LINGG’S REVOLVER.
Cocked as found when wrested from
Lingg’s hands after the struggle with Officer Schuettler.
From a Photograph.
The officers went over to the cottage and learned that a family named Klein lived there. Schuettler knocked on the door, and Mrs. Klein responded. He asked if Louis was at home. She replied that he was not and that he had gone out with some gentlemen about nine o’clock. She inquired what he desired to see Louis for, and Schuettler told her that he owed Louis $3 and had come to pay him. He further informed her that they were good friends, both carpenters, and belonged to the same union. She inquired after his name, and Schuettler responded that it was “Franz Lorenz.” Lorenz was a well known Anarchist, and it was thought the name would prove effective in winning the woman’s confidence. She said that her father lived only a short distance from the house, and she would step over and ask him if he knew where Louis had gone. This conversation had taken place in a rear room of the house. The woman excused herself, and ostensibly started for the house of her father. She passed into the front room and slammed the outer door. Loewenstein stepped out of the back room to see if she had really gone, but he saw no Mrs. Klein. At the same time he noticed Lingg’s chest standing on the rear porch, covered with a piece of carpet. Loewenstein returned, and he had hardly joined Schuettler when Mrs. Klein stepped in. She said she had seen her father, but that he did not know where Louis had gone. The officers were suspicious, of course, but they said nothing, simply withdrawing with the assurance that they would call again and see Lingg some other time.
After leaving, the officers walked for two blocks and talked over the mysterious actions of Mrs. Klein. They concluded to go back and search the house. They secured entrance from the rear, and, while Loewenstein guarded the front door, Schuettler entered the rear room. There he found a man smoothly shaven. Lingg had been described as having chin whiskers. Schuettler stepped up to the man, however, and asked his name. In an instant Lingg—for it was none other—whipped out a 44-caliber revolver, which he had had concealed in front inside his trousers, and, with the glare of a tiger held at bay, he turned on the officer. Schuettler saw the movement, and, quick as a flash, sprang on Lingg and seized the weapon. They clinched, and while the one was struggling to save himself and secure his prisoner, the other was bent upon killing the officer and effecting his own escape. Both were strong, muscular and active, and the cottage shook from foundation to rafters as the bodies of the contestants swayed in the equal contest. Lingg quivered with rage and aroused himself to his utmost to vanquish the foe. He realized that the result meant life or death. At one moment his revolver was pressed close to the officer’s breast, and with a superhuman effort the Anarchist tried to send a bullet on its fatal mission. But Schuettler had a firm grasp of the cylinder and wrenched the weapon aside. In another second, while the mastery was still undecided, Lingg, by a quick movement of his hand, brought the revolver square into the officer’s face. At that moment, however, Schuettler managed to get Lingg’s thumb between his teeth. The Anarchist made a sudden dash to release his thumb and succeeded in breaking loose.
All this took place in less time than it takes to tell it. The moment Lingg was foot-loose, Schuettler found time to shout for his companion, who had stood on the outside in front of the house, all unconscious of the short but desperate struggle within. Loewenstein did not stop a moment to determine what was wanted, but sprang into the room. He entered just at the moment when Schuettler had bounded after Lingg on his release and found him holding Lingg tightly by the throat with one hand and the revolver with the other. Loewenstein saw the situation at a glance, and, raising his loaded cane, brought it down on the Anarchist’s head. This stunned Lingg, and he was overpowered. The revolver was wrenched from his hand and placed on a table, and the officers adjusted the handcuffs. These had no sooner been placed in position than Lingg made a sudden dash for his revolver. But the detectives were too quick for him.
Lingg’s teeth gnashed with rage, and his eyes fairly bulged from their sockets with savage scorn. The arch-Anarchist looked the picture of desperation. He had been vanquished, however, and he saw that further resistance was useless.
Mrs. Klein had meanwhile been an excited spectator, but before she could collect her thoughts and decide what course to take under the circumstances, Lingg was in the power of the law. Seeing this, she hurried out. It was not long before the whole neighborhood heard of what had happened, and, as the officers started to take their prisoner to the Hinman Street Station, a true-hearted Irish-American came up, accosted them and said:
“My dear boys, your lives are in danger here. Nearly every one who lives about here is an Anarchist. Wait for a minute, and I will give you protection.”
