Lynching—­An American Institution

Wesley Everest was dragged out of the middle machine.  A rope was attached to a girder with the other end tied in a noose around his neck.  His almost lifeless body was hauled to the side of the bridge.  The headlights of two of the machines threw a white light over the horrible scene.  Just as the lynchers let go of their victim the fingers of the half dead logger clung convulsively to the planking of the bridge.  A business man stamped on them with a curse until the grip was broken.  There was a swishing sound; then a sudden crunching jerk and the rope tied to the girder began to writhe and twist like a live thing.  This lasted but a short time.  The lynchers peered over the railing into the darkness.  Then they slowly pulled up the dead body, attached a longer rope and repeated the performance.  This did not seem to suit them either, so they again dragged the corpse through the railings and tied a still longer rope around the horribly broken neck of the dead logger.  The business men were evidently enjoying their work, and besides, the more rope the more souvenirs for their friends, who would prize them highly.

This time the knot was tied by a young sailor.  He knew how to tie a good knot and was proud of the fact.  He boasted of the stunt afterwards to a man he thought as beastly as himself.  In all probability he never dreamed he was talking for publication.  But he was.

The rope had now been lengthened to about fifteen feet.  The broken and gory body was kicked through the railing for the last time.  The knot on the girder did not move any more.  Then the lynchers returned to their luxurious cars and procured their rifles.  A headlight flashed the dangling figure into ghastly relief.  It was riddled with volley after volley.  The man who fired the first shot boasted of the deed afterwards to a brother lodge member.  He didn’t know he was talking for publication either.

On the following morning the corpse was cut down by an unknown hand.  It drifted away with the current.  A few hours later Frank Christianson, a tool of the lumber trust from the Attorney General’s office, arrived in Centralia.  “We’ve got to get that body,” this worthy official declared, “or the wobs will find it and raise hell over its condition.”

The corpse was located after a search.  It was not buried, however, but carted back to the city jail, there to be used as a terrible object lesson for the benefit of the incarcerated union men.  The unrecognizable form was placed in a cell between two of the loggers who had loved the lynched boy as a comrade and a friend.  Something must be done to make the union men admit that they, and not the lumber interests, had conspired to commit murder.  This was the final act of ruthlessness.  It was fruitful in results.  One “confession,” one Judas and one shattered mind were the result of their last deed of fiendish terrorism.