The Chicago Martyrs/Introduction
INTRODUCTION.
October 7, 8, 9, 1886—these three exciting days of the great tragedy, when the Chicago martyrs addressed Judge Gary’s court in support of their demand for a new trial, come back to me fraught with the most vivid impressions. Each historical figure stands clearly out from a confused blending of drawn, tense faces and bodies motionless with wrapt attention. I see again the impassive face, the cold severe countenance of the unjust judge; the sneering, exultant face of the monster, Grinnell; the scowling features of the ruffian, Bonfield; the coarse, expressionless face and form of the beer-soaked Schaack; the pale, earnest face of Captain Black. I hear once more the voices of the condemned, varying with the speakers and the emotions expressed. In that crowded courtroom I sit amid sorrowing friends while our convicted comrades rise to make their final plea to the court. One after another they stand before the bar of the court, their proud, earnest faces and erect, manly forms distinguishing them, even to the attention of strangers present, as men far removed from criminal taint.
I am deeply impressed with the bold yet dignified bearing of Comrade Spies, whose handsome, sarcastic face reveals the emotion of his mind. His speech is strong, defiant; replete with historical references and philosophical generalizations. It is easy to see in the mocking smile of the State's attorney as well as in the uneasy movements of his assistants, that the keen shafts of the gifted editor in chief are striking home.
Then follow in the order named, Schwab, Neebe, Fischer, Lingg, Engel and Fielden. Schwab's pale face is a picture as he earnestly speaks in his own defense. Scathingly he rebukes the attorneys for the prosecution for the part they have taken in the damnable conspiracy; quietly he tells the court of his impressions and varied experiences in Europe as well as in this country; of his absence from the scene of the bomb throwing and of his innocence of crime. His speech makes a visible impression upon all present. Oscar Neebe's speech is broken, but not with emotion. He proudly tells the listening court and spectators of the "crimes" he has committed in organizing the bakers and brewers; in shortening their hours of toil and increasing their daily wages. He boldly pleads that he may share the terrible death which is to be meted out to his comrades so that his children may kneel on his grave and honor his memory.
Comrade Fischer comes next, and he is as I have always known him—calm, powerful, even majestic in his look and bearing. His tall form is stretched to its full height, and he looks down upon the cringing crowd with an expression of pity in his steady grey eyes. The close confinement and the excitement of the trial have apparently made no impression upon him; a little paler than his wont, perhaps, but that is all. Fischer's speech is not long. He is not an orator, but is, in every fiber of his being, the man of action.
Lingg's fiery address in German is translated sentence by sentence by the court interpreter. Who that hears the bold, impassioned utterances of the handsome young fellow can ever forget the scene? His manner is that of a caged tiger; his bearing supremely defiant. His words, even as translated by the interpreter, burn into the very souls of his auditors. Even the court and the attorneys show signs of uneasiness and disquietude as he boldly hurls his denunciations into their very teeth. Brave Lingg! His proud spirit could illy brook the confinement of prison bars. His chosen place would have been the battle field. Engel is stolid, almost phlegmatic, yet there is wondrous power in the easy delivery and flowing language of our German comrade. His speech is also made in his native tongue, and, as with Lingg, is translated by the court interpreter.
One of the longest and ablest of the speeches made is that of our Comrade Fielden. I have heard Fielden many times on the lake front and at other public places in Chicago, but his address to the court—and as he rightly said—to the world on this memorable October day is undoubtedly the greatest of his life. His honest, straightforward manner, his moderate language, his telling criticisms of the testimony of the purchased witnesses who testified against him, make a deep and lasting impression upon all. Even the bloody-minded Grinnell afterwards condescends to remark that if Fielden's speech could have been made to the jury it would have had great weight with them.
The last and longest speech is made by the brilliant little Texan, Comrade Parsons. As he rises to his feet with his formidable bundle of papers, his friends present feel that he will, like the true agitator that he is, make the greatest agitation speech of his life. Like Fielden he feels that this is the supreme hour; that what he says will go far beyond the narrow confines of the little court room, and that the whole world will some time judge him and the cause for which he pleads by his present utterances. So vivid is this impression upon him, so anxious is he that not a word, not a sentence shall by any possibility be misconstrued, that he repeats many of his most important statements and sentences over and over again. As he stands proudly before the court Parsons shows himself to be mercurial, excitable, intense. At times during the delivery of his long speech his elegant form dilates, his voice rings, and his black eyes blaze with righteous indignation; at other times his voice grows tender and his eyes humid with suppressed emotion. Again he fixes his piercing gaze upon first one then another of his persecutors, as if to read their very souls. His expressive gestures as much as his burning language are evidence of his deep feeling and fervid oratory. Parsons' oft-repeated appeal to any sense of justice which still might lurk in the hard heart of his unjust judge is one of the most touching incidents of the long trial. As well might he appeal to the wooden chair upon which that judge negligently reclines.
The famous speeches are at an end; the able arguments of the counsel for the defense are closed; the motion for a new trial is denied; the sentence of the court is pronounced and the condemned are conducted to their cells to await their doom.
Few people, even among those of a radical tendency, seem to realize the full significance of the Chicago martyrdom. Many sympathetic friends still look upon it as a great calamity: It was sad that the bomb was ever thrown at all; it was a pity that the leaders of the radical movement in Chicago did not make their escape; it was a distressing thing that Parsons, who was in a place of security, should have given himself up to certain death; it was unfortunate that Spies, Fischer, Parsons, Engel and Lingg did not appeal to the governor for a commutation of sentence; it was terrible that it all should happen as it did, and so on.
But this is not the way in which radicals and revolutionists should regard the matter. It was not the view taken by the martyrs themselves. They loved the cause with a love that knew no weakness or compromise. Their very souls were bound up in their chosen work. They gloried in it, and in the possibilities, favorable or otherwise, which it might entail upon them. They loved life as well as any vigorous, strong full-lifed men could, but they felt that a sacrifice was necessary and they were ready to make it. Especially was this feeling paramount as the close of their long suffering drew near. Fischer felt it in every fiber of his being when he said at the last moment: "This is the happiest moment of my life!" Spies and Parsons were both assured of clemency if they would but ask for it. Parsons, from the moment of surrendering himself, never expected anything but death. Lingg was proud that he was exalted as one among the elect. He feared not death; he only feared a cell in a lunatic asylum with which he had been threatened. If Lingg took his own life (which I doubt) it was solely to escape this horror which alone he dreaded. Even Neebe begged that he might be given the death sentence. One and all felt the necessity of the great sacrifice, that the movement might be accelerated and its influence extended to the furthermost regions of the earth.
Viewed in this light, the whole tragedy, from the hurling of the bomb by unknown parties to the final great climax which swept from our sight our loved comrades, was not a calamity but an event which was a great benefit to humanity. It marked an epoch in the progress of the race upward from slavery and darkness toward freedom and light. The followers of liberty's cause have been increased a hundredfold since the great tragedy. The whole world has heard of the cause for which men were willing to die; whereas before, only one or two in ten thousand had ever heard of the principles of perfect freedom and justice to working people. The people will yet build monuments to their memory.
They were right when they said a few days before their death: "Let no attempt be made to avert the final tragedy of the Eleventh of November; make no effort to avenge our deaths." Inspired as they were by feelings of devotion, they knew that a silent acquiescence in their legal murder would in time to come be far more potent for good than any reprisal could possibly be.
Should we not rather rejoice than grieve that our cause has had such martyrs? Sacrifices strengthen a movement, and "the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church." We may be glad that our cause has been strengthened and spread broadcast over the land by the martyrdom of the Chicago Anarchists.
Denver, Colo.