Powerful and intensely moving. Dyer Lum continues his reminiscences of the Haymarket Martyrs in the weeks following their November 11, 1887 judicial murder. Lum shares the character of Adolph Fisher through the last letters Fischer wrote to his wife and children. Includes a short, but extraordinary, letter sent (along with homegrown grapes) by John Brown Jr. to each of the men, though the prison authorities refused to give it to them. Long Live Adolph Fischer!
‘Adolph Fischer’ by Dyer Lum & Adolph Fischer from The Alarm (Chicago). Vol. 1 (new) No. 6. January 14, 1888.
SOME REMINISCENCES.
Pen Pictures of the Labor Leaders Slowly Strangled, in the Name of Christian Civilization.
Fischer, the Young Revolutionist–His Noble Character and Devotion to Principle–Unpublished Letters and Verses.
“This is the happiest moment of my life,” shouted Adolph Fischer when the cap had been drawn over his eyes, and a moment later, with indecent haste, the trap was sprung. No one who knew young Fischer doubts that it was an honest expression of his feelings. His letters reveal his sincerity and devotion; his conversation demonstrated it. But 25 years of age when arrested, he proved himself one of the truest of the true. No taunt, calumny, nor trap ever misled his clear vision. Before arrest, as the testimony shows, he was at his work as a printer. One of the men called his attention to a “Lehr und Wehrverein” belt, revolver, and knife belonging to him in one of the drawers and suggested its removal. Fischer with a smile–it was the 5th of May–took them and placed them upon his person to remove them. He had been in the habit of handling quite considerable sums of money, and when taking it home late at night, as he often had to, felt the need of self-protection. The police are busy watching strikers and protecting property, while thieves and burglars prospered. Upon descending the stairs he was arrested and immediately heralded in the press as a walking arsenal,”
He has written the account of his arrest to the Freiheit. I have heard him describe it. He says that when the arms were found upon him they “seemed to terrify and excite this pack of hounds to such a degree that it is still a matter of wonder to me that I was not assassinated on the spot. One of them (Slayton) pointed my own revolver at me, while another was about to drive my dagger with full force into my body. They would have completed the job, perhaps, had not a lieutenant shouted: ‘Stop!’
“As the patrol wagon passed the board of trade building the shouts and joyful cries of the exchange swindlers seemed ever-ending. Every window had its full complement of the varmint, and innumerable bald heads looked very comical in the bright sunlight. As I looked up from the wagon–I thought ‘I saw so many hundred full moons in the window frames.” A few days later, he says, he was taken into the detective office, where were assembled Lieuts. Shea and Kipley, Furthmann, Grinnell, and a large crowd of detectives. The first sentence hurled at me by Shea and Furthmann was: ‘Who threw the bomb?’ I shrugged my shoulders.
“Furthmann: So you know nothing about the bomb?”
“‘No.”
“Furthmann: ‘Spies has told me, however, that he had commissioned you to throw one.’
“If Spies has really told you that, then has he lied. Either you lie or Spies does. That Spies has told an untruth I do not believe. Therefore you are the liar.”
“Furthmann (springing from his seat): How You despicable fellow!”
What “An unfortunate fellow,”
“Here somebody was conducted into the room. This was Gilmer, Lieut. Kipley pointed to me and asked: Is this the man? “Yes,” said Gilmer, that is the man who threw the bomb.
“I sprang up and faced Gilmer, telling him that he was a mean, contemptible liar. Later at the trial this fellow stated that Schnaubelt did the deed.
“On one occasion they took me from my cell into the detectives’ office. Here were assembled Bonfield, Ebersold, Grinnell, Furthmann, and about twelve detectives. The following conversation took place between Grinnell and myself:
“Grinnell: Then, you persist in your obstinacy?
“O, leave me alone.”
“Grinnell: ‘You are a coward.’
“Why?”
“Grinnell: ‘Because you won’t tell the truth. A brave man does not lie.’
“Is that so? Then you must be the greatest coward in the world, for you are a lawyer, which signifies a liar by profession. I’ll tell you one thing, if you spoke to me like this if I were outside I’d soon show you, hands up, if I am a coward or not? Later, on this same occasion, Grinnell said: ‘You have family and they are positive that you were only a dupe. You just tell us all you know, so that the true criminals may get their deserts. You will not be injured. Not only will you be allowed to return to your family, but in other ways it will benefit you.’
“I answered in a passion: You can save your pains. First, I know nothing, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you anything.”
“Then said Grinnell: Then we’ll hang you.’
“I thundered back: Very well, then hang me, but don’t degrade me with any more of your rascally propositions.”
This conversation is typical of Fischer’s character. He was devoted to his family. His wife, with three young children–one born since its father’s arrest cannot even now understand why Adolph should have been arrested “for pleading for shorter hours of toil.” Alas! her innocent soul cannot comprehend the legal technicalities which tore from her the support of the family and condemned him to death as a “conspirator.” Was he a conspirator? Under the law, yes.
He believed it was right for working men to resist force by force, at their meetings conjointly as well as in their homes Individually. He believed the old superstition that the people had rights, among which were the right to assemble, to petition, and protest. He deceived himself and paid the penalty with his life. A conspirator? I said yes. He had cordially adopted. “Engel’s plan,” and I speak by the testimony of hired in formers, “that if on account of the eight-hour strike there should be an encounter with the police they were to aid the men against them.” In that “if” did lay the conspiracy for which Fischer died and for which his memory is honored today in far distant lands.
In prison, as in the “sweat-box,” Fischer ever maintained the same bold front. In his speech before Judge Gary he said:
“If I am in die on account of being at anarchist, on account of my love for liberty, fraternity, and equality, then I will not remonstrate. If death is the penalty for our love for the freedom of the human race, then I say have forfeited my life: But a murderer, I am not…I have never yet committed a crime in my life, but I know a certain man who is on the way to a murderer, an assassin, and that man is Grinnell–the State’s Attorney. Because he brought men on the witness-stand he knew would swear falsely, and I publicly denounce Mr. Gemmell as being a murderer and an assassin if I should be executed. But if the ruling class thinks that by hanging us–hanging a few anarchists, they can crush out anarchy–they will be badly mistaken, because the anarchist loves his principles more than his life. An anarchist is always ready to die for his principles. You will find it impossible to kill a principle, although you may take the life of then who confess these principles.”
But he was a revolutionist and appealed to force! Let me quote a passage from Fischer’s autobiography:
“To abolish chattel slavery in this country a long, and awful war took place. Notwithstanding the fact that indemnification was offered for their losses, the slave- holders, would not bestow freedom upon their slaves. Now, in my judgment, he who believes that the modern slave-holders–the capitalists–would voluntarily, without being forced to do so; give up their privileges and set free their wage slaves, are poor students. Capitalists possess to much egotism to give way to reason. Their egoism is so enormous that they even refuse to grant subordinate and insignificant concessions. Capitalists snydicates for instance, would rather lose millions of dollars than by accept the eight-hour labor system. Would a peaceable solution in of the social question be possible, the anarchists would the best ones to rejoice over it.”
Never for a moment did Fischer falter. At all times good-natured, meeting tears with smiles and words of encouragement, yet not for a second looking toward release. When first sentenced, and while the supreme court was considering the application of a supersedeas, a new sheriff took possession—Matson–who won the title “czar of all the jail.” As usual in such cases rules were were rigidly enforced, and while friends were watching for news Fischer was expressing regret that he could no longer play penuckle with the death-watch. Nor was he, as some might infer, callous, He was tenderly attached to his family; he had invariably made it his practice to spend every spare moment in their company, and his young wife knew no termination to their honeymoon. His babes were his delight, and many an evening was spent in innocent gambols with them in his tenement home. Knowing his tenderness of character, his manly and noble carriage, and his purity of soul, is it strange that the young widow wonders why he should have been selected as a victim on the altar of hate?
Fischer had studied the language carefully, and was as complete a master of English as of German composition. Both Lingg and Engel, his nearest friends, entrusted to him the work of translation for their autobiographies and other works. Very seldom was verbal correction necessary. When aroused he could speak with considerable fluency, but in conversation he stammered slightly in speech. When George Francis Train was in Chicago he sent a basket of fruit to the prisoners and received a note from Fischer. The Chicago Herald, in publishing this letter, says it was in Adolph Fischer’s own handwriting, and exhibits a knowledge of the English language that but few supposed he possessed. How could they suppose it? Was not he a printer on a German paper, a common artisan, a mudsill? But let us see the letter he wrote:
“COOK COUNTY JAIL, Oct. 11, 1887–Citizen George Francis Train: thank you for the basket of fruit you was kind enough to send. I noticed that the daily papers refer to you as the “champion crank” Don’t mind that! What is a crank, anyway? As much as I know there is not a specific definition of this word, but I do know that all men who are in advance their age go under the category “crank.” Socrates, Christ, Huss, Luther, Gallileo, Russeau, Paine, Jefferson, Franklin, Phillips and last but not least, old John Brown, and many other more or less known apostles of progress have been considered cranks by their contemporaries because they held ideas which were contrary to and in advance of the customary social, political, religious, or scientific arrangement of things. But for these “cranks” civilization would be in its infancy yet. Therefore, long live the cranks. With hearty greetings sir, I subscribe myself. ADOLPH FISCHER.”
During the past summer I received several letters from him when I was east; they all breathed the same spirit. One in particular, written while awaiting the final decision of the Illinois supreme court, was written in a jocular vein and rebuked words of hope I had sent by reminding me that the verdict itself, being a class verdict, effectually sealed all hope.
His letter to the governor was a masterly effort, knowing as he did that all the efforts made in behalf of himself and comrades could have no other “successful” termination than imprisonment. It was written when tremendous efforts were made upon them to humble themselves; their counsel, their defense committee, their avowed friends were all beseeching them to appeal for mercy. It was written, with Lingg’s and Engel’s, two weeks after Parsons had written in a similar strain. I have given this letter in full in No. 1 of The ALARM, a week before the final consummation of the tragedy. I will cite but a few sentences:
“Dear Sir: I am aware that petitions are being circulated and signed by the general public asking you to commute the sentence of death which was inflicted upon me by a criminal court of this state. Anent this action of a sympathizing and well-meaning portion of the people, I solemnly declare that it has not my sanction. As a man of honor, as a man of conscious, as a man of principle, I cannot accept mercy. I am not guilty of the indictment–of murder. I am no murderer and cannot apologize for an action I know I am innocent. And should I ask “mercy” on account of my principles, which I honestly believe to be true and noble? No! I am no hypocrite and have, therefore, no excuses to offer with regard to being an anarchist because the experiences of the past eighteen months have only strengthened my convictions.”
No! Adolph Fischer, notwithstanding his youth, the loving ties surrounding him, the entreaties of friends, never forgot the cause to which he pledged his adherence. Anything in honor he could have done he would gladly have acquiesced in, but the single choice lay before him: honor and death, or dishonor and a miserable existence. To men of his mold there could be no hesitation. When in the first week in October, in response to a summons to return, I arrived at Chicago to undertake my present duties, I hurried to the jail and was received with delight. In a long conversation held with Fischer he said, with such an evident air of genuine sincerity that I shall never forget the words: “I heartily wished the 11th of November was to be tomorrow. You know, Dyer, I am a revolutionist and also a husband and a father. Alone. I am calm and self-possessed and ready for the sacrifice—before my family other ties pull upon my heart-strings. But dearly as I love them, I cannot dishonor them by my cowardice.” What could I say? His love, a deeper love than that of ordinary mortals, toward his family enabled him to withstand all appeals to humiliate himself.
In my last interview with him, but a few days before his judicial murder, he was still as calm and as unflinching as ever. He became the consoler, and the words of cheer then heard still inspire me. Nor am I speaking merely from affectionate remembrance, for all the officials testify to his politeness, his constant urbanity, and dignified manner. He realized that the supreme hour was drawing near and with the calmness of a martyr awaited the destined blow.
Can I stretch his murdered form upon the procrustean bed of theory? To extend or lop off to suit the requirements of dogmatism? Perish the thought before such sublime adherence to the fundamental principles of anarchy.
HIS LAST HOURS.
The Confiscated Letter of John Brown, Jr., and Unpublished Letters to His Family.
One of the deputies who watched over the condemned during their last night said that “Fischer is the jolliest of the lot. When I asked him last night what was his last wish he replied, sarcastically: ‘A bottle of champagne,’ with the coolness and sangfroid of a veteran. Fischer, the youngest of the four [Lingg being dead] talked calmly, of the situation, spoke tenderly and feelingly of his wife and family, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, said: “It is far more easy for me to die than for my enemies to bear the burden of it.”
Upon that morning when four men were to be deliberately murdered by the state, when a frightened sheriff had forbidden them to speak upon the scaffold, when every effort to prove them cowards had failed and the terrors of death were relied upon to weaken them, Fischer began singing the Marseillaise. Hardly had the first familiar notes been heard in the adjoining cells than Spies, Parsons, and Engel caught up the refrain and made the corridors ring with that glorious, soul-inspiring anthem which the mayor of this city has forbidden sung at socialistic concerts.
Fischer needed no word of sympathy or cheer, but one letter addressed to him and received at the jail three days before his death he never saw. It came from one whose name on the envelope should have been enough to secure its passage–the son of John Brown. He had sent grapes to each of the prisoners with a letter of kind recognition of their cause. Not knowing them, nor their principles, he felt the similarity of their situation to that of his father’s in Charleston, Va. Fortunately Mrs. Fischer received the grapes without knowing who was the donor. On the following day–Saturday evening–a number of letters were turned over to Capt. Black and myself. Among these was the following”
“PUT-IN BAY ISLAND, Lake Erie, Ottawa County, O., Nov. 7, 1887–Brother: I send to you by today’s boat a basket of catawba grapes–charges prepaid through as per express receipts indorsed–Please accept in token of my sympathy for you and the cause which you represent.
“Four, days before his execution my father wrote to a friend the following:
“CHARLESTON, (VA) JAIL, Nov. 8, 1859–It is a great comfort to feel assured that I am permitted to die for a cause–not merely pay the debt of nature as all must, JOHN BROWN,
“That a like assurance may be a comfort to you is the earnest desire of yours for the cause of the faithful, honest laborer. JOHN BROWN, JR.
“Adolph Fischer, County Jail.”
John Brown, under a slave-holding regime, was permitted to bid friends fare well and receive words of cheer until his death.
Under a capitalistic regime Adolph Fischer and his comrades were denied the right to receive friends except immediate relatives the week before execution, and words of sympathy were withheld by then that John Brown’s act alone had permitted to hold office.
Under slavery they killed the man, but treated him as human. Under our system they rejected presents, confiscated letters, and dented speech. Why should not the old shake hands with the new abolitionists? When President Cleveland visited Chicago, and every effort was made to excite a patriotic spirit for his obesity, a holiday was proclaimed. While the gaping crowd were waiting to see “the show” pass Fischer addressed the following note to his wife:
“MY DEAR JOHANNA–We are locked up today. You must come back tomorrow morning. They won’t let any one in today on account of the presidential reception. Going sure tomorrow. I send you many kisses my darling. Kiss the children for me also. Your loving ADOLPH.”
The poor, half-widowed wife forgot that under the burst of manufactured patriotism she would be refused entrance, but Adolph had foreseen it and left the above note for her. She is an American, unable to read German, and it is to be trusted felt the patriotic fervor of the day.
Space compels me to close. I now give the final words he wrote before laying aside the pen forever. I cannot comment upon them.
COOK COUNTY JAIL. Nov. 11, 1887. Dear Sister-in-Law Emma. I know say a last good-bye to you. I am gratified to you for having stayed with my dear Johanna during her trouble. Please, dear Emma, stay with my wife and children throughout the winter because she would be helpless with the three children without you. Kiss the children for me. I wish you a long and happy life, dear Emma. So good-bye, then. Your brother-in-law Adolph.”
COOK COUNTY JAIL, Nov. 11, 1887–My Dear Wife: With this I bid you a last good-bye. My feeling forbids me to write much to you, be a good mother to small children and see to it that they receive a good education. My friends will see to it that you will not have to suffer from want. This is a great consolation to me. I think it would be best if you would stay in Chicago for some time to come. With many greetings and kisses to you and our dear children. I remain forever your loving husband, ADOLPH.”
Fischer ever thought of his family, and in his solitary cell he sat and wrote his life–the different scenes through which he had passed, and giving the place and date of birth of each of his children as a family record to be held in trust for his children until they were able to appreciate and preserve it. Upon the first page was inscribed:
“This book and its contents is dedicated by Adolph Fischer to his dear children–Emma. Charles, and Adolph.”
The second page bore these words:
“As a source of information and instruction, and as a guide for their future life. ADOLPH FISCHER, Cell 28, Cook County Jail: Chicago, Ill., October, 1887.”
I here give the preface:
“MY DEAR CHILDREN: As I have indicated already on the first page, the contents of this book are dedicated to you by your unfortunate father. From the second page you will see that I am in prison while I write this. In prison! Don’t shudder, dear children, for the noblest of men throughout the ages have at one-time or another been harbored by prison walls. One need not be criminal to be in prison. In fact, it happens not very seldom that good and true men are thrust into prison or destined to a still worse fate by criminal prejudice and ignorance of society and the tyranny of the powers be. On another page of this book you will learn why your father was imprisoned and condemned to die: and as you grow up you will comprehend that you need not be ashamed of my fate, but, on the contrary, that you have reason to be proud of your father. At the time I write this, dear children, you are too young to receive this book from my own hands, therefore I give it into the keeping of your good mother, with the request to carefully treasure it and make the contents known to you when you are old enough to reason and to understand that what I say to you. I beg you, my dear children, to look upon this book as a sacred bequest from your father, who loves you dearly. I am poor and have no earthly goods worth mentioning to bequeath to my beloved wife, your mother. You, our three children, is all I leave in the care of your good mother. I am sure she will do all in her power to make virtuous beings, useful members of society, and noble characters out of you. I implore you, beloved children, be virtuous, noble, upright; useful in your life: be fearless in speaking the truth. This is the fervent hope of YOUR FATHER.”
The Alarm was an extremely important paper at a momentous moment in the history of the US and international workers’ movement. The Alarm was the paper of the International Working People’s Association produced weekly in Chicago and edited by Albert Parsons. The IWPA was formed by anarchists and social revolutionists who left the Socialist Labor Party in 1883 led by Johann Most who had recently arrived in the States. The SLP was then dominated by German-speaking Lassalleans focused on electoral work, and a smaller group of Marxists largely focused on craft unions. In the immigrant slums of proletarian Chicago, neither were as appealing as the city’s Lehr-und-Wehr Vereine (Education and Defense Societies) which armed and trained themselves for the class war. With 5000 members by the mid-1880s, the IWPA quickly far outgrew the SLP, and signified the larger dominance of anarchism on radical thought in that decade. The Alarm first appeared on October 4, 1884, one of eight IWPA papers that formed, but the only one in English. Parsons was formerly the assistant-editor of the SLP’s ‘People’ newspaper and a pioneer member of the American Typographical Union. By early 1886 Alarm claimed a run of 3000, while the other Chicago IWPA papers, the daily German Arbeiter-Zeitung (Workers’ Newspaper) edited by August Spies and weeklies Der Vorbote (The Harbinger) had between 7-8000 each, while the weekly Der Fackel (The Torch) ran 12000 copies an issue. A Czech-language weekly Budoucnost (The Future) was also produced. Parsons, assisted by Lizzie Holmes and his wife Lucy Parsons, issued a militant working-class paper. The Alarm was incendiary in its language, literally. Along with openly advocating the use of force, The Alarm published bomb-making instructions. Suppressed immediately after May 4, 1886, the last issue edited by Parson was April 24. On November 5, 1887, one week before Parson’s execution, The Alarm was relaunched by Dyer Lum but only lasted half a year. Restarted again in 1888, The Alarm finally ended in February 1889. The Alarm is a crucial resource to understanding the rise of anarchism in the US and the world of Haymarket and one of the most radical eras in US working class history.
PDF of full issue: https://dds.crl.edu/item/54019
