Free Haymarket by Martin Duberman

behind a mask and slouch hat, his body draped in a black cloak. He was known, so Albert later learned, as the Unknown Knight (his informer adding good-humoredly, “I never met a member who knew what all these rituals and symbols are supposed to mean—some say one thing, some another”).
    The shrouded figure wore a large triangular gold medal on his cape. Despite the dim light, Albert could make out a pyramid at the center of the medal, with the letters
S, O, M
, and
A
etched on its sides and base, standing for Secrecy, Obedience, and Mutual Assistance—the Knights of Labor’s official tenets. The man in the black cape took Albert’s righthand in his own and pressed his thumb hard against Albert’s fingers; as previously instructed, Albert returned the pressure and then received two quick, light taps on the hand.
    The Grip having been successfully exchanged, the man then placed his closed hand under his own chin. Again as preinstructed, Albert announced, “I am a stranger.” To which the man responded, “A stranger should be assisted,” and swept his cape aside to make way for Albert to enter the hall.
    Albert peered expectantly into a gaslit chamber only slightly larger than the waiting room. He could make out some dozen men standing in a semicircle, several of them wearing robes of different colors with elaborate ribbons, tassels, and medallions attached to them. No man was dressed like any other. Though Albert was too nervous to cast more than a hasty glance at the exotic outfits, his eyes did fix briefly on one brilliantly fashioned badge—a large coral column with an open hand fashioned out of ivory on it, plus carvings of leaves, fruit, and the words “Hear Both Sides, Then Judge.”
    After Albert had entered the inner room, a lance was placed on the door and it was pulled closed behind him, thus announcing that the meeting was in progress. Two men, one on either side of Albert, took hold of him firmly under his arms and moved him to the center of the room. The others closed in around him, forming an unbroken circle. In quick succession, they exchanged a series of complicated hand grips, signals, raps, and passwords.
    The series completed, the man in the black cape spoke a few hushed and, to Albert, murky words. He could barely catch their drift, though he did distinctly hear the first sentence, “Open and public associations having failed, after a struggle of centuries to protect or advance the interests of labor, we have lawfully constituted this assembly.”
    Beyond that, Albert was able to pick up only an occasional fragment: “… Opulent monopolists are a power greater than the State … sapping foundations of democracy … moral worth not wealth is the true standard of greatness …,” and the concluding sentence, spoken fervently by the entire group, “An injury to one is the concern of all.” The ceremonies ended with everyone joining hands and singing the Knights of Labor anthem, its sturdy chorus reverberating four times over:
    Storm the fort, ye Knights of Labor,
Battle for your cause;
Equal rights for every neighbor,
Down with tyrant laws!
    At the close of the song, the gas lamps were turned up. Albert was greeted with smiles and bear hugs and given a copy of the booklet
Adelphon Kryptos
(Secret Brotherhood), which somewhat better explained the principals and rituals he had fleetingly glimpsed and only partly understood.

    “Secret handshakes, fancy robes—oh, Albert!” Lucy laughed derisively. “It sounds like the Klan—or a bunch of not so bright schoolboys tryin’ to scare the neighbors.”
    “You’re not payin’ attention to the principles.” The degree of Albert’s frustration was always best gauged not by the rising volume of his voice, but by the way its characteristic mellowness bleached into a colorless monotone. “ ‘An Injury to One Is the Concern of All.’
That
, he said evenly, “is the essence of the Knights’ philosophy. There’s no other platform that