittance to see her husband “murdered by law.” She was, of course,
delicately refused, and then she endeavored to create a scene, but
the police promptly called a patrol wagon and sent her to the Chicago
Avenue Station, where she was detained until after the execution.
During the forenoon thousands of people passed in the vicinity of the
building, but the only satisfaction they received for their pains was a
sight of the somber walls of the jail at a distance. Taking the crowd
as a whole, it was remarkably orderly, although there was more or less
subdued muttering among the Anarchists who had sought the vicinity only
to find themselves ordered to “move on.” These generally sought solace
for their wounded feelings in neighboring saloons, where they cast dire
imprecations upon the police, promising to be avenged in time.
Within the jail everything was quiet, and, except for the presence
of those who had come to witness the execution, there seemed to be
no special indication of the tragedy to be enacted. The officials
moved about quietly while making the preliminary arrangements, and
the unfortunate Anarchists smoked, wrote hasty notes and chatted at
intervals with their attendants.
At 11:30 o’clock Sheriff Matson, accompanied by Deputies Hartke,
Cleveland, Spears and Peters, County Physician Moyer and Jailor Folz,
started from the jail office, and repaired to the cell occupied by
Spies. The iron-barred door was opened, and Spies advanced to meet the
Sheriff. Mr. Matson at once proceeded to read the death warrant. Spies
listened with folded arms, and there was no indication of nervousness
nor trace of emotion. His feelings could not be divined from his
demeanor. The facial muscles remained unmoved, and no color rose to
flush the usual paleness of the cheeks, nor was the pallor of his face
heightened when the last fearful words of the warrant had been read.
The Sheriff was visibly agitated, and his voice was at times tremulous.
On the conclusion of the reading Spies merely bowed his head slightly,
and then stepped out into the corridor in obedience to the deputies’
request. Around his chest was placed a leather belt about an inch and a
half wide, with which to pinion his arms just above the elbows, and his
hands were handcuffed behind his back. Then a white muslin shroud was
thrown over him and fastened slightly at the neck and waist.
[Illustration: THE EXECUTION.]
While these details were being carried out, the Sheriff was at
Fischer’s cell, and the same programme of preparation was gone through
with. The Anarchist was manacled, pinioned and shrouded, and he
gazed upon each operation with curious interest, but with no sign of
perturbation or weakness. Now and then he faintly smiled, and he seemed
more concerned about the trepidation of the deputies than about his own
situation.
Meantime the death warrant had been read to Engel, who was soon arrayed
in the habiliments of death. He stood it all unflinchingly, and seemed
even less concerned than his comrades. There was also an entire absence
of affected indifference.
Parsons was the last to step out of his cell, and, as he stood
receiving the ghastly paraphernalia, he endeavored to display no sign
of fear. He bore up well, although he evidently wrestled with his inner
feelings.
The solemn march to the scaffold began with the Sheriff in the lead.
In the east corner of the north corridor stood the scaffold. Below
and before it were benches for the two hundred spectators. The death
procession moved slowly and with measured tread. As it neared the
corner the footfalls became distinctly audible to those assembled.
When the shuffling of feet on the iron stairway leading to the first
gallery, which was on a level with the gallows, was heard, the buzz of
conversation ceased, and every eye was centered on the spot whence the
Anarchists would be first seen. It was only a moment, and then Spies,
Fischer, Engel and Parsons, one after the other, came into view, each
with a deputy by his side. Having reached their respective places
on the trap, they faced the spectators. Spies, the moment he caught
sight of the audience, gave it a contemptuous look, and thereafter his
eyes seemed centered on some invisible object down the corridor above
the heads of the spectators. Fischer merely looked down for a moment
on the uncovered heads below, and then his eyes wandered in various
directions. Engel seemed the most unconcerned of all, and swept the
audience with a cool glance as though it might have been composed of
friends. Parsons was superbly stiff, and his gaze, after a snap at
those below, firmly set itself in the direction of the cell tiers.
As soon as those on the platform had taken the positions assigned,
the lower limbs of the four Anarchists were pinioned. This was done
very quickly. The nooses dangling overhead were then lifted from their
hooks, and Spies was the first to have the rope placed around his
neck. The noose had been slipped a little too tight, and, noticing the
uneasiness it gave him, the deputy instantly loosened it a trifle.
Spies gave a faint smile in acknowledgment of the kindness and again
seemed at ease. Not a tremor was visible during the adjustment of the
rope. Another deputy next placed the rope around the neck of Fischer,
who, to facilitate its proper adjustment, bent his tall form slightly
and received it with head inclined until the knot rested in its proper
place under the left ear. Engel received the noose as if it had been
a decoration about to be placed upon his shoulders by friendly
hands, and several times he turned his head around to exchange a
word or two with the deputy, accompanying his whispered utterances
with a smile. Parsons stood unmoved when his turn came, and appeared
entirely indifferent to the operation. Loose-fitting white caps were
now produced, and, as these came in sight, Fischer and Engel turned
their heads slightly to the left and spoke a second to their respective
deputies. Spies first, Fischer next, then Engel, and Parsons last,
was the order in which the caps were adjusted, and the heads had no
sooner been enveloped, shutting out forever the light of day, than all
knew that the fatal moment had arrived. During all the preliminary
preparations not a relaxation of nerve or an expression of anguish or
despair had been observed. Now the tension of silence was painful.
But suddenly there broke from the lips of Spies an exclamation that
startled the auditors as if by a shock.
“You may strangle this voice,” said he, in clear but subdued tones,
“but my silence will be more terrible than speech.”
Spies had scarcely uttered his last words, when Fischer shouted:
“This is the happiest moment of my life. _Hoch die Anarchie!_”
Engel immediately caught up the sentiment, and in a strong voice, and
with a pronounced German accent, cried:
“Hurrah for Anarchy!”
Parsons then lifted his voice, and in firm, deliberate tones,
exclaimed: “O men of America!”
Then, lowering his voice to an appealing accent:
“Mr. Sheriff, may I be permitted to say a few words?”
Raising his voice again, without waiting for an answer, and continuing
in the same breath, he said:
“O men of America, let the voice of the people be heard.”
The last word had barely escaped his lips, when the signal was given to
the unknown and hidden man in the sentry-box back of the platform, the
rope controlling the trap was cut, and four bodies shot downward into
space. The intervals between the adjustment of the caps, the utterances
and the drop were only a few moments, but they were moments that
seemed like hours. The first instant after the drop, the bodies all
seemed motionless, but immediately one after the other began violent
contortions, the limbs contracted, the breasts swelled with spasms,
and the arms shook convulsively. It was fully eight minutes before the
last was limp and lifeless. The bodies, however, were left hanging for
twenty-six minutes, and then they were deposited in plain coffins,
ready to be turned over to their relatives. The jury selected by the
Sheriff to pass upon the death, as required by law, next viewed the
remains and then signed the usual legal certificates. Those composing
the jury were Dr. Ferdinand Henrotin, Dr. Denslow Lewis, Dr. G. A.
Hall, Dr. Harry Brown, Dr. J. B. Andrews, Dr. M. W. Thompson, John N.
Hills, William B. Keep, ex-Sheriff John Hoffman, Edwin Wynn, George
Lanz, George M. Moulton, John L. Woodward and H. L. Anderson.
It was subsequently ascertained that the necks of none of the
Anarchists had been broken, and that death had come in each case
through strangulation.
Within an hour and a half the coffins were removed, the bodies of
Spies, Parsons and Fischer being receipted for by a committee of the
Central Labor Union, and those of Engel and Lingg by a friend of Mrs.
Engel. The body of Lingg had reposed in the women’s department of the
jail. Shortly before his death, the bomb-maker had expressed the wish
that his body be allowed to repose by the side of Engel’s, and that it
be given in charge of Engel’s family, as he himself had no relatives in
America.
[Illustration: JOHN A. ROCHE.
From a Photograph.]
The remains of Spies, Fischer and Parsons were taken to an undertaking
establishment at No. 596 Milwaukee Avenue, and those of Engel and
Lingg to a similar place at No. 186 Milwaukee Avenue, and there
costly and ornamental coffins were provided after the bodies had been
first embalmed. Subsequently they were removed to the houses of their
respective relatives, and arrangements were at once set on foot for a
tremendous demonstration at the funeral, the following Sunday.
No sooner had each coffin been taken to the relatives than hundreds of
Anarchists flocked in to view the remains. Others, too—men, women and
children, moved by morbid curiosity—crowded in to view the dead. The
families were in almost constant tears, and deep were the lamentations
over the fate of their loved ones. Mrs. Parsons was in paroxysms of
grief and had to be almost forcibly removed from beside the bier of her
husband. Her curses were loud against the police, and she strenuously
refused all comfort. At the Spies residence there were copious tears,
and no one was more deeply moved than Miss Van Zandt. The sorrow of
Mrs. Engel and her daughter was more subdued, but nevertheless keen and
poignant. It was the same at Fischer’s home.
Meantime the preparations for the funeral went on, and the committee
having it in charge determined that it should be conducted with the
utmost pomp, ceremony and display. They desired that on this occasion
the red flag should again be unfurled and wave over the bodies of those
whom they regarded as martyrs. The police learned of it, and when a
committee waited upon Mayor Roche to secure the necessary permission
for the procession, he set his face firmly against the red flag.
“The American flag,” said he, “is good enough for us, and it is good
enough for you. If that flag don’t suit you, I am sorry. No red flag
shall ever take its place while I am Mayor of Chicago.”
Sunday, November 13, came, and every Anarchistic organization in the
city turned out to attend the funeral. The procession, which started
at an early hour, first called at the Spies residence, No. 154 Bryson
Street, for the coffin of the editor, and then moved on to Mrs.
Parsons’ residence at No. 785 Milwaukee Avenue. After the coffin of
Parsons had been placed in the hearse, Fischer’s house was reached, and
next that of Engel, and when all the hearses were in line, the entire
funeral procession proceeded down Milwaukee Avenue, thence to Lake
Street, and thence along Fifth Avenue to the depot of the Wisconsin
Central Railway. At each of the houses of the executed Anarchists the
cortege had been joined by friends and by various societies of which
the dead had been members, and with these accessions the procession,
as it finally moved on to its destination, numbered not less than six
thousand. The hearses were loaded down with flowers, wreaths and other
floral tributes, and each was followed by carriages containing the
mourners. Close behind the Spies hearse was a carriage containing Mrs.
and Miss Van Zandt, mother and daughter, and Mrs. Spies, the mother,
and Miss Gretchen, the sister of the deceased. All along the line of
march, the sidewalks were thronged, and there must have been over fifty
thousand persons who viewed the procession as it passed. Hundreds
had gathered at the residences before the procession started, and
when they joined the throngs already on Milwaukee Avenue the streets
became almost impassable. Policemen were stationed at the various
street corners, and these gave the processionists ample room to move
unimpeded. The procession did not lack music, several bands having been
engaged, and the “Marseillaise” and “Annie Laurie” were the airs most
frequently heard.
The absence of the red banner on the street was commented on, but with
a seeming defiance of the Mayor’s orders two red flags decked the
coffins of Engel and Lingg. What was still more significant was the
fact that not a single flag of the Union was borne by the procession.
It was only when the Anarchists reached Lake Street that the red, white
and blue was unfurled to the breeze, and then it was done, not by an
Anarchist, but by Howell Trogden, a veteran of the civil war. It was
a small emblem in size, and of cheap material, but he held it high
above his head and proudly carried it before the cortege, clear down to
the depot, greatly to the discomfiture and chagrin of the reds. When
remonstrated with by some one who was in the crowd that had gathered
about him and cheered him on the way, he defiantly exclaimed in plain,
though perhaps not elegant, language:
“What, furl the ensign of the nation I fought for? Not much! You bet
your life, I’ll carry this flag and I’ll kill the first man who tries
to wrest it from me. I’ll shed my blood to keep it there.”
And the flag was kept there.
Arriving at the depot, the various organizations boarded the trains in
waiting, and shortly after one o’clock all were under way to Waldheim
Cemetery, situated some nine miles west of Chicago. It was a gloomy,
cold day, but nevertheless an immense concourse of people followed
the remains to the vault in which they were temporarily deposited.
Those who had immediate charge of the funeral arrangements were Frank
A. Stauber, H. Linnemeyer, George Schilling, R. M. Burke, Julius
Leon, Edwin Goettge, Charles F. Seib, Ernst Litzman, H. Ulharn, F.
G. Bielefeld, William Urban, Dr. Ernst Schmidt and T. J. Morgan, all
members of the Defense Committee and the Amnesty Association.
After the coffins had been placed in the vault, Capt. W. P. Black took
a position near the entrance and delivered the funeral oration. In
concluding his address, he said, speaking of a day “when righteousness
should reign”:
“We look forward to that day. We hope for it. We wait for it, and with
such a hope in our hearts can we not bring the judgment of charity to
bear upon any mistakes of policy or action that may have been made by
any of those who, acknowledging the sublime and glorious hope in their
hearts, rushed forward to meet it? We are not here this afternoon to
weep. We are not here to mourn over our dead. We are here to pay by
our presence and our words the tribute of our appreciation and the
witness of our love. I loved these men. I knew them not until I came
to know them in the time of their sore travail and anguish. As months
went by and I found in the lives of those with whom I talked the
witness of their love for the people, of their patience, gentleness
and courage, my heart was taken captive in their cause. For this I
have no apology. If any of you feel that the tears are coming listen
to the last words spoken by one of these, our dead.
“‘Go not to my grave with your mourning, with your lamentations
and tears, with your forebodings and fears. When my lips are dumb,
do not thus come. Bring no long train of carriages; no hearse with
waving plumes, with the gaunt glory of death illumed; but with hands
on my heart let me rest. Ye who are left on this desolate shore,
there still to suffer alone, deeply do I pity you. For me no more
are the hardships, the bitterness, heartache and strife, the sadness
and sorrow of life, but the glory of the divine, that is mine. Poor
creatures, afraid of the darkness, who groan at the sight of the
anguish in our silent night, go to my tomb. Peal no solemn bell—I am
well.’
“It has been said that these men knew no religion. I repel the charge.
I know but one religion—the religion which seeks to manifest itself
by its service of God—or of the supreme good—by its service of
humanity in its anguish and its hours of despair. And one of these,
our dead, while within the very gloom of approaching death, gave in
these words: ‘My religion is this: To live right. To do right is to
live right, and the service of humanity is my worship of God.’
“I remember that back in the centuries it was written in words that
shall never perish: ‘He that doeth righteousness is righteous, even
as He is righteous.’ There is no conception possible to humanity of
that which we call God other than the conception which sets our life
aflame in the service of our fellow-men. But I must not keep you.
There is no necessity for multiplying words in such a presence as
this. There are times when silence is more terrible than speech; when
men moving to the supreme issue of life can say, standing with their
feet on earth and their hands reaching out into the unknown, in a
sublime burst of enthusiasm: ‘This is the happiest moment of my life’
(the last words of Fischer), and then in that hour can cheer for the
cause to which they have given their lives (as Engel did), and men in
that hour, forgetting themselves, can speak of the voice of the people
(Parsons’ last words) until utterance is silenced forever, what need
is there to stand by such men and multiply words?
“I say that a mistake may well be forgotten in the glory of the
purpose which we condemn—it may be through undue haste. I say that
whatever of fault may have been in them, these, the people whom they
loved and in whose cause they died, may well close the volume and seal
up the record and give our lips to the praise of their heroic deeds
and their sublime self-sacrifice.”
Some weeks afterwards arrangements were made for the final interment
of the bodies. A suitable lot had been purchased with money collected
by the “Defense Committee,” and accordingly on Sunday, the 18th of
December, 1887, the Anarchists were invited out to Waldheim to witness
the last rites over the dead conspirators. It was a cold, chilling
day, and only about a thousand people were in attendance. The remains
of the five Anarchists were removed from the vault, the coffins opened
and the bodies viewed by all who desired. They were then placed in one
grave, and a heavy flagstone was lowered and firmly cemented to protect
them. The orators on this occasion were Mr. Buchanan, of Chicago, Paul
Grottkau, of Milwaukee, and Albert Currlin, of St. Louis. The tenor of
Grottkau’s speech may be judged from the following extract:
“Those cold clods of clay were the first offerings required at our
hands, but they will not be the last. Our lords believed that with
them they could slaughter the idea and ideals they represent. They
imagined that the fivefold gallows would forever choke liberty.
How they have succeeded the future will show. Let them erect their
gallows, put them up by the million, and they will never destroy
the glorious principles. Not all their revolvers, their armories of
bayonets and Gatling guns, not all their bristling rows of cannon, can
conquer us. (‘Bravo!’ ‘Bravo!’) From this land the fame of our martyrs
and our principles will go out to the whole world. Our strangled
ones are put at the head of the column. Their names will ever be the
brightest on history’s page. Party hate or sectional strife cannot
dim their laurels. They were the champions of degraded and plundered
humanity. They fought long and manfully for us; they died to serve
us; and more than that man cannot do. It but remains for us to do
our duty as they did theirs. We must be moved by their spirit. All
mean personal desires must depart from us. We must continue our
organization. We must be unswervingly loyal to the principles they
taught us—the great principles that will free the wretched and
enslaved proletarians and drive all injustice from the face of the
earth. Brothers, they (pointing to the five coffins) have done their
duty; let us do ours.”
Currlin closed his address as follows:
“We have been constantly bought, sold and delivered at the ballot-box
(Applause.) These heroes and true men had well considered the folly of
relying on the ballot, and with firm hearts and resounding voices had
pointed out the road to the thinking and the brave.
“They are gone. Shall the sacrifice of these noble lives be fruitful
or not? It will, it must be. Let the dreadful act cement us together.
Let us be loftier, firmer than ever. You have your Golgotha. See to it
that you have your Easter, and have it soon. You owe it to yourselves
and your families that you ever revere these dead. If at any time you
become soul-weary or discouraged, make a pilgrimage to this hallowed
spot and be reinvigorated for the strife. Let the prison, even the
gallows, be powerless to overturn your purpose. Let us struggle for
the right, for justice, freedom, and true fraternity until the nations
of the earth are of us and with us, until the peoples are regenerated,
and clean hands and clean hearts have authority to rule.” (Applause.)
With the final burial of the dead, it may perhaps be well to inquire
whether one of them continued to believe in Anarchy when he saw that
there was no escaping from his fate. That one about whose faith there
is most doubt is Engel.
It is frequently the case that men condemned to death, either on the
gallows or otherwise, make a powerful effort to die bravely, and that,
whatever may have been their true feelings, the truth dies with them.
It is seldom that any one reveals from the bottom of his heart his true
sentiments. In this case, Engel was a man known to have been sober and
sincere, who believed that everything he said was true and right, and
who expressed his opinions freely before all his people. He professed
the same sentiments to the public up to the moment of his death, his
last words being, “Hurrah for Anarchy!” Yet he felt differently. It
is a well-known fact that people sentenced to death adhere until the
last second to the position that they are right in their opinions or
doctrines, or they simulate innocence. Now, as to Engel, it had been
shown by the evidence that he had frequented many places at night, to
attend Anarchist meetings, and at many of them he delivered addresses.
On some of these occasions he was accompanied by his only daughter,
a bright young girl about fifteen or sixteen years of age, and she
often heard him utter sentiments which she ought not to have heard.
But the girl could not help it. She was there, and she had to listen.
After these meetings they would walk home together, and the daughter’s
company was always a source of great pleasure to Engel. She was also
greatly attached to her father, and, naturally, whatever she heard him
say she regarded as true, having the most implicit faith in him. Engel
knew all this, and many stormy nights she would brave the weather to
be at his side at meetings he felt himself obliged to attend. She
would cling to his arm, and through snow and storm they would face the
elements. When Engel’s last night on earth came, he asked the Sheriff
and Jailor to permit his beloved daughter to remain with him during
the night, and, the officials having satisfied themselves that no
sinister purpose was in view, the wish was granted. This was the night
of November 10, and young Mary kept her father cheerful company during
the long hours. Engel seemed to have had something on his mind, but
he refrained from saying anything until shortly before the time for
her departure. It was evident that Engel had a deep solicitude for her
welfare, in spite of his pretended stolidity. In theory he had always
expressed the greatest admiration for Louise Michel, and on every
occasion he had lauded that Frenchwoman for her bravery in suffering
imprisonment and readiness to sacrifice her life for Anarchy. But he
regarded theory and practice as separate and distinct, and in the face
of death his thoughts concerned themselves with the future of his dear
child. Should she espouse Anarchy and follow in his footsteps, taking
up his work where he had left off? This is what agitated Engel, and he
soon decided the issue. With a serious and earnest manner, and in a
very strong voice, he said in German:
“Mein liebes Kind, kümmere dich nicht um Anarchie. Du siehest wie
es mir geht. Und vergesse diese Worte nicht so lange du lebst.”
(Translated: “My dear child, do not trouble yourself about Anarchy. You
see my situation. Do not forget these words as long as you live.”)
[Illustration: KIERLAN’S SOUVENIR.]
I am happy to record this to Engel’s credit. He was conscious that he
had been in the wrong for some time, and he had the manhood to warn
his daughter not to embrace Anarchy. He wished her to maintain a good
character and grow up to be a good woman.
The words I have given are true to the letter, just as they were spoken
by Engel to his daughter, at the time I have stated, and, no matter how
strenuously Anarchists may deny this, it will still remain the truth.
I will even add that I have no doubt that Engel’s comrades entertained
similar sentiments.
The other doomed Anarchists, however, kept their own counsel, and no
one seems to have been able to probe their real feelings. Spies and
Parsons were decidedly reserved, and Fischer had a severe demeanor,
which only relaxed to intimate and trusted friends. A slight exception
to his rule was made in his conduct toward his death-watch, John B.
Kierlan. In speaking of Fischer, Kierlan, who was a deputy in the jail
building, says:
“At the beginning of February, 1887, I was detailed as death-watch to
Fischer. When I first went on watch Fischer did not care much for my
company, but after a week or so we got to be friends. He asked me to
play cards with him, and I often joined him in a game. We played for
imaginary and invisible beers. Sometimes I would lose, and then again
he would be the loser. The one who lost generally wanted satisfaction,
and the next night we would ‘saw off’ the games, and in this way we
were accustomed to spend our evenings together until the last few
nights preceding November 11th. Fischer was at this time in cell No.
28, second row. He became greatly attached to me, and was always
pleased to see me. He had more confidence in me than in any other
officer in the building, and I was with him nearly all the morning of
November 11th. When it was nearly eleven o’clock that morning he said:
“‘Well, John, what about the beer you owe me?’
“I was so greatly astonished that I could not answer him. Then Fischer
threw his arm around my neck and said:
“‘Dear John, we must part.’
“At the same time he kissed my cheek. This was a trying moment for me,
as I had become greatly attached to him. While I knew him, he never
used bad language or said anything unbecoming a gentleman. He asked me:
“‘John, will you remember me?’
“‘I said: ‘Yes, but I would like to have something to remember you by.’
“He then pulled out a card from his pocket and wrote these words:
“‘Liberty or death. Adolph Fischer, Cook County Jail, November 11,
1887.’
“This card was given to me forty-five minutes before he died, and I am
positive that these were the last words he wrote in his life.”
A _fac-simile_ of the card appears on another page.
The _Freiheit_ of March 16th prints what it calls Lingg’s literary
testament. It is stated in the introduction to the article that while
in prison the bomb-maker carved a handsome little casket, which shortly
before his death he presented to Johann Most as a souvenir. In a secret
compartment of this casket was contained a small book, on the leaves of
which Lingg had inscribed his sentiments, and from which the following
is extracted:
“What is Anarchy?
“A man-worthy existence for the entire term of life, guaranteed to
every one through complete individual liberty, all human needs being
supplied by means of equal participation in the enjoyment of all the
products of the community.
“Free society (Anarchy) finds its limits only in those of the earth.
“The object of Anarchy is to secure the greatest possible happiness to
all.
“This object is attained through the total extermination of all
domination.
“Domination is personified in exploiters (_Ausbeuter_) and tyrants.
“The extermination of these, in view of their sources of power, can
best be accomplished by means of dynamite.
“After such extermination the workingmen will organize according to
their inclinations, for protection and consumption.
“Centralization—_i. e._, subordination of the different groups of
production and consumption under a clique composed of individuals,
or even under a majority of society—is not advisable, because in
that way another domination would be established, and such would make
illusory the stated purpose of free society—Anarchy.”
In writing this book I have endeavored at all times to be fair and
honest. While I have done everything in my power and made use of every
faculty which God has given me to ferret out and to combat Anarchy,
and while I believe now, as I always have believed, that the men
who suffered death at the hand of justice in the Cook County Jail
deserved their fate, I also believe that there are those unhanged,
and who probably never will be hanged, who are morally as guilty, and
who deserve even a harsher fate than befell the men whose lives the
law demanded. For these cowards—selfish, sneaking conspirators as
they are, who fight from ambush and take no risks—would not deserve
even the sympathy of the poor fools whom they lead to ruin. I firmly
believe that Engel, Lingg and Fischer were at least sincere in their
convictions and honest in their belief and in their expressions. Spies,
I think, was led to his fate by vanity and a consuming desire for
notoriety.
In my investigations I of course looked carefully into the antecedents
of all the Anarchists who were arrested by my command, and I will
say right here that not a dishonest act, as regards the rights of
property, was laid to the door of any one of them. Lingg, particularly,
was scrupulously honest and conscientious in his dealings with his
fellow-man. The day after the Haymarket massacre he found himself
penniless, and for that reason refused at first to partake of the food
offered him at Seliger’s table.
“I cannot partake of what belongs to you and your wife,” he said, “nor
of what I cannot pay for. You are as poor as I am.”
“You must share with us as long as we have food,” replied Seliger; but
it was only after considerable urging that Lingg consented to appease
his hunger.
While apparent bravery in facing death on the gallows counts for
nothing—I have seen craven cowards meet their doom like stage
heroes—I believe that Lingg, Engel and Fischer would have died calmly
and bravely even without the stimulants which are always administered
to the condemned before the fatal moment, and which were, of course,
administered to the four men before they were led to the fatal trap
which hurled them into eternity. Lingg, particularly, during the entire
term of his confinement, through the long months of the trial, and
up to the very day when he so tragically took his own life, showed a
consistency and a determination which would have been heroic had he not
been the dupe of designing men who saw in the ardor of his temperament
and in the resistless force of his enthusiastic energy the means to
further and carry out iniquitous plots with which they had not the
courage to openly identify themselves. I repeat again, there are those
still unhanged, who are even now parading before a credible public as
apostles of the cause of labor, and whose cowardice keeps them out
of the reach of law, who deserve the greater share of public odium.
Some of these, and others like them, are still at work in our midst,
and in the midst of all communities in which the revolutionists see a
chance of making propaganda out of differences between employers and
employed. I hope that one result of my book may be to open the eyes of
honest workingmen to the fact that those who preach violence and those
who stir up trouble and intensify discontent are the enemies of honest
labor.