“Captain, you are doing well; you keep on and work just as you have been doing.”
During the afternoon of May 10, the detectives of the Chicago Avenue Station discovered a lot of bombs, guns and revolvers, which they brought to the station. They also arrested a few Anarchists, who pretended to be as harmless and spotless as little lambs, but who, before they went to sleep that night in our hotel, discovered that they had a great many black spots on them. The force continued at work till three o’clock the next morning. The following day they met again at eight o’clock in the morning, and several arrests were made that day.
At about this time the mail was burdened with a great many letters, some very encouraging in the cheering and complimentary sentiments they conveyed, and others very threatening in their character. The latter class were full of most dire menaces, suggesting all sorts of torture in the event that I did not stop prosecuting the Anarchists, and the whole formed a very interesting collection. It was evident that many of them had been written by cranks, and that some bore marks of having been inspired by religious enthusiasts. One wrote that enough men had already been killed without hunting for innocent men as a sacrifice for the Haymarket murder, and another wrote urging that the whole lot of the Anarchist brood be hung as fast as they could be arrested. Several drew on their imaginations and volunteered “pointers” which bore on their face evidences of falsehood. Others would say that their prayers were constantly with the police in their efforts, and expressed a hope that out of it all might come the extirpation of Anarchy from American soil. These communications poured in upon me in such numbers that I had no time to read them through, and even the most savage and bloodthirsty hardly gave me a moment’s thought. As a matter of fact I was never for a moment alarmed about my own personal safety. All of the letters I received I filed away, and some day, when I do not know what else to do to amuse myself, I purpose to run them over again and enjoy another hearty laugh. Meanwhile Anarchist after Anarchist was overhauled, and after one clue had been worked out another was undertaken with the utmost secrecy. The detectives continued persistently at work, and for two months they carefully kept their own counsel, never permitting themselves to be drawn into conversation by outsiders respecting the case.
Their experience was highly exciting at all times, and the various haunts of the Anarchists were kept in a lively commotion. The social miscreants never knew when the investigations would end, and they were in constant dread. Finding that threats upon the lives of State’s Attorney Grinnell, Assistant State’s Attorney Furthmann, myself, and the officers engaged in the case, had failed to have the desired effect, they turned their attention to writing letters to our wives. These letters were written in a most vindictive and fiendish spirit. They threatened not only bodily harm to these ladies, but promised to inflict death by horrible tortures upon their husbands and children, if the prosecution was not dropped; and they vowed vengeance also upon property by the use of explosives that would leave to each house only a vestige of its former location. Some of these letters were general in their character, and others particularized the kind of death in store for all engaged in the case. One said that on some unexpected day we would be blown to atoms by a bomb; another pictured how a husband would be brought home in a mangled, unrecognizable mass. Still another would suggest that, if a husband proved missing, his remains might be looked for fifty feet under the water, firmly tied to a rock or a piece of iron. Another, again, stated that on the first opportunity the husband would be gagged, bound hand and foot, and placed across some railroad track to horribly contemplate death under the wheels of a fast approaching train. Still another would say: “When your husband is brought home be sure and pull the poisoned dagger out of his body.” One writer penned a tender epistle and closed by urging the mother to be sure to “kiss your children good-by when you leave them out on the street.” One letter was written with red ink and stated that “this blood is out of the veins of a determined man that would die for Anarchy.” One man expressed sorrow for the woman and then concluded: “But we cannot help this. If you have any property you had better have a will made by your liege lord to yourself, because he is going to die so quick that he will not know that he ever was alive.” Another said: “Take a good description of your husband’s clothes. He will be missing before long, and probably after some years you will hear that in some wild forest a lot of clothes have been found tied to some tree, and these clothes will be stuffed with bones.”
Epistolary threats of this kind were sent almost daily to the wives of the officers and officials, and, if published, the collection would form a volume in itself. The threats I have given are only a tithe of the whole, but I have given enough to illustrate the general trend of the letters. We paid no attention to them, but the women, of more delicate and sensitive disposition, took them more to heart. The constant receipt of such letters naturally made a deep impression on their minds, and some of the ladies had dark forebodings. But the officers always took a cheerful view, and urged that it was only cowards who resorted to threats. They still continued their work, undaunted by these denunciations and menaces, and frequently remained out all night in their work in some of the most desperate districts of the city, sometimes keeping up forty-eight hours at a stretch.
Mrs. Schaack, a generally strong and courageous woman and deeply interested in all my work, did not bear up as well as some of the others under the pressure. She had been sick for over eight months, and, when these letters began to reach her, she had just reached a convalescent state. Having thus passed through a long siege of illness, her system was in a highly nervous condition, and it was, therefore, quite natural that sometimes she should become greatly solicitous for my personal safety whenever a very savage and gory letter accidentally reached her eye. When the trial finally began, I begged her to take the three children and visit for two months a place six hundred miles away from Chicago, where she could not only enjoy a comparative serenity of mind, but build up her shattered constitution, under more favorable circumstances and climatic conditions. She acted on my advice. While away, she was in constant receipt of such letters as were calculated to make her reassured as to my comfort, and she rapidly gained in health and strength.
Mrs. Grinnell bore up remarkably well under the severe strain. She had come in for a goodly share of these murder-threatening letters, but, being blessed with good health and strong nerves, she never displayed signs of weakness.
She was a brave lady. Whenever I saw her with Mr. Grinnell, she would always say: “Captain, I want you and Mr. Grinnell and all the boys to keep on with your noble work.” She at all times appeared very pleasant and not the least disturbed.
Mrs. Furthmann was not overlooked by the letter-writers, but her husband arranged matters so that their epistles did not fall into her hands. He would gather them in, and, with what the mail brought him every day for his own individual benefit, he had plenty of hair-raising literature. But he paid no attention to the threats and never for a moment relaxed his efforts on account of them. These letters became so numerous and frequent that after a time the officers would jestingly allude to them as their “love letters.”